A/N: their first date. It doesn't go quite as Rachel had expected.
Rachel was early. She was always early to things when she was nervous - a trait she could attribute to her dads. The waitress who had glared at her the night before was again eyeing her with suspicion.
"Waiting for your date again?" she asked, standing over Rachel with a notebook. Rachel noted that that the badge pinned to the lady's black shirt read Miranda.
"Yes. I'm early. We're supposed to meet at eight," Rachel explained. The waitress checked her watch, then gazed at Rachel with eyebrows raised high.
"It's seven o'clock," she said in disbelief.
"Yes, I like being early."
"I can see that," Miranda glared, before stomping off to wait on another table. Rachel watched her go. Perhaps seven was a little too early? She couldn't go home; she'd told her dads that she was having dinner with a friend. They'd freak out if she came home too early, thinking that something was wrong. Rachel wanted to spare herself the embarrassment of having to explain. Besides, she wasn't quite ready to explain that she was jittery because it was her first date with a girl. This time, Rachel wanted to make sure things were going smoothly before introducing Quinn to the family. She'd made the mistake in the past of introducing her boyfriends right away, which only led to her fathers getting extremely upset when things went wrong between Rachel and the boy in question. Daddy Hiram had wanted to castrate Finn the first time that Rachel had come home crying, and when Jesse had smashed an egg on Rachel's skull, it had taken all of his husband's strength to keep him from going after Jesse with a machete. Not that they owned a machete, but Rachel was sure that if pressed, Daddy would find one.
The memory brought another issue to the forefront of Rachel's mind: Finn. She couldn't date Quinn if she was still with Finn; it was cheating, even if nothing happened. And more than nothing had already happened; two kisses in two days and now a date as well. She knew that if she was going to give things a try with Quinn, then she was going to have to break things off with Finn, but she was reluctant to hurt the boy. He'd chased her, he'd taken her on an amazing date in New York, he'd written a song about them, he'd kissed her in front of thousands of people - it cost them the competition, but it was still romantic - and now, she was cheating on him. With his ex-girlfriend, no less. Rachel's guilty conscience weighed on her mind.
Her eyes followed people as they came and went from the restaurant, fingers spinning the fork around on the table, absentmindedly. The place wasn't particularly romantic, but it was the most popular place in town; the residents of Lima, Ohio, really loved their breadsticks. Finn had brought her here hundreds of times; they'd sit at their regular booth, he'd order their regular dishes and they'd have their regular conversations about school and Glee and their weekend plans, which normally included more dates to Breadsticks. There was never any talk about the future, about where they would be in a year's time, if Rachel went to New York for college and Finn stayed here. Rachel didn't want to be forced to choose between love and her career again, and Finn couldn't confront the fact that he was going to lose his girlfriend to the metropolitan. It was a problem which got swept under the carpet, to be worried about later.
Her situation with Finn made her wonder if being with him was the right decision; whether being with anyone was the right decision, because in less than a year, she was going to have to leave them. Separation was always hard for Rachel; she always got too attached too quickly and was always heartbroken when things ended, when people left. In the dim light of the restaurant, she wondered if this date was a bad idea.
The girl confused Rachel, going from the captain of the Celibacy Club to becoming pregnant., then going from the captain of the cheer squad to the queen of the underground rebel movement. She was a woman of extremes. And when did this change in sexuality occur? Had she always harboured feelings for women, or was this recent? Was it a phase? Rachel took that question and applied it to herself: was she going through a phase? She'd heard all about confused teenagers who thought they were gay, but were actually not. Was she one of them? She wasn't sure.
She'd felt attracted to girls before, but never had she wanted to be physically intimate with any of them, the way she did with Quinn. Did lust count when determining sexuality? Maybe she should talk to her dads, but she imagined the conversation would be incredibly awkward. Better yet, maybe she could talk to Santana Lopez. No, that wasn't a good idea - the girl wasn't out of the closet yet and would probably tear Rachel apart for even asking. Maybe Rachel could ask Brittany Pierce - the fluid girl whom Santana was in love with.
She sighed and looked at her watch. 7:15. Time was passing so slowly.
"Hey Rachel," someone said, stopping at her table, "what are you doing here?"
"Kurt! You surprised me!"
"You're off with the fairies. It's no wonder he surprised you," Blaine offered from Kurt's side. Rachel smiled at the two of them. She'd been hesitant in accepting Blaine as Kurt's boyfriend, but Kurt was happy with him, and that's all that mattered to Rachel.
"I'm supposed to be meeting Quinn," Rachel explained, answering Kurt's question. He and Blaine exchanged a glance.
"You mean the Quinn we just saw pacing back and forth outside?" Kurt said, raising an eyebrow.
"She's here?" Rachel squeaked, then blushed deeply when she realised what she'd sounded like. Kurt raised his eyebrows higher while Blaine chuckled a little.
"She looks like a trainwreck. You'd think from the way she's acting that you two were going on your first date or something," he said, eyes glowing with something that Rachel thought looked too much like knowledge. She coughed upon the completion of his sentence, but tried to laugh it off. She cleared her throat.
"I should go get her," she murmured, getting to her feet quickly, knocking the table and sending her cutlery clattering across the floor. Going red again, she rushed to the door, people staring after her, pulling it open and stumbling outside, slamming right into Quinn. The two of them became a messy pile of limbs on the floor, bruised and sore.
"Rachel. I didn't see you coming," Quinn groaned.
"Sorry! Sorry! Me neither. I didn't mean to bowl you over."
"Are you ok?" Kurt exclaimed from the doorway, "we heard a crash, so we came running."
"We're ok. We just had a minor collision," Rachel muttered, red flushing her cheeks still further. It was embarrassing to be caught like that, lying on top of Quinn. Over Kurt's shoulder, the waitress, Miranda, was glaring. Rachel was mortified; and she was sure the waitress was beginning to hate her more and more.
"I think we should leave," she said to Quinn as they stood, "that waitress is death glaring us."
"We'll go somewhere else," Quinn said.
"This is the second night in a row I've sat in there and not bought anything. No wonder she hates me."
"It's a good thing I grabbed your bag then," Kurt said, holding up Rachel's handbag, "unlike some people, I know not to leave a handbag behind."
Blushing for the umpteenth time that evening, Rachel grabbed the bag off Kurt.
"We'll just be going then," Quinn said, nodding at the two boys and moving towards the parking lot. Rachel followed her, waving goodbye at her friends.
"Have fun on your date!" Blaine called after them, and Rachel turned to see Kurt giving him a small punch in the shoulder. Blaine grinned at her. She knew he was saying it to wind her up; he had fun making her feel uncomfortable.
Quinn stopped beside a motorbike. Rachel's heart momentarily stopped.
"What…what's this?" she stammered.
"This is Kurt," Quinn grinned, patting the bike. Rachel's mouth fell open.
"What? You named your bike after our friend? Does he know? I'm not sure he would approve."
"Not after Hummel. After Cobain. You know, Nirvana's Cobain."
"Oh. Well, that makes sense," Rachel said.
"This is for you," Quinn said, shoving a helmet into Rachel's hands. Her heart almost leapt out of her mouth at the implication.
"You sit here," Quinn motioned, patting the seat, "and hold on tight. I don't want you flying off at any point. It would ruin the mood of our first date."
Rachel looked, horrified, at the other girl. This is not what she had envisioned for their first date. She'd imagined dinner, then maybe a walk, and lots of interesting conversation - not a ride on a death machine. Quinn caught the expression on her face and laughed.
"I'm kidding Rachel. It's completely safe, but you have to wear the helmet and hold on," she said, gently pulling the helmet out of Rachel's hands and affixing it to her head, pulling the straps tight enough that it would stay on, but not so tight that the straps cut into Rachel's chin. Quinn's finger lingered on Rachel's chin for a second longer than necessary, before pulling back. Rachel's own hands shook.
"Hey, hey," Quinn murmured, taking Rachel's hands, "it's ok. Old Kurt here might be addicted to gas, but I promise he'd never hurt a fly. I won't go too fast or do anything crazy, I promise. But you have to trust me."
"Is it even legal for you to ride."
"It's legal for anyone over fifteen and a half years old to ride. You have to get parental permission though, until you're eighteen."
"Your mother actually gave you permission to ride this thing? Is she insane?"
"I told her that if she didn't let me, I'd move out. Besides, I'll be eighteen in less than a year, meaning I wouldn't need her permission. She realised that sooner or later, this was going to happen. So she gave in and let me get a licence."
"So it's safe?"
"It's safe."
"As long as I wear a helmet and hold on?"
"Exactly right."
"Ok. Ok. But promise you'll drive slow!"
"I promise," Quinn reassured, patient with Rachel, who was still slightly freaking out.
"Where do I sit?" Rachel asked, tentatively touching the bike, as though fearing that it would bite her. Quinn patted the seat, putting her own helmet on. She handed Rachel a pair of goggles.
"You have to wear these too. It's illegal not to."
Rachel slipped them on without complaint, as hideous as they were. She watched Quinn straddle the bike, and Rachel followed suit after seeing how it was done. But not before taking a second to admire how Quinn looked sitting atop the motorcycle; if the girl hadn't already made Rachel aroused, the sight of her on the bike would have. But Quinn wasn't waiting; she gestured Rachel onto the bike. Rachel, swung her leg over the seat, imitating Quinn, though with less grace, and straddled the bike behind the other girl. Quinn motioned to where her feet should go, and Rachel obliged, heart picking up its pace with every passing second. She was on a motorbike - something she never thought she'd do.
She placed her hands on Quinn's waste, imagining them being ready to go, but Quinn shook her head.
"Not there. You have to really hold on," she said, taking Rachel's hands and wrapping them around her torso. The new position meant that Rachel was pressed against Quinn's back. She could feel the girl's body heat seeping through her jacket.
"Ok, let's go," Quinn said, flicking down her visor. Below them, the bike roared to life and Rachel's heart started racing. If it didn't slow down, Rachel thought she just might have a heart attack. But when the bike started moving, her heart nearly exploded out of her chest. Quinn leaned forward and accelerated away. Rachel thought she'd left her stomach behind.
The engine growled in her ear as they zoomed through the streets of Lima. As far as Rachel could tell, they most definitely were not going slowly. The houses sped past in blurs and when Quinn took a corner, she thought the whole bike would collapse on its side. Oddly, Rachel was gripped by an urge to throw her hands into the air and cheer. She refrained, but only just. It was a feeling similar to the one she experienced when she stood at the precipice of high things - like she wanted to jump, even though it would kill her. There was that excitement of danger, of the adrenaline pulsing through her veins, pushing her to follow the thrill. She could see why Quinn had abandoned the car for the bike.
Quinn turned onto the highway on the outskirts of Lima and Rachel wondered where she was taking them to. She hoped she hadn't misplaced her trust in the girl and that she wasn't going to be putting them both in danger. Boarded up country houses and rusty tractors blurred past as the pair sped along the tarmac. The road was empty, the night was clear and cool and Quinn's back was warm. In that moment, Rachel didn't care if they drove forever, as long as the night kept its perfection. She would almost swear, with the moonlight reflecting off the black asphalt, that they were immortal, invulnerable; the only two people alive in the universe, destined to live together forever. It made her wonder why she'd ever been afraid of the bike in the first place; she'd never felt so exhilarated.
But their journey wasn't destined to continue forever, and fifteen minutes later, Quinn was pulling into a roadside diner, the bike kicking up clouds of dust as it eased into the parking lot. Other motorbikes littered the lot, looking as though they had just been abandoned haphazardly, but looking closer, Rachel could make out a sense of uniformity. Quinn crawled into a spot near the fence line and switched off the engine. The sudden quiet hurt Rachel's ears, and the lack of vibration made her body feel light.
Quinn removed her helmet, then helped Rachel take hers off, slipping it into the compartment under the seat, as Rachel got off the bike. Sounds of a crowd and a rock and roll band assailed her ears, drifting from the diner.
"What did you think?" Quinn asked, jerking her head towards her motorcycle. Rachel grinned.
"It was wonderful. But you lied! You weren't going slowly!"
"Yes I was. That was slow for that bike. You have so much to learn," Quinn said with a mockingly exasperated sigh. Rachel pushed her lightly, making the pink haired girl laugh.
"I also have helmet hair!" Rachel moaned.
"Yes, well, you were wearing a helmet," Quinn stated, and Rachel rolled her eyes.
"Where are we, anyway?"
"Welcome to the House of Chaos!"
"Don't make fun, Quinn Fabray. Where are we?"
"Where I said. Look," Quinn pointed, and sure enough, on a sign mounted above the door, was the name House of Chaos.
"Sounds dangerous," Rachel muttered, dubious.
"It's great. Anyway, I thought you liked danger now, with breaking into school and all," Quinn teased, causing Rachel to push her again. "C'mon, they're nice in there."
Together they walked towards the entrance, and the sound of raucous laughter got louder. Climbing the stairs, Rachel could smell the tang of beer in the air.
"I thought you said this was a diner!" Rachel accused, glaring at Quinn, and pointing her finger.
"Actually, you assumed it was. It's more like a bar which serves food."
"You brought me to a bar?"
"It's a nice bar," Quinn defended.
"We're not even legal!"
"Relax Berry. They're cool. And you don't have to drink alcohol."
"We're not legally allowed to drink!" Rachel exclaimed and Quinn chuckled.
She pushed the door open and pulled Rachel in after her. A couple of people near the door paused and glared at them, but went back to their conversations when they realised that they were two girls of no interest. Quinn, pulling Rachel by the hand, led them to the bar. The barman, upon seeing Quinn, grinned widely, reaching out to clap her on the shoulder.
"Well, looky here! If it ain't my favourite rule breakin' teenager! Ain't it a little late for ya to be out and about on a school night?" he drawled. Rachel instantly took a liking to this man with his kind face and dirty cowboy hat.
"It's only eight o'clock, Bernie!"
"Too right it is! And you brought your girlfriend with ya!" he exclaimed as he saw Rachel. Beside her, Quinn blushed, face turning as pink as her hair.
"She's…she's not…" she stammered to the burly man, much to his and Rachel's amusement.
"Nothin' to be embarrassed about, girlie! You know we love ya anyway," he encouraged, clapping her on the shoulder again, before turning to Rachel, "now, mind you keep our little Quinnie outta trouble. She's got a mind for chaos, that one."
"Oh, I will, sir," she promised.
"None o' that 'sir' business. Name's Bernie! Proud owner of this dump for twenty five years!"
"Rachel Berry," she said, extending her hand, which the older man took, "Pleasure to meet you."
"Now look at that! This girl's got herself some manners. Maybe you ought to teach Quinnie here some. Right rude she is sometimes," he grinned and Quinn buried her face in her hands.
"Oi, Bernie, leave Quinnie alone! You're embarrassing the poor girl to death," a man said further along down the bar. Quinn jumped up in surprise, rushing to throw herself into the man's arms.
"I thought you were in Albuquerque! You came back and didn't tell me?" Quinn exclaimed, punching the man in the shoulder.
"I was in Albuquerque. Just got back today. If you let me breathe for a second, I would've told you that," the man groaned, rubbing his shoulder. Rachel looked the man up and down; he was young-ish, in his late twenties, she guessed, clean shaven, with scruffy brown hair, streaked with gold from the sun. He was muscular, but not brawny like the other men in the bar, and his close fitting grey t-shirt showed off the planes of his chest.
"Rachel," Quinn said, pulling her to stand beside her, "this is Mark. Mark, this is Rachel."
"Ah, the famous Rachel! I've heard lots about you," Mark said, flashing a grin before kissing her cheek in greeting.
"Really? What has Quinn said?" she asked in curiosity. She found it strange that this man should know things about her when she knew nothing about him.
"Nothing!" Quinn exclaimed before the man could speak, a faint blush painting her cheeks with a tinge of red. Rachel raised her eyebrows at the man, who laughed.
"Nothing she wants me to repeat, apparently. Don't worry Quinn. I won't tell. Bernie's embarrassed you enough for one night."
Rachel's stomach settled in disappointment. The curiosity to know was burning a hole in her, but clearly Mark's loyalty to Quinn was more important to him than satisfying her curiosity. She would just have to go without. She wondered at their relationship. Who was he for Quinn to talk about her to?
"Hey Bernie, some service would be nice," Mark was calling to the barkeeper.
"Some politeness from you would be nice," the man grumbled, but shuffled over all the same. Rachel guessed that Mark was showing off for her benefit, riling the older man.
"A beer for myself, a rum and coke for Quinnie, and, uh-" he broke off, looking at Rachel.
"An orange juice," she provided.
"And and OJ for the lovely lady! My shout," he grinned at the girls. He fished some notes out of his pocket and paid the barkeep, who promptly fetched them some drinks.
"So, what are you up to, here at this time of night?" Mark asked, taking a sip of his beer.
"First date," Quinn muttered, looking down at her drink.
"First date? Geez, Fabray, you really know how to impress a girl, don't you? Take her to a bikey bar on the first date."
"Back off, Brennan!" Quinn growled.
"I apologise for Quinn not knowing the first thing about romantic first dates," Mark said, taking Rachel's hand to show his sincerity. Rachel laughed. If only he knew that she preferred this to romance, given that she didn't want to fall in love with Quinn. Love was definitely on the 'Not to do' list. The biker bar setting was perfect, in Rachel's mind. It was opening the door for her into Quinn's world. For the first time, Rachel was seeing Quinn's life outside of school. Until now, Rachel had no idea what Quinn did in her spare time, nor who she saw, who she was friends with, but here she was, getting a glimpse into that life. It wasn't as bad as Rachel thought it was going to be; she had imagined drug using Goths with spiky mohawks, or heavy metal lovers with thousands of piercings - not these bikers, happily chatting away over their pints of beer. Certainly not clean shaven, nice, well spoken Mark, or friendly, burly Bernie. It was a pleasant surprise.
"Well, the least she can do is impress you on your first date. You know what that means, don't you, Quinnie?" Mark slyly grinned.
"You're on, Brennan!" Quinn said, marching off.
"Quinn is rather famous around here. Not only is she the youngest person to ever set foot here, but she is absolutely unbeatable at pool," Mark explained, linking his arm with Rachel's. Rachel raised her eyebrows; that was new information for her.
Quinn was already at the table, arranging the balls in their triangular starting position. Mark left Rachel to stand near one of the bar's supporting poles, while h picked himself a cue.
"Budge up, brother. Fabray is in the house," he said to a man leaning on the table's corner. The man moved, turning to watch the impending game, interest lighting up his eyes. Quinn was chalking up her own cue, leaving blue dust on its tip.
Rachel looked around while the two prepared; friends about to turn competitors. On the other side of the bar, a band was rocking out on a tiny stage, and a few people were headbanging on an equally as tiny dance floor. Mostly, people gathered at tables with their drinks, the din of their chatter trying to rise above the music. It was altogether a comfortable atmosphere. Rachel felt rather safe - something she wouldn't have expected, being in a room full of bikers.
"Sure you're ready for this, Mark?" she heard Quinn say and she turned back to the pool game.
"As ever."
"Then you can break," Quinn said. Rachel thought it an insult, until she saw that it meant Mark taking the first shot. He stood at one end of the table, leaned over, lining his cue up with the white ball. Drawing his arm back, he immediately thrust it forward with force, sending the white ball cracking into the tightly packed triangle of other balls. The group of men who'd gathered yelled in appreciation as three balls disappeared into various holes.
"Two bigs and one small," Quinn said. Rachel had no idea what she meant; she hadn't the faintest idea of how the game was played, but it was interesting to see this side of Quinn again. Quinn's competitive side had gone into hibernation when she'd quit the Cheerios the year before, but Rachel could see that it had simply manifested itself in different ways.
Mark took another shot. And missed. Quinn's turn.
"Hey Rachel, mind holding this?" she asked, slipping off her jacket and handing it to the brunette. It left her in a white singlet, sculpted to fit her body. When she bent forward to take her shot, it rode up, revealing her studded belt and a sliver of pale skin. Rachel dug her fingers into the jacket and bit her lip; the sight was incredibly arousing. So taken with watching Quinn, she didn't even realise that the pink haired girl had put a ball into the hole until a cheer went up from the on watchers, who were slowly increasing in size. Quinn moved around to the other side of the table to take another shot, Rachel watching enraptured, stomach fluttering at the little smirk Quinn gave as she sunk another ball.
"Some date you are, leaving your girl to the side, holding your jacket, while you get to play your games," Mark teased, trying to psych the pink haired girl out, trying to break her concentration. It didn't work. Quinn sunk the next ball too.
"Do you want a go?" Quinn asked Rachel, beckoning her over with a smile, "I just sunk three balls, I'm sure he knows that if I keep playing he's going to lose again. No point humiliating him further."
"Oh, I, um, actually, I don't know how to play," Rachel stammered, looking away from Quinn's hazel eyes.
"That's ok. I can teach you. It's quite easy once you get the hang of it."
Taking the jacket from Rachel's arms and leaving it draped over the couch along the wall, Quinn handed the cue over to Rachel, telling her to hit the white ball to hit the stripped ball, to make it go into the easiest hole. Feeling foolish, Rachel leaned over the table, trying to emulate the positions of Quinn and Mark, closing one eye to make sure that she was lining the balls up right. Thrusting the stick forward, she jerked backwards as it hit the green felt instead of the white ball. Glowing red from her failure, she could hear Mark chuckle behind her.
"No, here. You have to hold the cue like this," Quinn said, taking her hand and moving it up the stick, so that it was near the very end, on the carved handgrip, "and this hand goes like this, like a support. It helps you aim too. Now, you lean over like this," she demonstrated, leaning in with Rachel, her right hand over Rachel's on the cue, and her left near Rachel's on the table. Rachel could feel Quinn's breath on her face, and smell the alcohol on her breath, from the offending coke and rum perched on the table's corner.
"Now, draw back your arm like this, make sure you're going to hit the white ball, aiming it to hit that one over there, and push forward," Quinn continued, making the motions with her hands over Rachel's. The white ball jerked forward, completely missing the other ball. Quinn dropped her hand from Rachel's and moved back. Rachel immediately missed the contact, despite the room being filled with big, tattooed motorcyclists.
"I missed."
"That's ok. It was a nice try. It takes a bit to get the hang of," Quinn smiled, "now Mark gets two shots, because we didn't hit anything. Now see, he can only hit the fully coloured balls; they're called the big ones. And we have to hit only the small ones, which are the stripped ones. And we can't hit the black ball. That goes in last."
"Is that it? They're the rules?" Rachel asked in disbelief. She thought it much more complicated than that.
'Yep, that's it. If we don't hit anything, Mark gets two shots. If the white ball gets sunk, he gets two goes. If he gets a ball in, he gets another go. Same applies the other way around as well. And there he goes, missing again. Your turn," Quinn grinned. Rachel swallowed. She didn't want to let Quinn down. Leaning over, she went to attempt again, only to be stopped by the pink headed girl, who corrected her grip again, and her stance. Satisfied, she moved away, nodding at Rachel to hit the white ball. She did. And it hit the ball she was aiming at, knocking it into the corner hole. Proud of her achievement, Rachel squealed a little, grinning widely.
"I did it! I did it! I got it in!" she said, dancing a tiny victory dance.
"That you did. I'm proud of you," Quinn said, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Rachel's heart jumped at the contact and Quinn's cheeks flushed a pale pink. She smiled shyly at Rachel and reminded her that she had another go. But Rachel, so distracted by her first victory and the kiss Quinn had planted on her cheek, missed completely, granting Mark another two goes.
Even with Quinn guiding her through the rest of the game, Rachel could not hit another ball, and Mark ended up winning quite soon after. Neither Quinn nor Rachel minded; they'd had too much fun trying to teach and learn, respectively. Mark rolled his eyes at their antics, wondering how they'd taken so long to get to a date, when they were obviously quite enamoured of each other.
"Hey! Let's dance!" Rachel suggested, dragging Quinn by the arm to the dance floor on the other side of the bar.
"I have a better idea," Quinn said, corners of her mouth turning up in what Rachel recognised to be the smile she gave when she was planning something mischievous. Quinn, running up onto the stage at the end of the song, whispered something into the ear of the guitarist, who nodded along, then went to share with the rest of the band. Quinn grabbed the microphone, bringing it down to Rachel as the guitarist began belting out the beginning chords of a song. Rachel recognised it right away; last year she claimed it to be her favourite Fleetwood Mac song. With the microphone shoved into her hands, Rachel did the only thing she knew how to do: raised it to her mouth and sang.
Her voice filled the room, carrying over the din of the bikers, distracting them from their conversations. They'd been so used to the terrible vocalists of the bands who always played that they were shocked into silence by her very real talent. It only further encouraged her. Climbing the stage from the dance floor, she made sure that she could be seen, letting the song transport her audience into another dimension.
"She's got one hell of a voice," Mark said to Quinn, as they watched the tiny girl on the stage.
"I know. That's why she's going to be on Broadway one day."
"You're so sure about that."
"Yes," Quinn said, nodding along to the music. The two let the music fill the silence between them.
"You've never fallen for a boy like you've fallen for her," Mark quietly observed.
"I know."
"Does she know?"
"No. I can't tell her. She'd freak out."
"She likes you."
"Yeah, but I love her. And she won't ever love me the way she loves Broadway, so I can't tell her in case it changes her mind about leaving. She already debated once about that over a boy. She shouldn't have to choose."
"You'd sacrifice your heart so she can have her dream? You are one tough girl, Quinn Fabray. But maybe you shouldn't let her get away."
"What, follow her to New York?"
"Why not?" Mark asked, raising his eyebrows at the girl. Quinn didn't have an answer, at least not one she could articulate. She sighed; she didn't want to think about that just yet.
She clapped the hardest when the closing chords of the song sounded, grinning at the girl whose face was aglow with pleasure. Quinn's heart hurt when she thought about having Rachel leave at the end of the school year; she wasn't sure she could face having to see her go.
"Quinn! I'm going to kill you!" Rachel exclaimed, rushing to the pink haired girl's side, "that was a completely unfair impromptu!"
"I thought you enjoyed showcasing your talent," Quinn laughed, teasing the girl.
"Well, yes, I do. But that was still unfair. Do you think they enjoyed it? I hope they did. I wasn't exactly my best, because it was sprung on me, but I think it was passable. What do you think?"
"Rachel, I think it was perfect, and they loved it," Quinn reassured, and Mark nodded.
"You've got a set of vocals on you. Quinn wasn't overexaggerating, when she told me you were good," he said, making Rachel blush, "Anyway, I'll leave you two to it. A date isn't any fun when there's a third wheel."
"Was it really that good?" Rachel asked as Mark walked away.
"Rachel, it was fantastic. Better than the first time you sang it in Glee."
"You would say that. Last time I sang it I was singing it to your boyfriend," Rachel grimaced.
"I was worried you were taking him away from me. And look what happened; he's your boyfriend now. I was right to be worried," Quinn laughed, "anyway, let's go sit down. I'll buy you another drink. What would you like?"
With that, the two of them moved to one of the couches along the walls, teasing and laughing and flirting like mad. They solicited strange looks from the bikers in the room who had never seen Quinn so happy, and they wondered who this brown haired girl was, making their adoptive biker daughter laugh like they had never seen her laugh before. Even as they laughed, Rachel had some not so happy thought swirl through her mind, and though eager to question Quinn, held back. This was only their first date after all.
The night passed quicker than Rachel thought it was possible, giving new meaning to the phrase "time flies", and Bernie was yelling at Quinn with his fatherly voice to go home because it was a school night. Rachel laughed at the sight of the burly man with a bottle of alcohol in one hand telling the small pink haired girl to leave otherwise she'd never get to school the next morning; he didn't seem the type to care about education, but there he was. Obliging him, Quinn said goodbye to him and Mark, and various other men on the way out, whom had drifted over to talk to them throughout the night, and pulled Rachel out of the House of Chaos.
"So, what did you think?" Quinn asked as they walked towards the bike.
"I got to see you play pool and lose, got to kick your ass at poker, and got to sing in front of a crowd of tattooed motorcyclists. I think it was brilliant," Rachel grinned.
"I only lost because I handed the cue over to you," Quinn growled playfully, "and as for the poker, well, I've never been good at that anyway."
"And I got to meet your family," Rachel added, and Quinn looked at her with that soft expression in her eyes again, the same as hours earlier in the janitor's closet, "they were amazing. They're so accepting, for bikers. I didn't expect that."
"You have to learn to expect the unexpected with me," Quinn laughed, then turned serious, "but yeah, they are great. I wasn't sure how they'd react to you, but they took it exceptionally well. I mean they already know that I'm…well, yeah."
"A lesbian?" Rachel asked tentatively, not sure whether she was pushing too far with the conversation by putting the word out there. Quinn sighed, a deep one, from the heart.
"Yeah. But I don't like the label. I'm me, that's all. If I'm going to be labelled anything, I'm going to be labelled Quinn Fabray, because that's who I am. 'Lesbian', 'dyke' or 'gay' just try to put me into a category to define me, when my sexuality is only a tiny part of who I am. I can't be defined as anything other than myself," she said, looking at the stars.
"I understand. I wouldn't want you to be anyone other than Quinn Fabray," Rachel whispered, taking Quinn's hand and smiling. Quinn smiled back, a melancholy smile, showing the weight on her heart.
"The real question is, Quinn, are you safe to drive this motorbike?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? Did we not have this conversation earlier?"
"You were drinking," Rachel reminded her.
"I had one drink. The coke and rum, hours ago. Trust me, I'm fine now. I might be a rule breaker, but I wouldn't do anything to compromise your safety," Quinn said with utmost sincerity, and Rachel, upon compulsion, leant forward and lightly kissed her on the lips. There was too much she wanted to express, and that was the only way she knew how, even if it was only the tip of the iceberg. Grinning, Quinn helped Rachel onto the bike, then started the engine, accelerating into the night.
This time, Rachel could feel the speed. Quinn wasn't lying when she said before hadn't been fast at all. And this time, without hesitation, Rachel let out a whoop of exhilaration, letting the adrenaline flood her body, bringing the night to a high. The darkness enveloped them in its perfection, the moonlight promising many more nights just like it.