AN: Rachel learns more about Quinn and Brittany. I apologize for the longest time I didn't post a new chapter. Work's been crazy since my last update. Hope you understand. My source of bread and butter comes first.
"The Curious Case of Quinn Fabray"
Rachel leans back on the chair, fist clenching and unclenching around a pen covered with juvenile pictures of cats as she stares blankly at her elegant writing.
Very original, Rae, she murmurs to herself and after some thought, crosses out the words with a heavy hand. As far as she knows, she might be the only one who thinks Quinn is extravagantly different. She dulls a drawl breath and settles back on her seat. Being stuck in a paper due in a few hours isn't exactly her. She finishes tasks before most people could even think of starting them and never dealt with late submissions and the straining weight of being under pressure. She's that Rachel Berry: always focused, always a star, on top of the world...
Yet as she stares at the pen in her hand, she feels derailed but most of all pathetic for thinking about how a tiny drawing of cats easily reminds her of Quinn Fabray. She never thought she'd be jealous of a cat, or anything that couldn't sing for that matter. But right in the second, she kind of wants to be a cat and lurk somewhere in Quinn's apartment and just observe the girl.
As soon as she realizes just how creepy that is, Rachel pushes the idea aside. Damn it, focus on the paper.
Rachel straightens up and dives right back in. Dancing around the title won't get her anywhere, however, writing the first sentence might jump-start her brain into something she can work with.
Quinn Fabray: even her name has a certain unique ring to it, wouldn't you agree?
Rachel lifts her pen, hesitant. She wonders just how many Quinns are probably walking around New York at this very moment, eating their breakfast or watching someone eat their breakfast. She allows herself to believe the possibility of one mulling over the same thing. That there's a Quinn wondering how many Rachels are out there and how not one of them is exactly the same as Rachel Berry.
Rachel scrutinizes her intro, brows furrowed in deep concentration. It's probably not the best choice to start her article with a question, but she decides to leave it there.
There are numerous ways in which Quinn differs from the common person. This is, of course, taking into consideration the place she lives in (New York City), and the kind of people she associates with every day (College of Arts and Sciences Students from New York University).
But who are they, really? It's hard not to borrow stereotypical ideas when the only friend of Quinn she knows is Brittany.
And— if it counts— herself.
Rachel sighs. She doesn't even know if she knows anything to begin with. There's soccer, and a cat, and her occasional love for pomegranate-flavored Snapple.
And of course, her feelings for said girl that should complicate her reception of Quinn's words and actions.
"Rachel!"
Almost immediately, they hear a sharp, hushing sound behind them. Brittany blatantly ignores him with cheeky smile.
"Brittany," Rachel blinks at her in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Duh," Brittany answers, holding up one of the books in her arms. "Studying."
"You have an exam coming up?"
Brittany shakes her head. "I'm just one of those people who need to make an extra effort or else, I'll fail everything…"
"You can't be serious."
"I'm good at one thing, Rachel: Cheerleading."
Rachel turns back to her paper, feeling slightly guilty and hesitant to accept Brittany's claim about her own abilities. She sets her pen down.
"I think you're wrong. You can be good at anything if you want to. It's a matter of perspective and determination, and not giving up just because you've been told once that you can't do it."
Brittany stares at her with wide blue eyes, the corner of her lips curving upwards ever so slightly. "I really like you."
Rachel reflects back a smile and ducks her head shyly. "It's mutual. I only have a few friends here, and it's really nice that you're one of them."
"Quinn's your friend too, right?"
Rachel hesitates for a moment. She enjoys the soccer player's company more than anyone, but she's not really sure. Did Quinn tell Brittany they were friends?
"I guess."
"Quinn's not very fond of people… I think she prefers cats over human beings most of the time."
Rachel chuckles a little. Of course she does.
Brittany continues, "But I love that she loves cats. It's like—the most important aspect of our friendship since I have Lord Tubbington back at home."
"You've known Quinn for how long?" Rachel asks all of a sudden.
"Since forever."
Well, in that case… "Can you—can you tell me more about her?"
"I get that a lot from Quinn's friends." Brittany says with a knowing grin.
"Does she always do that? Stare at someone for a long time like it's a normal behaviour that surely won't make people feel trapped?"
Brittany cocks her head to one side. "Quinn makes you feel trapped?"
Rachel smirks, thinking how funny that Brittany—who isn't at all, confident with her academics— is easily picking up the clues like a professional therapist.
Rachel breathes deeply through her mouth, figuring it's best to be honest. "Sometimes she does…"
"That's probably a side effect of Joe."
Rachel perks up in her seat. Who?
"Joe?"
"Quinn's ex-boyfriend. They went out for five years, before I heard from someone else that they broke up."
Out of nowhere, Rachel hears something crack—probably the hope that somehow, Quinn's into girls and she's not imagining the way Quinn looks at her, like she's trying to get under Rachel's skin.
As if she hasn't already.
"Quinn didn't tell you?" Rachel says, although she isn't at all surprised that Quinn had kept the information to herself. It's just confusing her that even Brittany didn't find out first hand.
"No. But I never asked her about it. I just assumed things were okay. They both look perfect all the time, I thought they're going to outlast my parents."
"What happened?"
The cheerleader scratches the back of her head, before running her long fingers through the length of her blonde hair. When Rachel was younger, she used to envy people who were born with yellow hair, thinking she'd be way up in the social ladder had she been born with blonde hair and an adequately sized nose. That is, of course, until she was introduced to Barbra Streisand.
"Quinn refused to talk about it."
"That's… understandable. But where is he now?" Far, far away, Rachel hopes.
Brittany blows her bangs away from her blue eyes. "Who knows? Maybe he became Jesus or something. Quinn and Joe were in The God Squad back in high school."
"I— What's 'The God Squad'?"
"Don't have any idea, really. But I suppose that's why Quinn meditates, like, a lot."
A thought abruptly clicks into place. "You went to high school together."
"With Santana, too."
And then without warning, Brittany asks in a steady voice, "Are you gay?"
Rachel's entire frame freezes, her tongue feeling like lead in her mouth. "What?"
Brittany stares back at her with childlike uncertainty. "That wasn't a rhetorical question…"
"Yeah, I'm sure, it's just… you really caught me offhanded." Rachel answers. Only when she feels her skin return to its normal temperature that she timidly gaze at the cheerleader sitting across her. Her breathing slows as soon as she finds Brittany inspecting her well-manicured nails with a bored expression.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Brittany says without looking up.
"I've only ever dated guys."
Brittany drops her hand on the table, smiling coyly. "That doesn't answer the question, Rachel. It's like the time I asked Santana if she likes me and told me that sex isn't dating."
Rachel opens her mouth and thinks of a clever retort but to no avail. She looks down, and then back at the cheerleader.
"I'm taking that as a yes."
"How come you can casually throw in Santana's name in a conversation as if you have no ugly history together?"
"We don't."
"Don't what?"
"Have an 'ugly' history," Brittany says. "I'm sure we're both pretty hot."
"That isn't what I meant… Ok, I guess you're right about that part, but doesn't it at least make cringe internally?"
Brittany shakes her head.
"Shouldn't that tell you anything? That maybe you still have feelings for Santana because I know she still—" Rachel bites her upper lip to keep herself from revealing more. Santana didn't have to tell Rachel upfront that she's still cares for Brittany. She never needed to tell Rachel since that time she slipped and cowered like a beaten animal.
"I didn't break up with Santana, Rachel." Brittany says wryly. "She broke up with me."
"Oh."
Brittany smiles widely at her. "I get that reaction a lot."
"What happened? Santana never delved into detail so I just came up with my own conclusions… God, I'm sorry."
"Slow down, okay?"
"You like Quinn." Brittany states with certitude. And there's no denying the sudden blush that taints her cheeks almost instantly.
Brittany thrusts her fist into the air. "I knew it!"
"Please don't tell Quinn!", comes Rachel's quick, breathless reply.
Brittany frowns. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not even sure just how much of it is true." Rachel answers, chewing her nail. "And I don't even know if Quinn likes girls too."
"Hmmm… Quinn never told me anything about the stuff she likes."
"I don't understand, you've been friends for a long time now…"
"Quinn's like a math problem." Brittany shrugs, and reaches for one of the books she borrowed as if remembering why she came here in the first place.
"So, what was she like in—"
"Shhh! I have to study now, Rachel."
Rachel smiles inwardly, knowing that if someone else were to interrupt her like that, she'd probably be offended enough to rant on and on until they beg her to stop.
xxxxx
She misses the deadline.
She's asked to stay after class and tries to avoid steely eyes behind enormous glasses, until her name's called in an unmeasured tone. Never in her life, had she faced the consequences of failure in something as minimal as this. Rachel swallows hard and stands steadily on her feet. She crosses the short distance between her seat and that table of judgment raised proudly on that platform.
For the longest period, she forgot to breathe.
"Let me see your progress… or lack thereof."
Rachel hurriedly reaches inside her bag and retrieves a slightly crumpled piece of paper. A wrinkled hand grabs it from her shaking hand.
"Ms. Corbell, you have to believe that I regret this more than—"
Ms. Corbell holds up a finger, effectively silencing Rachel in a second.
"In thirty years of teaching, I only need one glance to know the fate of my students' submissions. Less than five per year earns an A and about twenty percent gets a passing mark. Unfortunately, the rest gets thrown into a dumpster. And now yours…"
Rachel shuts her eyes, heart pounding like thunder in her chest.
"Yours warrants an extension. It's definitely not a load of bull crap, but I can't grade it properly unless it's complete, can I?"
"No, Ma'm."
"I'm giving you until Wednesday."
xxxxx
The door swings open, and Rachel doesn't bother to glance from her desk. She knew it was Santana the moment she had heard the harsh sounds of her footsteps.
"Hey, Berry, what you working on?" Santana says and leans in to take a peek.
"Research paper."
"Hallelujah!" Santana exclaims. "A short answer for a change! No, seriously, what's that?"
Rachel presses her lips together tightly.
"You still mad at me?"
Rachel ignores Santana and continuous to thoughtlessly scribble on her notebook. Frankly, she's no longer writing anything that made sense. She's simply determined to get her roommate to leave her alone.
But it's Santana, and Rachel should've seen that olive hand and prevented it from snatching her Moleskine underneath her arm.
"Give it back, Santana." Rachel mutters sternly, eyes straining on the cold, hard floor of their apartment.
"I said I was sorry. Geez, that was like, two nights ago. Get over it, Berry."
"And you think a cheap apology should set everything right after only 48 hours? Get over yourself." Rachel hisses.
"And how much time do you need?" Santana asks, marginally distracted by what's written on the leaves of Rachel's notebook. She proceeds to read the words she instantly finds: "The way you're singing in your sleep, the way you look before you leap, the strange illusions that you keep… You don't know, but I'm noticing. What the hell is this, Berry? You're into poetry?"
"They're lyrics. Well, technically, they aren't. It's a quote from a young adult novel which I'm sure you've probably never heard before."
"From 'Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist', right? It's hilarious as hell."
That finally got Rachel to look at her— something she hasn't done since storming out of the living room a few minutes after Quinn had left the building. Santana liked being left alone, but Rachel's like a walking time bomb, threatening to explode anytime and she's just itching to diffuse the situation as soon as possible.
"You've read the book?" Rachel asks.
"Yeah." Santana answers dryly. "Movie sucked though. Hey, you're talking to me again."
Rachel huffs and looks away as if suddenly remembering she had already decided to pretend for the rest of her life that Santana Lopez does not exist. Except she's there—not by her physical embodiment but rather the streaks of steak sauce on the sink, and the dirty socks stuffed inside a worn pair of sketchers. God, Santana's just everywhere.
"Oh, come on, Rachel. It's not like I revealed to Q how hot you were for her."
"God, you're such a bitch, it's almost unbelievable."
"Sorry if being myself makes me one. At least I'm honest about who I am and I mean a hundred percent of what comes out of my mouth." Santana says, hardly unaffected.
With a loud thud, Rachel's forehead drops against the solid surface of her study desk. "What do you want from me?"
Santana plops beside her and tucks the notebook back under Rachel's arm.
"I want you to quit being a big baby about the whole Quinn thing. If she makes you feel like shit, then she doesn't fucking deserve you."
Rachel's laugh is hollow as turns her head to stare at Santana, half of her face remaining hidden from the Latina's view.
"Quinn's done nothing wrong to make me feel that."
"Not yet. But sooner or later, all this crazy passivity of hers will drive you nuts. I should know because I've seen it happen."
"Brittany mentioned you went to high school together… with Quinn too."
"We were… Even then, Quinn and I weren't each other's most favorite person."
"I thought so. Did you also know about Joe?"
"Just that he never shampooed his hair and I'm pretty sure he's a con artist. No, I'm kidding, drop the 'con', he's just fucking brilliant at drawing weird shits."
"Did Quinn like him a lot?"
"They were together for five years, what do you think?"
Rachel lowers her eyes. She doesn't even know why it frustrates her. It's clear they were together before but has become strangers now. "Right, of course she did…"
"Although, after what happened… I doubt if her fondness for that guy still outweighs her hatred for him."
She fails to imagine that Quinn can ever hate anyone. "You knew the story behind their break-up?"
"I heard it from one of Joe's friends, he…" Santana's expression grows serious. "You did not hear this from me. He knocked up some chick. Some teen Jesus."
Rachel's heart clenches. She no longer feels like being jealous of Joe anymore, for whatever wonderful past he might have shared with Quinn. There's only grief for how it must have felt for the girl who wouldn't tell Rachel anything about herself.
Is this the reason why she refuses to let anyone get too close? Because she still can't accept that Quinn's always been that way. Because she believes there's a secret way in and she's not going to give up until she discovers it.
"I promise I won't tell anyone."
"Great. Anyway, I had Chinese takeout and bought you this—" Santana says in a usual, annoyed tone.
"Thanks. Uh... How much do I owe you?"
Santana shifts awkwardly in her seat and says, "Nah, consider it my peace offering."
"What? Quit staring at me like a creeper."
Rachel beams. "You called me 'Rachel' a while ago and now you're feeding me."
"Big deal," But Santana's smiling too, and offering her stir-fry vegetables which she intentionally ordered for Rachel. "Later, Berry."
Rachel watches as Santana withdraws to her bedroom and locks the door behind her. She allows herself a few minutes to think of Quinn and what those stories she'd learned about the blonde means to her, before returning to her paper with a new title in mind.
"A Meaningful Look at Quinn Fabray"
She needs to know the meaning behind what makes her who she is, and why it draws Rachel in like moth to flame.