Not as lengthy, but look how quick! Thanks for the reviews, guys. Much appreciated! Keep them up and I'll see what I can do about quick updates :)
-leanmean
So stupid, Rachel thinks, ripping a skirt off the costume rack and stepping into it quickly. Of all the times for Quinn Fabray, of all the people… she shakes her head, tucking in the shirt she had shimmied on from the floor of the cast room in her quick exodus. She gives a wave to the backstage crew and exits out the side door, her heels echoing on the dark concrete of the back alley as she races to put distance between her and the blonde.
Why was Quinn even here?
She rakes her fingers through her hair, trying not to remember how much better it felt when Quinn had done the same as she unlocks her car and groans loudly, throwing her purse to the passenger's side. Slamming the door shut, she takes a deep breath and drums her fingers against the steering wheel.
She was probably just there to watch Brittany.
Rachel smirks to herself, remembering the shocked look on Quinn's face when the first spotlight came on tonight, the way her eyes burned through her, watching her every move. She had a hard time hiding her own shock really, and will probably get an ear full on Monday about the point of practicing choreography if she's just going to walk off the stage anyway. Once she saw Quinn, all she could think about was touching her.
Sighing, she starts her car and backs out of her spot, pulling out of the alley and into traffic.
And boy did she touch her. How cliché. Of course Rachel Berry's most epic unrequited love would not only be present at her grand but totally secret reappearance on stage, she would also come backstage and tell her everything she's ever dreamed of hearing. She didn't even know that Rachel's gay. What are the odds? The thought of it actually being real, it just… it couldn't be. Quinn pushing her away once she realized what was happening, that would be real. Rachel couldn't bear it.
Switching lanes, she slaps her palm to her forehead. But what if it was real? She recalls the faint drum of hope that began a few weeks ago when she and Brittany were stretching before practice and Santana called. It's not that she tried to overhear, but when Brittany said Quinn needed to get laid, Rachel didn't necessarily stop trying to hear either. Santana's comment that Quinn was too busy to find a girl echoed in her head for days. A girl. A girl! It was all just too much really. She was already in stress meltdown over deciding to perform tonight knowing she shouldn't, but the thought of Quinn not only liking a girl, but liking her! She couldn't even wrap her brain around it.
And really, here she is worrying about what Quinn thinks of her when she should be worrying about whether she'll still be around to be thought of. Typical. When she had scoffed at her Dad earlier with a what's the worst that could happen over performing again, well, this isn't exactly what she had had in mind, but yeah. Having a chance with the girl she's always wanted at a time in her life when she's supposed to be a total shut in, that may actually qualify as torture. It's just got to be. She'd almost rather have the chasing bullets.
Rachel smiles to herself, pulling into her parking garage and shutting off the headlights, thoughts of Quinn's warm lips on her own, the sweet taste of her, still tingling under her skin. For years and years she had wondered, and now she finally knew exactly what Quinn Fabray felt like.
Opening her car door, she grabs her purse and starts towards the stairwell to her apartment, humming quietly to herself.
Bullets or not, it was so worth it.
"So let me get this straight," Quinn starts, pouring more syrup over her pancakes. "She just showed up during one of your practices one day and asked if she could join? I mean, of course they're going to say yes. She's Rachel Berry!"
Brittany chews thoughtfully, sliding a piece of fruit around on her plate with a fork. The wake of Rachel storming out of the cast room had left Quinn with more questions than answers, and seeing as she hadn't seen or talked to the girl in years, that's a lot of questions.
"Well she hasn't been Rachel Berry for a long time, Quinn. She's only Rachel Berry when she's on Broadway. So, she really just came as Rachel. Or maybe Rach. Or Sue Ellen. I'm not sure what she goes by when she's not Rachel Berry."
Santana wraps her arm around Brittany's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, smiling quietly at her as she finishes her thought. Quinn warms at the gesture, wondering what it must be like to find a whole that speaks volumes as wordlessly as these two. Stuffing in another forkful of breakfast, she continues.
"I just think it's weird that she pretty much disappeared from the face of the earth and then just shows up when this club opens."
"Q. Don't pound Brittany with your reporter questions. Go find Berry if you need answers." Santana says pointedly, stealing the rest of Quinn's pancake from her plate. "Just because you're married to your job does not mean you get to bring it to our table."
"I don't mind," Brittany says, reaching over Santana's arm to cut the pancake for her. "Quinn's good at what she does, even if she never does anything else besides it. And if you want Rachel's number, I can give you that. It came to me in a dream." Her eyes steal to the bowl of bananas at the end of the table as Quinn stifles a giggle.
"Thank you for the offer Brittany, but I'm not going to bug her. If it's meant to happen it will. And clearly she wants to be out of the public eye. I'm sure talking to a magazine writer is probably not high on her to-do list."
Santana pecks Brittany on the cheek as she globs more syrup on her plate, turning a raised eyebrow towards Quinn.
"Judging by the fang marks on your shoulder, I'd say a magazine writer may not be on her to-do list, but Quinn Fabray definitely is."
"Okay Oliver I'll see you tomorrow then. Good show tonight! Goodbye everyone!" Rachel beams as she waves at the cast, lounging around tables in the back office. Another successful performance under her belt and she's feeling as light as a cloud as she walks out the theater doors and towards home. Mama Mia has been her favorite production so far; so good, in fact, she's almost depressed that there's only one show left this season. Tipping her head at the cab driver who always waits for her, he rolls down the window. His burly Boston accent cuts through the noise of the unusually warm night settling down on the Broadway district.
"Hey sweetheart, you ready to head home?"
Leaning her head into the passenger window, Rachel smiles and waves him off.
"I think I'll walk tonight, Ralph. It's just too nice not to."
"More power to ya kid," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm telling ya this warm weather means we're going to have one hell of a storm real soon. Ya just don't get this in March, ya know?"
Rachel pats the window sill lightly as she turns to walk down the street, calling over her shoulder.
"Well, then we better get out and enjoy it now! Have a good night, Ralph!"
"You too, sweetheart. Be safe."
The cab drives away as Rachel turns the corner, the bright lights of Broadway fading behind her. It always surprises her, how friendly New Yorkers are, after everyone in Ohio had told her for years she'd never find a home here. Laughing to herself, she adjusts the purse on her shoulder and looks both ways before jay walking to the other side. Here she is with a cab driver who always makes sure she gets home in one piece. Real animals, alright.
Browsing the window of the boutiques as she passes them, Rachel hums quietly to herself, unbuttoning her coat as she goes. She definitely overdressed for sixty degrees. Cutting across the street again, she sighs softly, the glow of the tower she calls home lighting the sidewalk just a block away. Picking up her pace a little, she looks up towards the stars, which she's sure are still up there, even if she can't see them. That's one part of Ohio she'll always miss.
A scream in the alley to Rachel's left rips her from her thoughts, her eyes immediately searching for the source. A woman stands with her back against the wall, her clothes soaked to the bone. She trembles against the brick as a man digs a finger into her chest, his face dark with anger.
Rachel's breath steals from her chest at the sound of his voice, gnarled and twisted like old bark.
"You know what happens to rats, Mel?"
She glances towards her tower. Maybe security is out already and she can flag them down. As she raises her hand towards the building, she hears the strike of a match and a deep chuckle, the sour smell of sulfur burning her nostrils as she turns back.
The man's spit hits the woman right before the match does.
"They burn."
Rachel watches in horror as she crumples to the ground, their wide eyes meeting before her face melts into the flames.
She doesn't realize the sting in her lungs is from screaming until the man is staring at her, her face perfectly illuminated in the street lights. Turning towards her home she runs for all she's worth, the hollow sound of her terror still echoing in her ears.
That must have been gasoline. That's why her clothes were so wet. She must have known what was coming. Over her whimpering she hears the steady fall of heavy feet getting closer.
Rachel wrenches forward in bed, sheets wrapped tightly around her legs. Kicking them away, she stumbles to the bathroom and falls on her knees in front of the toilet, wretching until her stomach is empty, her tears dripping into the water below. Wiping the sweaty bangs off her forehead, she sets back against the bathtub and lays her head against the rim.
Eight months and still she can see it as if it happened yesterday. Every night she closes her eyes and meets Melanie Michael's terrified stare. She can't even remember the last time she slept for more than two hours. Rachel sighs, rolling her neck and rubbing her eyes.
After the trial she would rest.
After the trial her contract would be over, she could stop hiding and go back to Broadway.
After the trial, Vincent Maroney's pounding feet would finally stop echoing in her mind.
"Q. The interest in your Black Cat feature has been through the roof. I want a full insider on the place; pictures, interviews, behind the scene footage, the whole-actually that's a great idea. Let's make it a video. You're going viral, Q. I'll see you on Monday."
Whistling, Quinn steps off the elevator, tucking the newspaper under her arm as she grabs her mug from the rack above the office coffee corner. The voicemail from her boss had lit a fire in her, intrigued by the chance to do something no magazine had attempted yet. Plus she would be behind a camera lens, which was a step in the right direction. Blowing over the rim of her mug, she takes a quick sip, hums in satisfaction, and turns towards her office.
The impending chance of meeting with Rachel Berry in her near future didn't hurt her mood either. There was no denying the existence of the hot rustle in her heart for Rachel. Hell, she remembers the first time she'd noticed it. She had been running an article into a meeting as the editors discussed Broadway's up and coming and, low and behold, there was Rachel, blown up on the projector screen belting her lungs out. Quinn's chest had ached in such a way she wondered how she had gone on living so long without her, and just like that the final puzzle piece slipped into place. She adores Rachel Berry, she always had; it just took not having her anymore to figure it out.
After the other night, she couldn't help but think that maybe she could do something about that now.
Flipping the hair out of her face, Quinn bypasses her office, dropping her bag inside the door and, with a big swig of coffee, turns into her boss's office at the end of the hall. Leaning against the door frame, she eyes the gold plaque with the name Nikki Malone etched into it. She'd always wondered why her boss hated being addressed by her name, but knowing how she liked things crisp and efficient, she figured "boss" just fit the bill.
"Morning chief."
"Quinn. Just the girl I was looking for. You get my message?"
"I did. What's the plan of attack?"
"I left a video camera on your desk this morning. Head down to the club-the owners know you're coming. I want you to live and breathe that place this week. If we're going to take the dive into online video first, we've got to set a precedent. Make me laugh, make me cry, whole nine yards. Got it?"
"Got it. Anything else?"
"Nope," Nikki says with a curt nod. "Now get out of my face."
Quinn chuckles as she makes her way back to her office, grabbing the camera, and heads back to the elevators. Her boss is always right down to business, and it suits them both just fine. In fact, several people around the office have commented that they are almost too similar, but hey. Quinn figures there are probably worse people she could take after.
Nodding to the front door man, she buttons her coat against the cool wind of the coming fall and hails a taxi, smiling as she rattles off the address to Black Cat from memory like it's an old friend.
And maybe someday, it would be.
For now, she was content with just letting the adventure begin.
Have a great Monday guys!