Title: Tripping on Stepping Stones (Falling with Grace)
Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.
Summary: 5 years apart, Quinn, at 15, had already known Rachel for a very integral part of her life. So falling in love with her just made sense. If only for Rachel it was that easy.
A/N: Thank you for all of your kind reviews!
Rachel knew she had screwed up.
She closed the door behind her after walking Quinn to her car and seeing her off, and her head fell against the door with a hard thud.
Quinn had expected better of her, and Rachel had failed her. She had danced around Quinn's love confession with a quick hug, and an 'it's okay', and that was all they spoke of it. And Rachel knew Quinn needed more. She needed her best friend. But with her mind reeling over newfound information, Rachel couldn't be that for her in that moment. And this morning wasn't any better. They avoided eye contact and hardly said two words to each other until Quinn left. The hug was stiff and awkward, mostly on Quinn's part, but Rachel did nothing to dissuade her discomfort.
And then Quinn was gone, down the road to Lima, and Rachel was banging her head against the door, punishing herself because she should have handled that better. She was the older one for a reason.
Her phone chimed with an alarm, and she fished it out of the pocket of her dress to read it. Slapping a hand against her face, Rachel walked further into the common space, her mind racing a mile a minute. "It can't be," she muttered to herself.
The interest meeting for Wicked was today, and Rachel's eyes slipped shut in sorrow. Ohio State's theater department wasn't at all like the cut throat theater world Rachel had heard about. Here they cared about fairness as opposed to raw talent; and to ensure fairness in divvying out roles to everyone, interest meetings were held for each play. Whoever couldn't make the interest meeting also couldn't audition. And Rachel really wanted this part.
She sighed and plopped down on the couch. She wanted the part, but she wanted her friend more. And she knew what she had to do. But that didn't mean she couldn't wallow in self-pity for a bit.
Quinn spent the drive back to Lima with a sullen expression on her face. After managing to skate around the topic of her affection, Rachel spent the rest of the night ignoring it, attempting to continue as usual.
A lone tear trekked down Quinn's face and she hastily wiped it away. She didn't know what she expected from Rachel, but complete disregard for her feelings certainly wasn't it. That wasn't Rachel's style.
She texted plans to hang out with her friends on the drive back to Lima and as soon as she arrived, Quinn joined half her squad and half the football team at Breadstix. They tended to follow the cheerleaders wherever they went, so Quinn was unsurprised to find Puck among the crowd when she arrived.
The two fell into a booth, and Quinn welcomed his immaturity and sexual advances in an attempt to keep from drowning beneath the current of her emotions. It was all unfamiliar territory for her, unrequited love, heartbreak. They were difficult emotions to navigate, so she settled for shoving them to the side.
Puck sipped his drink, eyes on Quinn. "I knew you'd come around." He flexed for good measure. "Chicks dig The Puck."
She laughed into her hand, half forced, half incredulous. "Who calls you that?" she inquired, swinging her hair to one side.
At that, Puck faltered, his ladies man prowess skidding to a halt. "Girls," he finally uttered.
Intrigued at the way she had quickly reduced him to a stammering mess, Quinn leaned forward. "Oh, yeah?" Her voice was doing something unrecognizable, but from the wide-eyed look Puck was giving her, it was okay. "What girls?"
Puck gulped. He had never heard a girl sound that way before. Some had tried and failed, but Quinn. "Some…"
Quinn smirked. "I'm not gonna call you The Puck, Puck."
He cleared his throat, and pitched his voice deeper to regain a sense of control. "You can call me whatever you want, babe."
But he still handed the control over to her, put the ball in her court, and a small thrill unlike anything Quinn had ever felt before pulsed through her. She could do this.
They ate dinner in relative silence, occasionally engaging in a verbal power play or two. When her squad began to file out of the restaurant, Quinn followed suit.
"Wait." Puck reached for her arm when she began to walk away.
Quinn turned to him, lips already upturned at the corners. "Can I help you, Puck?"
He stepped closer with a wide gait and all the confidence in the world. "Let me take you out again. Without everyone else this time."
Quinn bit her lip, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. "Maybe."
She nearly hyperventilated on her way to the car. Who was that girl back there? Quinn had never experienced her before, and wondered what rock she had been hiding under. She had always been confident, and whatever confidence she lacked, she faked with no problem. But what happened back there went beyond confidence. She had tapped into someone brand new. And she realized, as she pulled out of the parking lot of Breadstix, that she liked it.
When Quinn pulled into the driveway of her home, she saw the front door open, the light inside illuminating a small figure in her doorway. Cautiously, Quinn stepped out of her car. The figure stepped out of the house, closing the door behind her, and without the light washing her out, Quinn recognized her features.
"Rachel," she breathed.
Rachel flashed a small, guilty smile as she approached. Her hands were clasped in front of her demurely as she came face to face with Quinn. "Hi, Quinn."
"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked, glancing from her house to Rachel.
"I couldn't leave things how they were," Rachel admitted.
The keys jingled around and around in Quinn's iron clad grip. "Oh," she muttered.
"Quinn, I'm sorry," Rachel rushed out. "I'm so sorry, o-okay—I just—I blanked. I was, for once—" she attempted a short, self-deprecating laugh to ease tension "—I was rendered totally and utterly speechless. And when you needed me most, I failed you," she murmured softly. "And I'm so, so sorry."
Quinn could barely muster up her voice. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," Rachel lamented, nearly in tears. She gesticulated with her hands as she tried to be understood while her body shook with silent hiccupping sobs. "I love you, Quinn. And I don't ever want to lose you because of my callousness—I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey—slow down," Quinn instructed. She teetered on the balls of her feet in uncertainty before no longer being able to take it.
Rachel hiccupped and sighed when she felt Quinn's arms wrap around her neck. Unfolding from herself, she gripped the sleeves of her sweater for comfort as she wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist.
"I'm sorry for making this about me," Rachel whispered a moment later. "I'm so incredibly selfish."
"Don't worry about. I umm—" Quinn sighed. "I actually don't want to talk about it, so."
Rachel pulled away so she could see Quinn's face. "Are you sure?"
Quinn gave a small shrug. "I don't know? It's just all really embarrassing, and—"
"It's not embarrassing," Rachel gently resisted.
"It is to me. I just—" She folded her arms across her chest and turned sharply at the waist to angle herself away from Rachel. Quinn could have a normal life. She could do everything her parents expected of her, and hope that if Puck can't be the rich guy, then he could at least learn to be the decent guy she could bring home one day. She didn't have to pursue Rachel. It didn't have to be this way. "Will you—could you ever maybe feel the same way?"
Rachel gnawed on the inside of her cheek, because she was willing to help Quinn work through her feelings and come to a place of closure. But she was not willing to talk semantics regarding what scenario, if any, they could date.
"Quinn, sweetheart, I can't," was all Rachel could string together. There were so many things she couldn't do right now, and it made her feel so powerless. She couldn't be with Quinn, couldn't spare her heart ache, and honestly couldn't have this conversation.
It was all asking her to put too much on the line, five years of friendship, not to mention the illegality of it all, and her own moral hang-ups about the whole situation. "I can't have those feelings for you, Quinn. I don't—"
Quinn huffed a bitter laugh and dropped her hands to her side. "Okay, I get it."
Rachel's mouth clamped shut. She had never heard Quinn take such a tone with her. She had heard her try when Quinn was younger and Rachel was dating Finn, but the tone that had just come out of Quinn's mouth was downright bone chilling.
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Rachel tapped into the confidence to try again. "You are absolutely exceptional, Quinn. And you know how fond I am of you. It's not a matter of whether or not I care about you, because I do, so much. It's a matter of right and wrong, and it would be wrong for us to date, Quinn. You're a minor, for goodness sakes."
"All right, all right. I get it." Quinn finally turned to look at Rachel. The dark cloud that had come over her had seemed to rescind as she even forced a pained, lopsided smile. "Don't worry about it. And thank you—thanks for coming."
Rachel's eyes narrowed at the sudden change of heart. Since moving away for college, she had forgotten how abruptly Quinn's mood could shift. She stepped forward in hopes of reconciliation. "May we hug? I have to catch the next bus to Columbus, but I really needed to know you were all right."
"Yeah." Quinn nodded with a tight jaw. "I'll be fine, promise." The pair shared a hug that in no way rivaled the awkwardness of this morning, but was just as disconcerting.
On the way back to Ohio State, Rachel couldn't help but think she had missed her mark.
Frannie found Rachel sobbing in the darkness of her bedroom when she finally arrived back home that evening. Alarmed, she flicked the lights off and rushed to Rachel's side of the bed.
"Oh, sweetie, what happened?" Her eyes were alight with concern, her touch light as she stroked Rachel's hair. "Is this about Gabriel?"
Rachel felt her stomach twist in knots at the irony, and she cried anew.
Frannie cupped the sides of Rachel's face and regarded her critically. "Goodness, you look positively heartbroken. What in hell happened while I was out?"
The entire story from start to finish bubbled up inside of her chest, but Rachel suppressed it. Her friendship with Frannie meant more than anything. Frannie was the reason Rachel had managed to survive high school, though in some ways she was also the cause of high school being utter hell. But had she not have eventually been taken under Frannie's wing, Rachel shuddered to think of the fact that she could have been tormented even more. She couldn't bear to have Frannie view her as some pervert who was making moves on her little sister. Or even worse, a creep who broke her little sister's heart.
Instead, Rachel just clutched Frannie closer, and attempted to find solace in the fact that at least one of the Fabray sisters didn't hate her guts.
She just wished Quinn wasn't the one who did.
Puck was no Rachel, but Quinn decided resolutely that he would do.
After the two of them became official, Quinn's popularity skyrocketed to heights she had never imagined. She was leagues ahead of everyone as most popular girl in school, and she had reached a level of popularity that even Frannie hadn't.
She smiled proudly as she walked into the school. Puck smoothly slid in beside her and grabbed her hand. He was the football team's new quarterback, and wore his letterman jacket proudly. "Shall we?" he asked, casting a sideways glance at Quinn.
Quinn nearly burst in excitement. "We shall."
She had given up walking down the hallways with her Cheerios in favor of walking with Puck. It was more to stake her claim than anything. As quarterback and resident bad boy, Noah Puckerman was surprisingly a hot commodity at McKinley High. Quinn never would have guessed. It seemed her tastes in significant others was a tad different than her peers.
Then again, her tastes in significant others was Rachel Berry, so that alone should have informed Quinn that she was a little different.
Puck walked her to class, and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, and Quinn watched the other girls practically fall over themselves in envy with an evil smile.
They were in glee club together, which helped maximize their appeal, which would work in their favor down the line. Quinn was nothing if not a planner, and junior prom was only a year away. If she could find a way to keep Puck around until then, that crown was hers. And, as Quinn looked around to the social outcasts that constituted this glee club, she realized that Puck really was the cream of the crop as far as boys went. And he was the only one who was going to win her that crown.
At any costs, it would be hers.
Rachel was a wreck. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else she could have done. Rash by nature, she often did things without thinking. That combined with her tunnel vision sometimes left others devastated in her wake as if she were a tornado that had blown through a town.
Finn was one such casualty. He didn't fit in the grand scheme she saw for herself, so Rachel had to end it. And as callous as that made her sound, she wasn't. Or so she thought.
Gabriel was a second casualty because he just didn't fit into her life the way she wanted.
And Robin was someone Rachel was trying really hard not to make a casualty. But as she stood at the door waiting for Robin to gather her things to leave after their shared class, Rachel couldn't help but feel that was going to be the case. About two weeks after the blow up with Quinn, Rachel had called Robin and Robin didn't answer. They hadn't spoken since the restaurant, which Rachel found she couldn't rationally blame Robin for. Irrationally, however…
"Hi!" Rachel chirped as Robin approached her, or the exit, rather. "Riveting dialogue today, wouldn't you say?"
Robin looked at her as if she had grown two heads. She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, and attempted cordiality. "Is that really all you have to say to me?"
It fell a little flat.
Rachel winced. "I'm sorry it took me so long to call. But to be fair, when I did call, you didn't answer. And didn't return my call."
"Rachel, allow me to be frank," Robin prefaced. "You seem like a closet case."
Rachel frowned deeply. "I beg your pardon."
Robin cracked a small smile. "You seem to be so deep in the closet, you can't even begin to fight your way out. And that's fine. We all start somewhere. But it's just—I've been there. And I've dated girls who have been there. And I am so far removed from the closet now that I can't see myself going back." Her smile turned sad. "Not even for you. I'm sorry."
There were just so many rebuttals borne of hurt feelings on the tip of her tongue, that Rachel stammered trying to get any of them out. Then Robin placed a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek, and Rachel quieted. "I'm sorry," Robin said again. "But you and that Quinn girl sure did seem to have something special."
Rachel leapt back from Robin's embrace, looking positively grief stricken. "She's fifteen!" she hissed. Why did no one understand that?
Robin's eyebrows knitted. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry. It's just—the two of you seemed really close—"
"She's my best friend," Rachel elaborated, horror still fixed upon her face.
"Your best friend is a fifteen year old?"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But I used to babysit her, and I'm friends with her older sister. Quinn, Frannie, and I just kind of grew up together. I've never had many friends," she added. Even now at Ohio State the only person she could call her friend was Frannie. Gabriel couldn't count because he was an on again off again lover. Frannie was it.
Sensing the train of Rachel's thoughts, Robin offered a small smile. She stepped forward and linked her arms with Rachel, green eyes glistening as she offered Rachel a platonic date for coffee.
"No wonder the girl has a crush on you, Rachel. Have the two of you ever heard of boundaries?" Robin laughed as Rachel shook her head in embarrassment, cheeks reddening.
"I just never thought we needed it. I thought she was straight." Rachel bit her lip. "I didn't think anything we did was inherently wrong."
"It's not wrong," Robin was quick to clarify. "At least, from what I can tell. I just think Quinn's going through puberty, and this is a time in her life when the first real romantic feelings for another begin to form. And you've always been such a source of positivity in her life. You've been the one she could go to with problems, a real confidant. And a source of reinforcement to her self-esteem and sense of self. In a way, it kind of makes sense, from her view point. I mean, why not fall in love with you?"
Rachel sighed and took a sip of her coffee. She could think of a few reasons to why not.
"And it doesn't seem to be a matter of her being straight or gay. I don't think she's made that distinction for herself. Which, given what you've informed me about her upbringing, makes sense. She was never supposed to think about these things, and so she hasn't. And then one day feelings for you just pop up out of nowhere. And it isn't a matter of is she straight or is she gay, but that she just has feelings."
"What's your major again?" Rachel couldn't help but ask.
Robin laughed a little. "Psychology."
"I was afraid of that. You've been psychoanalyzing me since day one, haven't you?"
At that, Robin looked a touch guilty. "Uh, it's kind of habitual."
Rachel leaned back in her seat. "All right. Lay it on me."
"And it's not like I'm certified or anything," Robin continued. "Everything is just minor observations, pure speculation on my part. And I'm just a sophomore."
"Nonsense, when you're good, you're good," Rachel admonished gently. "Besides, you just described Quinn Fabray's sexuality to a T, and you met her for what, all of two minutes."
"To be fair, you filled in a lot of backstory for me."
"The point is you're good." Rachel shrugged a little. "Come on, I can take it. Tell me about myself."
It was silent for a moment as Robin stared at Rachel. "You're sure?" she asked one last time.
Rachel shrugged again. "Sure, it'll be fun. And I'm sure this will be very educational."
"Okay." Robin inhaled a deep breath, her hands molding around the cup of coffee. "You strike me as someone who's restless. And it mostly manifests itself in your personal life. The only two people who have constantly remained in your life since high school seem to be Quinn and Frannie. Am I correct?"
Rachel shifted in her seat with a curt nod. "That is correct."
"You feel like something's missing. A person, an experience, a past dream—something."
Rachel swallowed. "Well, that certainly was interesting." She cleared her throat. "I have an audition in about an hour or so, so I think I'm going to order a little something, then get out of here."
Robin reached across to grab Rachel's hand as she reached for the menu. "Hey, if I hit too close to home or anything, I'm—"
"No." Rachel shook her head with a tight smile. "You didn't. At all. This—this was fun. Perhaps we can try this again."
"You know you don't have to come to my sister's lame singing competition, don't you?"
Rachel frowned at the description. She ran her mascara brush across her eyelashes one more time then spun to find Frannie reclining on her bed as if it were her own. "You do remember I was the very first president of the club that has these 'lame singing competitions', right?"
Frannie smiled like Quinn, which only infuriated Rachel that much more. "Oops," she intoned insincerely.
Rachel couldn't help but laugh. "Jerk. Besides, I'm already in New York. It'd be a shame, and waste of money I don't have to back out now." Her stomach had been in knots all morning. This would be the first time in nearly two months Rachel would see or even hear from Quinn. She hadn't visited since The Incident. And granted, Quinn only visited every few months, but Rachel couldn't stop blaming herself for the fact that Quinn hadn't been back.
It had become glaringly obvious through their lack of communication, or Quinn's rather, that Rachel missing her chance to audition for Wicked to visit Quinn hadn't fixed things in the slightest. She tried her hardest not to lament on the lost opportunity, but she was never in her life going to get the chance to play Elphaba again, and the fact that she and Quinn weren't even talking after she had wasted the opportunity was a small thorn in her side.
But Quinn was her friend above all else. And Rachel was going to see her perform.
Quinn held hands with one of her teammates in jittery excitement as the two girls bounded toward the stage. It had felt like the perfect way to end what had felt like a long year, and especially a long few months. Her heart pounded beneath her breast in anxiety at performing for such a large crowd.
"Quinn, sweetie, hold on."
Quinn stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of that voice. She turned to find Judy Fabray walking toward her. Feeling the other girl still holding fast to her hand, Quinn turned and flashed a brief, tight smile. "I'll be there in a sec, okay?"
The girl nodded and skipped off.
"What is it?" Quinn asked her mother. Ice had slipped seamlessly into her tone.
Rachel practically vibrated with nervous energy as she and Frannie filed down the rows to take their seats. "This takes me back," she hissed to Frannie in excitement. Glee, New York—it was all coming back to her.
Frannie opened her program. "Oh, yeah?" she deadpanned. "Doesn't do a thing for me."
"Is that Rachel? Rachel Berry?"
Rachel looked up at the sound of her name. Standing up two rows above her was Kurt Hummel. They squealed at the exact same time, and Frannie grimaced as she covered her ear. "Take that to the next row, will you?"
But Rachel was already gone. She shuffled out of the row and met Kurt in the middle of the aisle. "Bring it in!" Kurt demanded as he hugged Rachel tight. He sighed as they pulled back. "I should have known you'd be here."
Coiffing her hair, Rachel laughed. "Of course! I needed a little glee in my life. And Quinn—Frannie's sister—is performing. This is her first Nationals competition."
"We must catch up. You know Mercedes moved here a few months ago, right?"
She felt a pang in her heart that was indescribable. "No," she murmured. "I didn't—I didn't know that." Kurt and Mercedes had been her best friends in high school. They all had grandiose plans of travelling to New York and having successful careers, and Rachel would have never guessed that out of all of them, she would be the one to see her dreams unfulfilled.
"Dinner," Kurt insisted. "After the show?"
"Yes," Rachel blurted, felt compelled to. She trickled back down into her seat after they parted always, and couldn't help but feel like she had gotten the short end of the stick in life. Again.
Judy rubbed the palms of her hands together nervously. "I know I said I wouldn't come, but…I couldn't miss my little girl."
Quinn knew a trap when she saw one. When she had left Judy this morning, she and informed Quinn that she wouldn't be attending her competition because she had important plans she couldn't cancel on.
But Quinn knew all about Judy's important plans. Over the past few years Judy had been entertaining a drinking habit with some friends that she met with every once in a while to play bridge. It made absolutely no sense that Judy was here right now.
With Quinn looking none too inviting, Judy decided to just go for it. "Your father and I are getting a divorce."
Quinn stopped in her tracks. "W-what?"
"We're moving out, Quinnie. He can have his little floozies. You and I will be a family."
"New Directions!" the announcer called.
The audience began clapping politely, and Rachel sprang from her seat to loudly cheer. "Go, Quinn! Go, Mr. Schuester!"
"Thank you all again for coming, and absolute silence as New Directions takes to the stage."
She wasn't sure if it was directed at her, but she looked around self-consciously as she took her seat.
"Quinn, it's time to get out there with your teammates," Mr. Schuester called before he turned and rushed toward the stage.
Her mother couldn't have picked a worse time. It was her first Nationals competition, and the first time Quinn had ever been to New York. She didn't need Rachel's over-exuberant text message to know she would be in the crowd tonight, and her mother wanted to pick now, now to discuss the outcome of her years failed marriage with her daughter.
"I know this is difficult to hea—"
Quinn took a step back, turned on her heel, and ran.
Across the stage in the audience, Judy shuffled down the aisle to sit beside Frannie. "Hi, dear."
"Hey, mom. How's it going?"
The curtain closed and the lights dimmed as a hush fell over the crowd waiting in anticipation for the competition to begin.
Judy leaned over toward Frannie. "Your father and I are getting a divorce," she whispered.
Only, it was quiet enough in the entire theater to hear a pin drop, and when Rachel heard this particular pin drop, her eyes widened.
The curtain lifted in a flash as New Directions was again announced to perform. Rachel instantly noticed it was a group number, and attempted to smile despite the sad new she had overheard.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Frannie hissed. "You're telling me this now? Way to show some tact like always, mom."
Rachel tried not to allow Frannie's growing ire to distract her from the competition. But New Directions was missing one key member. And as Rachel's frantic gaze darted from one person to the next on stage, it became increasingly obvious that they were short a member. "Quinn," she whispered to herself. Without consulting the pair beside her bickering over the state of the Fabray household, Rachel shot up from her seat and out of the row.
She stormed pass every stage-hand in her way with determination guiding every step.
"Excuse me, miss?"
It was a security guard, and against her better judgment, Rachel started running.
"Miss!" he yelled after her.
Dark hair whipping behind her, she ran past glee club members of other schools in search of either Quinn or Mr. Schuester without any luck. "Mr. Schue?" she called, at a loss.
"Ma'am, you cannot be back here."
Rachel spun on her heel, her anxiety over Quinn's well-being bleeding into anger. "I will have you know, sir, that I happen to be the very first president that New Directions of McKinley High has ever—"
"Rachel?"
She turned to find Mr. Schuester approaching with a bemused expression on his face. "What are you doing here?"
"Mr. Schuester!" Overcome with sudden emotion, Rachel leapt to give Mr. Schuester a hug. "I'm here for Quinn. She wasn't on stage, and—"
"Wait, Quinn isn't on stage?" His eyebrows bunched as he looked toward the stage where New Directions was performing.
Rachel sighed internally. She liked Mr. Schuester a lot, but he never was one for noticing a girl in the middle of a crisis. "I was wondering if you've seen her."
He frowned in thought. "The last time I saw Quinn, she was heading to the bathroom after talking to her mother."
Rachel burst through the bathroom door, heart climbing in her throat. "Quinn!"
And there, standing at the far end of the bathroom against the wall, was Quinn Fabray. She looked up at the sound of her name to find Rachel walking further into the bathroom, and rushed toward her to close the distance.
"Quinn—" Whatever else Rachel was going to say died in her throat when she found her arms full of a five-foot-six blonde with a broken heart. Rachel's eyes shut in agony as she listened to Quinn sob against her shoulder. "Sweetheart," was all she could manage in a choked, pained voice. She rubbed Quinn's back in the only form of comfort she knew how to give in a situation like this.
Quinn sniffled and rested her cheek against Rachel's shoulder. "They're divorcing."
Rachel held Quinn tighter. "I heard," she murmured. "I'm so sorry, Quinn." It honestly baffled her. The Fabrays seemed to have a picture perfect life. How Quinn's parents could suddenly up and divorce was beyond her comprehension.
But some things weren't meant to be understood.
So Rachel just held Quinn tighter for upwards to an hour, and neither said a word.
New Directions didn't win, and it was shitty icing on a shitty cake of a shitty year for Quinn, it felt like.
She felt so incredibly out of place.
They sat in a booth and Kurt and Mercedes shared one side while Rachel occupied the other alone. She should have brought Frannie. Quinn was rightfully celebrating making Nationals with her team, and she needed this day more than anything. But Frannie was likely just watching TV back in the hotel room she and Rachel shared. It took everything Rachel had not to text her to meet her at the restaurant.
The dynamic was way off. They used to be an equilateral triangle—equal sides, equal friendships. Now it was distorted. Kurt and Mercedes had tons of inside jokes that Rachel wasn't privy to. To their credit, they would attempt to explain it, but it wasn't the same. Inside jokes operated on the basis of you had to be there, and Rachel was not. This was the first time she had even stepped foot in New York since Nationals her senior year of high school. It had been years. And it was utterly embarrassing.
"So what have you been up to, Rachel?" Kurt asked as he and Mercedes calmed from another round of laughter at yet another joke that Rachel couldn't relate to. "How's Ohio?"
It felt like a cutting remark, though Rachel knew it wasn't. She cleared her throat. "It's great. As I said before, Frannie and I are roommates—"
"I still can't believe you guys ever became friends," Mercedes interrupted, mystified. "We all thought she was just yanking your chain all along," she went on to admit.
"Yes, well, things change." There was a bite to her tone that she hadn't meant, but it was there. She averted her eyes. "Ohio State has a better theater program than I could have asked for. Most recently I had the honor of playing Sandy in a production of Grease."
Kurt's eyes widened. "No way. I love Grease."
She couldn't tell whether he was genuinely impressed or patronizing her, but she smiled anyway. "It was wonderful. I've been taking dance classes since I was a first year, so it wasn't too strenuous, but still a very rewarding learning experience."
Kurt nodded along, impressed. "The leading lady, wow. I still can't land anything besides effeminate best friend. And I've really been trying to tone it down," he lamented with a faux frown."
Mercedes laughed at his antics. "Bless his heart, he really has. But you know Kurt. He could never tone down the gay."
For the first time all dinner, Rachel laughed. It was finally something she could relate to, something that called back to a time when all three of them were friends. Her shoulders loosened as she sank back into the booth. "I've missed you guys," she declared.
Mercedes smiled while Kurt leaned forward. "We've missed you, too. When are you coming to New York, missy?"
Rachel sighed deeply. It was news she was going to have to break to them eventually, and herself. "I don't think that I am," she admitted. "I think my dream has run its course, guys."
Mercedes look wholly troubled by the revelation. "Seriously? But we all made plans to go to New York together."
"And my plans should have included money." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I was young, and way too much of a dreamer. It's time I woke up."
"That doesn't sound like the Rachel I've always known. Annoying, squawky—" Mercedes laughed at the appalled look on Rachel's face. "You never let anyone dissuade you, including me. That's the Rachel I remember."
"It's not about being dissuaded, guys."
"Sounds like it to me," Kurt finally spoke up. "I don't like this side of you. It's sullen, and brooding, and defeated, and none of those are words I would have ever used to describe you."
Rachel sighed. "I don't expect you guys to understand. I mean, Mercedes, your dad's a doctor. And Kurt, your dad may have struggled a bit, but his career as a mechanic has really taken off."
"Oh, don't play this game," Kurt said. "Your dad's a dentist. I get the money issue, I do. But my dad promised me that if I worked my ass off as much as he did, he'd help me."
"Yeah, same here. I mean, I've dropped an album, and my ass is still busting tables at a diner. You gotta fake it til you make it."
"I heard that!" Kurt and Mercedes slapped hands.
Dinner didn't last much longer, and Rachel spent the entire time distracted. Quinn had told her seemingly ages ago that the first step to chasing her dreams was to get a job. And now Kurt and Mercedes were telling her the exact same thing. It was astonishing how wise beyond her years Quinn could be. Moreover, she found solace in the fact that things weren't as easy as it seemed for Kurt and Mercedes.
But none of this changed the fact that her dream was over. She was twenty-one years old, and in Broadway years, she was rapidly heading for over the hill territory. It was over. And to ask her parents now to help fund her move to New York would be even more selfish than asking three years ago. They had college debts to pay off, and so did she.
And perhaps her niggling pride played a hand. In all of her fantasies of becoming a Broadway star, Rachel had never calculated having the drab job of waiting tables. She knew her hypothetical Broadway career would be a lot of hard work before a big pay off. But she had always imagined her hard work would include hours on set reciting lines, possibly getting looked over for roles because she didn't fit into certain ridiculous standards of beauty. But not waiting tables.
"We have to do this again," Kurt once again insisted as they exited the restaurant. "Come to New York again. If not to stay then at least to visit."
"Yeah, I can't lie, I miss having Little Ms. Berry around," Mercedes admitted with a smile.
Rachel grinned and grabbed their hands. "I will," she promised. "Trust me, this isn't the last New York has seen of Rachel Berry."
A few days later found Rachel on the Fabray doorstep with a heavy heart. It was the last time she would be visiting this house. A pile of packed boxes sat beside the door, and without walking in to greet everyone, Rachel simply picked up a box and took it to Quinn's car.
Junior year was over, and she had been home for a couple of weeks now. She and Quinn had been trying to get their friendship off the ground again, but they still had yet to discuss The Incident. Whenever Rachel would bring it up, Quinn changed the subject. And Rachel could understand. Quinn was going through a very difficult time in her life, and was trying to minimize as many stressors in her life as possible.
"Hey!"
Rachel placed a box in the trunk of Quinn's car and glanced up to find Frannie walking down the driveway in a pair of daisy dukes and a cut up t-shirt. Amused, Rachel walked toward her. "Where's Quinn?"
Frannie shrugged. "I don't know."
"Are you sure this is going to feel good?"
"Trust me, babe."
Quinn leaned back against the pillows with a deep breath while Puck mouthed at her neck. She found it difficult to think straight when her virginity was on the line. Her eyes slipped shut as she wondered if this was something she could go through with. Being a virgin wasn't that big of a deal. Frannie wasn't one, no one on her Cheerio squad was, and Rachel—actually Quinn wasn't sure if Rachel was a virgin or not, but she didn't want to think about it.
Rachel had no place in her thoughts right now.
"I don't know about this," she admitted after a moment.
Puck pulled back and reached for the six pack on his dresser. And really, the fact that he had a six-pack on his dresser at the age of 17 (he had failed a grade) should have probably raised a few red flags. "Here, have another wine cooler."
"No, I—" Quinn pressed against his chest and leaned up onto her elbows. "Do you have protection?"
Puck scoffed at the question as if it were trivial. "Trust me, babe," was all he said.
And it probably shouldn't have been enough, but it was. Quinn lied back against the sheets once more and pulled Puck with her.
He reached for her spanks when a phone began to ring. The ringtone was Don't Rain on My Parade, and Quinn shoved Puck away from her and leapt from the bed. "I gotta take that," she rushed.
"What the hell?"
Heart thundering in her chest and blood rushing to her ears, Quinn could barely hear Puck's protests as she pressed the answer call button. "Hello?"
"Quinn." It was the tender sound of Rachel's relieved sigh, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Quinn, what are you doing?"
"I don't know," Quinn croaked, honestly.
"Where are you?" Rachel demanded, picking up on her tone immediately. She had known it for six years now. "I'm on my way."
"Rachel," Quinn cried into the phone.
By the time Rachel arrived at Puck's house, there wasn't a word that could quite describe the anger that was bubbling inside her. She parked Quinn's car curbside and stalked toward the door. It opened before she had a chance to knock and Quinn, dressed in a rumpled Cheerios uniform and an uncharacteristically unkempt ponytail, looked completely shamefaced as she met Rachel's irate eyes briefly then shied away from them. "Rachel—"
"Where is he?"
Quinn straightened at the sound of Rachel's voice. She had never heard it sound so grave. "Rachel, look—"
Rachel stormed into the house past Quinn to find a shirtless boy standing a few feet behind her looking like a petrified little boy. "Are you Noah Puckerman?" Rachel nearly shouted.
He winced both at her tone and the fact that she used his whole name. "Yes. But please don't—"
"Don't you ever lay a finger on Quinn again, do I make myself clear?" She pointed an accusatory finger at him while her other hand clenched into a trembling fist at her side. It shook with rage Rachel had never felt before. Quinn was just a child. This overgrown man-boy had no right touching her. "I don't even want you to look in her direction," she growled.
Quinn walked closer to the two of them, at a loss for what to do. "Rachel," she tried again. "It's okay. We were just—"
Rachel rounded on Quinn. Anger and sadness roiled in her stomach at the sight of the little girl she used to babysit standing before her. "Quinn—" Rachel stopped short. She forced herself to inhale a deep breath, lips pressed into a thin line. She had already been skating on thin ice with Quinn, and didn't want to worsen anything by letting her mouth get away from her. "We're leaving. Let's go."
Quinn flinched as Rachel walked past her. She looked over at Puck who was frozen where he stood, and turned to follow Rachel.
They rode home in silence, Rachel driving. Quinn couldn't bear to look anywhere but at her lap, embarrassed and ashamed. She had disappointed everyone—Judy, Russell, Rachel. And she could bear her parents' disappointment; it often seemed like no matter how well she did in life, they were always disappointed. But Rachel's was a disappointment Quinn had never fathomed. She suddenly felt ten years old again, and seemed to shrink in size in the passenger seat.
Rachel mentally rehearsed her lines over and over again in the silence as she drove them back to Quinn's house. It had grown more than obvious that this conversation needed to happen today. She didn't need to be a psychology major to see that Quinn was floundering. Casting a sideways glance at her, Rachel sighed. If this wasn't a cry for help, she didn't know what was.
She pulled up curbside instead of in the driveway and rolled the windows up before turning on the air. Rachel just watched Quinn's rigid form for a long moment. She had never known Quinn to cower from her. "Quinn, I think it's time we had the talk."
Quinn seemed to unravel unconsciously before her. She unfolded her arms and her hands plopped at her side on the seat as her posture eased back into the seat.
Rachel turned to face Quinn more fully. "Quinn, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Truly. I never—I handled your newfound feelings for me in an incredibly graceless and unintentionally crass way and I'm sorry. But I implore you to understand things from my perspective. A ten year old girl has a crush on you, and wants you to reciprocate. How would that make you feel?"
Quinn's nose crinkled at the description, though she remained mute. "It's not the same," she finally responded. Her voice had grown nasally from crying, and she cleared her throat.
"No?" Rachel challenged in a gentle voice. "Okay, you're twenty-one, and a newly sixteen year old girl—"
"No, it's—" Quinn growled. "It's not the same because this isn't about some arbitrary scenario." Her lips quirked into a frown. "It's you and me."
"And that's exactly why it freaks me out, sweetheart," Rachel explained. "It's you. The little girl with the glasses who had her nose in a book the first time I met her. The little girl I babysat. I mean, your sister's my age, and you're her little sister, Quinn. That's the perspective I'm looking at this from."
"But I'm not a little girl anymore," Quinn pointed out for the hundredth time.
Her voice teetered on a whine, enhanced by the nasal quality of her voice, and Rachel smiled. "I know. I think I…saw that a little earlier." When she saw a blush crawl across Quinn's cheeks, her smile broadened. "I know it's taking me some time to see that. But I will one day, I promise. It's just—for now, you're still my little girl. And I'm sorry. I know it frustrates you."
Quinn looked away. She glanced down at the lines in her hands, digging her feet into her carpet below. "How do you feel about me?" she asked quietly.
Rachel steeled her features, attempting not to show any outright reaction, lest she scare Quinn away again. "Honestly? I don't know, Quinn. You're only sixteen years old. I refuse to allow myself to see you that way."
"So you don't feel anything for me? Great," was Quinn's sarcastic reply.
"Sweetheart, I love you. I babysat you for quite some time. I am extremely fond of you, Quinn, inside and out. You're smart. You're," Rachel sighed, "insanely beautiful. It's hard to look at sometimes, truthfully."
Quinn flashed a brief, bashful smile.
"I have an abundance, a multitude of feelings for you, Quinn. But I cannot allow myself to view you in a romantic sense. It's not right."
Dejected, Quinn nodded. "Okay."
Rachel stared at her fondly. "Can I have a hug now?"
Quinn grimaced, tensing and leaning away. "You still want contact with me? Like physical?" Her voice grew higher in pitch. "But I—I'm this weird—"
"Stop it," Rachel interjected calmly. "You aren't weird. You can't help how you feel." A smile quirked her lips. "And I, for one, am flattered that the beautiful, illustrious Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray—"
"Cut it out," Quinn muttered in embarrassment.
Rachel laughed, charmed by the blush she could elicit. "Come here, sweetheart."
Quinn flinched. She rubbed her hands together then met Rachel's eyes with a pained expression. "Can you maybe…not call me that anymore?" At Rachel's perplexed and a touch wounded expression, she elaborated. "It's just…it kind of…"
"Does it make you uncomfortable? Given—everything?" Rachel inquired, voice strangled with impending sorrow.
Hurt was the word Quinn was going for, but discomfort sounded like the safer option. She already had egg on her face for confessing her love to someone she knew in a million years would never reciprocate, there was no need to add insult to injury by admitting that every time Rachel called her sweetheart she felt a pang in her chest.
Rachel attempted an encouraging smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She had called Quinn sweetheart for as long as she had known her. She couldn't quite well blame Quinn for having feelings for her, but it was unnerving to talk boundaries within a friendship that, up until this point, had none.
But perhaps that was where Rachel had gone wrong. She was too affectionate by nature, and truly the only person in Quinn's life throughout her formative years who showed her an ounce of kindness, let alone affection.
And as Robin had pointed out, it made sense, then, that Quinn would latch on to that, foster that—in her teenaged hormonal brain—into some form of romantic love.
Long story short, Rachel concluded, it was a phase. Something that would pass, because Quinn was beautiful and likely the most popular girl in school. Rachel doubted she had trouble finding suitors.
Quinn's feelings for her, however genuine, were fleeting.
They would pass.
And then she and Quinn could continue with their friendship as usual.
Mind made up, Rachel reached forward and pulled Quinn into a tight hug. "It will take practice," she admitted. "But I'll absolutely stop calling you that, Quinn. I want you to be comfortable around me, okay?"
Quinn chuckled once, darkly. "Sure." They pulled back and Rachel clasped Quinn's hand, holding it in her own.
Quinn surveyed the display of attention with a wry quirk of her lips. She felt Rachel tense.
"Is this making you uncomfor—"
"I don't know what I was thinking," Quinn mused to herself. Then she locked eyes with Rachel. "It's not like you're at all gay."
Rachel gasped out an incredulous laugh. Her eyes softened, almost in regret. "Oh, Quinn."
"And then she had the nerve to say I'm not a lesbian! Are you kidding me!? The Kinsey Scale couldn't measure my gay," Rachel shrieked over the loud music with a wild gesture of her hand.
It had rolled around to Saturday night again, and Frannie had dragged a moping Rachel out of their apartment to an apartment party two rows over. Two hours later and Rachel was drunk, on the couch next to some guy whose name she couldn't remember, but he was a great listener.
"Hey—hey, I'm sorry," she slurred. "What's your name again?"
He had impeccable posture, and turned slightly to engage her. "Mike, Mike Chang. We, uh, we actually took Movement III together." Initially, Rachel divulging to him all of her life's secrets regarding her sexuality had been a little weird, but he had assumed she at least knew who he was. Now that it was obvious she didn't, however, found Mike frowning down at her.
"Oh, Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike," Rachel repeated over again. "Hey! We were in Movement III together! You're a terrific dancer. Much more advanced than Movement III."
Mike rolled his eyes, though laughed good-naturedly. "I had to take a semester off. I'm supposed to be in Movement IV."
"Okay, so anyway," Rachel continued, having grown bored of Mike already. "I mean, okay, I technically shouldn't call myself gay if I'm going to sleep with a man," she conceded with a thoughtful frown. "But-but how dare-how dare she imply that I'm not attracted to women?"
"Who?" Mike asked, because at that point he just needed to know. He would rectify this situation himself if she just told him who it was that was so surely misinformed.
Rachel lifted her finger, a name on the tip of her tongue. Then she stopped. A hiccup bubbled in her throat and the brief spasm bought her brain some time to catch up with the rest of her. In a moment of sobriety, all of Rachel's thoughts came to a halt. "Nothing."
She began to stand and Mike followed her unsteady movements. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Rachel assured. "Just—water."
The pair traveled to the kitchen with Mike's sure grip in the bend of her arm. Rachel leaned back against the counter while he prepared her a glass of water.
Her thoughts, once uniform and organized, had splintered completely in her state of intoxication. So much so that every thought of Quinn that was once neatly stacked in its own folder now littered every corner of Rachel's brain. What Quinn looked like, what she sounded like, how she looked when she was happy, sad, irate, how adorable she looked when she was ten, and how pretty she looks now. And, curiously, Rachel wondered what she'd look like once she got older.
"Hey."
Muscles delayed, Rachel jerked back a second too late. But luckily it was only Mike with the promised glass of water. She accepted it graciously and went to town.
Amused, Mike watched her down the entire glass accompanied by audible gulping sounds. He folded his arms across his chest and shuffled to her side to lean back against the counter as well. "So what in the world was all that about?" he hedged.
Rachel gargled down another sip then came up from air. There was a water mustache on her upper lip that she licked away before glancing over at Mike. "I'm sorry, what?"
He pointed in the direction of the living room and thumping music. "Everything you said in there?"
Suspicious, Rachel lowered the glass to the countertop and turned to fully face Mike. "What did I say exactly?"
"That some girl said you were straight and she doesn't know the first thing about how gay you are, and—"
Rachel buried her face in her hands with a groan. "I did not," she muttered, completely mortified.
Mike laughed. "So who is this mystery girl?"
Face beet red, Rachel lifted her gaze just enough to gauge his reaction. In her inebriation, he looked like a friend. "I can't believe I told you any of that." She burrowed into her hands again.
"No, it's totally fine," Mike waved off. "I was gonna ask you who she was so I could go up to her and tell her that you're gay."
"I'm not—" She blushed anew. "I'm not a lesbian. I just—prefer women."
"I'll be sure she gets the message."
"Mike!" Rachel shrieked before erupting into laughter.
"Oh, so you remember my name now!" He joined her, and when they had both quieted again, her hand was in his.
Rachel glanced down at his hand encasing hers, wondered when it had occurred, and briefly thought of holding Quinn's.
She wasn't sure when her hand got in his, but it felt like an entirely friendly gesture on her part, as did holding Quinn's, and her chest heaved with a relieved sigh.
Because that meant she wasn't attracted Mike, and by proxy, Quinn.
He smiled at her. "Let's dance!"
And she was pulled to the dance floor.
He was phenomenal. And in her inebriated state she could barely keep up. But Mike laughed after a few minutes and assured her she was doing fine. "A couple of my friends are thinking of putting a flash mob together. You should join."
Rachel's eyes sparkled at the offer. For some reason a flash mob just sounded like the answer.
They had spent the summer stumbling, but rebuilding their friendship as strong as ever. It felt to Rachel that every week Quinn was placing boundaries on their relationship, but Rachel couldn't fault her. After all, she still thought back to Robin who had said the main issue between her and Quinn was a lack of boundaries. So whatever Quinn wanted, Rachel did her best to supply. To date she wasn't allowed to call Quinn sweetheart or kiss her on the cheek as well as a host of other things that Rachel couldn't remember all at once.
They both agreed it was just easier that way.
But Rachel really missed her best friend.
Leaving for the new school year was as tough as it had always been, but Rachel found solace in the knowledge that this would be her final year. And afterward she could do what she wanted. She wasn't sure of what she wanted in any capacity anymore. But she was more than ready to discover.
The flash mob idea took flight with relative ease. Rachel joined Mike and his friends Tina, Artie, and another young man whose name she couldn't remember. Their acts ranged from dancing to singing to acting. A couple of weeks ago Rachel even got to perform a Wicked monologue that she had been saving in her back pocket since she was nine. It was a lovely endeavor.
Gabriel was officially out of the picture, Quinn was more than happy to discover. And Rachel and Robin had managed to continue their friendship. But for Rachel, the icing on the cake of everything that had occurred since The Incident was Quinn finally visiting again.
She came up one weekend in early November before exams and, despite the difficulties the two had faced in the past, it was obvious to Rachel that the foundation of their friendship was still just as solid. And that was all she needed.
"I think I'm going to do prom queen this year," Quinn announced as she busied herself with her phone. She sat perched atop a stool by the island in the kitchen while Rachel stood a few feet away, methodically cutting vegetables for a stir fry. "Actually, I know I'm going to do it."
"I was going to say so," Rachel laughed. "I know how you Fabrays are about your coveted tiaras."
Quinn smirked. "What's ours is ours."
"Clearly."
"I need to start a campaign really soon. And…maybe make a Facebook page," Quinn mused to herself. She had been giving it a lot of thought since she and Puck broke things off, and she was going to have to make a major comeback because dumping the quarterback of the football team, while a highly discussed topic at McKinley, ultimately hurt her popularity. What was worse was that whoever Puck now brought to prom was yet another girl Quinn was going to have to compete with.
"So who is that boy?" Rachel suddenly asked.
Quinn looked over at her, a perplexed expression on her face. "What boy?"
"The Ken Doll you keep posing for Facebook pictures with," Rachel teased. She looked up in time to see Quinn blush and avert her eyes.
"It's only, like three," Quinn defended.
Rachel couldn't help but laugh. Oh, to be a teenager again. "I see," she murmured.
"Anyway, his name is Sam Evans. We're dating, and if we can last the year, he will be my date to the prom. Plus, it's statistically proven that couples who look alike are a lot more well-liked by others, which I'm hoping will translate to more votes. And he has surprisingly girlish lips for a boy."
Rachel gave pause, knife poised in the air. None of Quinn's talk of using Sam to secure prom queen surprised her. But the last of her statement did, both that she was...active again and that the girl thing was still a thing. "And how would you know that?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm old enough to make-out, Rachel, geez."
Rachel hummed then slowly went back to dicing. "Okay." She was not going anywhere near that subject today. She had gotten to know enough of Quinn's personal life over the summer.
"Why?"
A shrug. "I was only wondering."
Quinn bobbed her head though her eyes never strayed from Rachel. "So do you think you could ever have feelings for me?"
And in that moment it felt like Rachel's brain short-circuited. The fact that Quinn had reached the age of sexual maturity was already unfathomable. But the fact that that subject was being covered and they were treading back into old waters just completely threw her for a loop.
Troubled and wholly distracted, Rachel drew the knife back down to slice another bit of celery when it sliced her finger instead. She jumped, more in shock than actual pain as a thin trail of blood began to dribble out of a small gash on her index finger just above her second knuckle.
Quinn was out of her stool before Rachel could even take a step back. "Holy shit!"
Rachel forced a smile to soothe the girl in front of her. "I'm all right." Her hand was grasped in the palms of Quinn's hands and wide hazel eyes alight with worry scanned her finger again and again in their own assessment.
"You're not all right," Quinn muttered in a shaky voice as she gingerly released Rachel's hand. "Stay here." Her posture was tight with nerves, and Rachel's heart sank. Quinn had always been protective of her ever since she surpassed Rachel in height. What she lacked in age, Quinn had always made up in authority.
And now was no different.
"Really, sweetheart—"
Quinn swiveled around at the doorway of the kitchen and only then, muddled with anxiety and fear, did Rachel see it—the pain Quinn felt every time Rachel called her that.
Tears sprang to Rachel's eyes unbidden, and she was once again rendered speechless by Quinn's feelings for her. "I'm sorry," was all she whispered.
Quinn just stood there. For a moment it looked as if she wanted to say something. Then she walked out of the kitchen.
Rachel reached for her stool and hopped atop it as she heard the medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom open. Despite her stomach twisting in knots, she smiled at Quinn's need to control the situation.
Moments later, Quinn returned with plenty ointment, gauze, and two band-aids. "Quinn, really—"
Quinn shot Rachel a look that very clearly ordered her to stop resisting and just allow herself to be taken care of. Rachel quieted at the silent reprimand, and dropped her gaze from authoritative hazel eyes to watch the meticulous way in which Quinn cleaned and bandaged her wound.
Like Rachel had guessed, only one bandage was necessary, but she marveled most of all at how gentle and in control Quinn had been. Rachel had been so used to taking care of Quinn all of these years, the opposite had never occurred to her. She had never wondered if Quinn was going to have to dress a boo-boo for her, or console her through a rough time. That was always what Rachel did for Quinn, because she was the oldest, and Quinn the child.
She had never thought the roles could reverse, that they would.
"What's wrong?"
The question was asked rather sourly, and Rachel came back to her senses to find Quinn cleaning up the mess of blood-stained gauze and band-aid wrapper. Rachel glanced down at her finger, good as new. "Quinn," she breathed.
By the time Quinn turned around to throw everything away, Rachel's arms were wrapped around her torso from behind. She went rigid in surprise. "What's wrong?" Her posture eased in Rachel's arms when she felt her head rest against her shoulder blade. "Don't tell me it hurts that much," she attempted to joke to mask her own discomfort when she heard Rachel sniffle.
Rachel shook her head with a small laugh, more so at Quinn's ongoing discomfort with tears than at the joke. She wiped her eyes. "No, it's just. No one's ever—" Her voice sobered in sincerity. "Thank you, Quinn, really."
Quinn nodded and turned when Rachel released her. "You're welcome." Against her better judgment, her arms rose to wrap around Rachel's waist. Quinn tugged her closer into the embrace with a small sigh.
Rachel allowed her eyes to drift shut as she hugged Quinn tighter. It had been so long since she had been allowed to hug her friend this way, and she was reluctant to let in end, unsure of when she would get another shot.
After a moment, Quinn pulled away, avoiding eye contact. She made a show of stealing the cutting board on the island. "You just sit there. I'll cut the celery."
Rachel threw her hands up, unwilling to argue that point. Quinn was amazing in the kitchen, much like her mother. But it was a little known fact of just how much Quinn loved to cook. It was a quiet hobby, one of the things Quinn was shier about. But on the occasion that opportunities like this presented themselves, Rachel took it.
She sat back with the new gash in her finger, the new band-aid on her wound, closing her eyes serenely to the sound of Quinn chopping celery.