Chapter 5 – *Little Talks
A quality she bears ever since being born into the Berry household is that her mind never runs out of thought. Literally. Rachel used to jokingly request her dads to get her checked up just to see if she possesses any type of hyperactivity disorder, since seems that her body is constantly in some form of action. But her fathers took this playful suggestion seriously, reminding Rachel that there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. Though even if she did have an insatiable need to be doing something all the time, they're not going to let anyone coin it wrongly.
But with thoughts— when they rain, they pour. And at night, when the lights are off and nothing but static noise fills the empty air, they swarm Rachel at night like bees for honey. It's the kind of thing that's impossible to turn away from until you get it out of your system.
So thinking of Quinn Fabray is not weird at all, because it's not just Rachel— anyone who gets to meet her will have to think about her at some point. It's like when you look up at the sky and see it for what it is since forever, and then ask yourself why it's blue while watching the television or being in the middle of a riot. It's downright inevitable.
Lying on her bed, Rachel turns on her back and stares up the ceiling. She had given up on sleeping five minutes ago, and allowed her mind to drift to anywhere it pleases. And almost immediately, it landed on the blonde whose last name she learned only the other day. Not to mention, it came from someone else who doesn't even consider their selves friends. Honestly, she had (still has) tons of questions for Santana concerning Quinn Fabray, but it's Santana—
Normally, she wouldn't make assumptions on a person she has only known for less than a month. But it wouldn't hurt to be careful. It's not that she doesn't trust Santana. Well, in truth, she doesn't. Not yet anyway, even if she's seen her softer side proving there's something beyond her bitchy exterior.
And given that, it just makes Rachel ache more for answers. First, what the fuck was Quinn doing at an orientation exclusive for Steindhart students? And anyway, she didn't need it because it turns out that she might even know more than what Katrina Forbes let on. Finally, why didn't she bother to tell her (or anyone for that matter) all those information? They had two days. It's very usual to let something like 'by the way I'm a sophomore who plays soccer for the Violets' over a pizza break. They're not well-kept secrets, are they? Not like she's going to lose an arm if she tells a little about herself.
But that's the thing—Quinn looks like she's going to literally hurt if exposes even just a tiny bit of herself. And this is the point where Rachel gets lost in the maze. Personally it gives Rachel positive feelings when she talks about herself. She's read somewhere that around 78% of the population discloses their own opinions, their personal beliefs, everything they can associate with their self. Now, if there are about 7 billion in the world, that makes around 546 million who feel otherwise, and then, distributing this figure to the appropriate racial ratio, only 4.5% of them are living in the United States of America.
24,570,000 still seems like a sea of people, doesn't it? But considering more factors like age, sex, and geography... Rachel reduces the likelihood of self-indulgent people to less than a thousand. And the fact that New York currently has an estimated population of 8 million, she concludes that the odds of meeting one doesn't climb anywhere near 0.01%.
That's right, she fucking did the math.
Ultimately, this can only mean one thing: that Quinn Fabray is an utterly rare find. Once this thought completely sinks in, Rachel realizes she's in deep trouble. Because she keeps picturing Quinn playing soccer, and keeps thinking what it's like to watch her. She wants to ask Quinn what's so enjoyable about this sport, if it makes her feel half as good as Rachel does when she sings or more.
God, why is it that you're invariably drawn to those who hold themselves back? Maybe she'll just take these questions to school and make her course useful. Because right now, she can't see how it won't serve a purpose like what her friends back at Juilliard said when she disclosed her decision to transfer.
Rachel closes her eyes, feeling exhausted enough to succumb to sleep. For the rest of the time before the first semester officially starts, Rachel forgets about Quinn.
xxxxx
Though a week later, she sits in her first psychology class, "Theories of Personality", with Quinn in mind. She keeps thinking when she will run into the girl again. And she keeps thinking why she wants to, while her brain stubbornly relates the topic to the blonde to see if she can fit together some pieces of the puzzle. Her professor had outlined the course and briefly introduced them to some of the concepts under this subject. Most of them are outrageously mortifying.
For a moment Rachel wonders just how many of her future patient will bear these kinds of mental structure, before she remembers that she won't have any patient at all because this course will serve another purpose.
And this purpose is beginning to feel like nothing related to Broadway, but more like a temporary hide-out from her inner conflicts. Because sitting in this class for a little over an hour has made her realize that there's more to leaving Juilliard as a result of an event that shattered her heart to pieces, but that while she's in love with her dream she's also unhappy.
No, she hasn't been 'Rachel Berry happy' in a long time.
She checks her phone when her professor starts dropping anecdotes on her Siamese cat, and goes over her motivational quote of the day for the umpteenth time:
"To be nobody but yourself in a world that's doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting. — E.E Cummings"
Indeed, the hardest battle is with oneself.
xxxxx
They are dismissed with an assignment for next week: find three people who you think have significant differences with each other personality-wise. Their task is to describe these people individually, and point out their strengths and weaknesses. Rachel knows a handful of interesting people. But the thing is she hasn't met more than half of them.
"Hi, my name is Rachel Berry. I just want to discuss the assignment. Do they have to be real people?" She asks after the bell rang ages ago.
"And what is your concept of 'real', Ms. Berry?"
"Real as in… tangible?" Rachel answers slowly.
"I guess what you're clarifying here is if you can look into fictional characters instead of someone you personally know. It's up to you, Ms. Berry. You have to decide whether characters from movies and literature are real or as you put it 'tangible', or not."
Rachel nods. "Thank you."
She barely makes it outside when someone suddenly calls to her.
"Rachel?"
She hesitantly looks over her shoulder, unsure if she heard right. Steindhart College is the last place on Earth she counts on to be recognized.
"Me?" Rachel asks, pointing to herself.
The girl nods. "You're Rachel Berry?"
Rachel blinks at the blue-eyed blonde towering over her.
"Hi, I'm Brittany, Quinn's friend?"
Rachel looks at her with more purpose and blurts out, "You're Santana's Brittany" without thinking.
"I'm not Santana's anymore." Brittany answers nonchalantly with a smile.
"Oh, sorry." Rachel utters quickly, cheeks flushing. She wasn't thinking when she dropped Santana's name like that. Given their history and their obviously complicated status, she'd know it's not the most appropriate topic to start with. But Rachel can't help but confirm that this is girl who makes Santana not Santana by just mentioning her name. She had imagined this Brittany to be feisty or even a few times more intimidating than Santana.
And she is once again mistaken (in the back of her mind she re-thinks her course altogether, after being wrong about people so many times recently). Brittany is...
"It's so very nice to meet you, Rachel!"
Rachel gazes up at her dumbly, caught off guard by Brittany's exuberant attitude. A while ago she's mulling over her unhappiness but being in this girl's presence makes it hard for Rachel to remember that she's ever sad to begin with.
It's odd, but she eventually catches up with Brittany's bubbliness and forces a smile of her own.
"Same here!" She says, and recalls a name Brittany dropped earlier in their meeting. "So, uh, you're a friend of Quinn?"
"I do. That's why I'm here, actually. Quinn informed me about you."
Informed? Rachel swallows hard.
"She did." Rachel whispers to herself in unbelief.
"She did?" the brunette repeats, louder for Brittany to hear. Yet what Rachel really wants to ask is: What else did she say about me?
Brittany nods very eagerly. "I stalked you online, and that's why I recognized you. When Quinn told me that you have a wonderful voice, so I just had to meet you."
The rest of Brittany's sentence drowns in the background because all Rachel can think of is that tiny bit of fact that Quinn mentioned her to one of her friends. Moreover, Quinn thinks she has a "wonderful voice". It makes Rachel inwardly smile because apparently, Quinn had been listening while she hummed one of her favorite songs that night. But above all, it's a good sign that Quinn might be interested in becoming her friend just as Rachel is.
"— will you consider it?"
"Sorry? Could you repeat that please?"
Brittany rolls her eyes in a polite way and says, "I said, will you consider joining an all-square club?"
"Which is...?"
"Middle C: a music performance community service club. We'd like you to join us."
"And if I may, what does Middle C do exactly?"
Brittany lifts her chin proudly, and for a second, Rachel thinks she's about to embark on a long salesman speech and give her a well-structured mission-vision statement, but the blonde's answer comes frank and solid.
"We organize mini performances in areas such as hospitals, charity events, nursing homes and the like." And Rachel has to admire the recognizable flicker in Brittany's eyes as it burns with selfless devotion and pride—like they're telling Rachel, "this is what we do, and you wouldn't trade this for the world".
Looking at this hopeful, charitable girl makes it harder to believe that she had once been involved with Santana Lopez.
"Brittany, I'm really honored to be invited," Rachel says, adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag. "And being part of something crossed my mind even before I made a final decision to transfer here. As a matter of fact, I've looked into the university's organizations directory beforehand and I must say— having over 300 clubs is impressive. But seeing that I'm still acclimating to life here at NYU and evaluating the intricacy of my subjects, I have to consider this carefully before I make another rash decision."
Brittany gapes at her in wonder. "Wow, Quinn totally wasn't kidding..."
Rachel's brows furrow. "Pardon?"
Brittany's smile just brightens, before she moves in to hug Rachel. "At Middle C, we make it possible for music to reach anyone, not just those who can afford to."
Rachel beams at that. Her arms—which were awkwardly hanging to her sides—finally loops around the blonde. "It's a commendable endeavor."
"Promise to think about it?" Brittany mumbles when they pull away. "Please?"
The look on the blonde's face reminds Rachel of a little girl craving for comfort after waking up from a nightmare. It's impossible to turn away from this small request regardless if she wants to.
"I promise." Rachel says with an assuring smile. She gives Rachel her number with a last, "Please, call me, even if you'll say no."
Rachel just nods and gives Brittany hers out of courtesy. She might get castigated by her roommate for this, but she doesn't see any immediate harm in this acquaintanceship. But she's also not thrilled to let Santana know she has plans to hang-out sometime with her ex-girlfriend.
xxxxx
Fucking rain. Of all the days in this week—
Rachel kicks a tiny pebble off the track field, but the minimal action's not enough to satisfy the strain she's feeling out of having to cancel her plans to go for a run this afternoon. Now she's left with a huge, unattractive duffel bag behind her, and there's no way she can burn that 500-something calories she had for lunch. Just fucking great.
She heads towards the bleachers and sits under one of the few tarps for cover. Judging by the dimness of the sky, the rain's going to get worse, and it doesn't look like it's going to let up anytime soon. So while she's at it, Rachel takes the time to review Brittany's invitation to join Middle C.
She sees it as charity work. Rachel's ashamed to admit that she hasn't really been involved in this sort of activities before, being concentrated in beating everyone to the top and chasing her dreams. If ever, this is going to be the first time she performs not for her glory or to win a show choir competition, but to simply introduce music and hand them as a gift to those who need it. It's a noble idea—it's just that, she doesn't know how invested she is, and she doesn't want to commit to something and abandon it when she runs out of zeal.
Rachel sighs and shakes off the thought. Maybe she'll deal with this later. Having a rainy moment like this makes her sentimental, and she just wants to revel in the sound of the heavy droplets of water hitting the ground. This experience would be so much better with Clair de Lune playing in the background, Rachel thinks as she observes the empty stadium.
Time moves slowly and Rachel realizes she's not used to living like a hermit inside this huge bubble of diverse individuals called a "university". She wants to call up her old friends, but she knows at some point, she has to move on.
"Hello,"
Her entire form goes rigid for a second. That voice. Rachel has to blink several times to make sure she isn't hallucinating. That in fact, the inexpressive blonde is an arm's length away from her.
She takes in Quinn—in mid-thigh shorts and a plain grey shirt, stooped slightly like she's been here for some time now and just watching Rachel float away from reality (probably not, because just how creepy is that?).
Rachel briefly wonders if it's Quinn's favorite color or she just happens to wear them every time they meet on yet another pleasant circumstance.
And Rachel thought they'd never see each other again after that awkward beginning.
Quinn smiles and it reaches her eyes. She still looks at Rachel the way a child looks at the world.
"Quinn," Rachel's voice hitches, still unable to wrap her mind around the fact that Quinn just ran into her. A small part of her wants to appeal that perhaps, Quinn had also wished for them to meet again.
"Rachel."
"This is a… pleasant surprise?" Rachel mutters uncertainly.
"It… is," Quinn responds in the same degree of reluctance. "Where are you off to?"
"I planned to go for a run, but…" Rachel says, gesturing towards the weeping clouds. "Obviously, nature decided to go against me."
Quinn merely stands there, motionless and unresponsive like she's waiting for Rachel to say more. And so Rachel continues babbling about her regret of not checking the weather today and bringing a raincoat.
When she runs out of things to say, Quinn merely eyes her with pure amusement and says, "Yeah… But where are you headed now?"
That's when she realizes that technically she didn't answer Quinn's question.
"Just here." Rachel answers softly, blushing in embarrassment. "Hey, uhm, I wanted to thank you for—for bringing me to the Residence Hall after I fell asleep on you. I can't imagine what could've happened to me if you just left me there."
"Welcome." Quinn replies like it's no big deal, twisting her waist from side to side before moving to sit beside the brunette. "So, how do you do it?"
"Do what?" Rachel looks up at her in confusion.
Quinn's gaze starts scattering everywhere as she mutters, "Run? I mean, uh, do you put on earphones while you go? Or do you—" Quinn pauses, shaking her head. "Uh, whatever."
Rachel giggles besides her because there's something different—or progressive—on how Quinn communicates with her now.
Quinn sheepishly glances at her sideways.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. There isn't anything funny about what you said. But did you know that's the lengthiest thing you've ever said to me?"
Quinn levels her with a look, eyes narrowing before she runs a hand through her hair and says nothing.
Rachel ducks her head, fiddling with the zipper of her hoodie. "And then you're back to being muted. I'm sorry. Does that sort of thing turn you off?"
Quinn shakes her head, keeping her eyes on Rachel. "I just didn't have anything to say to that."
"Oh."
"…"
"How about you, Quinn? Were you headed somewhere?" Rachel asks, cursing the little crack in her voice. Talking to Quinn is like skirting around a lion. She can't grasp why she's being so tactful when it comes to the blonde.
Quinn shakes her head. "Soccer practice got cancelled."
"Sorry to hear. How often do you practice?"
"Everyday. Weekends included."
Rachel smirks. She imagines Quinn to be kind of ambitious when it comes to sport. "That takes a lot of discipline. Are you any good?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, I haven't seen you play."
Quinn studies her for a moment. And this thing that she does, where she gazes at Rachel far more than the norm, causes the brunette to gulp nervously. And then her voice drops to a whisper. "I think you should… see me play."
Brown eyes flutter away from the blonde. Later when she gets home, she'll have to look up on Google 'how to know if someone's flirting with you'. Because she's not sure how she should interpret the lowness of Quinn's voice.
"Are you hungry?" Rachel anxiously chews at her lower lip, not quite believing she just put that question out there intending for Quinn to take the hint. With nowhere else to go to, no plans for the rest of the day, maybe they could hang-out for a while. That wouldn't be weird, would it?
"I could eat." Quinn answers and thank god, her eyes are no longer piercing her from head to toe.
"You want to have dinner then?" Rachel blinks in surprise, expecting Quinn to decline because—
Because in the most basic sense, she's unlike Brittany or anyone Rachel's ever met. She doesn't give first-timer hugs and an engaging aura. She gives off a distant vibe that makes Rachel hesitant to do anything that might scare her off.
Quinn's gaze drops to her lap in thought. "It depends on what you have in mind."
"I know a place from my neighborhood where they offer both vegan and non-vegan choices."
"Are you asking me to drop you off in front of your apartment?" Quinn interrupts softly, but the way she says it is like she's accusing Rachel of taking advantage of the opportunity.
Rachel shakes her head harshly. "God, no! It's not like that, I—"
"Sorry. That came out wrong, did it?" Quinn says, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.
"I was just thinking that maybe you'd like to try out this restaurant near my place. I read really good reviews about it. I wasn't even aware that you have a car…"
Quinn flashes Rachel a lopsided smile and says, "I'm just messing with you. You take me too seriously, Ms. Rachel."
Quinn stands up and gathers her things. "Are you ready?"
Rachel hurriedly gets on her feet and notices just how wobbly her legs are. "So that restaurant?"
xxxxx
"I met your friend Brittany earlier today." Rachel says, forking her vegan stew. Quinn drove them to the place Rachel suggested and after a few minutes of stalling around inside the restaurant, Quinn had asked if they could just order take-out and bring it back to her car.
"Really," Quinn peeks at her solemnly from where half of her face is obscured in her own arm. She's been bent forwards on the steering wheel ever since they got back in. The doubly tint in the blonde's car windows makes it difficult for light to pass through, and as a result, Rachel can only make out a pair of hazel eyes in the dark. She can't help but notice that Quinn's eyes looks a little more green than the last time she's seen them.
"Yeah, she said you had a few things to say about me."
Quinn stiffens. Rachel takes note of this reaction, so maybe in the future when she learns enough of Quinn Fabray she'll be able to put together a manual and it would help mankind a great deal.
"What did she tell you?"
"Small stuff… She said you think I'm a wonderful singer."
"Is that right?"
"What? Are you denying it now?"
Quinn smiles at that, and buries her face further into the hand wheel. "You like Brittany then?"
"Very much, I think we'll be good friends in the future. She reminds me of a friend of mine back at Juilliard."
"I like her too."
A distinct thought crosses Rachel's mind at hearing the blonde's response and she's suddenly overcome with the need to know if she has it all figured out.
"You mean you like her, like…" Rachel trails off, hoping to get her message across the blonde without the need to be blunt about it.
"…like?"
"You know."
Quinn keeps on with a questioning look and Rachel can't tell if Quinn's entirely clueless of what she's going on about, or she merely likes to pretend and squeeze them out in the open. Jesus, it's hard to force the words through tongue. Is it conventional to ask someone you've only met twice if they're gay?
But Quinn has already trapped her inside a Lexus car and a presence that keeps drawing the brunette in.
"Y-You like her like… you're supposed to like a guy, I guess."
"Pardon?"
Rachel finds a second to phrase her sentence better. "You like her in a non-platonic way?"
"Ah." Quinn muses. And then her face stretches into a mischievous grin. "Define 'non-platonic'?"
God, she's not going to get out of this alive. Quinn's going to dance around the thought, bombard her with questions and kill her nervous system. And all the while, she'll wear that enigmatic smile.
Rachel sighs, and stares out the windshield. "I didn't mean to pry. I was just wondering if you're—" She lets out a nervous laugh and her hands find purchase in the plush cushion of the car seat. "If you're—"
Jesus, breathe.
"I'm not… anything, if that's what you're asking. I don't want anything or anyone right now." Quinn says after a beat.
Okay. It still sounds vague but Rachel will take it for what it is. But—
"Why?"
Quinn leans back from the driving steering wheel and squares her shoulders.
"I should get you home."
xxxxx
Quinn drops her off a block away from the Greenwich Hotel. She waves at Quinn and sustains a grateful smile until the blonde's car disappears around the curb. As soon as she's gone, Rachel's face falls. Things clearly had gone wrong when she mouthed that one-word question.
"Why"—it's perplexing how it can dismantle an engaging discussion. For a long time, Rachel stays frozen in her spot. She thinks of all the ways she could've stirred the conversation in a direction that wouldn't end with Quinn saying she should already drive Rachel home.
Then something inside her bag beeps like a wake-up call. It reaches her ears not as a sound to indicate that someone just texted her, but as something to remind her that it's useless to dwell in might-have-beens.
Rachel pinches the bridge of her nose hard. She forgot to ask Quinn for her number. But anyway it doesn't matter now that she's set the blonde off with her nosiness.
She retrieves her phone and checks the text that has just arrived.
Brittany: Rachel! Quinn totally thinks you should join our organization!
Rachel bites the inside of her cheek. Brittany doesn't need to coax her anymore on this. She already made her decision two hours ago.
*Chapter title "Little Talks" is from a song by Of Monsters and Men
AN: You guys are amazing! Thank you for all the reviews, alerts and corrections. Sorry it took me long to update. I've been busy with work, concerts, sports and other stuff. I'm really hyperactive, and I like doing a variety of things which makes me postpone writing. I'm very invested in this story, so just expect that I'll update at least once a week.
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