Why is it that the simplest of obstacles were sometimes the hardest ones to overcome? It seemed an unfair paradox of existence, and Rachel, standing in the corridor of McKinley, the students milling past in groups of two or three, knew that this obstacle was going to be her greatest one to date in her search for Errant.
It was just a door, really, when you thought about it; just a plank of wood with a handle, suspended on hinges. But it was also a plank of wood suspended on hinges with a plaque indicating that it hid the boys' bathroom from view. And Rachel, in no way, shape, or form, was a boy. It wouldn't stand to have her stride into the boys' bathroom, which she just knew was crawling with all sorts of bacteria likely to give her otherwise sexually transmitted infections, to hunt for a poem written by some rule breaking student. Oh, but she wanted to, she wanted to so very desperately.
She was attracting stares from various students as she stood in the middle of the corridor, glaring at the door; they probably thought she was waiting for Finn, to draw him into another one of their schoolyard screaming matches. A couple of students actually drifted to the side, leaning up against the lockers with the pretence of being deep in conversation, but Rachel knew that they were watching her, waiting for what they thought was going to be another free show of the Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson saga. Her and Finn's quarrels had become infamous throughout the student body, notably because they involved heated arguments which escalated quite quickly into one storming off with fists clenched and the other storming off in the opposite direction whilst bursting into tears. It made Rachel wonder why she was still dating the boy; she liked him, sure, but did that outweigh the pain he put her through? Or was she only with him because he was the only boy who would have her and respect her wish of not having sex until she was 25?
In any case, those students waiting by their lockers for dramatics were going to be disappointed; today, Rachel was not interested in Finn - she was interested in Errant. She sighed. At times like this, she wished she possessed Noah Puckerman's nonchalance towards such things as propriety and that she could simply walk into the boys' lavatory as if she belonged there. It couldn't be that hard; all she had to do was push open the door and step in.
"Are you trying to open the door with your Jedi mind tricks?" someone asked, nudging her shoulder. It was Puck; speak of the devil.
"What makes you think I'd want to open the door to the boys' toilets?" she said, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Seriously? You've been staring at that door for the past five minutes as if it's the last door in the last level of Crash Bandicoot and it's stopping you from finishing the game. But if you're looking for Finn, he's not in there, he's on the football field. What did he do this time?"
"Nothing, actually. I wasn't waiting for him."
"Oh, well, Kurt's just gone to Home Ec."
"That's good. I'm not waiting for him either," Rachel said.
"Well you can't have been waiting for me," Puck frowned, confusion starting to show on his face. There weren't many males Rachel was acquainted with to be waiting outside the toilets for.
"As it happens, Noah, yes, I was waiting for you. There's something I need to talk to you about," Rachel began, brightening as vague tendrils of thought started contracting, shaping themselves into a solid idea in her mind. Linking her elbow with his, she lead him down the corridor. The students against the lockers sighed with disappointment and cleared off once there was no sign of an impending argument.
"As you may know, I've recently been dedicating my free time to finding out who the graffiti poet, Errant, is," and Puck nodded as Rachel spoke; everybody knew about Rachel's latest obsession, "Well, I've heard that there is a piece in the boys' bathrooms, which of course, I would really love to see. So, I need you to help me break into the bathrooms tonight."
"You want me to break into school in the middle of the night so that you can read a poem that somebody wrote on a toilet wall?" Puck said, trying to understand the situation completely. It wasn't anything new for him, but it was strange coming from the brunette girl. Rachel nodded, hoping that he wouldn't say no.
"I'll probably go back to juvie if I get caught," he said, trailing off, but picked up his head with a smile, "but I've broken into this dump a thousand times and never been caught. I'm like the Houdini of this school. Sure, I'll help you out - we Jews gotta stick together."
Reassured, Rachel went on with her day - business as usual. But that day dragged longer than Rachel ever thought possible. Finally, the last bell rang, and she couldn't hurry from class fast enough. She bumped, literally, into Puck in the corridor, who, pretending to pass the other way, shoved a note into her hand. "Remember: Wear black" it said, with another word scribbled beneath it, making Rachel smile a little: "ninjas"; and people thought she was the one who loved theatricality.
The longest school day of her life was followed by the longest afternoon of her life. She and Puck had agreed to meet at Breadsticks at eight. "Rendezvous!" Puck had said, when Rachel said she'd meet him later, "you have to get the terms right! I don't even know what it means, it's like, German or something, but every time they say it on X-Box, the shooters meet up". Again, Rachel couldn't believe that she was called the dramatic one. But eight o'clock it was, and she'd just told her dads she'd be back in a couple of hours because she had a study date, so she sat at a booth at the restaurant, waiting for Puck to keep their rendezvous.
The waitress kept staring at her, sitting there at the lonely table, as though it were improper for her to be taking up a table and not eating; the woman even had the gall to look disbelieving when Rachel explained that she was waiting for her date. But it didn't matter; ten minutes after Rachel sat down, Puck walked in, dressed head to toe in black, from a black beanie, to a black turtleneck, yes, a turtleneck, to black pants and non descript black shoes. When he sat opposite Rachel, also dressed entirely in black, the waitress' eyes narrowed at them, and Rachel had to admit, they did look like they were about to commit some sort of heinous crime, which they were, but it's not like they were actually going to hurt anybody.
"Puck! You look like you're about to rob a store! Was the beanie necessary? Or the backpack?" Rachel whispered across the table, fully aware of the waitress' eyes still trained on them.
"What can I say, babe, I gotta be prepared."
"And the turtleneck?"
"You can't break into a school unless you're dressed like a spy!" he exclaimed. Rachel rolled her eyes at him. He took the theatricality too far sometimes.
"Come on, let's go. The waitress is giving us the evil eye."
"We're not even gonna eat? I thought we were gonna eat first!" the mohawk haired boy complained, but Rachel, already standing, gripped him by the bicep and dragged him out of his seat, forcing him to stumble after her.
"Whoa, easy babe, McKinley ain't going anywhere."
"Not unless he's turned into a zombie," someone said from beside the door as the exited the restaurant.
"Well hey, if it ain't Little Miss Rock n' Roll!" Puck said, grinning at the girl. Quinn, in turn, rolled her eyes at him - that seemed to be the gesture of the night.
"Or maybe we should call you Little Miss Zombie Apocalypse," Rachel sneered, referring to the other girl's comment. She was in a hurry, why did Quinn have to turn up now?
"Maybe we should call you Little Miss Not-So-Squeaky-Clean, especially now since you're breaking into the school," Quinn bit back.
"Oh, you're one to talk, Quinn Fabray. You're the one standing out here smoking!" Rachel said with vehemence, gesturing to the white stick in Quinn's hand. Quinn raised her eyebrow at her.
"You mean this?" she said, raising it up, "are you delusional?"
Rachel reddened, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks; Quinn was holding a lollipop - most definitely not a cigarette. She'd done it again; she'd managed to once more make herself look like a fool in front of the other girl. The more she tried to act nonchalant, the more she manage to look like someone who was trying too hard. Rachel couldn't understand what was wrong with her. It was this new Quinn; the pink hair and 'Little Miss Rock n' Roll' attitude jolted Rachel off balance.
"Hey, Zombie Apocalypse, come with," Puck said, jerking his head in the direction of the carpark. Rachel's face reddened further; that's just what she needed, another person to tag along. And Quinn Fabray, nonetheless!
"I don't think that's a good idea. Three people only increases our chances of getting caught. I'm sorry Quinn, but I don't think you should accompany us," she said to the girl, who stared at her for a second before snapping her eyes back up to Puck's.
"Sounds like fun. I'm in."
"Awesome!" he said, bumping fists with her.
"And for the record, 'Little Miss Zombie Apocalypse' is much better than 'Little Miss Rock n' Roll'," she added, in a round about attempt at apologising to Rachel, who was grateful for her trying, only to have it ruined with, "it's more badass."
The night enveloped them as they left Breadsticks, the streets welcoming them as old friends, with open arms. The trio, dressed all in black, melted into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness. Like true delinquents, they walked not on the sidewalks, but in the middle of the road, fearing no cars, as though they owned the place. It was exciting for Rachel, this complete disregard for propriety, for the rules she so strictly obeyed during the daylight hours. It was all so new for her, and the excitement sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. Being bad felt so good.
McKinley, abandoned at night, was no more welcoming than a cemetery, loomed in front of them, the black windows foreboding, but beckoning. Puck led them around the side of the school, into a street where streetlights hadn't been installed, and the darkness swallowed them whole, masking them from any eyes which may have been looking out their windows.
"How do we get in?" Rachel asked.
"Climb, babe," Puck answered, pointing to the fence.
"Good luck getting her to climb that," Quinn said, instantaneously flicking the switch in Rachel from 'terrified at being caught' to 'determined to succeed'.
"Watch me," she said, turning to the fence. She gripped the crosshatch wire somewhere above her head, then jumped, scrambling to find a foothold, but she slipped and her feet hit the ground. Behind her, Quinn chuckled. The sound infuriated Rachel and she jumped again, this time finding a foothold. She pushed, and with much effort, began to climb the metal wire fence. Thankfully, the top of the fence was lined with a pole, which she gripped as she swung a leg over and began her descent on the other side. She was halfway down when she slipped, and slid the rest of the way down, landing in a heap at the bottom.
"You ok?" Puck asked.
"I'm fine. And I'm sure my talent's ok too."
"That line's getting old, Berry," Quinn called, and began climbing the fence herself.
A moment later, Rachel was joined by the pair, both of whom landed with the grace of a cat - a stark contrast to her own crash landing. It seemed she had a lot to practice on.
"You're bleeding," Quinn said, reaching to wipe blood from Rachel's face. The contact surprised Rachel, but she masked it with a wince - it actually did hurt.
"I must have scratched myself when I fell. Great, now I have to find some excuse for why I have a messed up face."
"We can tell them you got into a knife fight," Puck suggested.
"Can we just keep going?"
They reached the door of the school, locking them from their goal, at which point Puck rummaged around in his bag and brought out what looked to Rachel like a giant pair of gardening clippers. He put them to the lock, but Quinn put her hand on his arm, pulling a nailfile out of her back pocket.
"I have a better way," she said, inserting the nailfile into the padlock. Jiggling it around in the lock, Rachel held her breath, releasing it only when it sprang open with a click, and fell into palm of Quinn's hand with a soft thud. "Less messy," the pink haired girl explained.
"Handy, Zombie Apocalypse," Puck nodded in appreciation of the girl's skills, pushing open the door.
The three of them slipped through the doors, slinking into the corridor they were so familiar with. It looked different in the dark - every shadow was deeper, the lack of life making it more ominous. Rachel, never one to rely on someone else for preparedness, took a flashlight out of the back she'd brought with her and shone it down the hall. A second later, two more beams of light joined her first. In unison, they moved forward, their footsteps echoing too loudly off the walls and the lockers, as if the volume had been turned all the way up for the sounds of their movements, but the rest of the world had been put on mute. From beside her, Rachel could hear the sound of Puck's breathing, too loud in her ears, too creepy.
"This way," Quinn said, leading them down another corridor. Squares of silver light patterned the floor, the light of the moon streaming through the unblinded windows. If she wasn't so terrified of being caught doing something illegal, Rachel would have thought it beautiful - this pattern was completely lost during the day. If she'd been a film director, she might have shot some frames of the corridor in all it's moonlit glory for a scene in a horror film.
"Here," Puck whispered. The door, already slightly threatening during the day, was completely terrifying at night. Rachel's irrational fear of the dark, which had been raising the hairs on her neck from the moment they entered the building, escalated; it was the fear all humans got when they were already mildly afraid of something they couldn't see. Having Puck and Quinn there quieted the fears, but she still checked behind her several times before pushing the door open.
The bathroom wasn't as bad as Rachel had expected it to be. It was much cleaner, for a start. In actual fact, it looked exactly like the girls' bathroom, except with urinals lining on wall. The torch light bounced off the white tiles and the urinals, and Rachel could see her face, ghostly white in the mirrors.
"Where is it, Puck?"
"Over here. On the wall."
It was a medium length piece, scrawled in black permanent marker, just like all the rest, slightly above the urinals. Rachel whipped out her notebook and began transcribing.
Back and forth, back and forth,
You play us like a tennis game.
Please, don't bother to open your mouth
To profess your so called love,
If you plan on taking it all back
On another desolate day.
I'm worth more than the sum of your flaws,
I'm worth more than the sum of your fears,
I'm worth more, even,
Than the sum of your virtues,
And we both deserve better
Than a wretched boy like you.
I hope she sees that it's as false for her
As it was for you and I.
When you break her heart,
Like your eyes promise you will,
I'll be there to pick up the shards
And make the shattered whole again.
"Honestly Rachel, do you think you're going to find Errant by copying down their poetry? If you stop looking, you'll probably find that they're right in front of you," Quinn said, shining the torch onto the journal as Rachel wrote.
"I believe it brings me one step closer every time. And this way, I get to carry a piece of Errant with me wherever I go," the brunette replied, clutching the notebook to her chest, "I just feel that Errant and I are very much alike. So many of our feelings are the same. This poem, for example, reminds me so much of my feelings for-"
"Finn," Quinn finished. Rachel stared at her. "Me too," the girl shrugged.
"Well, it reminds me of some dude who keeps hurting his best friends over some girl that they both like," Puck said, "and the friend's sick of it."
"That's probably what it is," Rachel sighed. That would make Errant a boy - but which one? She momentarily flirted with the thought that it was Finn, about his relationship with Puck, but for all his song writing skills, the emotions in Errant's poems were not ones that Rachel could believe he harboured. Some, perhaps, but not all. Besides, she definitely could not see Finn sneaking into the girls' lavatories to graffiti the poem that was in there.
"You know Rachel, you could have had Puck or one of the other guys to write this down for you during the day," Quinn said, stating the obvious which Rachel had completely missed. In her desperation to see the poem with her own eyes, she hadn't even considered there being an easier way.
"No way! There's no way I'm gonna sit in here and write down some poem into a pink notebook. My rep's already in the gutter 'cause of Glee. I don't want anyone else thinking I'm another gay dude," Puck exclaimed.
"There's nothing wrong with being gay," Quinn glowered, and Rachel swelled with pride towards the girl. The students of McKinley treated homosexuality as a sin, or took it as a joke and it infuriated her. With two gay dads, the issue was one close to her heart.
"No, I mean I love Kurt and everything, but I can't have the guys questioning my badassery because I'm copying down poems in the toilets. It's weird."
Both girls rolled their eyes and walked out of the restroom, Puck following suit close behind.
"So do you have any ideas about who Errant is? Did the poem help?" asked Quinn.
"Not yet. But I've no doubt that I'm getting closer. I can feel it. They're a boy, I think."
"Maybe," Quinn said, trailing off. Rachel thought she sounded almost disappointed with her response.
"I'll keep collecting the pieces. I'm sure something in them will make it obvious," she finished.
The trio exited the building, leaving behind the foreboding shadows, their mission accomplished, making sure to secure the padlock back into its original position. But Puck, instead of walking the way they came, veered off to the left.
"Noah, where are we going? We came in that way," Rachel called, pointing to her right.
"We're just gonna chill for a little while on the football field. Relax babe, nothing major. It's a nice night out, no point wasting it."
Rachel could find all of thirty eight faults with that statement, but considering what he'd just done for her, didn't argue and trailed behind Puck, the badass, and Quinn, the rebel, hoping they wouldn't get caught illegally being on school grounds. She didn't know how she was going to explain that one to her dads if that happened.
In the darkness, the sounds of cars, whirring past just beyond their line of vision, echoed, bouncing off the bleachers and settling onto the grass of the football field like a blanket, bringing a reassuring thrum of life into the otherwise silent field. The three of them collapsed onto the grass, the strands of their hair catching the glow of the moon, threading the light into their skulls.
"Time for a drink," Puck muttered, fishing around in his backpack, his hand emerging a moment later clutching a bottle of wine. Pulling out the cork, he took a swig, then passed it off to Quinn, who imitated the gesture. Rachel then found herself with the bottle of wine being thrust into her own hands by those of Quinn; cool glass pressed into the palm of her hands, while the tips of her fingers brushed the skin of the other girl's, warm and soft. Sitting there, having broken the law already, Rachel barely hesitated a second before gulping down the red liquid, savouring the flavour before swallowing and having the alcohol scratch the back of her throat as it travelled down her oesophagus. The bottle of wine made several rounds between the trio before the silence among them was broken; by this time, the wine was almost completely consumed and Puck was rummaging for a second bottle; Rachel wasn't even surprised to see that he had another in there. It was Quinn who broke the silence. She was spread out on the grass, propped up against one elbow, the bottle balanced on the grass, her other hand caressing the rim with the tips of fingers, spinning it around on the edge of its base. She had a faraway look in her eyes, as though she was speaking behind the veil of her thoughts.
"Why New York, Rachel?"
"I have one word for you, Quinn Fabray: Broadway. That's always been the reason. I want to sing. I want to be on stage, and I want to do that in New York, on the Broadway stages."
"Why Broadway? Why not the West End in London?"
"That's where my love lies, Quinn. I can't explain."
"Try, Berry," Quinn encouraged, glancing at the diva sideways.
"You wouldn't understand."
"You'd be surprised. Try me, Berry," Quinn reiterated, this time staring at the girl. Her hazel eyes were still slightly clouded over, but as she watched, Rachel saw the hazel clear and focus - focus on her. She dropped her own brown eyes to the grass, picking at it, pulling it up by its roots. Where could she begin without sounding like a zealous freak? There wasn't a way she could explain her need for Broadway without doing so. But feeling the hazel eyes on her, she tried.
"I was weaned on the Broadway classics; they were the first films I watched, the first songs I heard, their lyrics were the first things I learnt to say. All those people, I watched them everyday, and they were so glamorous, so talented and so passionate, I couldn't help but want to be like them. I loved them the way other kids love their teddy bears or their blankets or their dolls. I admired them the way other people admire The Beatles - with this burning love and a desire to be like them. I want so bad to stand on the stages where Barbara stood, raising my voice to the same auditorium; it'd be like interacting with her ghost from when she stood there. Being near greatness makes you great, even if just a little bit. I want people to look at me one day and feel towards me the things I feel towards Barbara; I want to be admired, I want to be known for my talent. I want to be the star of my own show, the one who sets the bar of excellence, the one subsequent performances are always compared to, the one no one can live up to. I want to sing because I love it, and I want to be loved because of it. I wouldn't get that connection to my childhood, to my dreams, to Barbara, if I was anywhere but Broadway. When I stood there in Times Square last year, I knew it - I knew I was home. For the first time in my life, I was home. Do you know what that means?" she said, glancing up to see Quinn gazing off into the distance, eyes glazed over again. Rachel understood that she had listened to every word, that she was processing it; she'd caught the last movement of her head, the end of a nod at the completion of her sentence. She cocked her own head to the side a little and stared at the girl who was staring into her own mind; Quinn felt like New York was home too?
"But you feel that way in Glee, don't you?" Puck asked, passing her the freshly opened wine bottle, which he'd already drunk half of. She took a swig, then handed it back with a shrug of her shoulders.
"Sometimes."
"It's a cage for you. Your wings aren't allowed to spread to their full span, and it kills you," Quinn whispered, causing two pairs of eyes to swivel to her. Puck's brow was creased, eyes confused, but Rachel's were wide, wide open. But Quinn wasn't finished, "We lost at Nationals and you were terrified because you thought nobody noticed you; you felt your dream slipping through your fingers, away, into the void where all dead dreams go. That's why you stopped fighting Finn's advances - you almost gave up because you saw an easier road with him, living in Ohio; another Broadway dreamer who would forget what it was like to sing - and you'd raise a family instead to cure the emptiness that dream left in your heart. But that fire never dies. Not for you, Rachel Berry."
"Oh! Quinn. I… How…?" Rachel stammered, breathless.
"I noticed you, even if nobody else did," Quinn shrugged, then drank the dregs from the first bottle of wine, refusing to look at either Puck or Rachel.
"That's the most I've heard you talk in a long time, Zombie Apocalypse," Puck said.
"Yeah, well, wine makes me chatty."
"It's not just the wine," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Quinn to hear. She threw the empty bottle at him, and it bounced off his arm. Rachel couldn't help but wonder at this camaraderie which had sprung up between the pink haired girl and the mohawked boy - he'd been the father of her baby, of course, but as far as Rachel knew, they hadn't ever really been friends. Now, they were quite close, by the looks of things; at least, Puck's comment has flown right over her head.
"Relax, Zombie Apocalypse, I was kidding. Take a joke will you," he said, rolling onto his back and looking at the stars. The two girls emulated his movement, and all three of them were lying there, in the middle of the football field, wine bottles littered around them, staring at the velvet sky. The stars stared back, and a quiet sense of infinity enveloped them all. Rachel traced constellations with her eyes, wishing she could name them as she went, even though she was sure she was making up her own constellations.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Puck, hands behind his head, eyes closed, chest inflating and deflating with every intake of breath, and somewhere behind her head, Rachel could sense Quinn, as though she were tethered to the girl by some invisible thread of life, as though this night had bound the three of them in some kind of spell, in which they were always aware of one another.
An odd feeling arose in Rachel's chest, spreading down through her torso, and up through to her head, reaching the tips of her fingers and the end of her toes, such as she had only felt once before, in New York; it was love. It was home. It was the feeling she never thought she'd experience whilst still in Lima, but there she was, and she wanted nothing more than to hug Quinn and Puck and tell them how much she loved them, how much, for the first time in her life, she felt that she was at one with herself and the universe, and that it was because of them. A snore punctured the silence, breaking Rachel's thoughts, and both she and Quinn giggled into the dark.
"Puck? Puckerman! Moron!" Quinn loudly whispered at the boy lying prostrate, but none of the names elicited a response. "He's definitely asleep."
"I can see how. He did drink a bottle of wine practically on his own."
"Plus, there's the atmosphere," Quinn added.
"I love this atmosphere."
"Me too."
"It's intimate, without being stifling. It's quiet without being awkward. It's comforting without being oppressive," Rachel stated.
"Rachel?"
"Yeah?"
"You're ruining it."
"Oh. Sorry."
Silence descended once again, broken only by the sounds of cars in the distance, passing occasionally on the road by the field. A mist was starting to set in, tendrils of it snaking their way across the field, winding themselves around the bottom of the bleachers, around the goal post. The night was becoming more picturesque the further it progressed. Scuffling behind her head made Rachel roll over onto her side, to see Quinn taking another bottle of wine out Puck's backpack.
"More wine?" she smiled shyly, holding up the bottle. Rachel nodded and sat up, and Quinn crawled over with the bottle, sitting so close to Rachel that their sides touched.
"I can't believe he had three bottles of wine in there," the brunette said, watching Quinn uncork it.
"It's the only reason he brought that backpack. Trust Puck to see breaking into the school as a chance to have a drink."
"Three bottles though?"
"A bottle for each of us."
"It's like he knew you were coming," Rachel said, pulling the bottle from Quinn's hand and letting the red liquid fill her mouth. The other girl said nothing, but the alcohol was starting to go to Rachel's head and she didn't even notice. She did, however, notice when Quinn put her head onto her shoulder and curled into her side. Rachel wasn't sure how to react, but her body seemed to know, because her arm snaked around Quinn's waist and she instinctively shifted a little to make the pink haired girl more comfortable. The automatic gesture surprised her a little. How did she know to do that? Usually, she was the one who was leaning against someone else, normally Finn, and he never moved to make her more comfortable. In fact, Rachel couldn't help but think that the boy didn't know the first thing about intimacy. Everything the two of them did felt awkward, like two puzzle pieces trying to go together when they didn't quite fit, but Rachel kept putting that down to their size differences. But it was different with Quinn, and Rachel felt the difference immediately - all at once it was more intimate, more comfortable, more natural, even. She didn't think about it too hard; she didn't want to, nor could she even, with the alcohol streaming through her veins. If she remembered it, she would think about it tomorrow.
"Wine," Quinn murmured, reaching out to grab the bottle from Rachel's other hand. She guzzled half the bottle without taking a breath.
"Take it easy, Zombie Apocalypse," Rachel said, taking the bottle back.
"Not you too."
"I thought you liked 'Zombie Apocalypse'. Badass, remember?"
"I do, but when you say it, it's too cute. Not badass at all," Quinn whined.
"It's not my fault that I'm adorable," Rachel teased, prodding the girl with her index finger.
"Yes it is. It's entirely your fault."
"What? How is it?"
"You do it on purpose," Quinn said, poking Rachel back.
"Sometimes."
"Like now?"
"Like now," she nodded.
"I hate you," Quinn growled.
"No you don't," the other girl laughed. She was flirting, she knew she was flirting, and that the other girl was flirting back, and normally, this would have sent her running a thousand miles in the opposite direction, but tonight, with the alcohol in their blood, the stars winking at them from above, and the companionship brought about by doing something illegal, it felt right.
"No. I don't. Not at all," said Quinn, and she snuggled closer. Overwhelmed by a sudden lack of inhibitions, Rachel planted a kiss on the top of Quinn's pink head. Both of them froze as realisation dawned over them, Rachel's sobriety returning in a matter of seconds. Quinn looked up at her, still curled into her side, hazel eyes questioning.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what that was," Rachel stammered, pulling back slightly from the other girl, but Quinn wouldn't let her. She grabbed Rachel around the waist and held her close with a strength Rachel didn't imagine the other girl possessed. Quinn sat up straighter, so that she was eye level with Rachel, her eyes dark.
"Kiss me again."
"Excuse me? You want me to what?"
"Kiss. Me. Again. Don't make me repeat it, Berry," Quinn growled, leaning closer. Her breath played over Rachel's lips and Rachel could smell the tang of alcohol, mingling with the scent of Quinn's faint perfume. She could acutely feel Quinn's hand on her lower back, her arm wrapped around her, her knee digging into the outside of her thigh. She was drawn forward, she couldn't help it, and her lips were against Quinn's lips, her tongue tracing the other girl's mouth, begging for entrance. It was given, and their tongues darted in and out, mixing the taste of alcohol with their saliva, with a rapidly increasing need for more.
"I'm out for two seconds and this is what happens? Why didn't you wake me to watch?" a voice said, and the two girls sprang apart, Puck grinning at them. "Please, don't stop. It was getting hot."
"You're disgusting, Puckerman," Rachel said.
"I'm a dude, it's what I do. Bet your boyfriend wouldn't object to watching you two make out."
"Shut it, moron," Quinn snapped. She got up, dusting the grass off her black jeans. "Let's go. It's late anyway."
"Aw, c'mon Zombie Apocalypse, you're just gonna leave me hanging like that?" Puck called after her, but she gave no reply. And with Rachel following in the other girl's wake, he had no choice but to scoop up the three empty wine bottles and follow after them. They traipsed on in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, wondering what on earth had just happened, and what on earth they were going to do about it in the daylight hours.
A/N: sorry for the huge time gap between this chapter and the last. What can I say? Life happens and I was busy. It was a super long one though, so I hope that made up for it a bit.
As always, I hope you enjoyed it.