I wrote most of this the week, if not the day, after I updated. Then I killed, murdered, slaughtered "Don't You Know" and I was too down on myself to continue. However, I like this story. I'm trying to finish it (properly) before I leave for training. Just...lemme know exactly what you think. What's wrong with it, what's right. Should I continue?
It could have been awkward. It should have been awkward. Yet, standing in Quinn's apartment for the first time, barely knowing the woman, Rachel didn't feel even an ounce of the awkward she had felt outside of the apartment.
The apartment was too homey, too comfortable to feel anything but welcome once inside of it. There were pictures of Beth everywhere—on the walls, on the tables, on the TV. Sometimes they featured Quinn and sometimes they featured other women—two other women, specifically. There was a pretty blonde with bright blue eyes along with a darker woman, possibly Latina. She had much darker eyes, darker than even Rachel's. The singer could admire the slight hint of bitchiness she caught from one photograph in particular. She probably wouldn't have noticed it if she wasn't a raving bitch herself—it was a 'takes one to know one' kind of feeling.
Rachel found it amusing, how she was wandering around the living room area so casually as if she was a common addition to the home. She couldn't help it, however, and Quinn certainly wasn't complaining. The brunette took that as a good sign and continued discovering what it must be like to have a close family.
Her fathers had placed photographs around the house in a similar manner way back when, only their picture frames had been more… interesting than were Quinn's. Rachel could remember the swirls of metal wrapping her memories in circles, in rectangles, in unknown formations. All different sorts of shapes had framed the smiles that were caught on paper forever. Rachel paused with her hand in midair, headed for a picture of Beth on the shore of a beach. She blinked, wondering if the memories of her own childhood were affecting her so strongly that she had replaced Beth for herself. Upon taking a second look, she realized that it was not the case.
"Quinn?" She turned around hesitantly, clearing her throat when she realized how rough her voice sounded. She wondered how long she'd been perusing the room since her voice had apparently had enough time to relax.
"Yes?" the blonde responded, poking her head from inside the kitchen.
"Would it be odd for me to ask where this photo was taken?"
At first, the other woman just tilted her head and squinted her eyes. The quirk in her lips made Rachel feel as if Quinn found her question humorous. "Cincinnati." A smile of fond memories blossomed on her face.
"That's what I thought," Rachel hummed and turned back towards the picture. "I frequented this particular beach as a child."
"Really?" Not having missed the surprise in the other woman's tone, Rachel turned around again to meet her gaze.
"Guess you really aren't a fan, then, because that's my hometown." She paused. She wasn't used to people genuinely not knowing who she was and she felt this odd sense of relief. "That or you're a really good actress and you're trying to lure me into a false sense of comfort."
The corner of Quinn's lip quirked upwards. "Still convinced that I'm a psycho stalker?"
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Rachel tried to hold back a smile. "More so that I'm not entirely unconvinced." That was when she froze. Since when did Rachel Berry smile and laugh when it wasn't for the camera? Since when did her chest feel as if it wasn't being squeezed from all directions? Not only was Rachel possibly happy, she was terrified. Not enough to stop, but enough to warn her to move cautiously.
Quinn must have noticed the immediate change because the edge of her lip moved back in place and the smile faded. "Is something wrong?"
For the second time in only a few moments, Rachel cleared her throat. "No, no. Nothing is wrong. Sorry, I just… don't talk to people too often." Especially not strangers while in strange apartments under strange circumstances.
The smile, albeit a bit smaller, came back to Quinn's expression and she wiped her hands on her jeans before responding. "I guess it is kind of bizarre to be in a stranger's home, huh?"
Rubbing the back of her neck, Rachel forced out a chuckle. "You could say that."
Quinn nodded. "Excuse me for a minute," she pardoned herself and headed down the hallway. Rachel heard the soft groan of a door before the hum of Quinn's voice sounded, informing Beth that her dinner was ready. The high squeal that was Beth in her excited phase rang out and footsteps came pattering towards the kitchen.
"Mac and cheeeese!" the girl cheered with a large smile on her face. In that moment, Rachel pictured her heart as a candle. In the few hours that she'd known the girl, that candle had melted more and more. And it continued to melt now.
She wondered what would happen when the wax ran out.
Just as she was about to round the corner, Beth must have noticed Rachel because the girl spun around and her smile somehow managed to get even wider.
"Wachel! Awe you gonna stay for dinnew? It's mac and cheese! Mommy!" She turned to the taller blonde trailing behind. "Is Wachel gonna stay?"
Not sure if Beth's mother was comfortable with that arrangement, Rachel searched the older blonde's face for an answer. She wasn't even sure she wanted herself to stay. Then again, nothing about the situation was normal so…why change it now? Fortunately for Rachel, Quinn had no doubt picked up on her uncertainty.
"There's more than enough food for three."
"Yay!" Beth ran over to Rachel and grabbed her hand, dragging her into the kitchen.
"Mommy made my favowite tonight, Wachel! This is ouw kitchen, that's ouw fwidge." Rachel couldn't hide the smile forming if she wanted to. "It's too tall for me so mommy always has ta get me stuff. That's the table, only mommy says it's not a table. She thinks it's an island, but I think she's confused," she whispered the last part. "This is my spot bacause the chaiw has a chip wight hewe." She pointed to said chip. "Fwom when I lost this toof." Her finger found her mouth and was pointing to her front tooth. "It was an ack… axe-a-dent bacause mommy told me not to wun in the house but I did anyway. You can sit hewe." She pointed to the seat next to her own. "Bacause no one sits hewe 'cept Auntie S and she's not hewe wight now."
"Beth," Quinn's voice entered the tour, "why don't we let Rachel sit down, okay?" Upon Beth's lower lip jutting out in protest, Rachel unconsciously ruffled the girl's hair and agreed with her mother.
"We have to sit down before we can eat, right?"
Refusing to be proven wrong, Beth merely strengthened her pout and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm only sitting bacause I want to," she declared as she clambered up the chair. The way her legs hung off the edge was endearing and dammit all if Rachel just wanted this moment to never end. She wanted that a lot, of late.
The pout dropped from Beth's face the moment her gaze was met with a bowl of mac and cheese. She happily started digging in and even kicked her feet lightly as she chewed. A pleasant hum sounded and Rachel could tell Beth was on her own personal cloud nine. That made two of them.
Watching Rachel traipse through her living room wasn't how Quinn expected to spend her evening. Then again, a lot of things had happened recently that Quinn hadn't expected and so she was willing to go with the flow. It intrigued her to watch the brunette slowly move from picture to picture, as if she was trying to figure something out. Maybe she was.
It should bother Quinn that her daughter was so obsessed with Rachel, and it should bother her even more that Rachel seemed to have formed a bond with her daughter in turn. The puzzling thing is that she wasn't. With how protective she had been for the past few months, Quinn didn't want to admit it… but part of her was grateful for the reprieve. It wasn't that Beth was always throwing a tantrum, because she certainly wasn't, she just wasn't always so easy to handle.
Once she'd seen Rachel sing to her daughter, though, Quinn knew something was different. Beth simply didn't take to strangers. She just didn't. And yet, she took to Rachel as if she were… well, mac and cheese. Heaven knew that girl loved mac and cheese, which was why Quinn had made it for dinner.
She had planned it earlier, sincerely hoping it would calm her daughter down were she to have another tantrum. Granted, it was probably more than a simple tantrum but Quinn had a feeling that if she gave it just a little more time, Beth would be better. Did she regret not doing anything earlier? Absolutely. She hadn't realized it would get to the point that it had. The thing was that, right now, Beth was acting different. Well, technically, Beth was not acting different. She was acting like she used to, before Emily came and left. Well, left was a terrible replacement term for death, but a lot of things were fucked up in life. Screw it.
A week. Quinn would give it a week. Whether the change in demeanor was due to Rachel or whether Beth would have returned to normalcy regardless, Quinn was thankful for the change. Whatever the answer turned out to be, if Beth had another attack anytime this week as bad as the other night, she would have to take her to see someone.
It wasn't until Beth gave Rachel the tour that it truly hit Quinn how comfortable her daughter was with the other woman. Hell, how comfortable she was with her, seeing as she allowed her daughter to hold Rachel's hand and drag her around. How she invited her into her apartment, not knowing much about her besides the fact that she was famous on Broadway and sang to her daughter in an elevator.
Quinn wondered if maybe she wasn't a little bit insane as well.
"Beth, why don't we let Rachel sit down, okay?" Quinn asked as much in an attempt to save Rachel from her daughter. Not that Rachel looked like she necessarily wanted to be saved, but Beth needed to eat anyway.
Of course that pout came out, but Quinn couldn't have been happier about it because it wasn't the pout that led to crying and kicking. Instead, it was the "why do adults have to be so mean?" pout. Quinn couldn't even formulate words because her throat suddenly felt thick, as if something was stuck in the back of it. She was choking on her own air because her daughter was acting normal. Because of Rachel.
"We have to sit down before we can eat, right?"
And Rachel was handling the girl perfectly.
"So, wait—let me get this straight. First, this random woman practically saves your daughter from having a meltdown in the elevator. Then, that very same woman shows up at your apartment to return Beth's very replaceable hairclip. And, instead of thanking her politely and sending her on her merry Berry way, you invite her in?"
"Well, when you say it like that it sounds—"
"Q, please tell me you got laid."
"Santana!" Quinn snapped her gaze toward her daughter, who was happily smashing the round end of her cat-shaped spoon against the top layer of her bowl of cheerios. Granted, the motion was unnecessary because she highly doubted her daughter could hear anything through the phone receiver from across the room, but still. "Was that really necessary?"
The laugh from the other end of the line earned an eye roll from the blonde. "I'm just saying. I mean, she's apparently some kind of star, right? You could always shack her up for some kind of sugar momma situation, worst case scenario."
"I cannot believe you just said that," Quinn walked over to the island when she saw that Beth had gone a little crazy with the splashing of the milk. "It wasn't like that at all, and it still isn't," she said as she wiped away the milky puddles that had formed around the bowl. The eyebrow raise she sent her daughter immediately ended the drumming solo. "I get that she's a stranger and that this whole ordeal is really odd, but she gives off this vibe that I can't explain."
"I'm pretty sure that vibe you're feeling is an 'I want you in my bed, right now,' kinda feeling. And, personally, I say go for it. I've already basically stalked her shit—thank god for the internet—and I gotta say, shorty got some damn fine legs."
"S!" Quinn hissed, blood rushing to her face. She gave her daughter one last look before heading to a different room for a more private conversation. "Stop being so… crass. You know how Beth has been lately. I swear, it's as if nothing happened when Rachel's around. She hasn't done anything out of the ordinary since Rachel showed up yesterday. She even woke me up this morning, like she used to."
Santana stayed silent for a moment as she took in the information. She could imagine the smile the blonde must be sporting at the moment, thinking about Beth being happy.
"Do you have any future plans with her, or is her presence in your life over?"
Quinn debated on how to answer before admitting the truth. "She offered tickets to a Broadway show, which Beth accepted, of course. Not that she even knows what a Broadway show is," Quinn sighed.
"Tickets to go with her? Your daughter is totally replacing my position as wingman, Q." Santana paused. "Anyway, all joking aside, I'll stop teasing you about it. She has a boyfriend anyway."
"Boyfriend?"
For the first time in a long time, Rachel was happy to sleep alone. She was drained, both physically and mentally, and wanted nothing more than to just lie down, close her eyes, and sleep.
Earlier, she'd experienced something she hadn't experienced in a while and felt as if something had opened inside of her. It was as if she'd shut all of her old emotions into a box and only now were they slowly escaping through the keyhole. She partially feared this revelation, but she savored it even more. Something had changed and, with it, everything else seemed to be, too. Specifically, tonight was the first night in a long time that Rachel wanted to sleep alone. No David.
Typically, she'd be cold from the outside air and she'd search out his heat. She'd allow the ice in her heart to keep her body at an always-cool temperature. She needed to believe that she was just as indifferent on the outside as she was on the inside. Tonight, though, her body was warm, humming with excitement. Tonight, the coolness in the sheets wasn't a burden, but a comfort.
She could imagine lying with David's arm around her, usually leaving her feeling protected. At the moment, the protection would feel like one big plastic bag of smother. Quinn and Beth were doing something to her—they were affecting her in a way she didn't quite understand yet. At first, it had been obvious to Rachel that Beth was simply the symbol of the child that Rachel would never have. Not with David, anyway. She was beginning to realize that there had to be more to it, however. It wasn't just Beth who was having an effect on her anymore.
She hadn't noticed until the smaller blonde had mentioned story time and another woman–Emily?–that Rachel had understood why Beth had said she didn't have a dad, and why she had said she couldn't lose her other mother. She was shocked when it finally dawned on her.
The fact that Quinn liked women obviously didn't bother Rachel, but she couldn't honestly say it didn't have some effect on her. She'd seen the look on Quinn's face when Beth had said it, the almost-terror projected towards her daughter and then the cautious bite of the lip towards Rachel herself. "My dads used to read stories to me all the time," she'd said, ignoring the nerves in her stomach.
The next few days passed by like slugs on a sidewalk—painfully slow and gruesome to watch. Rachel could hardly bear to watch the auditions as each hopeful seemed impossibly worse than the last. Really, David did have a point in cheap films and poor actors. Luckily, she wasn't the only one who knew that and, regardless of her right to veto her future co-workers, they wouldn't have been picked anyway.
It was a few more days later that Rachel's week really picked up. Not only did Josh manage to bring her a coffee that didn't spill, but it was even warm. Then, they'd finally found some decent actors and most of the spots were filled.
The real highlight of her day, however, was when she received a phone call from a number she'd only added to her phone about a week ago.
"Quinn?" she answered on the second ring.
Standing on the sidewalk, Quinn tried to ignore the tight feeling in her chest as she squeezed her daughter's hand a little too forcefully. It wasn't completely her fault—her heart felt like muscles were surrounding all of its sides and each one was pulling the poor thing in a different direction. She couldn't say why she felt so nervous, she just did.
God, she was a mess.
The images of Rachel being, well, Rachel, and smiling at Beth filled her mind. Then Santana talking about the singer's boyfriend for over twenty minutes on the phone replayed. Beth's laughs, Emily's smiles, Rachel's voice. David.
She was certain she was a mess.
Quinn didn't want to admit it, but she felt something for the self-identified diva. What she could have played off as simple gratitude turned into a whole lot more. Not talking to the brunette for the week had pulled Quinn out of her fantasy world and back into reality.
She didn't know Rachel. She didn't know "the woman in the elevator." Rachel didn't know her, either. She didn't know Beth, didn't know Santana or Brittany.
They didn't know anything about each other. So why was Quinn so damn emotional about the whole ordeal? Yeah, Beth's attitude had improved since the incident. Hell, even the week without Rachel hadn't hurt any. Quinn wondered if maybe Beth had only needed a distraction in the first place. Emily had been around for a while, especially in the apartment. The memories had probably haunted the girl. But Rachel's presence must have given Beth new feelings about the place.
Now, instead of hearing Emily's voice reading a story at night, Beth heard Rachel's songs ghosting her ears.
But they'd only met twice. It was impossible, the effect this whole idea was having on Quinn and her daughter. It wasn't right, but Quinn couldn't think of something so helpful as wrong.
"Hi!"
The cheerful greeting brought Quinn out of her thoughts as she looked up to see the brunette that had been on her mind for some time.
"Hey," she replied casually, a small smile making itself known.
"Wachel!" Bright eyes lit up and Rachel looked down to meet them, laughing lightly as Beth wrapped her arms around her legs.
"Hey, kiddo." The nickname easily slipped out. It was not a word that she said often, if ever, but she said it nonetheless. "How are you?" She looked back up to Quinn and let her smile grow. She really had forgotten what it was like to have a friend. Granted, the friendship was new but that didn't make it any less meaningful.
"We've been pretty good," Quinn replied, looking down at her daughter. Rachel caught something in the look but decided to leave it for a later time.
"Well then, ready to head over?"
"Yea!" Beth yelled, "Wicked, wicked, wicked!"
"Does this happen often?"
Beth was passed out on her bed, tucked in while already asleep. It had surprised both women when the girl had simply slowed down when talking mid-sentence. Her eyes closed, head lolled, and she'd fallen asleep in moments.
"Not at all. I almost always have to calm her down somehow—she's a ball of energy." Quinn shook her head, biting her lip. "I don't understand."
"Must have been all the excitement," Rachel whispered, leaning away from the wall and heading out of the room. Quinn watched her leave, unsure of whether or not to take the leap.
"Hey, Rach," she called out quietly so as not to wake the little monster. "Did you wanna stay for a bit?"
Quinn was really pretty. No, she was beautiful, Rachel decided. If she had a halo, she'd be an angel. "Were you ever a model?" She turned her head to the side a little too much, falling into the back of the couch. It was comfy, leaning back on the armrest, but Rachel found it deceptively destabilizing.
It was worth it, though, because Quinn's lips curled upwards and the smile made her even more perfect. "No," she shook her head. "Why?"
"Because you look like one?" Rachel said-asked. No, she thought. Quinn didn't actually look like a model because models were too thin and always looked in need of a hamburger or something. Oh, god. Rachel couldn't believe her thoughts. She clearly meant to say a veggie burger. With soy cheese or whatever it was called. No meat involved.
She wondered if Quinn ate hamburgers.
"I take it back, you make models look ugly. Like… feet. Do you eat hamburgers?"
Quinn just laughed and Rachel felt her neck getting warm. Well, warmer than it already was.
"I guess somebody is a lightweight," the blonde said, reaching over to push Rachel's glass as far away from the brunette as she could.
"Excuse me," she scoffed, "three glasses of that size does not a lightweight make." Really, it didn't. They were large glasses. Like, really big. Like Beth's head big, Yea, that big.
Wait. Was Beth's head really that small? Rachel bit her lip—she needed a drink to figure this out.
"Don't even think about reaching for that glass, Rachel." Rachel cursed inwardly, curious as to when Quinn had become a psychic. Blushing, she realized that her hand was stuck in the air, aimed towards her glass.
"Why are you so mean?" All this did was bring out another laugh and, angelic or not, Rachel was beginning to despise that laugh. Okay, so it was closer to the way Beth pouted than actual loathing…
Unadulterated loathing, for your—
"Um, Rach?"
Rach. That was her name, only shortened. Missing the "el." Her daddy used to call her that. David did so a few times, only it was weird.
"You called me Rach," she mused aloud, stomach fluttering from the memory. Rach. Rach. Quinn's voice had this… tone to it. No, pitch? She took music lessons for years! Why didn't she know this word? It had a quality to it, yea. A really rich, really nice quality.
"You bursted into song."
Rachel nodded, not sure as to what the blonde was talking about. Unless she hadn't thought the song and had actually sung it. Oh, that was embarrassing.
Knowing what her face should look like, Rachel intended to give Quinn an accusatory glare. Really, she just looked like a child trying to come off as scary. "You're a cheater, with your wine and the not drinking of it."
"Oh, I'm drinking Rachel, I'm just not downing glass after glass."
Scoffing again, Rachel leaned forward until she fell over. Thank god she was on Quinn's couch. It was a really warm couch, weirdly enough. Her head felt as if it had fallen onto a heated blanket and not just a couch cushion. She looked up to tell Quinn that her couch was abnormally warm only to realize that the blonde was the cushion. Well, at least she was comfy.
She'd merely started on her second glass when Rachel's head fell into her lap. About thirty seconds later, Quinn was filling up her third. She wasn't even sure she had tasted it, she drank it so fast. It was sour, either way.
There was no reason to feel the way she did. Rachel was a new friend who was a bit of a lightweight. She was being silly. What with the hamburger talk and all. What had that been about anyway? Quinn didn't even bother to try and figure it out, too caught up in Rachel's antics. The singer reminded her of a child, and she was definitely adorable. She hadn't known what possessed her to ask the other woman to stay, but she was grateful that she had.
She knew she needed to keep her distance, but the thought did nothing to comfort the blonde when she felt fingers on her thighs. Rachel had taken to drawing random patterns over her exposed skin, sending goose bumps all the way to her arms.
"Are you cold?" Rachel asked, bottom lip between her teeth. She looked so… goofy. Like Beth when she mixed two different types of cereal together.
"What are you drawing?"
Rachel whipped her head back down, as if the pattern had imprinted into Quinn's skin. "A squid, I think. Or, maybe an octopus." Unable to fathom why Rachel would possibly have sea monsters on her mind, Quinn shook her head. And squids were sea monsters, what with their gross tentacles and beaks and all.
Maybe she shouldn't have drank that third glass as fast as she had.
"You can't be cold because you're too warm." The brunette nodded against her thigh as if it had been up for debate. In her mind, maybe it had been. For all Quinn knew.
"Hey, Rach?" She found herself using the nickname again in hopes the brunette would have the same reaction as last time.
"Yea?" Rachel turned around fully, her back now against the couch cushions.
Now that she was looking right up at Quinn, the blonde couldn't help but run her fingers through Rachel's long hair.
"Remember when you thought I was some creepy stalker?" Rachel merely nodded, eyes closing at the sensation of Quinn's fingers. Quinn imagined how she felt and hoped the brunette wouldn't fall asleep. "Well, I'm not. But Santana kind of is. Now, anyway."
Deciding Rachel's hum was a sign to continue, Quinn did so. "Can you tell me about David? Santana googled you and said he came up, but you've never mentioned him."
"I don't wanna," Rachel grumbled, turning into Quinn's stomach. "He's a stupid boy."
Rachel didn't want to talk about David and his status as her boyfriend. She didn't want to talk about how she had ignored two of his calls during the week. She definitely didn't want to talk about his career, either.
Quinn's hum of laughter flooded her senses again and she smiled into the fabric that was apparently smothering her. She didn't want to move, though, because, while a small part of her understood that she was encroaching on Quinn's personal space, a greater part of her didn't care. "Why?"
Rachel was silent as she thought of the best way to answer that. She also didn't really know the answer to begin with.
Stupid, she thought as she slowly replayed the last few years of her life. It was great, being drunk. It allowed this movie to spin in her head, a film disk. Or whatever it's called. That thing that spun with pictures and made a movie. Yea. Her dad used to have a camera like that. The name was on the tip of her tongue…
David, though. He was her friend, in a way. He had been at one point, at least. Hadn't he?
Rachel saw it happening; she saw the musical she'd been cast in, saw her lead take his stand. She watched as day after day they danced and sang and she found a slight comfort in his actions. And then the show was over and they woke up next to each other after the party.
There had been dates, cute gestures, etc. But there hadn't really ever been more to it, not really. At least, not in retrospect. She hoped he didn't have this secret love for her, somewhere deep down. She certainly didn't have it for him.
How did she feel about that? Well, Quinn sure was warm. And her shirt smelled good. God, why on Earth was she not drunk more often? She'd forgotten what it felt like to just relax for a bit.
"He's nice." There, that was a start. David was nice. He was caring, too. Reliable in many ways. "Dependable." Because whenever Rachel needed something, he had an answer for her whether she liked what it was or not.
There was a quiet 'hmm,' so Rachel continued.
She saw him smile at her, but the smile didn't really do much. His eyes didn't twinkle, there was no encompassing feeling of warmth that surrounded her at the sight. She didn't feel the passion she was always forced to act out on stage.
"He's kind of boring. Not his personality, just the way he lives." And he did live a boring life. It was almost odd, Rachel thought, how he had most of what he'd ever wanted, and he wasn't really enjoying it. He loved his job, yes, but that was really it. Then again, she seemed to be in the same boat. Rock the boat…
Rachel huffed.
"He's Italian." They'd have beautiful babies. They'd be tan, gorgeous, and they'd dance and sing all day long. But David didn't want kids. Ugh. Rachel had to wonder if she really wanted David.
"And he doesn't want kids." Did David even want Rachel? She pondered for a moment before concluding that maybe neither of them wanted the other. They weren't… well, she wasn't happy. She wanted to feel how she felt right now, just all the time. And she didn't, not with David.
"Quinn," she said, sitting up. She didn't even know if Quinn had spoken in the past few minutes. Hell, how long had she been lying down?
"Yes?" The blonde looked amused as she leaned back against the armrest opposite Rachel.
"Is it weird? Me being here?"
Quinn tilted her head sideways as she bit her lip, contemplating. "No. I don't believe so."
Rachel wondered why Quinn seemed so composed. Maybe it was one of those things where she was drunk enough to think that Quinn was composed, but, really, she wasn't. She'd be left to ponder for years.
"Good." She nodded. "Because I like it. Being here."
It had been a few days since Quinn had spoken to Rachel. The blonde wasn't really sure what to say to the other woman, as she barely knew what she was supposed to be thinking at this point. As if there was some idea she was supposed to have by now.
She was at a loss.
Beth was basically back to normal, though she had asked about Rachel the night before. However, it was a simple question and not a pre-panic exultation, so that was good.
Her job was the usual, her day was typical, and her life was uneventful. She hated it. Not her life, her day, or her job—no, she hated that nothing seemed to be enough anymore.
The world was messing with her: First, she had a child so early in life, then she found out she was gay. Afterwards, she met Emily only for the other woman to die. Lastly, she met Rachel, some Broadway singer, and she was feeling things she'd never thought she'd feel again.
She loved Beth, had loved Emily, and feared that heading further into friendship with Rachel would add the brunette to her list.
It sucked.
Rachel had left the other night, driven home by her assistant, and Quinn had slept on the couch. She couldn't say why, but some part of her knew that Rachel's warmth had lingered there.
She was hopeless.
The movie was going great. There had been a mishap with a light but, otherwise, everything seemed to be working out.
She hadn't talked to David in over a week. He'd stopped calling two days ago and she wasn't up to calling him just yet. She'd have to do so sometime soon, though, she knew. She just didn't feel the need to talk to anyone lately. Well, that wasn't right. She hadn't really had the time to do so, nor the concentration. She hadn't even spoken to Quinn.
Quinn. She's pretty sure she remembers asking the blonde if she ate burgers, which, while slightly embarrassing, isn't too bad. Quinn hadn't said anything about it, at least. Well, she hadn't really had the chance to say anything.
Rachel sighed. What was she supposed to do?
She liked acting because acting came with lines, with set actions. She liked knowing how things were supposed to pan out. With no plan, she felt disoriented. She'd never planned for anything like this to happen, whatever 'this' was.
Ugh.
At least the movie was going great.
Rachel felt chilled, as if her apartment had suddenly lowered in temperature by seven degrees. She held her phone in her hand and dialed numbers that seemed so foreign when put together. The line rang once, twice, before a low voice answered.
"Hello?"
The familiar timbre sent her heart into a frenzy. She couldn't even speak; she was choking on her emotions.
"Hello? Is anybody there?" the voice asked, clearly confused.
"Daddy?" She finally managed, terrified that he'd hang up and she wouldn't have the courage to call him again.
She'd done it on a whim. She meant to show up at her fathers' house unannounced but realized that maybe that wasn't the wisest of ways. She hadn't spoken to David nor Quinn in almost a week and her assistant…well, she could only handle him in small amounts. She needed something and she felt that maybe this conversation was it.
The line was silent for a moment before her father replied, a mix of emotions in his voice.
"Rachel?"
Beth had absolutely messed up Rachel's heart, had opened it up to finally see things again. Quinn had, too, though less obviously. But right now, she felt her father was about to break down that last piece of ice, melt that last bit of candle. She was looking forward to it.
"Yea, it's me."
Quinn watched as Beth laid on the couch, back to the cushions and legs in the air, falling over the back of the furniture. Her blonde curls reached for the ground, swinging with each giggle the girl released. The TV was set on some cartoon that Quinn couldn't name at the moment, but she knew it was one of Beth's favorites.
Her throat felt tight and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, swallowing. It was just…it had been so long since this was a completely normal sight. She hadn't given it a second look at first. Now, however, she was just awestruck. She was content, and warm.
She wasn't worried.
The ringing of her phone tore her away from her view.
"Quinn Fabray," she answered, disoriented that there was a reality beyond her thoughts.
"Hey, it's me," came Rachel's voice. "So, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow afternoon?"
Rachel made sure to keep her back straight as she plugged her key into David's apartment. He'd likely be making breakfast about now, seeing as he knew she was headed over to talk. More likely, he'd have at least prepared coffee.
She found it funny that she didn't feel any dread for the conversation to come. It was weird, how fast things had changed for her in the grand spectrum of things. It'd been a little over two weeks, but it had been a very enlightening time for her.
Turning the key, she opened the door and stepped into the apartment for what she knew would be the last time. She suddenly hoped he hadn't prepared breakfast because her stomach sprang into a knot. She'd accepted a long time ago that their relationship was no love for the ages, but they were still close, if not in the traditional sense.
There would still be change, and change was always disconcerting at first.
When she stepped into the kitchen area, she found him reaching into a cabinet. He wore a t-shirt and sleeping pants and she wished it could be enough. She wished that seeing that sight every morning would be enough—that seeing him would make her feel the way it was supposed to.
She sighed and cleared her throat.
He turned to her and closed the cabinet.
"I suppose you're here to officially call it quits?" He waved his hand over to the table where two mugs sat, likely filled with coffee. The casual way he ran his hand through his hair comforted Rachel. This hadn't started as she'd expected. She hadn't expected a blow up, certainly, but she hadn't known that he'd…know.
"Should I trust that you haven't poisoned my drink?" She'd ask about his apparent foresight, but she figured that it was likely from the whole ignore-you-for-two-weeks-and-then-say-we-need-to-t alk aspect.
"I'd be more likely to put dairy in it than poison you," he smiled crookedly. And there it was, their friendship. The one that she figured probably shouldn't have become a relationship.
After sitting down, she found she couldn't not ask, "How'd you know?"
He chuckled. "I didn't know, but I'd guessed. And this—" he pulled his laptop over and showed her the screen, "gave me an idea."
Rachel blinked at the picture.
"Sometimes, I think you forget that you're famous."
It was of the picnic Rachel had gone on with Quinn and Beth the other day. Beth was crouched down, a crown of dandelions adorning her head, picking the grass for something that Rachel couldn't remember. Rachel was watching Beth, a smile on her face, and Quinn… Quinn was watching Rachel.
Oh.
"Oh."
There was no way that one picture changed anything. The eight pictures after it, on the other hand, told Rachel a whole lot more than what she'd picked up on. Somehow, she managed to be looking at Beth or Quinn in every. single. one.
Quinn had done the same, either looking at Rachel, or Beth, or both. Her face in each one was stupidly angelic. Literally, she looked absolutely stunning in every photo. It was unfair, and it made Rachel's stomach flutter with what she told herself was nerves. She was nervous because she wasn't sure how Quinn would react to the photos, and that was it. Because it couldn't be what she feared it was, because that would be silly.
Because it wasn't…that. It couldn't be.
She had left David's apartment with a final goodbye and a reassurance that he wasn't mad, or upset, or hurt in the slightest. He was even willing to keep up the friendship, but they both knew it probably wouldn't happen, what with busy schedules. They figured maybe they'd see each other at some big parties for something. Who knew?
But now she had to call Quinn, because of the photos. On the plus side, at least the written portion of the article (Previous Fiend on Friendly Picnic?) didn't say she was a demon baby-eater that was simply setting a trap. Noooo, the author was far more elegant than that. She simply had stated that maybe Rachel's demon horns were beginning to melt, and that maybe she wasn't the raving bitch she had been for years.
She sighed because, really, had she actually expected any better?
At least Beth had looked adorable. There was always that.
Quinn wasn't sure how her daughter had convinced her to sit down and let her style her hair, but she figured the laughter was worth it. Or, she did until there was a knock at the door. Then she realized that her hair was a disaster and she forced herself to suck it up. Grabbing a giggling Beth and holding her sideways, Quinn hefted the girl over to the door. Each step was accompanied with an "euh" sound from Beth. Even though it gave her the creeps—so many horror movies gone wrong—Quinn peeked through the peephole to see who was dropping by.
"Shit," she mumbled, seeing it was Rachel. Well. If ever a time there was to humiliate herself, now would be it.
As she opened the door, Rachel's eyebrow raised and Quinn could tell that she was biting on the beginning of a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, haha. Get your laughs, Rach." Quinn shifted her daughter in her arms and raised her up, "Because you're next."
The brunette's eyes widened as she looked first at Quinn and then at Beth, who just smiled happily.
"I make you look weally pwetty, Wachel. Just like momma!"
"Babe, Rachel's hair is so long. You're probably going to need more hair ties." Quinn turned and started walking towards Beth's room to do just that. Looking back real quick, she smirked at her friend who looked like she suddenly regretted showing up unannounced.
"Wachel, stop movin'!" Beth squealed when Rachel snapped her gaze over to Quinn and glared. She mouthed 'I hate you,' but it had no bite. Mostly she was just glad she'd double-conditioned this morning.
She hadn't known what to expect, showing up randomly. Calling ahead would have secured her plan, but part of her wanted to see what would happen if she just…appeared. There was always the chance that Quinn wouldn't be home, and so she'd have to postpone telling the blonde about the photos.
Yet, the sight she was greeted with was worth the possible upset over the photos. Quinn's hair was tied in loops, a few braids, and—she was pretty sure—a few knots. Of course, it was less funny now that her own hair was at risk.
"So, besides Beth's newfound career as a hairstylist, any particular reason for stopping by?" Quinn asked, setting a glass of water down that she hadn't seen the blonde get up for to get.
"Well, yes, actually." She looked down at her hands only to receive a tug from Beth and another warning to stop moving. "I was at David's earlier—" she thought she noticed Quinn sit up straighter, "and he pulled up a page online. Turns out someone took pictures of our picnic."
When Quinn remained silent, Rachel continued. "I'm sorry, Quinn. Sometimes when I'm with you two I forget that I'm Rachel Berry, and not just Rachel."
At this, Quinn shook her head and gave Rachel a look the brunette couldn't decipher. "Can I see the pictures?"
Rachel ran her tongue over her teeth and asked to see Quinn's laptop. Once she opened the internet, she quickly typed in the page address and the picture popped up, along with the article. Passing the laptop back over, Rachel tried to ignore the fact that Quinn's knee was touching hers. It wasn't anything to give a second thought to, yet she found herself focusing on that one point of contact. She inwardly cursed David.
Quinn "hmm'd" as she went through each picture, and Rachel watched as her eyebrow rose. "Are you reading the article now?" she guessed.
Quinn looked up and made eye contact, scorching Rachel with pure hazel. "I am, indeed." She smiled with the corner of her mouth. "And this author seems rather intelligent."
Rachel gasped. "She said I've given up my child-eating ways! She's an idiot."
"Ah, but she also said that you'd chosen beautiful company. Are you saying she's wrong?"
Rachel opened her mouth to retaliate but froze. Even Beth stopped her ministrations, choosing to rest her hands on Rachel's scalp.
Rachel gave up, crossing her arms under her chest and pouting. "Whatever."
Quinn just smiled in victory while Beth giggled.
Her pride wounded, Rachel perked back up. "You know, she also said that we could be the latest scandal and that I'm cheating on David with you. Still a fan?"
The moment she said it, she wanted to take it back. Quinn's smile dropped and they looked at each other for a quiet moment. This guarded expression came over Quinn's face as she asked, "What did David say about it?"
Surprised by the question, Rachel wanted to look away and shrug, but she found she couldn't break her gaze from Quinn. Something was happening in this moment, and she didn't know what it was. She completely forgot about Beth sitting behind her, messing with her hair. She forgot about being famous, and about her dads. She probably would've forgotten about David if Quinn hadn't just asked after him, too.
"He said you were beautiful, and that…" Rachel's voice got low and she wasn't sure what was about to pop out of her mouth. She hadn't ever felt what she was currently feeling, but Quinn was looking right back at her and there were so many thoughts swirling in her eyes. So many emotions that Rachel didn't understand.
"And that…?" Quinn pushed.
"And that I should—" Rachel was cut off by the sound of Quinn's phone ringing. The blonde closed her eyes and took a deep breath before getting up to answer. Rachel felt like she had just woken up from something—the feeling of hands in her hair spooked her. Her heart was beating erratically and, somehow, Quinn had disappeared. She vaguely understood that Quinn was in the kitchen with her phone, answering the damned device that ripped them from their own private world.
"Mr. Shuester?"
Rachel decided then and there that this Shoe-rooster guy was out to ruin her life.