"Drum Fills in Our Hearts"
Part 2 Chapter 2 - 32nd Bar Fill
She hadn't had a night like that with a girl in so long.
The thing about jazz was that it was dominated by men. Every so often there would be this sultry singer that would saunter on stage and belt out a standard, scat her way into Quinn's heart, pour her emotions out to Quinn in the back room behind the bar, and then make off with Puck before Quinn had even had a chance to introduce herself.
Usually, though - usually, at the end of the night it was Quinn and the guys with a couple handles of whatever the bar of the night was looking to get rid of and enough cheap beer to wash it down.
She didn't mind it, though. Most nights.
After they'd come in from the back alley the night before, she and Rachel had settled in at a table nestled a few feet away from the boys playing poker. To her surprise, or maybe not, Puck stayed away. It seemed to be the first time ever that Puck had no interest in a beautiful woman.
Puck had mostly disappeared with an older woman that night. He'd popped his head back out of the bathroom or the alley every so often and give her a little wink, but he was mostly gone. If Quinn had to guess, and really she didn't want to, but if she had to guess, she'd put the woman somewhere around 45.
That's another thing about jazz. All types. Some nights Puck would be running home with a smoking hot chick in her early twenties who'd been staring at him all night. Other nights it was some mom who was out for a weekend with the girls and let loose a little bit. Puck didn't care. Quinn didn't really care either. It had always been Puck's M.O.
Once Puck had finally left, Quinn had loosened up a good bit more. She'd given Rachel Puck's share of the liquor and they'd just talked. And talked. And talked. Talk about DC. Talk about New York. Talk about jazz and Broadway. Talk about NYADA and failed auditions. Talk about tours cross country and what it was like to live in a van for 25 weeks of the year.
By the end of the night, as they were bidding their adieus, it was almost like the whole alley scene hadn't happened. Even like the whole couch scene at Rachel's in senior year hadn't happened either. Except it would always live in the back of Quinn's memory and probably Rachel's, too.
Rachel, she was told, would have to work tomorrow night. But, work meant back at the bar. Quinn nodded her ascent when Rachel asked if she'd join her for a night cap in the East Village after her gig was over. Just because she was working behind the bar didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a few drinks.
Quinn was looking forward to it.
When Quinn awoke the next morning, she was happy to find Puck in the twin bed across the room minus one 45 year-old woman.
It almost felt like any other morning. Puck's mohawk had matted to his face and Quinn still couldn't believe that he hadn't shaved that thing off ages ago. They'd found a corner store down the block to get coffee and breakfast sandwiches. They'd explored a little bit. (Puck liked old record shops, Quinn liked museums, they both liked antique instruments.) They'd popped in to the bar to jam out a little. When the rest of the band wasn't around, they found themselves harkening back to their classic rock roots. And they'd get a little lubricated for the night's gig. When the rest of the guys came in, they'd do a shot of Jameson, say a quick prayer, and open with "So What."
"Stopping in to see Rachel after this," Quinn near-shouted to Puck over the din of the bar after the second set.
"Yeah? You getting it in?" Puck said with a lecherous face.
"Puck." Her face was set. All business despite the flush creeping up beneath the sweat dripping from her temples.
"Sorry. Sorry." He recanted. "Think I'm gonna pass though. That chick from last night is right over there." He pointed toward the corner of the stage where he was set up.
"Yeah, man? That good, huh?" It was Quinn's turn for the lecherous face.
"Oh my God, Q. She did this thing..."
"Stop," Quinn interrupted quickly. "Never mind. I'll take your word for it."
Puck could only laugh. This wasn't the first time a conversation like this had ended so quickly. He'd always thought Quinn was a little bit of a prude.
The third and final set lasted a little longer than usual. Sometimes, when they'd get really into it, the improv sections would go for a few rounds rather than the standard one or two. Though she was anxious to see Rachel again, while she was playing, her mind was completely free. She relished the opportunity to wow the crowd with her fills. Sometimes she'd even get pulled over by an old jazz fan who'd ask her about them: "Your fills are amazing. How do you prepare for them?" and she'd just answer, "I don't, man" like she'd been born sticks in hand.
(Truth was, Quinn had learned all about fills back in her early days in DC. This old drummer named Scooby taught her about the ethereal 32nd bar fill. It was the fill that most drummers couldn't wait long enough for. You'd hear that fourth bar and have a good fill in mind, something quick and easy, maybe a few quick hi-hats and a single-handed off beat snare, but it wasn't perfect, so you'd wait. On the 8 bar, you'd hear a slot again, maybe this time a low tom and snare rhythm, a little more complex but still not too difficult, but you'd thought about it for too long and it wouldn't fit if you went for it now. On the 16th, you'd had enough time to mull it over, and you had a very good idea in mind, a few eighths sped into sixteenths with a cymbal crash, but you'd held off. Too dramatic. Almost like you'd waited that long to make a statement. You were close enough at the 16th to wait for the 32nd, anyway. And by the time you get to the 32nd, Scooby used to like to say, the 'bitches are dying for your fill, man.' By the time you got to that 32nd bar, you didn't even have to think about the fill. It flowed like 'sweet wine and honey.' And the boys in the band would beg for you to fill every 32nd bar. And Quinn's pretty sure that's how she got the touring gig.)
She was thankful, by the time the set was over, that they would have four more gigs to go. That meant she could leave her kit covered on stage. It wasn't too long ago when she'd have to break it down after each gig and pack it back into the van, only to unpack it in a new city with a hangover the next morning.
"Ok Puck, taking off," she said to the back of his head. His back was to her, face to the old lady.
"Say hi to Rach for me, Q." He twisted around to face her, then grabbed her hand and leaned in, smiling. "Oh, and don't forget to wrap it up."
Quinn quickly dropped his hand. "It's not like that."
"Eh, Rachel's changed, you know?" He began as her turned more fully toward her. "She's not all plaid skirts and knee socks and headbands anymore. She even dropped the whole 'Broadway or bust' thing."
"I don't know, Puck. I just don't want to start thinking about her like that again. I mean, you remember. You were there for the aftermath."
Quinn took a tentative seat near him.
His voice and eyes sobered. "You're older now. You're smarter. You know yourself. If you don't want to think about her like that, don't. Sorry if I'm pressuring you, but there's no harm in letting your mind wander a little bit, Q. And if she returns it a little bit, too, then take it from there. Don't cut it off before it's even begun. Be cool."
Quinn fixed her eyes on the back of the dim club as she listened. The toe of her worn Converse dug into the linoleum floor tile. "Yeah, I just..."
He grabbed her hand again but softer this time. Quinn felt the callouses of his fingers trace over her palm. "No, 'I justs.' Rachel is not other girls. And you don't have to be someone else for her. Or even think about being someone else for her. Just be you, do your thing, if you're feeling it then feel it. Ok?"
She nodded as she stood. It was getting a little too serious. Puck was easily much more drunk than she was.
"Say hi to her for me."
...
Another thing about jazz was that jazz musicians played in the near dark. See, jazz musicians were usually so old and beat up that no one wanted to see their grubby, fat fingers plucking away at guitar strings. No one wanted to see their old, acne-scarred cheeks swelling into the mouthpiece of a trumpet.
Rachel's bar was as dark as any jazz club she'd been to. Despite being a new place, it made Quinn feel safe in a way.
On a Tuesday night, it wasn't terribly busy when Quinn walked in. By the time her eyes adjusted to the dark illuminated with muted Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling, she'd found Rachel. Quinn could only see her from the waist up as she leaned over the front of the bar to wipe it down with a rag. Quinn took the moment before Rachel noticed her to take her in. She had on a plain black shirt with a deep vee that allowed for a peak of cleavage when she bent over the bar, like she was doing now. Quinn cursed herself for thinking that, then quickly remembered Puck's wise words. She wouldn't restrain, but she wouldn't allow for complete freedom either. A healthy medium.
"Hi there," Rachel said when she noticed Quinn.
"Busy tonight, I see," Quinn murmured as she took in the couple at the bar and the rowdy table of surely underage boys in the corner booth.
"Har har," Rachel returned mockingly. "It just means more time I get to spend talking to you, though."
"Well I'm glad for that, then, I suppose." Quinn pulled her jacket off and placed it on a hook under the bar.
"What would you do otherwise? I see your bro Puck didn't make it out."
A little alcohol from earlier remained in her system and jostled her as she tried to hoist herself on the bar stool. "Yeah, he's caught up with that older lady from last night."
"Is he still a dog then?" Rachel asked with a smile.
"Eh, if by dog you mean that he sleeps with a lot of women, then yes. But he's a good guy, too."
"I guess he's always been a pretty good guy."
"Yeah."
"So what can I get you to drink? Or are you already pretty drunk? By the time I got home last night I could barely remember my name, but you were so...I don't know, were you sober?"
"You saw me drink with you. Guess I can just hold it better," Quinn grinned.
"You think so, huh? That you can hold your liquor better than a bartender?"
"You think you can hold your liquor better than a jazz musician? We live and breathe alcohol, Rach."
"And bartenders don't?"
"It's our manna from heaven. Our inspiration."
"It's my livelihood."
"Well, let's just see then. I'll take two shots of tequila and a Maker's on the rocks."
"Wow. You don't play. Two shots?" Rachel asked as she turned back to the rows of liquor lined up behind her.
"Yeah, one for me and one for you. This is a challenge, right?"
Rachel let out a baffled little laugh. "Sure. I can't drink any more whisky after last night, though."
"I'll let you off with beer if you drink twice as fast."
"Oh Quinn, I have to maintain my figure. I'm not drinking beer."
"Your figure? Well, we wouldn't want that, then." Quinn winked at her as she placed two tequila shots on the bar.
"Vodka soda."
"Fine by me." Quinn grabbed a pair of limes from the tray nearest her and nearly dropped them when she saw Rachel's tongue peak out of her mouth and slowly lick the side of her hand. She couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not, but Rachel seemed to pick just the right moment when her tongue was fully out and flat against her hand to look up at Quinn.
"Cheers." They clinked glasses, licked the salt from their hands, and downed the shot quickly, Quinn grasping for the lime and shoving it in her mouth.
"And your Maker's on the rocks." Rachel's fingers lingered a moment on the glass and Quinn's fingers felt a current shock through her at the skin-on-skin contact.
"Thanks." She sat in silence for a moment, watching Rachel's back to her as she made her own drink and attended to the pitcher of beer for the kids in the corner. Now that she was closer, she could see Rachel had on a tight fitting pair of blue jeans and the same boots from the night before. Quinn had to say she was a fan of this new look of Rachel's. Far better than the skirts and knee socks, though she wouldn't mind a reappearance of those items every once in a while. Rachel's legs did fuel her fantasies once or twice.
"So I was thinking," Quinn began as Rachel leaned over the bar and took a sip of her drink from the thin cocktail straw. "We need a way to even up this challenge. I've been drinking since eight, when we took the stage."
"Eight. Really?" Rachel said, a smirk across her face. Quinn knew she may have gotten herself into trouble with this one. "Well I've been working since six. And see those guys over there," she pointed to the table of youngsters in the corner. "Those guys buy me a round every time they get another pitcher." She turned back to the computer screen behind me. "Five pitchers so far. Five drinks for me."
Quinn smiled. She didn't really feel like estimating, but she did feel like getting Rachel a little more spirited. "Well, I'm probably six or seven drinks in. So I think you need to take another shot of that tequila."
"How about this? Let the last one settle, and on our next round of shots, I'll do a double. Ok?" Rachel winked and Quinn felt her chest constrict and the blood rush to her groin.
"Sounds good," was just about all that Quinn could manage to say.
"How was your gig?"
"Same as usual."
"Oh yeah? What's the same as usual? Like the same as last night?"
"Yeah, I guess. Same as last night. I mean, the thing about jazz is that it's never the same. That's why I love it. But, nothing really crazy happened or anything."
"I see, I see. What did you do during the day?"
"Oh, Puck and I just messed around in the city. Had some went over to Big Phil's Records, had some pizza at John's..."
"John's? I love that place. Their vegan slice is the best thing ever." Rachel's eyes beamed as she leaned closer.
"Yeah, it was pretty good. Puck said when you come to New York you gotta eat pizza at least once a day, so that was his pick today.
"Well he's right, you know. Pizza is a New York staple," Rachel said with a smile.
"What about you? What did you do today?"
"Well, I did wake up with a little bit of a hangover, thank you very much." Quinn met her with a crooked smile. "Took a little time to look over a few of the Broadway magazines to check out auditions. There's one that I might go for. A chorus part. Though it wanted an experienced dancer and I don't know that I'm that experienced."
Quinn wanted to interrupt and tell her to go for it. The old Rachel Berry from Lima was a nervous, anxious person. So anxious sometimes that it rubbed off and left everyone around her feeling on edge. But she wasn't so anxious that she didn't try. Maybe New York life, or Broadway life had impacted her in the wrong way. Maybe she'd been rejected too many times. Quinn wondered where Rachel's usual high school bravado had gone.
"How about that shot now?" It almost seemed to Quinn like Rachel was deflecting, but she didn't want to push it. While it felt like old times sitting on the couch in the Berry's basement, she had to remember that it wasn't and she couldn't just fall back into routines so easily with Rachel.
...
As the bar cleared out, it became more obvious that Quinn had gotten herself (and maybe Rachel) in over her head with this contest. The Christmas lights falling from the ceiling combined with the countless drinks offered a warm fuzzy facade to everything and everyone Quinn laid eyes on. Watching Rachel, her movements were a little freer, and sometimes a little sloppier. Most beer poured from the top of the pitcher each time she refilled it for the guys in the corner.
"So tell me, Quinn," Rachel leaned across the bar and whispered against Quinn's ear. Her breath was so hot it sent a rush straight down Quinn's body. "What are you doing later tonight?"
"Hadn't thought that far ahead." Quinn slurred slightly. She could feel her words coming out in a garbled mess as she watched Rachel emerge from behind the bar and take the bar stool next to her.
Rachel's hand brushed against her leg then settled on her thigh. She leaned a little closer and nearly lost her balance falling into Quinn. "Want to play a game?"
"What kind of game?" It felt like dangerous territory, but Quinn couldn't resist. She hadn't talked with a woman like this in at least a year. And that had ended disastrously. She took another sip to forget.
"Two truths and a lie. You heard of it?"
Thanks Rachel!
The guys from the corner booth nearly startled Quinn off of the bar stool. Rachel leaned back and turned toward them. "No problem guys! See you tomorrow!"
Once they were gone and the bar was clear, Rachel leaned even closer into her. Her hand returned to Quinn's thigh but found a place even higher up, leaving Quinn buzzing with alcohol and something Quinn hadn't felt in quite a while.
"Ok so, two truths and a lie. I'll go first, then you go. Ready?"
Quinn took a sip of her drink and collected the courage to place her hand over top of Rachel's on her thigh. "Ready," she said in a whisper.
"One: I grew up in Lima. Two: I kissed Puck. Three: I kissed a girl."
Quinn racked her brain. One was obviously true. Rachel gave her a free pass on that one. She wasn't sure about the Puck thing. Rachel could have easily kissed Puck some time in high school, maybe even one of those days when Quinn hadn't shown up to a practice and they'd had to sit around and wait for her. She couldn't fault Puck for that one. Though she thought Puck had told her everything about the end of their senior year, despite her absence. The third one could be true, though she couldn't get a read on this grown-up Rachel.
"Three."
"Wrong! Drink." Rachel used her free hand to grab the glass and push Quinn's whisky up against her lips. Quinn smiled and tilted her head back as Rachel poured a little.
"You think I kissed Puck? Gross. And, I can't believe you think I haven't kissed a girl. Is there a girl our age alive today who hasn't kissed a girl?"
Quinn raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Maybe the big city had changed Rachel. She couldn't truly imagine Rachel kissing a girl back in Lima, much as she wanted her to back in the day.
Rachel leaned against her ear and whispered, "You've kissed a girl, right Quinn?"
It took every once of sobriety she could pull together not to moan and push her hips off the bar stool. Quinn took a deep gulp and nodded, "Mmmhmm."
Rachel hadn't moved and her thick, alcohol-laden voice buzzed against Quinn's eardrum. "Your turn."
When Rachel pulled back again, it took Quinn a few moments to collect her thoughts. Her pants felt tight and her palms felt sweaty. When she moved, it took her too long to right her balance on the bar stool.
"Ok. One: I'm drunk. Two: You win. Three: You're pretty."
Rachel set a foot down on the floor to correct her balance as she let out a hearty laugh. "You're drunk, I win, I'm pretty. Is one of those a lie, Quinn?"
Quinn smiled. "Oops. Um. One: I'm drunk. Two: You win. Three: You're not pretty."
Rachel stood up as she laughed again. "You're not very good at this game, Quinn," she said as she moved back behind the bar. "You are drunk, but so am I, so I don't know if I win exactly. But, I'll take it." She disappeared for a moment under the bar before coming back up with a jacket and a purse. "And thank you for the compliment."
She set her coat atop the bar and sat back down next to Quinn, her hand again finding that spot just inside Quinn's thigh that made her stomach turn and her pants feel tight. "My turn. One: I've had a threesome. Two: I don't have a gag reflex." Rachel leaned close to Quinn's ear again, stopping along the way to look into her eyes. "Three," she began, voice husky with alcohol and something else, "I'm wet right now."
Quinn couldn't bite back the moan this time. She felt her hips jump up off the barstool, hoping Rachel hadn't noticed despite her hand resting near the seam of her jeans.
She licked her lips and took her time before speaking. "I hope all three are true."
"Unlike you," Rachel started, lips so close to Quinn's ear she could feel the dampness of her breath, "I know how to play this game." Rachel leaned back and took another sip of her drink.
"Ok." Quinn stared as her lips wet the edge of the glass and her tongue came out to meet the liquid before she took a sip.
"Are you going to guess?" Rachel asked as she set the glass back down.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Threesome?"
"You're right. I've never had a threesome." Maybe Rachel was a little more wholesome than Quinn had given her credit for. The big city changed people, but didn't change them to be unrecognizable.
Rachel stood and put her coat on. Instead of sitting back down, she put both hands on Quinn's thighs and leaned between her spread legs. Her mouth returned to Quinn's ear again. "Oh, and you're pretty, too." Her breath lingered for a few moments as Quinn closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
"C'mon, I have to close up." Rachel pushed off of her thighs and stumbled away just missing crashing into the side of a table.
Quinn nodded a few times before opening her eyes. She took one last sip of her drink before stepping onto shaky legs.
Quinn grabbed her jacket from the coat hanger by the door. As she pulled it on, Rachel took a step toward her and pulled either end of her jacket collar. "Well, Ms. Fabray. It was great to hang out with you tonight."
Quinn's eyes darted from Rachel's deep brown eyes to her lips and back. "You too, Rach." Her voice was deeper than usual, tinged with liquor and lust.
"I'm this way," she said when they reached the streets.
A moment of panic flashed before Quinn. She didn't want the night to end, but she was nervous about where the night would continue.
"I don't think you should go home alone. Cab?" It was the only thing she could think of. A cab ride together meant a few more minutes.
"I'm ok, Quinn. You don't have to be a hero." Rachel's eyes half-lidded and Quinn could see that she, too, was pretty drunk.
"Not trying to be. Just trying to be nice."
"Well will you be nice enough to come up and have a drink with me?" Rachel looked up at her with those doe eyes and Quinn felt the muscles in her stomach contract and seize up. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and clenched her fists.
This was exactly what she'd wanted to happen in high school. She'd wanted to see Rachel look at her like this. She'd dreamed about Rachel looking up at her with those eyes for such a long time. Well after high school even. Until she'd had to force it out of her mind so that she wouldn't be miserable all her life. She'd never thought Rachel would actually look at her like this in real life.
"Guess so." She didn't want her words to betray how she was actually feeling. 'Play it cool.' Those were Puck's words whenever Quinn would get caught up with a girl after a gig, which was almost never, but it did happen.
Her hand finally signaled a cab, which pulled over. She opened the door for Rachel and looked in at her with the door ajar.
A little frown crossed Rachel's face. "You guess so? Well never mind then." She coyly looked away as she scooted across the backseat.
"No no, I mean, of course. Yes. I want to. I would love to." So much for playing it cool.
Rachel turned back to her, a smile painted wide across her face. She patted the seat next to her and Quinn practically leapt into the cab, throwing her body against the bursting seams of the faux leather seats.
Rachel laughed and scooped a hand into her own as she leaned forward to tell the cab driver her address.
"Thanks for coming tonight, Quinn." Rachel was pressed up against her so tightly that Quinn wanted to take her jacket back off.
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied cooly, smiling warmly at Rachel. "Thanks for having me."
Rachel picked her calloused hand up and pressed it delicately against her lips. Quinn could feel the sticky sweetness of the lipgloss she wore against the sweaty palm of her hand. Her eyes struggled to open wider in her drunken haze as she tried to convince herself that Rachel was really kissing her hand.
"Mind if I have some more of you?" Rachel whispered against the tip of her index finger before it was enveloped in the warmth of her mouth.
Again, Quinn struggled to bite back a moan. She'd worked so hard all night to keep her hands to herself but she let go for a moment and used her free hand to hotly grab at Rachel's back, pulling her up so that she was partially on her lap. In the struggle, Quinn's hand dropped out of Rachel's mouth and Rachel gasped at Quinn's strength.
"I've wanted you to do this to me all night, Quinn." She pushed her hips hard against Quinn's stomach, her voice gravelly with want.
Quinn almost didn't recognize her own voice. "I've wanted to do this to you for years, Rachel."
Rachel's lips were a crash cymbal clashing hungrily against her own. They were warm and bright and loud and free of shame. Quinn followed her lead and let herself be free, too.
She didn't know who paid for the cab. She didn't know how they'd gotten upstairs. She didn't know how they'd made it to the couch pushed up against the back wall of the main room. In her mind, there wasn't a single moment since the cab ride when their bodies hadn't been desperately stuck together, their hands gripping and pushing and pulling, and their lips melded to one another.
Quinn hadn't even been thinking about it. She should have been thinking about it. She usually thought about it. Sometimes she even thought with it.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that what she'd been dreaming about for half her life was actually happening. Rachel Berry was on top of her. Quinn Fabray. Rachel Berry writhing on top of Quinn Fabray. Hips syncopated against Quinn's inner pulse. Lips and teeth crashing against her. A steady rise and fall of their chests as backs arched and ebbed. If she'd had her wits fully about her, Quinn might have compared this feeling to the 32rd bar drum fill. 'Sweet wine and honey.'
But when Rachel pulled back and looked straight down at their bodies pushing up against one another, Quinn cursed herself for not thinking about it.
"So you still have it." Rachel whispered hotly as she continued to look between them.
Before Quinn could say or do anything, the low vibrations in Rachel's voice continued. "Sometimes I used to wonder if I just made that conversation up in my head. Or if you decided to get it you know... remember how you said that wished it would..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes met Quinn's.
Quinn felt the throb in her groin intensify as Rachel looked into her eyes. She didn't want to talk about the decisions she'd made so long ago with Dr. White. She wasn't sure that's what Rachel wanted, either. At least not in this moment. She thought for a moment about sitting up.
"Are you going to let me see it?"
Quinn couldn't think about sitting up any longer. It was reflex. She pushed up and nearly threw Rachel off of her. She felt a little like she was going to throw up. Possibly from sitting up so quickly. Possibly from the blood rushing straight to her groin. Possibly from Rachel's candid talk about something she was never candid about.
"We might be drunk, but what the fuck Rachel?" Quinn couldn't help the way her face twisted up in anger and disgust.
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Rachel was now sitting next to her, one leg up on the couch barely touching Quinn's jeans, the other dangling just off the couch. Her chest rose and fell quickly and her lips glistened with the early morning sun peaking through the window.
It took what felt like ages for the next words to come to mind. Yes raced just up to her teeth but stopped just before her lips. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Before she could think of more, she quickly said, "No. Well, I guess maybe but..."
Rachel turned back to her, lifting her leg back off the floor to throw it over Quinn. Quinn felt herself lying back down on the couch. "See. So we're both grown up now. I've been told I'm very good at what I do." She felt Rachel's delicate hands just trace against the zipper of her jeans.
"No. Stop. Please get off of me." Quinn pushed up quickly again. This time she felt that much closer to being sick. It was the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. She closed her eyes and stood slowly, hoping that she could hold off on throwing up until she got outside.
She opened her eyes to find Rachel looking straight at the zipper of her jeans. Her brown eyes looked less red and murky and her cheeks seemed a little more blushed. "Sorry, I didn't think it was a big deal," she whispered as she now stood, as well. If Quinn hadn't been so preoccupied by the threat of falling ill, she might have even noticed the smallest hint of embarrassment and remorse in Rachel's voice. "You can stay here for the night, if you want. I don't want you to get lost going home or something."
"Bathroom?" Quinn said hurriedly.
"There." Rachel pointed to a door next to the kitchen. "Are you..." Before she could finish her sentence, Rachel knew the answer. She thought jazz musicians didn't get sick. With all of Quinn's talk, she'd have thought she'd hold it down pretty well. At least, Rachel thought, she might be off the hook for those things she'd said (and done) out of the lethal combination of lust and alcohol. Listening to the violent noises coming from the bathroom, Rachel didn't feel so well herself.
She wasn't sure if Quinn would stay or not, but she couldn't stay upright much longer. She laid some sheets on the sofa and pulled the trashcan out from her room.
If Quinn was there in the morning, she'd take that as a sign that her errors could be forgiven. If Quinn wasn't there in the morning, she'd have to figure something out. Or just let her go back to DC with just fuzzy memories. She couldn't decide. She didn't want to decide. She crashed into her floral comforter, relieved that she wouldn't have to decide for a few more hours.