Three days of awkward normalcy passed. Rachel, true to her word, remained silent and patient about her progression of emotion. Through the regular motions of classes and glee rehearsals and family dinners, Quinn did a marvelous job of burying her emotions when around everyone else. Rachel watched her protectively from the periphery, a subtle anxiousness rolling in her eyes whenever they met Quinn's, and she was once again there every night when Quinn fell asleep, and every possible minute at school when someone was whispering behind their hand or pointing rudely at Quinn's flattening stomach.
By the time Friday evening rolled around, Quinn no longer had dark circles under her eyes that she had to cover with make-up. The comforting knowledge of Rachel's presence beside her while she slept outweighed the rollicking confusion that had taken up residence in Quinn's head, and by the end of the week, she wasn't attracting as many poorly-veiled glances of worry from the rest of the glee club or her teachers.
"Mike's having a party," Rachel said. Her voice startled Quinn, who was sitting at her desk, once more flipping through college admissions requirements.
"Well, it is a Friday night," she responded quietly. Despite Rachel sleeping next to her every night and soothing away her nightmares, and despite the vast amount of time they spent together, they had had very little one-on-one conversation since Rachel convinced Quinn to go home Tuesday morning.
Rachel leaned back against the doorjamb, her hands linked behind her back. "Brittany and Santana are going. And Puck. Even Kurt and Mercedes."
"You should go," Quinn said, picking up easily on the antsy set to Rachel's shoulders. The brunette clearly wanted to go out.
"We should go," Rachel said.
"We?"
"Quinn, when was the last time you went to a party?" Rachel challenged. "When was the last time you just acted like a teenager?"
Quinn remained silent. She knew exactly when the last time was that she went to a party, because the next day she'd been hungover and steeped in sin and it hurt to walk, and a week later she'd been officially pregnant. She may have been healing, and she may no longer spend every moment thinking about her miscarried daughter, but she was hardly prepared to talk about it casually.
"Come on," Rachel said imploringly. "It'll be fun. Our friends are going to be there. It'll be good for you to just have some fun for a night."
Quinn stayed quiet. Her fingers tapped nervously on top of the stack of papers from Georgetown on her desk, unconsciously matching the beat to the soft music.
"Quinn," Rachel said eventually. "Please?"
"You don't need me to come with you to a party," Quinn said, her voice quiet. "Like you said, they're our friends. Your friends as much as mine." She quirked an eyebrow at Rachel. "Go have fun with them."
"I'd prefer that you come," Rachel said. "As much for your sake as mine."
"I'm fine, Rach," Quinn said. "I just don't feel like going out right now."
"Oh, come on," Rachel shot back. "You're a social girl and we both know it. I know that a lot has changed in the last year, but that hasn't. Don't tell me that you wouldn't have fun at a party with your friends. Your brochures will still be right there tomorrow morning and you can obsess over them all weekend."
"I'm not obsessing," Quinn mumbled. The delicate flush in her cheeks belayed her halfhearted protest.
"Right," Rachel said. She smiled brightly at Quinn. "Then will you go as a favor to me?" Wide brown eyes stared unblinkingly at Quinn. Quinn stared stubbornly back at her for a full ten seconds, chin set, before she let out an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up dramatically.
"Fine!" she said. "I'll be your chaperone."
Rachel let out a small, excited squeal and jumped away from the doorway, clapping her hands girlishly. "Great!" she said exuberantly. "I'm going to go change. Do you want to drive, or should I?"
"I'll drive," Quinn said, trying to hold back an indulgent smile at Rachel's excitement. She pushed herself out of her chair, stretching luxuriously. "Give me a few minutes."
Rachel all but skipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Quinn stood awkwardly next to her desk for a long moment, a moment of hesitance edging at her thoughts. She was suddenly unsure if she even remembered how to handle a casual social situation like a house party. It had been months since she had been in such a position, and the last time had left her pregnant and turned her entire life upside down.
Shaking such thoughts away, Quinn busied herself with changing out of the sweatpants and t-shirt she was wearing. Where a year ago she would have taken advantage of a party away from the possibility of Coach Sylvester's supervision and dressed up in one of the dresses or skirts she never could wear under Cheerio's rules, Quinn found herself instead reaching for her favorite jeans and a simple tank top. Grabbing a light jacket and running a brush through her curls, she shut the lid on her laptop and made her way across the hallway to knock on Rachel's door.
"Come on, RuPaul," she said lightheartedly. "Let's do this before I change my mind."
"Coming!" Rachel called through the door. Quinn jumped back when the door was flung open, and Rachel stepped breathlessly out into the hallway. One of Quinn's eyebrows rose of its own accord as she unintentionally looked Rachel up and down, taking in the loose waves of her dark hair, the floaty skirt of her bright blue dress, the height advantage the heels she was wearing gave her.
"Are you alright?" Rachel asked, brow slightly furrowed.
"What?" Quinn flushed slightly. "Yeah, I'm okay. You good to go?" She mentally berated herself. As unused as she may be to this growing attraction she had to Rachel, she was still annoyed with herself for not keeping her wandering thoughts in check.
They arrived at Mike's house to find the party already in full swing. Finn, Artie, and Matt and a handful of other football players were on the back patio, engaged in a raucous game of beer pong. Kurt and Mercedes had somehow won over a small group of the Cheerios, and the cheerleaders were gathered around Kurt, shooting question after question at him about skin care products; he sat delicately on Mercedes' leg and was gesturing emphatically, practically spilling his drink often. Brittany and Santana were unsurprisingly together, Santana's hand resting mostly-hidden on Brittany's lower back and her thumb skimming lightly back and forth while Brittany animatedly cheered on Finn and Artie and Matt in beer pong.
Quinn, after convincing Rachel that she would be fine alone, watched as the brunette accepted an unopened beer from Mike and then joined Brittany and Santana in watching the beer pong game. She stared at the back of Rachel's head for a long few seconds, and then helped herself to a beer and made her way back into the living room, where she joined Kurt and Mercedes.
As time passed, Quinn felt herself slowly relaxing. She let herself sink into the conversation about skin care products, which shifted into hair products and then over to celebrity gossip. Quinn's second beer had long since gone lukewarm and forgotten in her hand when the Cheerios were lured away by the promise of jello shots by some of the more charismatic football players, and she had abandoned it entirely when Mercedes' phone vibrated and she moved outside to take the call. Only Kurt and Quinn remained on the couch, and Quinn found herself under the piercing-even-when-drunk stare of Kurt Hummel.
"So," he said delicately, tossing his head in the direction of where Rachel still stood with Brittany and Santana, cheering animatedly as Artie tossed a ping pong ball across the table. "Let's hear it."
"Pardon?" Quinn said, feeling a small flash of her old confidence with the single word and raised eyebrow.
"Oh, please," he said. He leaned closer, resting his arm on the back of the couch and his temple against his fist. "Don't think that I haven't noticed a subtle shift in the electricity between you and our pocket-sized diva, or that it happened conveniently after I told her to grow a spine and make a move."
Quinn blushed in spite of herself, looking down at the fraying hole in the knee of her jeans. Kurt read deep into her silence and made an unintelligible but delighted sound, clapping his hands briefly. "Oh, she did! Terrific! Now, tell me what's going on."
"Nothing's going on," Quinn said defensively, more automatically than intentionally.
Kurt shot her a sharp look, and she blushed deeper. "Really," she said, her voice soft enough that he had to lean forward to hear it under the music. "I… she's giving me some time," she said eventually. "To figure out what I want."
"Girl, please," Kurt said. He flapped one hand dismissively. "You may not see it, but it is so what you want. Do you think I can't see the way you look at her every thirty seconds?"
"I do not!"
Kurt snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."
"Honestly," Quinn said gently. "I don't know what I want."
"I think you do," Kurt said. He locked his eyes on Quinn's, holding her gaze. "You're just distracted by what you think you should want."
Quinn remained silent, staring at him thoughtfully. "Do you… do you think it would be okay?"
It was an awkward question, and came out poorly. Her concern was primarily with her own emotional fragility and the potential for disaster it spelled for anyone she may be involved with, rather than with thoughts of propriety and permission. The only thing she had come to terms with since Rachel kissed her was the fact that some people would never approve, but that such approval was unnecessary. Her fear of her father's inevitably enraged reaction took a distant second to her fear that she was doomed to another monumental failure in romance, and whoever was stuck by her side would be dragged down right with her.
Thankfully, Kurt seemed to understand her meaning regardless. Her gaze shifted unintentionally to the sliding glass door and Rachel's blue dress; his followed.
"Whoever knows what will or won't work?" he asked after a long pause. "But that isn't what you should ask yourself."
"Then what should I, Dr. Phil?"
He shifted on the couch, staring at her even more intently than normal. "How does she make you feel?"
Quinn tore her eyes away from his, biting her lip and looking back outside; Rachel, in a lull in the game, was talking cheerfully with Artie, who looked surprised to be enjoying their interaction. "She kissed me," Quinn said eventually. "And it made everything else in my mind disappear. Everything about my parents and the baby and Finn and Puck just… went away, and things were quiet in my head."
Kurt's hand appeared on hers, soft and delicate, and she looked back up at him. Her chest ached, but not in the painful way it had every time she thought of the mistakes and misfortunes of the last year; rather, it felt like it had when she first started dating Finn, and the night Puck watched her with sad eyes and told her she was beautiful.
"There's your answer," Kurt said, his voice quiet under the music and entirely devoid of its usual cutting edges.
"What if I screw this up, too?" Quinn mumbled, barely audible and entirely unintentional. She froze momentarily, instinct making her tense and wish violently to recall the words, but Kurt patted her hand in an almost maternal manner and she felt a tiny amount of tension leave her shoulders. She took a slow breath, forcing her eyes up to meet his. "I'm not in a good place right now. And it's just… everything I'm not supposed to do."
Kurt shrugged his narrow shoulders slowly. His eyes were wide and bright, piercing into Quinn's almost painfully. "I guess you have to decide what's more important to you. What you think you're supposed to do, or how you think things might go wrong, or how it felt when she kissed you."
Mercedes suddenly reappeared behind Kurt, practically bubbling with excitement as she yanked Kurt up by the elbow and thrust her phone in his hands. Words rushed out of her mouth too quickly for Quinn to understand—it was like when Rachel was talking after taking the pills Mrs. Scheuster gave them, but even more unintelligible. But when Kurt's eyes lit up and his jaw dropped and he started babbling about necklines and chiffon, Quinn held back a small laugh before slipping away from the two of them. There would be no pulling Kurt away from the fashion blogs for at least another hour; even so, he had given her plenty to consider anyways.
In the kitchen, Quinn tossed out her mostly-full beer and poured herself a glass of water from the sink. Through the window, she could see Rachel still talking to Artie, who was demonstrating something that had to be about guitars. Rachel was clutching a beer bottle in her hands loosely, her eyes locked on Artie's hands intently as he demonstrated chord shapes and strumming patterns.
"You shouldn't stare, Q."
Santana's voice, and the sudden appearance of her reflection in the window Quinn was staring out of, made the blonde jump. Water splashed over the rim of her glass, a few drops falling onto the denim of her jeans.
"Jesus, Santana," Quinn mumbled. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"
Santana smirked and crossed her arms; she leaned against the refrigerator and looked Quinn up and down appraisingly. Quinn couldn't remember the last time she saw Santana not dressed in a costume for glee or a cheerleading uniform; her dark hair was loose from its usual ponytail, and she looked surprisingly casual for a Friday night party in jeans and a t-shirt.
Quinn flushed slightly under Santana's scrutiny, and took a slow sip of water to cover it.
"You've been working out." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Quinn said defensively. "Is that a crime?"
"Hardly," Santana said. She exaggeratedly shrugged her shoulders. "Just commenting. It hasn't even been a month." With a small smirk, she added, "Then again, you always were the exercise nut out of all of us. You were probably doing yogalates every morning when you were pregnant." She paused again, her smirk fading and a solemn look—vastly different from her typical glare—replacing it as she stared at Quinn for a long few seconds.
"Get yourself together, Q," Santana said simply. "No one expects you to miraculously be fine and dandy about what happened to you. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't take advantage of something that can help you be okay."
"What?" Quinn said dumbly.
Santana heaved a frustrated sigh. "Berry," she said. "Rachel freaking Berry. Anyone with half a brain can see that she… I don't know, calms you down or helps you meditate or whatever it is that you need to do to sleep at night." Sharp eyes, far more intelligent than most people ever knew, locked onto and held Quinn's; the blonde felt a sudden rush of warmth in her chest and remembered why on earth she was actually friends with Santana Lopez in the first place. Harsh though she may be, the other girl was brutally honest when no one else had the nerve to be, and sometimes Quinn needed that more than anything else.
"I don't like her," Santana continued, unaware of Quinn's momentary epiphany. "But she could do what B and I couldn't, and she's still doing it, so stop dancing around whatever it is you're dancing around and just grow a pair."
Quinn stared at her friend, nothing short of dumbfounded. A part of her knew that Santana had always been disturbingly perceptive, but she hadn't thought that both Kurt and Santana would corner her and push her towards something she was only just coming to realize that she actually wanted.
Long seconds stretched out between them before Quinn spoke. "I'm scared," she mumbled. Her hands felt weak, and she set her water glass on the counter behind her to avoid dropping it. "I don't want to mess anything else up."
"Quinn," Santana said sharply. "That girl is entirely aware of your baggage and your bullshit. She knows exactly what you're capable of, and how much of a brat you can be when you want to be, and she still gave you a bedroom and took care of you after you left the hospital and threatens to tar and feather every single person who tries to talk about you behind your back in school now. She's a pain in the ass and occasionally as obtuse as a blind elephant in a China shop, but she's decided that she cares enough to not care what she's getting into."
Her eyes softened, and she stepped across the small kitchen to stand in front of Quinn. "You won't let us help," she said quietly. The ever-present edge to her voice was completely absent, and Quinn could recall not a single time when Santana had looked at anyone but Brittany in so soft a manner. "Me and B, we've been your friends since grade school, but we can't put you back together. The only person who held you together even a little bit was that damn annoying little diva, and if that's what you need to deal, then that's what you need. She's got it, she's offering it, so have the balls to admit that you need her help and just take it."
With a minute, understated smile, Santana nodded once and stepped back from Quinn. The blonde stared at her, the words from her impromptu speech rolling around inside her head, before murmuring a barely-audible thanks. Santana nodded once more, her armor back in place, and made her way out of the kitchen; Quinn noticed a flash of blonde around the corner and realized the Brittany had been standing there for the entire conversation.
Quinn wasn't sure how much time had passed before she finally moved out of the kitchen; Mercedes and Kurt were gone, as were most of the Cheerios and half of the football players. Artie and Finn were still on the back porch talking, Finn's shoulders slumping and his head lolling slightly to the side like it always did when he was drunk. Just as Quinn was about to go in search of Rachel—a glance at her watch told her it was well past midnight, and she was ready to lay down and just sleep—the brunette appeared beside her with a quiet hiccup and a drunken smile.
"Hi," she whispered loudly. "Where were you all night?"
"Around," Quinn whispered back. She watched with alarm as Rachel swayed slightly on her heels, and reached out unthinkingly to wrap her right arm around her waist for support. She dug her left hand into the pocket of her jeans, locating her car keys. "Let's go home."
"Okay," Rachel said. She yawned and shook her hair back; her left arm drifted up, wrapping over her stomach, her hand coming to rest on Quinn's wrist where it was tucked around the curve of her hip.
The drive home was quiet, Rachel uncharacteristically silent. Quinn pulled the car into the driveway and stepped out, moving around to help Rachel into the house and up the stairs. In Rachel's room, the brunette plopped down on her bed, yawning again and brushing her hair back out of her face.
Quinn took a deep breath, sitting down next to Rachel. Hands folded in her lap, she locked her eyes on her intertwined fingers. "How drunk are you?"
Rachel shrugged languidly, leaning down to unstrap her shoes. "Impaired enough that I couldn't drive, but I can still recite my multiplication tables."
Quinn laughed softly, shaking her head. "Only you would be that rational drunk."
"Alcohol has differing effects on everyone," Rachel recited.
"That it does," Quinn said. She took another deep breath, her smile fading. "Are you too drunk to talk?"
"That depends," Rachel said. She tossed her shoes over by the closet, making a face when they landed in a messy heap. "Talk about what?"
"About…" Quinn hesitated. "About us."
Rachel was silent for a long few seconds. Quinn snuck a glance over at her, and was unsurprised to see honest consideration in Rachel's eyes.
"No," Rachel said finally. "I'm not that drunk."
Quinn nodded nervously. Her palms were sweating, her fingers tightening around one another. "I… I've been thinking. A lot."
"I've noticed," Rachel said. "I've tried not to crowd you."
"You haven't," Quinn said quickly. "I just… there's a lot in my head right now, you know? Everything's different from how it used to be, and I don't really know how to process it all. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I'm sixteen years old and I lost a child I wanted to keep and raise and love. And before that I was just getting used to the idea that I wouldn't ever get to be a part of my family again, but even that's changed again, even if my dad is still really angry at me." She paused, taking a slow breath. "And I can't wrap my head around the fact that I can only sleep when you're there, or that I might be attracted to you—or any girl—at all, or that every time I even consider that possibility, I feel like my father is yelling in my head that I'll go to hell."
She chanced a look up at Rachel, and felt a painful twist in her chest at the sight of tears starting to build in Rachel's eyes; the brunette kept her chin up and shoulders straight regardless, and Quinn's chest tightened even more.
"But," she rushed on. "When you kissed me, that… all of that went away. It shut everything in my head up, even if it was just for a few seconds. It was quiet in my head for the first time in months." She smiled slightly, fighting back the prick of tears in her own eyes. "And that means something major, I think."
"Really?" Rachel breathed out. She looked unashamedly hopeful, biting down on her lower lip in anticipation.
"Yeah," Quinn said. "I want you to know that I—" She faltered momentarily, but forged ahead anyways. "I think I want to give this a real shot. I really think it means something that you're the only thing that keeps me from feeling like I'm drowning."
"Really?" Rachel said again. She was all but beaming, her own hands clenched tightly in her lap.
"Yeah," Quinn repeated. She paused. "It's just a big adjustment, you know? And I've had so many big adjustments recently and I'm still not used to most of them, and this is really major and really scary and –-"
She was cut off by Rachel surging forward, one hand on Quinn's cheek and lips pressing against hers almost desperately. Quinn's eyes flew open wide, and then fluttered shut; she untangled her fingers and her hands reached out tentatively to come to rest at the base of Rachel's neck. Rachel's fingers slid through her hair, her other hand sliding along Quinn's jaw.
Quinn relished the loss of coherent thought in her head, falling into the lack of everything but sensation and finite feeling, all thoughts of family and God and religion and miscarried children and sin banished from her mind by the feel of Rachel's lips moving against her, Rachel's fingers tangled in her hair, the warmth of Rachel's body beside hers.
When she finally pulled back, Quinn was breathless; she let her forehead fall to rest on Rachel's shoulder, breathing deeply. She felt Rachel's arm slide around her back, one hand tracing up and down her back while the other fumbled blindly for a moment until it found Quinn's.
"It's really late," Quinn mumbled after a long minute of resting against Rachel's shoulder. She stifled a yawn, her entire body shaking with the effort. She sat up sleepily. "Can we sleep?"
"Yeah," Rachel said softly. With another quietly brilliant smile, she stood slowly and leaned down to kiss Quinn once more. "Sleep is probably a good idea."
Quinn nodded tiredly. She pushed herself back on Rachel's bed, kicking her shoes off and letting herself fall down to the pillows. She drifted towards sleep to the sound of Rachel moving around the room and changing, then into the bathroom to was her face; Quinn smirked at the comforting knowledge that even drunk and practically walking on a cloud, Rachel would never shifts her routine for anything short of an impending tsunami. She was almost completely asleep when she felt the smaller girl slip under the blankets beside her, an arm automatically going around her waist and warm breath brushing against the skin of her upper back.
"This isn't a dream, is it?" Rachel mumbled just before Quinn fell the rest of the way into sleep. Quinn rolled over, barely opening her eyes, and pressed a brief kiss to Rachel's lips.
"Not a dream," she said grumbled sleepily. She let her head fall down to rest on Rachel's chest, settling down comfortably. "Now go to sleep, man-hands." She knew that the next day would invariably hold detailed conversations with Rachel to determine the actual status of their relationship and whatever boundaries or caveats may need apply—the brunette probably had nothing short of a legal contract lurking somewhere in the depths of her horribly organized books full of sheet music—but she let such thoughts drift away, and fell slowly to sleep with barely audible rhythm of Rachel's heartbeat.