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.
Rachel and Frannie gradated in the spring wearing matching caps and gowns. It was a beautiful ceremony in which Rachel got to sing Don't Rain on my Parade for what was probably the last time on a stage. She teared up on the last note, but her voice didn't falter.
Her fathers blubbered the entire time, and took enough photos to fill two albums.
When the ceremony was over, students and families were left to their own devices to find one another. Rachel spotted her fathers and ran toward them, only to find Quinn standing beside them and looking exceptionally beautiful. Mystified, Rachel's steps slowed, Quinn's name passing between her lips in a surprised breath as her fathers wrapped her up in a proud hug.
Quinn stood back from the family moment, but offered a small wave, and laughed when Rachel turned loose from her family and flew into her arms. "Hi there, graduate," Quinn whispered in brown curls before holding Rachel tighter.
Rachel shivered. "Hi, Quinn."
"Congratulations."
It occurred to her in that moment that Quinn should have been saying this to her sister, and Rachel pulled away. "Wait. What are you doing here with my fathers?"
Quinn shrugged with a grimace. "They're more normal than my family," she insisted, gesturing toward Rachel's fathers.
"That won't work," LeRoy lamented as he fretted over the sea of people beginning to walk toward their cars. "It'll take us an hour to get out of here."
Hiram's eyes danced with the promise of an idea. "New plan: I'm going to fake an epileptic seizure."
"Not this again!"
Rachel chuckled and turned back around to the slightly appalled expression on Quinn's face. "Normal, you say?" She resisted the urge to reach out and hold Quinn's hand in comfort. It had been months since Quinn had begun her list of dos and don'ts to help their friendship run more smoothly in light of her feelings, and Rachel had largely, grudgingly, adjusted. Though there were still moments like these when all she wanted to do was be close to her friend. Instead, she offered an encouraging smile. "I know your sister would like to see you."
Quinn folded her arms across her chest. Her eyebrow flicked upward. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Never," Rachel promised. "But I do think it imperative that you congratulate your sister on such a joyous day as one's gradu—"
Quinn groaned. "I get it."
Rachel frowned in indignation, and attempted to swat at Quinn with her newly acquired diploma.
"Hey!" Quinn yelped as she managed to spin away at the last minute.
"There was a time when you listened to what I had to say," Rachel accused with a pout.
Quinn's eyes flicked from Rachel's mouth to her eyes. She grinned. "When I met you, you weren't nearly as long winded."
Rachel rolled her eyes with a smile. "Hush, you."
"Quinn!"
Quinn whipped around to find Frannie walking toward her with her hands in the air as if to say what the hell. Quinn didn't bother explaining as she strolled to her sister and gave her a congratulatory hug.
"Congratulations!" Quinn attempted to greet merrily.
Frannie pulled away with a sour frown. "You leave me alone to receive mom and dad as the welcome wagon? Low blow, Q."
"Sorry," Quinn grumbled as they walked back toward their parents. She cast one last glance at Rachel with a half-smile and a small wave.
With no prior work experience and a degree in theater, Rachel couldn't find anything in Lima in her field. The closest she came to the stage was becoming the theater director at Lima Academy, a private school in the upper west side of Lima.
She sat in the middle of the front row of the auditorium with a sigh. She never thought she'd be a teacher. Then again she never imagined she'd be anything other than a Broadway star.
Her eyes became misty, and she began to fill out her new employee paperwork when warm hands from seemingly out of nowhere covered her eyes. Rachel jumped as she was engulfed by darkness. "Guess who," the intruder husked against her ear.
Only this wasn't an intruder, and Rachel did her best to steady her breathing as the hair on the back of her neck stood in end. "Quinn," she breathed, instinct overriding her uneasiness to alert her to the fact that this was her best friend without a doubt.
Quinn's breath hitched at the sound of Rachel's voice. She had never heard her sound quite like this before. Her stomach somersaulted, eyes slipping shut. "Yeah?" she whispered shakily.
Rachel stopped breathing. How they had managed to cross this line in a matter of seconds was beyond her. Then again, perhaps this had been a long time coming. She exhaled a slow breath then reached up to grab the hands covering her eyes.
She pulled them away then blinked at the stage in front of her, then she turned to find Quinn righting herself behind her. She had her hands clasped behind her back with a nervous smile that bordered on a grimace. "Quinn," Rachel greeted as she stood. She swiveled around and placed a knee in the burgundy seat cushion in an attempt to be closer. "That wasn't very nice."
"Surprise?" Quinn prompted in a dry voice. Her cheeks felt warm as she unclasped her hands from behind her back to present a bouquet of pink flowers. She shoved them toward Rachel with a stiff tone of, "I just—these are for you."
Despite the presentation, Rachel's face glowed as she accepted the flowers with giant brown eyes. She gingerly rubbed at the petals of each flower before shyly meeting Quinn's gaze through her eyelashes. "What are these for?"
Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, the kind of tone she usually took on when her vocal chords would literally restrict with pent up emotion, and Quinn felt her chest swell a little in pride. "For getting the job," she answered with newfound confidence. She braced herself for impact—because there were times when Rachel just could not resist—and nearly had the wind knocked out of her when Rachel slammed into her body.
Rachel's arms tightened around Quinn's neck as her eyes closed, the barrier of being separated by a chair hardly a barrier at all. "Thank you, Quinn," she whispered.
Quinn focused on breathing. She forced a shaky smile when Rachel pulled away and gestured around them. "So this is your domain, huh?"
Rachel sighed wistfully, but maintained enthusiasm. "It is." She gestured toward the stage then shot Quinn a befuddled look. "Why did neither you nor Frannie attend this school? From what I hear, it's the best of the best."
Quinn's lips thinned. "I can't speak for Frannie, but a lot of my classmates from middle school went here, and…I didn't really want to, so…"
Rachel nodded when Quinn trailed off, filling in the rest. Where she had found she related to Quinn the most when they were younger was the fact that Quinn hadn't really fit in at school, and neither did Rachel. "I'm thinking of diving right into Shakespeare," she then said, changing the subject completely. "So next year I can really up the ante and knock it out of the park."
Quinn laughed. "Wow, you've only just been offered the job and you've already got the next four years planned out. They couldn't have picked a better woman for the job."
Rachel smiled sheepishly. "What can I say? I'm ambitious."
She frowned as soon as the words left her mouth. She wasn't ambitious, far from it. She had lost her ambition when she turned eighteen. This wasn't ambition. This was settling, and an increasing part of herself was becoming aware of the fact.
Quinn mashed her lips together at the sight of the pensive expression on Rachel's face. Quinn had always been amazing at reading people, and over the last few years, the only time Rachel would get such a sullen expression on her face was when they would discuss the stage, which granted, wasn't often. It was a subject Quinn was nervous to broach, having picked up on the fact that Rachel's dreams had crashed and burned quite some time ago. She rocked on her heels with her hands behind her back, and said, "This is…kind of close to the real thing, right?"
And Rachel looked up then, meeting such stark sincerity in hazel eyes, the kind that always made her want to cry. "I suppose it will have to do."
"Quinn?"
Quinn peeked her head out of her bedroom to see her older sister down the hallway. She was still growing accustomed to having her Frannie back, especially with the lack of living space in their new home. "What?"
They now lived in a one story house, Judy and Quinn, and now a newly graduated Frannie. It had no upstairs, no downstairs, no central heat, and no dishwasher—the latter to Quinn's utter dismay.
It was sad to say that these were the only drastic changes to the divorce. Her father had come home before nine o'clock less and less over the past several months, and incurred even more frequent flier miles. Quinn had grown accustomed to his absence a while ago, and had felt no great loss when the divorce was finalized.
Frannie walked backwards down the hallway toward the door. "Follow me."
Barefoot, Quinn walked on her tiptoes across the cold floor in pursuit of her sister. "Seriously, Frannie. I just wanna watch TV."
"Shh," Frannie soothed in a coaxing voice. As older sister, she had never lost her ability to gain Quinn's interest with relative ease. She pivoted to press down on the door handle and opened the screen door to step outside. "Just follow me."
She heard an annoyed grunt behind her, but still managed to lead Quinn to her car. Once inside, Frannie reached for the glove compartment while Quinn fiddled with the seat belt. "Where are we going?"
Frannie slapped something square in her chest. "Nowhere."
Quinn glanced down at what was poking her in the chest, and waited for her eyes to regain focus behind her contacts. Disoriented, she mumbled, "Is that a condom?"
Frannie nodded, at least happy her sister knew that much, and tossed it into Quinn's lap. "I want you to take that."
From Frannie to the condom in her lap to the condoms in Frannie's lap, Quinn's brow lowered. "What the hell is happening?"
Frannie shrugged. "This is a conversation that I wanted dad to have with you some day. But since he's gone and you're probably reaching sexual maturity at a grossly alarming rate that I don't even want to fathom because you're my little sister—I have to have this talk with you."
"You don't," Quinn replied tightly, reaching behind her for the door handle. "I'm fine."
Frannie turned to face Quinn more fully with a slouch in her posture that rivaled the rigidity of Quinn's. "Sure, every girl says that until they're on their back spreading it for the quarterback."
Aghast, Quinn's jaw dropped. "Have you been talking to Rachel?" she shrieked.
Wincing at her tone, Frannie reached for her ears. "What are you talking about?" she groaned.
Quinn's mouth clacked shut. She attempted to ease back into her seat. "Nothing."
A sigh as Frannie attempted to recover, "Look, I'm gonna tell you like one of the senior Cheerios my freshman year told me. You're going to have sex."
Quinn's eyes bulged out of her head. "Frannie—"
Frannie held up a hand to keep Quinn from talking. "It's statistically inevitable. Our future as the human race essentially relies on you and billions of girls like you procreating."
Quinn averted her eyes. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with this anymore."
"So with that in mind," Frannie continued, "I wanted to give you these." She gestured toward the multitude of condoms in her lap, and Quinn didn't bother looking. "Just because you're ready for sex doesn't mean you're ready for babies. Know the difference, and use a condom until you are ready, Quinn."
Quinn fidgeted with her fingers in her lap. Lower lip trapped between her teeth, she stared at the square packaging of the condom. "I—Puck and I almost had sex," she finally whispered in shame.
"I know."
Her gaze whipped to Frannie, jaw clenching. "So Rachel did tell you?"
"I asked. And no, she didn't tell me, but I've known Rachel since like, freshman year. I can tell when she's lying," Frannie clarified, sensing her sister's growing ire. "She didn't tell me, Q. She's just painfully transparent sometimes."
Quinn nodded and looked away. Her hands began to fidget once more. "Did she, umm, did she tell you anything else?"
Frannie shook her head with pinched eyebrows. "Like what?"
"Nothing."
Frannie stared at her for a long moment. "Look, senior prom is practically right around the corner and I just want you to be safe, okay?"
Quinn nodded. "Okay." Overwhelmed, she glanced to the condom in her lap then the condoms in Frannie's lap then up to Frannie's face before her gaze skirted away again. "It's just…this wasn't discussed in celibacy club, you know?"
Frannie chuckled, and Quinn's shoulders eased at the sound. "Would kind of defeat the purpose, yeah?"
She shrugged. "I guess so."
They sat in the car for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. After two minutes of silence, Frannie bit the corner of her lip in thought. "Hey."
Quinn looked over at her.
"Wanna go for some ice cream?" Frannie suggested. "I know I haven't really been around much at all, but…you can talk to me about stuff, Quinn. You know that, right?"
The candid moment robbed Quinn of speech, and she could only nod as the engine started and they peeled off down the street.
The condoms burned a hole in Quinn's metaphorical pocket, and she wasn't more than a few months into her senior year.
It was more of a mild curiosity than anything. Celibacy club had taught her that sex led to unwanted teen pregnancy one hundred percent of the time. And not only had Frannie told her different, but she had provided Quinn with a means of not getting pregnant. She carried them around with her everywhere and felt so much like Rachel of all people, because if anyone would carry around a condom at all times of the day so she would never be caught unawares, it was—
Quinn flushed hotly at the thought of Rachel actually being ready for sex at a moment's notice.
Her vision suddenly swam with fingers snapping in front of her, and Quinn jerked back to find Sam staring at her as if she was one of those…Chewbacca things. "What?"
Sam rolled his eyes with exaggeration. "This is really interesting stuff, you know."
Quinn begged to differ.
Sam kind of jerked his head to the side to get his bangs out of his eyes, and he was so much like a girl sometimes, it was unnerving. "Okay, so let's try this again. Ewoks are…?"
Quinn swiped her phone from the bed and reclined into a lying position as she attempted to remember. "Umm…the cute little robot thing?"
It was senior year, and though Quinn would have thought she'd be dating the quarterback by now, if not Rachel, Sam was a good substitute. What he lacked in status on the football field, he made up in being a genuinely good guy—who tried no less than Puck to get into her pants, but she appreciated the fact that he at least never tried to get her drunk first.
Sam's face fell. "Come on, Quinn, that's R2-D2!"
"I don't know!" Quinn defended with a huff.
He was also a giant nerd, even by Quinn's standards of her not-so-distant past. He was really into sci-fi, which was a realm that her popularity and general interests just would not allow her to follow him into. But these things were important to Sam, and prom was important to Quinn. And if she just pretended to like these things for a few more months, then that crown would be hers.
But Star Wars in particular was such a steep learning curve.
Sam sighed obnoxiously before plopping down on the bed beside her. "Who are you texting anyway?"
"Rachel," Quinn murmured.
Sam frowned. It was all Quinn ever did anymore. He scooted closer to her on the bed. "Maybe we could watch a little Star Wars. You never got through Empire Strikes Back, you know."
Quinn groaned and dropped her phone to the side to fully face Sam. He rarely got her attention nowadays unless it was prom related, and judging from the puppy dog expression on his face, he was beginning to feel neglected. "We could watch Star Wars, or…" Quinn intoned with a noticeable husk to her voice as she scooted that much closer, "we can do something else instead."
The grin on his face threatened to crack his girly lips, then Quinn lunged forward for control.
It was still something she was learning to master, her feminine wiles. If she couldn't have Rachel, power was one hell of a substitute, and nothing got her going quite like making a boy squirm.
Twenty minutes, and a light graze across her breast before Quinn moved his hand to a more respectable place, and Sam had forgotten all about Star Wars. Quinn tightened her ponytail while briefly being reminded of Rachel catching her with a sloppy pony at Puck's house that one time. She had been a mess that day, or month, really. Or perhaps maybe her whole life. Quinn was no longer sure.
"Okay." She smoothed down her Cheerios skirt. "Prom."
Sam grinned, eyebrows wiggling. "Or rather, prom night."
Quinn laughed despite herself. "Just prom," she insisted. It was a rather unfortunate circumstance, because she liked Sam a lot. He was just as into his looks like the other meatheaded athletes, but his love of Star Wars, Avatar, and all things nerdy really did give him depth that Quinn hadn't been expecting.
She reached over and ruffled his hair with a fond smile before returning to business. "I made a Facebook page over the weekend that I really need to go over with you before I launch it. And I think it's time we really solidify our standing with the band geeks and the av club. The band geeks we arguably have something in common with, because of our 'shared love of music', but the av club is where we're really going to have to stretch to find some common ground." Quinn bit the corner of her lip. She got her strategizing abilities from Rachel, and it never showed more than in moments like this. "I've got the Cheerios and you've got the basketball team," she murmured to herself then sucked her teeth before muttering, "Puck's probably got the football team…"
Sam just stared at her for a long moment as his earlier arousal wore off. He took in her rigid posture and the fact that she was miles away from this current moment in his bedroom with a frown. "So, like, are you gay?"
Quinn felt like she had been burned, and recoiled at the question. "What do you mean?" she snarled.
"He said I never act that into him. What is he, a girl?"
Rachel drew a calming sip of her tea as she watched Quinn fidget under the weight of her gaze. She sat with her legs curled underneath her on the couch while Quinn sat with her spine ram-rod straight and her feet firmly planted on the ground as if at any sign of this conversation not going her way, she was going to bolt. "Okay, that wasn't—right," Quinn quietly admitted after a tense moment.
Rachel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She was steadily growing out the ombre in an attempt to be taken at least a bit seriously by the rugrats she was trying to turn into stars. It wasn't easy considering Rachel was, at most, eight years older than them. The most they saw her as, on a good day, was an older sister, and a hot, slightly older teacher on the worst.
She idly wondered which category Quinn would place her in, then mentally chastised herself for even thinking that.
She resisted the urge to reach out and stroke Quinn's hair or pull her into a comforting hug and tell her everything was going to be okay—because Quinn wasn't a child anymore. And it had never felt more apparent to her than in this moment. Whether Rachel wanted her to or not, Quinn was going to continue to grow and mature, and the sooner Rachel got on board instead of trying to impede the process, the smoother it would go.
"Are you—are you gay, Quinn?" she asked after lingering silence, because yeah, this would be a strenuous conversation for her to have with the child she used to babysit, but above all else Rachel loved Quinn. And the last thing she wanted was to see much a morose expression marring her face.
Quinn's breath hitched at the question. No one had ever given her a choice before. Granted, she had read enough rhetoric to know sexuality wasn't a choice, but no one had ever supplied her with the option of being a lesbian.
Her shoulders hunched over as her eyes watered, and before she knew it, she was crying.
This time Rachel didn't resist the urge in wrapping her in a hug. Her eyes clenched shut. "You know…" she began in a reedy voice. "You—you aren't alone, Quinn." And then suddenly Rachel felt like crying because the only people she had told this to, while sober, aside from her fathers was Robin. Sweet Robin who could have been the first of many things for Rachel had she not have rightfully concluded with such minimal interaction that Rachel was a closet case at the time.
But now she was stroking her best friend's hair and shushing her sobs, and confessing that for the better part of her life, Rachel Berry had been quite the lady enthusiast.
She felt Quinn's entire body soften in her arms at the confession, and sag against her for comfort.
Rachel poured another packet of SoyGo into her coffee and stirred before grabbing the mug and sinking back into couch of Robin's cozy apartment. She had moved off campus for her senior year at Ohio State, and had amazing décor. Rachel had voiced as much at least three times within the past half hour. It was extremely neat in a clinical way, but with a borderline hippie vibe that showed in the furniture…and marijuana paraphernalia.
She had been promising to visit for quite some time, but between working and attempting to revive the flash mob since the boy whose name Rachel had never quite gotten the hang of moved to California to pursue his dreams of becoming a backup dancer, Rachel just never had the time.
Robin settled beside her on the couch with her own mug of tea. "So, how's life?"
Rachel stiffened at the question. The offering of a warm beverage, the couch, the loaded, open-ended preliminary question—"Oh, my gosh—are you trying to psychoanalyze me right now?"
"W-what? No!" Robin sputtered as she reared back in shock.
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Robin—"
Robin laughed. "I'm not a monster, Rachel, geez."
The steely glare on Rachel's face that even Quinn would have been proud of continued until she finally broke out into a giggle, and murmured, "Good," before settling back into the couch. "And I don't know. I mean, I have my own apartment now, which is good."
Robin nodded along, much like a therapist. "That is good."
"And I'm working at this really prestigious high school with all kinds of snooty, uppity adolescents who don't take me seriously." Her bottom lip poked out. "Sometimes I just—" She fashioned her hand into a gun and pointed it at her head before dying dramatically.
Robin laughed. "You know, you may be on to something with this whole acting thing."
Rachel made a show of bowing. "But they're just such…such ne'er-do-wells."
"There's something you don't hear every day."
"Most of them hate running lines, or breathing an iota of life into the characters they're portraying."
"What show are you putting on anyway?"
Dark eyes seemed to shine at the question. "MacBeth."
"Ambitious," Robin congratulated, and suddenly there was that word again.
"Quite," Rachel griped, thinking of the cast she had to work with. "But enough about me." She poked at Robin. "Tell me about you. How's this place now that I'm gone? How are classes? How's dating?"
"It's a lot quieter around here, that's for sure," Robin quipped, and Rachel rolled her eyes. "Classes are great. And dating's okay. I met this girl named Erin and we're…taking it slow, seeing where it goes."
Rachel practically had hearts in her eyes, and she sighed. "That must feel amazing. Seems like forever since I've even been on a date."
"Wait like, how long?"
Rachel glanced down at her fingers. "A year? Year and a half?"
Robin's eyes widened. "A year and a half? What are you, a nun?"
"I know, okay!" She winced, then added, "I just—no one's available."
"Come on, I know there have to be some suitable bachelors in Lima. Hell, even bachelorettes."
Rachel shrugged, shifting on the couch. "I suppose I just haven't had the time."
Robin threw her hands up. "Then what in the world do you spend your time doing?"
She took some time to consider the question. Her days were spent working, enjoying her newly acquired treadmill, and cooking dinner for a ravenous teenager who blew through her apartment nearly every day with a vengeful hunger after Cheerios practice. "The usual," Rachel chirped in a pitchy voice.
The truth was she had little interest in dating. She was content with the status of her life at the moment, and Quinn provided more than enough company; she always had.
Still… "I do get the itch," Rachel admitted after a moment.
Robin's eyes squinted as she asked. "Do you scratch it?"
"I—"
"Better yet, do you get someone else to scratch it for you?"
Rachel groaned at the answer that was about to leave her mouth. "No." She bit her lip self-consciously. "But like, sex isn't the most important thing in the world, right?"
Robin shot her a blank stare. "Hey, wait a few more months and Quinn will do it for you."
A splatter of coffee met Robin's coffee table, and Rachel covered her mouth. With wide eyes, she met Robin's. "How could you even insinuate—"
"Stranger things have happened," Robin cut in.
"But she's just a—" Rachel came up short. After the heartfelt conversation regarding sexuality she and Quinn had just a few weeks ago, and after all of Quinn's stammered prodding questions, one thing had become apparent to Rachel that night: that Quinn was no longer the child Rachel kept making her out to be. She wasn't grown yet—legally, anyway—but she was growing, and it was high time she acknowledged that.
Robin watched her carefully. "The lady doth protest too much?"
Rachel's eyes narrowed at the joke. "We aren't doing Hamlet. I just—" She sighed. "Robin, help me out here." Gesticulating with her hands, she ordered, "Psychoanalyze me."
"You just yelled at me about not psychoanalyzing you, and now you want me to?"
"I just—" She swallowed. "Things are getting…kind of weird between Quinn and I? Not like, on her end," she rushed out before Robin could reply. "But like…on my end."
"So you're attracted to her," Robin guessed, and a strangled sound lodged itself in Rachel's throat.
"No," Rachel answered defensively. "I'm not attracted to a minor." The frown on her face deepened. "But I—sometimes I just—I don't know. I get the feeling she and I are just meant for each other, in a way that exceeds my comprehension."
"Whoa." Robin stared at her with owlish eyes. "Deep."
The corners of Rachel's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Are you high?"
"Probably," Robin admitted.
Rachel outright laughed. "Robin, help me out here," she pleaded.
Robin shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you other than to wait until she's eighteen then jump her bones."
"Robin!"
Quinn sighed tiredly as she let herself into Rachel's apartment. "Rachel?"
Her keys and Cheerios bag landed with an audible thump on the floor and she trudged through the hallway. "Rachel?"
There was a telltale sign of gears grinding against gears, like machinery, and Quinn was unsurprised to walk into Rachel's room to find her running on her newly acquired treadmill. She had splurged on it last week at a yard sale, and hadn't looked back since.
Quinn's eyebrow flicked up in mild amusement as she settled against the doorframe and watched Rachel in silence.
It didn't take long for Rachel's sixth sense to kick in, and she glanced out the corner of her eye in suspicion to find Quinn's casual form standing in the doorway. She almost doubled over in surprise. "Q-Quinn!"
Quinn surged forward on instinct, and Rachel held a hand up to signify she was okay. She ripped an earplug out of her ear, ponytail whipping against her shoulder blades as she tried to keep up with her treadmill while scrambling to smash the off button. Quinn bit back a laugh at the sight of it. Rachel was such a dork sometimes. "Sorry," she apologized lamely once Rachel was on solid ground again.
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel panted. "Please announce your presence when I'm on the treadmill. I almost had a heart attack." She ignored the smug amusement painting Quinn's face and stalked past her toward the hallway. "And how are you on this fine day, besides insufferable?"
At that, Quinn outright laughed. Rachel couldn't help but crack a smile at the sound. "I'm okay."
Rachel grabbed a towel and headed toward the bathroom. "Judging by your mood, I'd say you're fantastic."
"We'll talk after your shower," Quinn suggested and Rachel flashed a grateful smile before closing the door.
They had developed a bit of a routine. Quinn would let herself in after Cheerios or glee practice and, depending on how busy her day was going, Rachel would either be done with her treadmill routine, or in the middle of running once Quinn arrived.
It was the only form of stability Quinn had in her life. Her parents were divorced, and when her mother wasn't busy holding a secretarial job to help pay for their house, she was drinking and playing bridge with her friends. Quinn hadn't seen her father since Frannie's graduation, and Frannie was spending Chet's money taking trips to see him nearly every weekend. She was in the process of finalizing plans to move to Massachusetts to be with him, leaving Quinn alone once more.
Rachel, as she had always been, was a source of comfort for Quinn, away from the social pressures of school, and attempting to figure her family out. Rachel was just Rachel. She didn't expect anything from Quinn other than Quinn always trying her best at everything. Quinn often likened Rachel to her own personal cheerleader, which would occasionally lead to very embarrassing though no less stimulating thoughts of Rachel in her Cheerios uniform.
"Are you hungry?"
Quinn's head popped up and swiveled to find Rachel walking into the kitchen in a pair of shorts and a tank top, cleaning water out of her ear with the pink towel draped across her shoulders. Her gaze dipped to survey Rachel's tank top before meeting her eyes.
Rachel was wearing a bra.
Quinn's forehead pinched in annoyance. It was a very recent development. One that Quinn supposed was to keep from complicating things, especially in lieu of Rachel's most recent confession of being bisexual. But the very knowledge that the barrier existed felt like more red tape on their friendship.
And that was the last thing they needed.
"A little," Quinn admitted, following Rachel with her eyes.
Rachel grinned at Quinn's response—she was always hungry—and dug into the refrigerator in search of vegetables for a quick stir fry.
Quinn's fingers thrummed against the island in the kitchen as she bit her lip. Leaning forward in her seat, she said, barely above a whisper, "You always say you can't." Rachel's sexuality had been on Quinn's mind a lot lately, and right now all she wanted to do was test the waters.
Rachel paused. She pulled her head out of the fridge to stand up straight and face Quinn. "Beg pardon?"
Quinn's expression grew sour. She was growing sick of embarrassingly having to repeat herself. Her fingers curled on the smooth marble of the island, failing to find purchase as she concentrated on making sure her voice didn't crack. "You always say you can't…have feelings for me," she added, voice breaking toward the end.
Rachel felt her heart rate begin to pick up speed. She broke eye contact with Quinn for a brief moment as she attempted to foresee the ending of this conversation. "…Yes," she eventually answered, meeting Quinn's gaze head on.
Her throat constricted from receiving such unwavering attention from Rachel's dark eyes, and Quinn cleared her throat before soldiering forward. "But…you like women," she posited, and felt her heart thump against her chest when Rachel gave a barely there nod. "So, essentially, you can like me eventually. If I were older."
Rachel inhaled a shaky breath. "I'm saying…I can't. Right now."
Her words hung heavily between them, and Quinn's eyebrows bunched. Rachel just continued to stare at her from across the kitchen. And when her throat bobbed with a tight swallow, Quinn tracked the action, understanding dawning on her. "But you…you could," she hedged in a light voice.
Despite the situation, Rachel cracked a fond smile at the dash of hope sprawled on Quinn's face.
She waved her finger at Quinn and turned away toward the fridge. "Bear in mind that I haven't and shan't think of you that way, Quinn Fabray." She turned to Quinn just before reaching for the bag of carrots. "And you shouldn't want me to either."
Quinn stepped down from the stool she was resting on. "But I do."
"I know. But there are six months between now and your eighteenth birthday, and I'm sure there will be plenty girls and boys in between who will snag your attention. Not to mention that—"
"Eighteenth birthday," Quinn cut in. She rounded on Rachel as she was leaning in to grab yet another vegetable. Quinn yanked her up by the arm and closed the refrigerator door to lessen the distance between them.
"Quinn Fabray, what have I told you about man-handling me?" Rachel demanded with a huff. "I am not one of your ill-behaved Cheerios."
Quinn cracked a smile and apologized. "When I turn eighteen?" There were bigger fish to fry and Rachel was playing coy.
"What about it?"
"Don't toy with me." Quinn briefly broke eye contact. "When I turn eighteen, you'll want to be with me?"
Rachel smiled gently up at Quinn. She couldn't deny that face. "Anything is possible, Quinn. After all, you'd be an adult by then."
Her chin jutted out smugly. "Damn right."
Rachel made a show of rolling her eyes. "This isn't me promising anything. This is merely me suggesting…let's give this some more time. And six months' time if you still want, we'll revisit this."
"Merely," Quinn mocked, a lop-sided grin on her face.
"Merely," Rachel challenged back.
Quinn glanced away, as if in disbelief of what she just heard. She actually had a shot. Confidence restored, she rounded on Rachel again with a sure smile. She batted her eyes twice, excruciatingly slowly as her eyelashes kissed her cheekbones. "Is this code for admitting you want me?" she asked in a raspy voice, lips pursing at the end of the question.
Rachel froze at the sound of it. She felt goose bumps break out along her skin, eyes narrowing as she took a step back. "Umm—"
Quinn's eyes widened. She stumbled back a step. "Shit, sorry!" She was still a novice, and had read the situation completely wrong.
"What was that?" Rachel demanded in a loud voice with wide, concerned eyes.
"Nothing! Sorry—just…ignore that!"
"That was sexy, not seventeen year old!"
Quinn looked completely stricken with fear at the accusation. "Please don't tell my mom!"
Taken aback, Rachel just stared upward to the young woman Quinn was becoming. Rachel hadn't got to spend much time being taller than Quinn, but the time she spent, she had cherished. Then one day Quinn had shot up like a skyscraper. But despite her height, she had still always remained the moody, introverted, book worm kid Rachel had met that day on the couch eight years ago.
Until very recently.
And that fact couldn't have picked a worse time to become apparent to Rachel.
Because Quinn was now a young woman, a young woman who seemed to be adding the adjective sexy to the list of things she wanted to be.
And Rachel wasn't having it. "Who taught you that?"
Quinn winced. "Look, it's not a big deal. Just—forget it happened, okay?"
She looked two shades shy of desperate, and Rachel's ire settled instantly. "Quinn, I'm not going to tell on you."
Dubious at best, Quinn asked, "Then why do you have to know who I got it from? Who says I got it from anybody?"
Like a concerned mother, Rachel placed her hand on her hips. And like a moody teenager, Quinn walked away from the rant that was sure to come.
And there were all kinds of words that lay on Rachel's tongue regarding Quinn being too young for seduction techniques, but—
She let it go.
Because Quinn wasn't a child anymore, and it was high time Rachel respected that.
Quinn turned eighteen that May, and Rachel would never forget that day.
She felt jittery throughout the whole birthday party with the knowledge that Quinn was now a woman.
And Quinn looked radiant. Rachel couldn't look away if she tried. She spent the whole party attached to Frannie's hip, afraid of what she'd do if she ventured away.
All the while Quinn kept close to her two closest friends who doubled as Cheerios, only breaking away when relatives approached her to exchange envelopes of money for hugs. Quinn would smile graciously and return to her friends.
But every few seconds their eyes would meet, and Rachel's breath would hitch in surprise at the overwhelming surge of emotion she felt.
"This is a snooze fest," Frannie grumbled from beside Rachel.
Eyes filling with mirth, Rachel turned away from a heated match with Quinn to find her friend slumped on a lawn chair beside her. Frannie had moved to me with her boyfriend in Massachusetts months ago, and this was the first in quite some time that Rachel had seen her. "Not enjoying yourself?" she teased.
And Frannie shot Rachel a chilling glare that put her in the mind of Quinn. "I could be plastered somewhere right now."
"But it's eight p.m," Rachel felt the need to point out in bemusement.
Frannie's expression didn't falter. "I could be plastered somewhere right now."
Rachel laughed and nudged Frannie's arm. "Go say happy birthday to your sister."
"I already did!" she protested.
"Well, I didn't see you. Go say it again."
"You get your sick kicks out of watching us interact," Frannie accused hotly as she stood.
"You're both just so cute," Rachel gushed, knowing it would only annoy her more.
Frannie grumbled something under her breath. "Hey, Q!"
Across the lawn, Rachel watched the authoritative way Quinn put her hand out to halt the conversation she was in to address her sister. "What?"
Frannie motioned her closer. "Come over here!"
Sure that it was a trap, Quinn proceeded with caution that showed in the narrowing of her eyes. Her fingers fiddled with each other as she approached, and Rachel couldn't help but be charmed.
"What is it?"
They could have passed for twins, standing in front of each other in flowy sundresses and equally flowy hair.
"I wanted to wish you a happy birthday," Frannie informed her.
Quinn shot her sister an odd look. "Dementia kicking in already? You already have."
Frannie clucked her teeth, though she smiled at the jab. "Contain your enthusiasm. Rachel likes to watch us interact."
Quinn's eyes slid over to Rachel, no more than a foot away, with more than a little interest. "Does she?"
Rachel felt her blood run hot at the sound of Quinn's voice. It was unnerving how quickly her body was more than ready to respond to Quinn now that she had turned eighteen. She swallowed, and forced herself to look away.
"So happy birthday, Q." Frannie waited until she got Quinn's attention again. "No, but seriously. Eighteen's a good year."
Amusedly, Quinn was reminded of when Rachel said those words to her eight years ago. It was hard to believe she had known her for that long, that she had loved someone for that long.
"Kick ass at Yale, okay?"
Quinn winced at about the same time Rachel began to choke on nothing but air. She pitched forward in her seat in a fit of coughs.
Frannie and Quinn both lunged for her, but Rachel held up a halting hand of her own. "I'm fine. I'm fine." Her voice was strained, though she wasn't sure why.
"You sure?" Frannie hedged, eying her cautiously. "There's a bottle of scotch in the cellar that'll fix that right up."
At that, Rachel laughed. Though it was forced and she did everything in her power to keep from looking at Quinn. "Actually, I think water would suffice."
She moved to stand, but Frannie placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll get it."
Quinn gave a start. "No, I can."
Frannie shot Quinn a crooked smile. "What is this, a competition?"
Quinn clammed up at the question.
Attempting to deflect, Rachel glanced between the two. "Well, someone has to stay with me."
Quinn relented and stiffly sat in Frannie's seat. "You can go. I'll stay."
Frannie nodded and took off across the lawn.
Back straight against the chair, Quinn hardly looked in Rachel's direction.
When it became obvious she was going to have to broach the topic, Rachel sighed. "Yale, huh?"
Quinn swallowed. "I can stay—"
"Absolutely not. Do not even finish that sentence, Quinn Fabray."
Quinn quieted again, frustrated and guilty.
Rachel slowly released a breath. After eight years, she could read Quinn like a book. She took a second to calm her own anxieties then turned to Quinn with a genuine, if sad, smile. "I couldn't be prouder of you," she said in a soft, warm voice.
Like a disarmed bomb, Quinn's posture loosened. She rubbed self-consciously at the back of her neck. "I was going to tell you."
"Why didn't you?"
"I didn't have time!" Quinn hissed. "I've only known for a week. And I—it's all the way in Connecticut, and I didn't know how to break that to you."
Rachel's gaze fell away to nothing in particular. She felt a dull ache in her heart that she just knew was going to nag her for the rest of the day. "I see."
"Rachel, please don't be mad."
"I'm far from mad, Quinn."
"Please don't be hurt then."
When Rachel neglected to respond, Quinn looked over at her. And in all the time she had known Rachel, their age difference had never felt this minuscule. It was always a factor that Rachel had made sure to throw in her face every day for the past eight years. But now that she was eighteen, now that she was sitting in a lawn chair, discussing her collegiate future with the woman she had loved since she was ten years old with glasses, Quinn, for once, didn't feel inferior.
She rose out of her seat as Frannie began to carry two glasses of water across the lawn, and grabbed Rachel's hand. "Come here."
Rachel stopped breathing. Anxiety, curiosity, and excitement all swirled in the pit of her stomach as she stood to her full height to come face to face with Quinn. She was completely unsure of what Quinn would do, and her uncharacteristically rigid posture showed. But then Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel's shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug, and tears sprang to Rachel's eyes. It wasn't fair how Quinn could always do this to her.
"I'm sorry," Quinn whispered into her hair. She held Rachel tighter and whispered it again.
Rachel caught sight of Frannie approaching from her peripheral. Her eyes slipped shut as she allowed herself this one indulgence in three years—the chance to be as unrestrained in her affection with her best friend as she wanted. Her arms wrapped so tightly around Quinn's torso, Rachel briefly worried she'd bruise. She turned her head slightly to burrow into Quinn's neck for a moment before she pulled away.
"Hey! Who started the hug fest? Let me guess—Rachel," Frannie jeered.
Rachel feigned offense as she accepted the glass of water. "I'll have you know that Quinn happened to initiate that one."
Frannie laughed, peering over at Quinn in surprise. "What? You're handing out hugs today, Q?"
Quinn clasped her hands behind her back and shrugged a shoulder. "It's my birthday. I do what I want."
The party ended soon after, and Frannie left to reunite with a few members of her former Cheerio squad at a bar. She had invited Rachel, but the last thing Rachel wanted to see on what had already been an emotional day was the people who had tormented her through high school.
Instead she and Quinn sat on the swing chair in the backyard of Quinn's new home, shoulder to shoulder with a wall of unsaid words between them.
And for once, Rachel didn't know how to start. Things were all so different now. Quinn was a woman who would be attending Yale in the fall. She was no longer a child, and thus, this was all unfamiliar territory for Rachel. Quinn had always been a bit of a learning curve, but this was something new entirely.
"You didn't tell me you had applied to Yale."
She attempted to keep her tone from sounding accusatory, but felt she failed miserably.
Quinn just stared at her lap. "I—sorry. With everything that was happening with SATs, and prom, and you're always so busy and stressed out about work—there just never seemed like a right time to tell you. I—" She bit her bottom lip in anxiety. "I had just gotten you to tell me I may at least have a shot and I felt good for a change. I didn't want all of that to get shot to hell because of Yale."
Rachel turned then. She curled a leg onto the swing, and her knee settled warmly on Quinn's thigh. And for the first time since hearing the news, Rachel smiled. "Quinn, I've told you since you were fifteen and confessed your love for me that nothing can change how I feel about you. It was true then and it's true now."
"But what about Yale?"
"We'll...we'll figure it out," Rachel answered. "But it's still your birthday, and I don't want anything to put a damper on that."
At the mention of her birthday, Quinn adopted an owlish expression that was equal parts intrigue and anxiety. "It is my birthday," she confirmed in a rush, spine straightening.
"It is."
"And…I'm eighteen."
Rachel chuckled with a playful roll of her eyes, already knowing where this was headed. "You are."
"And you said when I turn eighteen—"
"I remember," she interrupted gently. Her arm came to rest along the back of the swing unassumingly, as she attempted to ignore the nervous butterflies in her stomach. "Do you remember what I said?"
Quinn swallowed. That was definitely a move. And in her high school career she had experienced plenty of moves being made for her benefit, but none of them made her stomach somersault quite like this. "I remember," she murmured.
"And?"
"And…I-I want it."
The fact that she was tongue-tied wasn't lost on Rachel who kept a keen eye on Quinn for any sign that this wasn't what she wanted. Still, she internally patted herself on the back because there had been a time when she couldn't woo a woman this way. "What do you want?"
Quinn rolled her shoulders back. This was supposed to be the moment where Rachel stopped seeing her as a child and started seeing her as an adult, an equal, a partner. And she couldn't very well be taken seriously if she was reduced to a shy, bumbling mess. With effort, she forced herself to meet Rachel's eyes fully. She had the smoky look going for her again, and it never failed to get Quinn's gears going. And her lips shined with the faint hint of lip gloss that Quinn had wanted to taste for the past three years. "I want you to kiss me," she breathed.
Rachel exhaled, all false bravado leaving at once. She hadn't expected Quinn to go through with this. The thought of possibly having to kiss Quinn on her birthday had certainly occurred to her, but Rachel was sure Quinn would back out of it, that her feelings would change, or that, eventually she would stop seeing Rachel as older and just plain old.
But as she stared into Quinn's eyes while the swing gently rocked them back and forth, all Rachel saw was interest, intrigue, and desire. The third made her stomach tighten in a way she had never expected. "Are you sure?" she asked in a choked voice.
Quinn didn't have moves, not for a girl. Her moves had been reserved for nabbing popular boys, not for kissing the love of her life. So she had nothing to draw on to entice Rachel into a kiss other than the longing set deep in her eyes. "Yes."
And it was enough. Rachel glanced around the backyard to assure they were alone, and leaned forward to cup the side of Quinn's face. She drew close enough to the point where they could feel each other's body heat, and she watched Quinn's eyes flutter as her fingers combed through her hair soothingly. "Last chance," Rachel whispered.
It was more of a warning than anything, but when Quinn's eyes opened again, shades darker than the hazel Rachel was used to, she knew the warning fell on deaf ears. She felt her heart pound in her chest the way a first kiss hadn't done for her in quite some time now. Maybe it was the warm night, or the threat of Quinn's mother—tucked into bed, watching a game show—seeing them in such a compromising position that got her heart pumping the way it did.
But Rachel knew she couldn't lie to herself any longer, that Quinn just did things to her that were beyond her comprehension.
And so Rachel kissed her. She kissed her because she had spent way too long denying Quinn something she wanted so desperately. She kissed her because she had inadvertently hurt Quinn more times than she cared to count and she wanted it to stop. She kissed her because her stomach was in knots for reasons other than anxiety. Rachel kissed her because she wanted to.
And Quinn was helpless. Never one to be a slave to her emotions, Quinn felt she had been pulled into a tidal wave. It crashed on top of her, and she sank deep into waters uncharted. Everything felt so soft, Rachel's lips, the knee she was resting her hand on, the hand cupping the side of her face. Nothing had ever felt quite like this.
She attempted to come up for air every few seconds, but questing lips would find her own, and Quinn was pushed under once more. Her lips slid over Rachel's with ease that belied a first kiss. They fell into an unshakable rhythm of bobbing heads and breathy moans.
Her entire body thrummed in a tempo Quinn had never felt before. If this was the sexual awakening Quinn witnessed everyone have in high school, she now understood why they couldn't stop talking about it. There was a fire in the pit of her stomach that only seemed to intensify as each agonizing second ticked on.
Rachel forced herself not to think. Because if she thought, she would have been surprised, scared, kicking herself for time wasted. Except not wasted because Quinn had been a child. Her thoughts were a garbled mess that continued to tangle in the back of her mind. No, Rachel operated on instinct. She was usually good with following her gut. And right now, her gut told her that what was happening right now in this moment didn't need to stop. Her hand slid around to the back of Quinn's neck and it was warm, lively underneath her palm. She used the leverage to hold Quinn steady, and—
Rachel moaned, body sagging with a longing sigh when a confident tongue swiped across her bottom lip. It seemed Quinn had beat her to the punch. And Rachel was more than willing to allow it. She allowed Quinn to explore her at great length before Rachel placed a parting kiss to her lips and pulled away.
She knew it was only her imagination, but it felt colder outside now that they weren't joined at the lips, in their own haze of arousal. A breeze blew past them and Rachel allowed the chilled air to rush across her face for a moment of clarity. She ran a hand through her hair as she gathered her wits about her, clearing her throat. But she was affectionate by nature, and couldn't help but play in Quinn's hair as she asked. "How do you feel?"
Quinn huffed out a laugh, deciding not to go with the first two-syllable word on the tip of her tongue. "I feel fine—great," she amended. "You?"
"You know," Rachel began, still toying with silky strands of blonde hair. "For someone who said she hasn't kissed a lot of boys, you're a pretty great kisser."
"I never said I hadn't kissed a lot of boys. Just that I hadn't had many boyfriends."
Rachel grinned cheekily. "You modern day woman, you."
Quinn scoffed. "Hardly."
"Is this something you think you can keep doing?"
"Is this something you think you can keep doing?" Quinn parroted. "You already know where I stand."
Rachel inclined her head as if to say touché. She released Quinn's hair and sighed, meeting her eyes. "I…liked this very much," she admitted, a touch shy. "And I would not be opposed to exploring this further."
"Even though I'm a kid?" Quinn griped.
Rachel at least had the good grace to look ashamed. She bit the corner of her lip. "I admit your age, or should I say, our age difference is going to take getting used to. But if you're willing, so am I."
Quinn nodded dumbly, her mouth taking several seconds to catch up. "I'm willing," she insisted. She was so willing.
And although she did go on to win prom queen, it somehow paled in comparison.
Rachel giggled when Quinn shoved her into the wall, and moaned when their lips fused together. It had only been two weeks, but Rachel had never known a time in her life when her lips had gotten this much action. She shivered when Quinn's hands found purchase on her hips, and wrapped her arms round Quinn's neck for leverage.
She never thought she'd be here. She never thought she'd feel this way about Quinn, and she tried not to take a trip back down memory lane, back to when they first met, in fear that she'd get too weirded out to continue.
Instead Rachel seized Quinn by the scruff of her neck and nipped at her lower lip. Quinn moaned, grasping at Rachel's waist and tugging her closer.
She was a very adept kisser, to Rachel's surprise. In fact, Rachel had never met a pair of lips that knew what they were doing quite like Quinn's. If this was Quinn attempting to prove she was no longer a child, it was working in spades. Rachel was so caught up in Quinn's lips that a hand creeping up her rib cage didn't even register until a thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
Rachel pulled back with a delighted grin and a lively flush to her cheeks.
"What?" Quinn grumbled, pressing her warm cheek against Rachel's in a concerted effort to avoid eye contact.
Rachel allowed Quinn her space, but couldn't help but ask. "Are you still a virgin, Quinn?"
Pointed ears burned in embarrassment as Quinn's posture tightened. She really hated Rachel's direct approach at times. The question wasn't accusatory in tone, but it felt critical.
But damn it if Rachel didn't know her like a Funny Girl playbill. Her hands went to work massaging the tense muscles in Quinn's back until Quinn was arching into her and choking back a moan. "Yes," she eventually answered.
Rachel licked her lips. She liked that answer and she wasn't sure why. "Okay." She attempted to deliver her next few words with as much tact as possible. "I am not."
Quinn pulled away to finally meet Rachel's eyes. She nodded a few times, more so to herself, then muttered, "Okay. So…"
"So I was thinking," Rachel picked up, dark eyes roving along Quinn's face for any sign of how to steer this conversation. Quinn was eighteen, but oftentimes teen was the operative word. She was moody and unpredictable; and though Rachel typically knew how to best handle Quinn given a particular scenario, this was uncharted territory. This was the two of them talking about sex—which was already a topic they rarely broached with each other, especially after the Noah Puckerman incident. This was the discussion of sex with each other. There was no precedence, but Rachel navigated the best she could. "Maybe we should set some ground rules? I am aware of how important virginity is to you, and I think, given the circumstance, a prudent approach is the best approach."
Quinn bit her bottom lip and looked away. Rachel swallowed at the sight of it. "Okay." Quinn cleared her throat. "Umm, so what now?"
Twenty minutes later, they had untangled, Rachel had made a pot of tea, and the two of them were on her couch discussing ground rules.
What amazed Rachel the most, and got her heart racing, was that Quinn didn't have any. Granted, Rachel had called Quinn when Quinn was in the middle of almost sex. But that was only one time and, Rachel was saddened to learn on the way home, Quinn had been under the influence. But this was still the former president of the celibacy club and chastity ball attendant on her living room couch basically giving Rachel the go-ahead on nearly everything barring oral and penetration.
Her cheeks were red and she cleared her throat on every other word, but Quinn eventually stammered out something resembling, "All-all the other stuff we can do. Just—not that."
"That being penetration."
"Rachel," Quinn bit out, flushing all over again.
Bottom lip between her teeth to hold back a smile, Rachel tried again. "Sorry, I'm just trying to ensure we're going into this on the same page is all."
"We are," Quinn grumbled.
Rachel scooted along the couch to be closer to Quinn. "Lovely." She rested her arm along the back of the couch with a tilt of her head. "Care to try again?"
A wolfish grin spreading across her features, Quinn had Rachel pinned to the couch within moments.
"I don't have to go to Yale."
Rachel turned, slowly, from her vanity to lock eyes with Quinn. Only Quinn wasn't looking at her. She was staring down at the adult bedspread on Rachel's bed. It was light pink and gray—a far cry from the gaudy highlighter pink bed sheets Rachel had slept on through college.
Inhaling a deep breath, Rachel attempted to keep her voice even. "What do you mean?"
A shrug, and in a nervous habit Quinn had picked up from Rachel, she tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "I said I can stay," Quinn repeated, gathering enough courage to meet Rachel's eyes. "If I had met a promising enough boy by now, I would have given up on college anyway. It's what my parents would have wanted."
"Sweetheart," Rachel breathed.
"I would've," Quinn insisted. "And he and I—we would have gotten married, I would have had a baby, and I would have been a homemaker, like my mom."
"But—"
"I would have done it. And I wouldn't be nearly as happy as I am with you." Her cheeks dusted pink, and Quinn glanced away with a frown of embarrassment.
Rachel neared the bed, sensing Quinn's rising anxiety. She sat down in front of her with the most perplexed expression on her face. Rachel was no stranger to giving up on dreams, but giving up on a dream that was basically being handed to her on a silver platter was something else entirely. It was something she had never known. She grasped Quinn's hands from where they were fidgeting with one another and met her eyes with a kind smile. "Quinn, you don't have to be like your mom," she insisted, beseeched. "Tell me, what would you go to Yale for?"
At that, Quinn grew shy. The tips of her ears burned, and she stared down at their joined hands. "I don't know. Like, maybe acting or something."
"Acting?" She was flummoxed. How could she possibly have known Quinn for eight years without knowing they shared such a pertinent common interest? Despite the situation at hand, a proud smile blossomed across Rachel's face. "You want to be an actress, Quinn?"
Quinn shrugged with a nod. She had never revealed to Rachel that the moment she fell in love with acting was when she was spying on Frannie one day way back when she was ten years old and saw Rachel performing a monologue from West Side Story. Even her reputation wouldn't be able to shake the dirt that would be smeared on it by joining the drama club, so college had seemed like the next best option.
Rachel felt completely consumed with emotion. Nothing got her going quite like acting or even talking about it. She cupped Quinn's cheek with both hands and forced their gazes to meet. Rachel kissed her softly. "I really, really think you should go to Yale."
"But—"
Rachel kissed her again.
Quinn glared daggers at her once she pulled away. "That's my job."
"What?"
"Kissing you to get you to shut up."
Rachel's jaw dropped. "Okay, is that a thing? Because I've been very suspicious over the last few days, but I assuaged my worries and said to myself, 'There's no way Quinn, my Quinn would—"
Quinn kissed her.
And Rachel couldn't find it in herself to be angry.
"I'm freaking the freak out here!"
"You do realize I'm not a real psychologist, right?"
Rachel sighed heavily into her empty apartment. "Robin—Robin, I'm coming to you as my friend."
The line was silent for a moment, the desperate sound of Rachel's voice seeming to reverberate off the walls. "Okay," Robin finally spoke, calmly. "What's going on?"
"What's going on is that I'm in love with my best friend, and she's in love with me, and she—she's being so young and so-so careless in a way I never would have even thought her to be, and throwing away her future just so she can be with me, and I cannot allow it."
"Whoa, whoa, okay—slow down."
"Sorry," Rachel kind of whimpered into the phone as she paced the floor of her apartment.
"Okay, so what exactly is going on here?"
It was the kind of sentence that one had to stop breathing for. "Quinn got accepted into Yale."
"Holy crap, that's really awesome." Robin sounded genuinely enthused on Quinn's behalf, which made Rachel feel a little guilty. She had spent the past several weeks, since learning about Quinn's acceptance, trying to figure out the logistics of how this was going to work. She couldn't even remember if she had even congratulated Quinn yet. "So what's the problem?" Robin then asked as the silence stretched on.
Rachel collapsed against her sofa with a sigh. "The problem is that Quinn has decided that she's going to stay in Lima, Ohio to be with me instead of attending college in the fall."
"Oh…" Robin was silent for a moment. "That's…that's really not—"
"Practical?" Rachel nearly shrieked. "I know."
"Have you tried to—"
"Everything! I've tried everything." She gnawed on her lower lip mercilessly. "But she's convinced herself that she'd have no problem following in her mother's footsteps and abandoning college to settle down."
It scared Rachel more than anything because she had come to a bit of a conclusion over the past week since Quinn had made her decision not to attend Yale: she more or less hated her life. And it took Quinn admitting to her that she was more than willing to stay in Lima, Ohio with Rachel forever for Rachel to realize it.
She was more or less stuck being a two-bit actress in community plays for the geriatric, and she had accepted that about herself. But that would not, could not be Quinn's future. That, above anything else, would break Rachel's heart beyond repair. Quinn was too ambitious to settle down in her prime, and spend the rest of her life unhappy and career-less.
Her chest heaved with deep breaths once she finished ranting her dilemma to Robin, who had remained quiet except for the occasional "hmms".
"I can't let her do this, Robin," Rachel murmured mournfully. "She gets this despondent look on her face sometimes, more so now that her parents are divorced, and I can't bear to look at such a sad face for the rest of my life. This isn't what she wants."
"It sounds like you've already made up your mind."
Rachel sank into her couch with her head in her hand.
"Do you believe in soul mates?"
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
Rachel grinned and rolled onto her stomach. The blades of grass underneath tickled the soft skin of her stomach through her dress, and only added to the thrum of excitement that coursed through her veins. She felt both on fire and incredibly at peace in a way that only performing and Quinn could do to her.
Their eyes met. "I just always feel so at peace with you. And I think you feel the same way with me."
Quinn's lips curved mildly, a touch shy. It felt like only yesterday Rachel was telling her they couldn't be and now she was suggesting that their very souls were connected in such an intimate way. It gave her whiplash, butterflies. "Yeah?" she croaked out.
And Rachel knew that tone, having heard it many times in varying timbres of emotion over the last eight years. Her smile grew as she molded herself against Quinn's side. She buried her face against Quinn's neck and murmured, "I love you," against her flesh before pressing a kiss deep into her skin.
She had never meant those three words more in her life.
Quinn rolled them over until she was on top, stared down at luscious brown hair framing a smiling face and eyes filled with blatant ardor. They kissed endlessly, neither remembering who had leaned in first.
They stumbled into the apartment and Quinn slammed the door behind her then reached out to tug Rachel closer. She was a forced to be reckoned with, Quinn. If her kisses were a torrential downpour, Rachel shuddered to think what making love to her would feel like. So when a shaky yet sure hand closed around her clothed breast, Rachel's body arched in plea for more, though she ripped her mouth away.
Her breath came in short pants. "Quinn. If we continue, I don't think I'll be able to stop."
A low chuckle slithered down to her groin as Quinn's warm breath met the side of her face. "It's cute that you thought we were."
Rachel hissed out a surprised breath because when did Quinn get this sexy? It had completely slid past her.
There was no room for polite, or chivalry, or courteousness, because Rachel wanted in the worst way possible, and every second that passed by with her clothes still stitched to her skin was too long.
So when Quinn grasped her by the waist and pinned her harder against the door until she was up on the tips of her toes like the ballerina she once was, Rachel moaned, and hooked a leg around the back of Quinn's ankle. The muscles in her thigh strained from holding up her weight, and Rachel shivered at the feel of Quinn's long fingers stroking up and down her tights.
Brain growing foggier by the second, there was still a crisp, ever-present enclave within her that screamed at her to stop. Almost violently, Rachel ripped away from Quinn again, being able to only retreat a few centimeters with the door behind her. "Sweetheart…" Her voice sounded raw with unabashed want, even to her own ears, and she felt Quinn tremble around her at the sound. "We need to talk."
Instantly, she was lowered to the ground, and after untangling limbs, Quinn and Rachel found themselves on the opposite sides of Rachel's living room couch. The distance, however minuscule, was unbearable, and Rachel nearly tripped over herself to scoot that much closer and clasp Quinn's hand in hers.
A full minute went by in silence and false starts. Quinn's posture tightened with every ticking second that passed while Rachel tried her damnedest to say something of substance.
Then a choked sob bubbled in her throat, and her hand that was holding Quinn's retreated to cover her mouth. Quinn looked up at her then, the reddening of her cheeks, the tears brimming in her eyes. "I love you," Rachel finally sobbed.
Though her instincts pulled at her to retreat, regroup, and rethink, Quinn scooted closer to the only source of warmth she had ever known. "I love you, too," she mumbled, uncertainty as to just what this was edging into her tone. It was the first time Quinn had said it in three years, and it broke Rachel's heart.
She fanned at her eyes with both hands to try to stop the tears from flowing because this was about Quinn, not her. And after making Quinn's original love confession all about her what seemed like many moons ago, Rachel owed her this much. "I love you, so very much, Quinn," she prefaced. "But we can't be together. Not now."
"Why?" Quinn bit out in rebellion that only a teenager could muster.
Rachel's face crumbled at the sound, but the clarity of Quinn's voice awakened something within her. "Because you're young, Quinn," Rachel retorted, knowing she was stepping on toes but unwilling to sugarcoat anything anymore. "And you lack the necessary foresight to see that five, ten years from now you will regret not going to Yale."
Her voice was so even and controlled, that it unnerved Rachel when Quinn asked, "Is that what this is about?" in a seemingly calm tone. "Me not going to Yale?"
Rachel nodded hurriedly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's not every day that people get to go to the college of their dreams," she said, melancholy striking her features. "Take it from me. I would have killed to be able to afford NYADA—probably literally," she attempted to joke.
It fell flat as Quinn stared at her and with a voice devoid of emotion, said, "I'm not you, Rachel."
"Yes, I know but—"
She gasped when Quinn sprang from the couch with clenched fists and a striking vein bulging in the middle of her forehead. She was the picture of beauty, even in anger, and her ferocity threatened to take Rachel's breath away. "No! You don't get to spend the past few weeks being with me only to tell me that you're breaking up with me and shipping me to Connecticut because it's for my own good!"
"It is for your own good!" Rachel cried. She rose from the couch to gain what little height she could. Despondent, Rachel couldn't handle. But anger, she could do. Quinn was often hotheaded and Rachel had talked her down from plenty of ledges over the past eight years. "You don't understand the ramifications of forsaking college, Quinn. You're too young to!"
"I already have a mom, Rachel!" Quinn shouted back. "I don't need you to be my mother; I need you to be my girlfriend!"
"And I need you to grow up!"
It was out of her mouth before she even had the chance to think. That was often how she operated. But not with Quinn, not anymore. She had learned to think before speaking and acting because that was what Quinn appreciated.
But her brain had failed her in this instance. Or perhaps it was her mouth.
She saw Quinn's lip quiver once, and Rachel felt her heart break. "Quinn…"
Quinn sharply held up a hand, then swiped her keys from the couch and bypassed Rachel. "Don't worry about it."
It was a curt mumble that shattered Rachel from the inside out. She couldn't handle despondent. She turned on her heel. "Quinn—"
She reached for her arm and Quinn jerked away, turning back to Rachel with eyes that blazed in seething anger and thinly veiled agony. "I said don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry," Rachel lamented, voice teetering on a whine. "Please just—let's talk about this."
"What is there to talk about, Rachel?" Quinn inquired rhetorically. "You wanted to break up, and we did. So like I said, don't worry about it."
"But, Quinn, please, I'm sorry. I just—"
"You knew how I've felt about you since I was fifteen years old, Rachel. Fifteen."
She winced at the icy tone that dug into her skull, into her heart and squeezed it mercilessly. She could do little more than whimper an apologetic, "I know, sweetheart."
A lone tear streaked down a pale cheek as Quinn's hands clenched and unclenched at her side, keys jingling. "You have strung me along for three years."
Rachel's eyes shot up to meet Quinn's. "No." She was bleary, and a bare arm swiped across tired brown eyes to collect tears. Rachel vigorously shook her head. "I have not led you on, Quinn. And if you feel that way, I'm sorry. But I in no way—"
Never in her life had she heard a door slam as loudly as this one.
Rachel sat folded in a corner of the couch, shrouded in the darkness of her apartment living room with tears streaking down her face.
After not speaking to her for a full month, Quinn had left for Yale today, Rachel heard from Frannie. An odd mix of pride and heartache roiled in the pit of her stomach.
She wrapped her arms around her ribs, grasping her dress so tightly she felt the material would rip. It was all she could do to keep from splintering into tiny pieces all over the floor. Her breaths came and went in short pants bordering on hyperventilation.
She hadn't moved in hours.
Bottom lip between her teeth, Rachel attempted to gather herself. But it was all just so unfair. They had barely even begun. After three years of dancing around the subject, they had finally joined as one, only to be ripped apart. And Rachel could handle the heartache of not being able to keep Quinn. What she couldn't handle was the fact that Quinn now wanted nothing to do with her.
She pitched forward onto the couch and lied against it, eyes slipping shut as more tears fell. Her feelings for Quinn had grown and evolved over the years, but at the base of it all, Rachel had loved her fiercely—as a guardian figure, as a friend and eventually, as a lover. She had always had the best intentions when it came to Quinn, but now it seemed she had made an irreparable mess of everything.
A hiccupped sob left her throat just as her phone rang in the pocket of her dress. Hoping beyond hope it was Quinn returning one of the hundreds of phone calls Rachel had made over the last several weeks, she unraveled to fumble for the device. It was Kurt, however, and Rachel slumped back against the couch, a disappointed sigh escaping her. She held it tightly in her grasp, but let it ring as she tucked her legs underneath her in the seat and folded in on herself again.
The vibration stopped, and she was once again left alone. Rachel thought of Frannie and cried anew. This was the second time she had hurt her baby sister, and Rachel shuddered to think of how much Frannie would hate her if she found out.
Her phone vibrated once more with a call from Kurt, and she swallowed. The last thing she needed was to hear that something had happened to one of her dear friends because she failed to answer her phone.
Answering the call, Rachel attempted to slow her hiccupping sobs. "Hello?"
"Rachel! Girl, I called you twice!"
Rachel winced at his tone. "Sorry, Kurt." She cleared her throat in an attempt to mask the nasal quality of her voice. "I'm actually quite busy right now, so if this can wait—"
"It can't," Kurt insisted.
She licked a tear from her upper lip. "What is it, Kurt? I really can't talk right now."
"Famed director George Castell is reviving Grease on Broadway."
Rachel's heart stopped at the revelation and the fact that Kurt was calling to tell her this. It couldn't be...
"And yours truly, who has trouble hiding his gay—" He lightly mocked her and Mercedes "—got the part of Zuko! Anyway, I talked you up to Castell, and I mean all the way up, and he agreed to see you. Though I think he wants to get in my pants, so he'll do just about anything I ask…"
"Kurt," Rachel interrupted in a terse voice. Her heart, barely beating, had kick-started again and hammered painfully against her chest as she attempted to control her breathing. "Kurt, please," she begged. She was at the end of her rope, and wasn't sure how much more of anything she could take. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying get your butt here to New York," he finally informed her. "And you'd better give the best damn audition of your life."