A/N: All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and Pretty Woman.
Jules-Day—yeah, David is supposed to be Karofsky (:
P.S. This chapter has my favorite line in it :D
Previously:
"Not me. Her." Rachel pointed to the blonde, who was strutting down the hallway in grey slacks and a slimming grey vest, with a white collared shirt underneath. She threw Rachel a wink, and spun on her heel, tossing her hair.
"I'm sorry, miss. I'm sorry."
Quinn twirled in a skirt, laughing at the entire situation she was currently in. She was on the nice side of the Hills, in one of the snobby shops, buying clothes that cost as much as her rent. Rachel even had the arrogant, nose-in-air staff kissing her ass. If she so much as moved an inch, they were all over her, offering her a variety of new outfits to try on as well as water, tissues, candy almonds…really, anything she might possibly want.
How the hell had she managed to get here, in this moment?
Luck? Retribution? God?
Well, whatever or whoever got her here wasn't the point. She was going to make the most of it while it lasted.
She slipped on a top and exited the dressing room, only to see Rachel duck out of the hallway, phone in hand. It seemed like it was connected to her ear today—more so than usual, anyway. Quinn sighed, walking over to the threefold of mirrors to examine the latest collage of fabrics. They weren't bad, they just weren't…her. They kind of felt like a mask, though that's probably what Rachel was aiming for. You couldn't exactly bring a hooker to business meetings and expect things to go well. You had to dress her up, like a doll.
Did Rachel get some kind of sick satisfaction out of this?
No, she had said she just wanted a professional. And besides, Quinn would get to keep the clothes. So did the motives really matter? Worse come to worse, she could give them to Santana.
She moved back into the dressing room, changing into a sundress. She picked up a floppy hat and put it on, turning to the mirror.
Christ, she looked like one of those chicks from the Bible belt. All she was missing were white gloves and the scriptures.
She let her hands drop to her sides, sighing. If only her mother could see her now, in this get-up. She'd be proud. She'd finally be proud.
Quinn dropped her eyes, fingering the hemline, and wondered what her mother was doing these days. How she was doing.
There was a light knock on the door, and Rachel let herself in. Their eyes connected in the mirror. Quinn smiled and turned to face her, doing a light curtsy.
The brunette laughed, and stepped closer to give her a peck on the cheek. "You're on your own. I have to go back to work." She looked the blonde over, backing out of the door. "You look great!"
"Thanks," Quinn said, and leaned in the doorway, watching her go. She chuckled. No wonder the star had so many women break up with her. Rachel was a workaholic, and in complete denial of it.
"She has my card," the brunette said as she passed the manager.
He nodded, smiling. "And we'll help her use it, miss."
Countless outfits later, Quinn changed back into the clothes Rachel had let her borrow for the day and sidled up to the counter with an armful of clothes. The manager was quick to run to her side and assist in carrying the bundle. "Anything else you want, miss? Anything at all?"
The blonde took a last glance around the boutique, skimming each mannequin and shelf for something she—or one of her many attendants—may have missed. She shook her head slightly, before her gaze settled on the cute brunette ringing her out on the register. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the woman, noticing that she looked a lot like Rachel. They were probably the same size, same build, same everything. She smirked, deciding to push the staff and see just how far she could go.
"Miss?" the manager prompted.
She cleared her throat, nodding towards the cashier's yellow knit beret. "Rachel would love that hat."
St. James rounded on his employee, giving her a sickening smile. "Would you give her the hat?"
The woman's eyes widened. "The hat?"
"Take off the hat. Give her the hat," he growled, and Quinn guessed he was only moments away from ripping it off the poor girl's head himself.
Man, what people did for money.
This guy made her occupation look like charity.
The woman frowned, but removed her beret and placed it in the pile. The manager gave Quinn a smile. "She wants to do this, by the way."
The blonde snorted. Like hell she did. "Rachel will go crazy about this hat."
When the cashier was done bagging her clothes, the manager handed them to her and walked her out of the store. Quinn suspected he was nervous about the hat thing—if she had been the employee, she would've chased the customer out of the shop with a broom or something. Then again, that woman probably dealt with entitled assholes all her life, and Quinn…well, Quinn just dealt with assholes and dicks.
Stepping outside, she blinked against the sun and thanked the manager for his help. It was a nice change to have someone sucking up to her, for once. She wondered what Rachel had in mind, making them do that. Maybe it was because of the previous night.
Yeah, the sex was the best she'd had with a client, but that wasn't the highlight of her night and if she was being honest, she'd admit it was the singing. How could someone that tiny sound so…explosive?
It sure had made her night, and she hoped Rachel had felt better afterwards, too.
As she walked further down the road, she recognized a few of the shops, and shook her head. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
She picked up her pace, smirking as the passing people gave her a second glance. Yeah, take that, Rodeo Drive. She had class and an ass.
Quinn paused outside the store's front window first, making sure it was the same one. With a short nod, she gathered up her bags and strode into the boutique.
"May I help you?" a woman asked, falling in step with her pace.
"No, thank you." Quinn shrugged her off, making a beeline towards the woman in the back. "Hi."
The woman glanced up, surprised, from the mannequin she was dressing. "Hello?"
Quinn waited as the woman looked her over, gaze pausing on the large amount of bags she carried. She cleared her throat, and the woman's eyes snapped up to hers. "Do you remember me?"
She smiled, brow furrowing. "No, I'm sorry."
"I was in here yesterday," Quinn continued. "You wouldn't wait on me."
Realization sunk into the woman's features as she recalled the previous day's customers, and the sad looking stripper she had shamed out the door. "Oh."
Quinn smirked, a hand dropping to her hip. She tilted her head a little. "You work on commission, right?"
The woman swallowed. "Uh, yes."
"Big mistake. Big. Huge!" Quinn laughed, and spun on her heel to strut out of the shop, raising up the numerous bags to display. "I have to go shopping now."
Quinn reclined onto the love seat, flipping through a magazine. She sat up a little straighter when she heard the key in the door and the click of the lock, frowning when she heard Finn's voice.
She glanced around for something to cover herself with. Where were the blankets? Weren't hotels supposed to have blankets thrown over chairs and stuff?
"Rachel, excuse me for saying this, but what the hell is wrong with you this week? Are you givin' Schue a chance to get away?"
She waited for them to move into the room, but it seemed like Rachel was determined to keep the conversation in the doorway. Huh, maybe she was growing some guts. That guy was an ass. If it was up to Quinn, he'd be fired by now.
Quinn exhaled, sinking back into the chair.
"You know what I used to love when I was a kid, Finn?"
She heard him sigh. "What?"
"Blocks. Building blocks."
Quinn quirked an eyebrow, amused. Was this what Rachel talked about when she went to work? Childhood and blocks?
"So, I liked Monopoly. Boardwalk, Park Place. Wh-what's the point?"
"We don't build anything, Finn. We don't make anything lasting."
"We make money and entertainment, Rachel. Trust me, we've worked this hard to get and keep sponsors, let's finish the job and hook him. Let's finish this. Call him and finish it!"
There was a pause. "Finn, look. Mr. Schuster and his son have dreams. They want to build something. I want to help them. But I can't force or manipulate them."
"Rachel—"
"Goodbye, Finn."
The door whooshed shut with a quiet click, and Quinn leaned back in the chair, winking at the brunette once she came into view. "How was your day, baby?"
Rachel shook her head, dropping her things onto the table. "Unbearable."
Quinn stood from the couch, dropping the magazine. Rachel double-took the blonde, blushing slightly.
She was completely nude, except for a yellow knit beret perched on top of her blonde head and a pair of black, pointed heels.
Yeah, Rachel was definitely crazy about that hat. She swallowed around the sudden bulge in her throat. "Nice hat."
"I got it for you," Quinn said, slinking her way over, letting her hips roll with each step.
"D-did you?"
The blonde nodded, before closing the distance between them. She leaned in, lips pressed against the shell of Rachel's left ear. "I'll be in the bath."
She ran her hands down the brunette's arm, giving a light squeeze, before striding into the other room.
Rachel stood, gaping after her.
What the hell had she come home to?
If this was the result of scaring a bunch of workers into being human suck ups, she'd gladly do it all day, every day.
"Are you coming?" husked a voice, bath water audibly running.
Rachel shook herself out of her shocked state and began stripping, leaving a trail of discarded items behind her.
Because, let's face it, she was going to need some help finding her way back. The blonde could be a little disorienting. Especially when she was lacking clothes.
"Well, my Daddy, Hiram, was a music teacher..." Rachel began, eyes fluttering shut as Quinn pressed a loofah against her back, "and married my Dad, Leroy, whose family was extremely wealthy. Then he divorced my Dad to be with another man. And he took his money with him. And then Dad died."
The blonde hummed, tugging Rachel gently so that she leaned back, into her front. Rachel sighed, letting Quinn scrub her body with the sponge. She played with the excess bubbles, debating whether or not she wanted to continue.
After a moment's hesitation, she spoke again. "I was very angry with him." The brunette chuckled without any real humor. Quinn frowned. "It cost me a lot of money in therapy to say that sentence." She rested her head on the blonde's shoulder, one side of her lips quirking into a half-smile. "I was very angry with him."
Quinn bit her lip, running the sponge over Rachel's chest. The brunette peeked at her. "I do it very well, don't I? I'll say it again. I was very angry with him. Hello, my name is Ms. Berry. I'm very angry with my father."
The blonde snorted, chucking the loofah at the other side of the bath. "I would've been angry at the amount of money spent for therapy."
Rachel chuckled, tucking her head under the blonde's chin. She felt the woman's lips press against the top of her head, before she dipped her head to whisper. "Did I mention my leg is fourty-four inches from hip to toe, so, basically, we're talking about eighty-eight inches of therapy..." Quinn moved both legs around Rachel's waist, acting like a koala, "…wrapped around you for the bargain price of…"
"Three thousand dollars." Rachel smiled, finishing the sentence with her.
"Yeah," Quinn said and giggled into her neck.
Rachel ran her arms along the blonde's legs. "Too bad this wasn't here ten years ago."
"But it's here now," Quinn murmured, peppering kisses along the brunette's wet shoulder. Rachel hummed, and tilted her head to give the blonde more access. Rachel trailed her nails further up Quinn's legs, gently scratching at the inside of her thighs. She felt the blonde's breath blow out against her neck, and shivered. When the blonde's koala grip loosened, Rachel pulled her around front, so that she straddled her lap instead. The bath water sloshed around the tub, overflowing a little as they slipped on the tile.
The brunette dunked underwater, hands flying out to push herself back up. When she broke through the surface, she sputtered water, blinking against wet eyelashes. Quinn wasn't faring much better, feet in the air. Rachel reached out to try to right her, but a quick flip flop later, the blonde gasped for air, spitting out bath water. There was a pile of bubble suds on top of her head, sliding down along the sides of her face. The brunette's hands flew to her hips, searching for stability.
Quinn dug her heels against the bottom, finally gaining balance, and pinned Rachel against the side. Rachel lolled her head back, laughing. "That could have gone smoother."
The blonde let out a low chuckle. "Hey, I've dealt with worse."
"Mm-hmm," the brunette said, tipping her head up to look into the blonde's eyes. They were a little golder than usual, with a few flecks of green. Quinn's eyebrows knit together, forcing her to look up. Before the blonde could say anything, Rachel leaned forward, kissing the very edge of her mouth. She pulled back, and cupped Quinn's jaw, rubbing her thumb lightly over the hooker's parted lips.
"Rachel…"
"I know," she murmured, glancing back up to meet her gaze. "No kissing on the mouth."
"Ebersol of the Falcons passes to Kennan. This is Bill Fricker with Gwen Olsen giving you play-by-play of this marvelous charity event," the announcer called over the speakers.
"Watch where you're walking," Finn said, dragging his wife along. "If you step in something, we're not going back to the car."
Rachel and Quinn trailed the couple, far enough behind that he wasn't aware of their presence. The brunette was sure he would charge at her with fifty questions once he saw her. She knew the polo match was a business meeting, mingling with sponsors and fans again, but she just wanted to spend the day with Quinn, in their own little bubble. It was hard enough leaving the bubble bath to come here.
The blonde was quickly replacing the light at the end of her tunnel.
"Not too near the tree," the lawyer grumbled. Quinn and Rachel exchanged a glance, wondering why on earth his wife was still with him. "I don't like the ants. Have you seen Rachel anywhere?"
Rachel cursed under her breath and yanked Quinn into another direction, escaping the inevitable. Quinn chuckled, rolling her eyes. The brunette slowed down as they neared the stands and took Quinn's hand in her own.
The blonde paused, looking up at the bleachers nervously. Rachel's brow furrowed, and she moved to stand in front of her, linking her arms around Quinn's waist. Hazel eyes flicked down to meet her gaze. "What if someone recognizes me?"
"Not likely. They don't spend too much time on Hollywood Blvd," Rachel assured her, playing with the hem of Quinn's jacket vest.
She raised an eyebrow. "You did."
Rachel rolled her eyes, taking the blonde's hand. "Come on. Let's go." The blonde allowed herself to be led to the stands, arms linking. The brunette leaned into her, voice dropping to a whisper. "You look great. You're gonna have a wonderful time." She gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Okay? Don't fidget and smile."
"Humboldt's coming around to this side. Toquenee is on Kennan. Penalty on that play."
The two sat down, Rachel taking Quinn's arm and wrapping it around herself. Catching sight of two redheads coming their way, Rachel nudged the blonde. "Those are Gwen and Gretchen, the infamous Olsen twins, who have made marrying well an art form."
Quinn followed her gaze, shifting slightly. Rachel scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the small of her back to keep her in place. She nodded at the two sisters when they arrived. "Good afternoon, ladies."
"Rachel, hello," Gwen said, smirking.
"Didn't think we'd see you here," Gretchen added. "This isn't really your scene."
Rachel sighed. "Yeah, well. Have to please the sponsors, make an appearance."
"Really?" Gwen said, arching an eyebrow.
"Since when do you make an appearance?" Gretchen mocked, laughing with her sister. "We all know Finn kisses ass for you."
Rachel felt Quinn's fingers twitching on her hip, and reached down to entwine them. The gesture wasn't lost to the twins, and Gwen frowned, nostrils flaring.
"So, you're the flavor of the month. Hmm."
"Gwen," Rachel warned.
"Uh, she's just being testy," Gretchen intervened, gazing at Quinn. "Rachel's our most eligible bachelorette. Everybody is trying to land her."
Rachel felt the blonde's grip tighten, and glanced between the women, curious to see how the blonde would respond.
"Well, I'm not trying to land her," Quinn replied, pressing her lips into a thin smirk. "I'm just using her for sex."
Rachel's mouth dropped open and she moved her jaw, trying to figure out how to react to the blonde's claim.
The redhead twins weren't fairing much better, both agape with shock.
Finally Gretchen broke the air. "Oh, yes."
Gwen huffed, trudging away with her sister trotting close behind.
"Well done," Rachel murmured, turning to face the blonde, who was biting back a smug smile. "Well done," she repeated, louder, and bent over laughing.
The blonde shook her head, grinning. "Tell me again why we're here."
"Business," Rachel replied, straightening back up.
"Business mingling?"
"Yeah."
The air horn blew, signaling the break in play. "That's the chukker, ladies and gentlemen. Falcons, seven. Gems, four."
"Excuse me," a familiar voice broke through the crowd. Rachel glanced over to see Finn shoving his way through a crowd. They locked eyes, and Finn started towards them. "Rachel! Rachel. I've been looking everywhere for you."
The brunette groaned. "Finn."
"Good to see you," Finn's wife pitched in.
"You too," Rachel replied, smiling. She gestured to the blonde. "I want you to meet a new friend of mine, Quinn Fabray."
The lawyer gave her his lopsided grin, jutting out a hand. "Well, hi. Finn Hudson. This is my wife, Kitty. It's always a pleasure meeting one of Rachel's girls."
The brunette shot him a glare. She didn't date around that much, did she? This was the second person to call her a slut to her face in the past thirty minutes. She glanced at Quinn, hoping she wasn't judging her.
The blonde shook their hands, before Finn's wife gasped. "Oh, my God! It's Tate Whitley Wallington. Tate! It's me, Kitty, from Workout World."
Finn watched his wife run off towards the celebrity, and shrugged. "She's sort of an aerobics queen. Feel the burn."
Quinn and Rachel exchanged a glance, both suppressing a laugh.
"Well, let me get you something to drink," Finn continued. He handed the blonde the extra wine glass in his hand. "Quinn, why don't you start with that. Okay?" He looked at Rachel expectantly.
Rachel stared back at him blankly. He huffed, storming off when she made no move to follow him.
Quinn chuckled beside her. "So that's your lawyer."
Rachel nodded, snorting. "Real genuine guy."
"You could freeze ice on his wife's ass."
"Maybe we'll try that later," Rachel teased.
Quinn laughed, then sighed. "Are these people your friends?"
Rachel hesitated. "I spend time with them, yeah."
"Well, no wonder."
Rachel frowned, searching Quinn's face for a clue. "No wonder what?"
The blonde smirked, giving her a light shove. "No wonder why you came looking for me."
"And I do need some help from you ladies and gentlemen in the audience. We need you to help replace some of the divots out here on the grass. So come on out now. Come on! Come on, folks."
Quinn snorted, watching all of the fans spread out onto the field, flipping over patches of grass and pressing them back into the ground with the heels of their feet.
"You heard him," Rachel said, tugging Quinn up from the bleachers. "The stomping of the divots."
"This is a time-honored tradition, ladies and gentlemen. As old as the game of polo itself. Kings and queens used to do this."
"Yeah, but I bet the kings and queens weren't wearing heels that cost as much as a month's worth of food," Quinn muttered, protesting. Rachel only shook her head, pushing her out onto the field. They strayed apart a little, finding what divots were left.
As Rachel watched the blonde from a distance, amused at her excessive stomping, Finn appeared at her side. "She's sweet, Rachel. Where'd you find her?"
The brunette rolled her eyes. "1-800-BABE."
"Only one word of advice: Avoid the steaming divot!"
Rachel glanced over to catch the blonde's eyes widen, and laughed.
"No, it's all part of the game of polo. You get to have your shoes polished by a member of the club."
The crowd made its way back off the field, where the players were mingling. The brunette began to make her way back to Quinn, smiling as she looked down at her muddy heels. "I think I got something in the car that will buff that up."
"Thank you," Quinn said.
"Just give me a sec, okay?"
The blonde nodded, watching her go. She jumped when she felt a tap on the shoulder, and spun around to face the young man they had met for dinner.
"Quinn, hi. David Schuster."
"David," Quinn said, smiling. She took in the riding jacket and boots he was wearing, and assumed he must be playing. Rachel hadn't mentioned that earlier. Did she know? The blonde shook her head, fixing her attention on the man in front of her. "How are you?"
"I'm okay," he replied, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought that was you. I like this hat." He nodded towards the tan fedora she donned.
"It's new," she said, ducking her head.
"Come meet my horse, Quinn."
She hesitated. "Well, Rachel's waiting for me."
"He's right here," David said, pointing to a barn a few paces away.
The blonde bit her lip, glancing around for Rachel. With no sight of the brunette, she nodded. "Okay, I'll—just for a second, though."
He smiled and led her to one of the stalls, where a large brown horse was chewing on hay. Quinn stepped forward, running her hand along its neck. "I didn't know you were playing today."
David nodded. "Yeah, it's a hobby. You know, when I'm not trying to patch up Hollywood with my Dad."
Quinn laughed.
Rachel returned, shoe buff in hand but no blonde in sight.
"She went into the barn," Finn said, behind her.
She grumbled. "Thank you, Finn."
"Wait."
The brunette paused, facing him. "Yes?"
"Seriously, where'd you find this girl?"
Rachel hesitated. "Uh, I was asking for directions. There she was."
"Oh, so you just ran into her?" Finn said, skeptical. "That's great. Jesus."
Rachel nodded, and turned to find the blonde. Finn ran ahead of her, standing in her way. "So anyway, what does she do? Does she work?"
"She's in sales," Rachel said, trying to step around him.
He matched her step. "Sales? That's terrific. That's good. What does she sell?"
Rachel huffed, frustrated. She fixed him with a steady glare. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just hear me out on this," Finn said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. "I've known you a long time. I see some differences in you this week, like the beret—"
"What's wrong with the beret?" Rachel asked, reaching up to adjust the knit cap self-consciously.
Finn gave her a look. "Look, it's a great hat. Just not the kinda thing you wear for business."
Rachel glared at him. The hat was fine. The hat had been given to her by a very sexy, very nude blonde. The hat was staying. "What's your point, Finn?"
"Uh—I'm wondering if maybe this girl isn't the difference, especially when I see her talking to David Schuster."
Rachel followed his line of sight, seeing Quinn was indeed with Schuster's son. They were walking out of the barn, her arms clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl with a crush. Something flared up in her heart. "I introduced them at dinner the other night."
"So what?" Finn continued. "Now they're best friends ? This girl appears out of nowhere. Now she's talking to a guy whose support we're trying to win over. Convenient, don't you think?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel said, her eyes still on the blonde. It wasn't true, that much she knew. But something else was setting her off about the situation. Something she didn't want to acknowledge or analyze at the moment. All she knew was that she had to get away from Finn and reclaim her date.
Er, acquaintance.
"How do you know that this girl hasn't attached herself to you because she's bringing information back to Schuster? This happens! Espionage—"
"Finn," Rachel cut in, sighing. "Finn, listen to me."
"What?"
Rachel bit her lip, lowering her voice. "She's not a spy. She is a hooker."
He stammered, "O-oh!"
Rachel tried to ignore the way his eyes glazed over. "I picked her up on Hollywood Boulevard. In your car."
Finn laughed. "Oh, you're kidding!"
"Finn."
"Oh, man," he said, "you're the only millionaire I ever heard of who goes looking for a bargain basement streetwalker, you know?"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry I told you." She shoved past him, heading towards Quinn. Before she could approach them, however, one of her sponsors stopped her to talk. A mayor. She couldn't exactly brush off a mayor. Instead, she nodded, only half listening to his praise, watching as David left Quinn's side. She relaxed, attention returning to the man in front of her.
The blonde watched David go, thankful for at least one normal person at this awful gathering. How did Rachel live with people like this on a daily basis?
"Having a nice time, Quinn?"
She turned to find Finn, and feigned a smile. "Yeah, I'm having a great time."
"Must be quite a change from Hollywood Boulevard, hmm?"
Her jaw clenched, and she swallowed thickly. "What?"
"Yeah, Rachel told me," he said, leaning closer. "But don't worry; you're secret is safe with me."
She shrunk away from him, putting some distance between them. Rachel did what? She eyed the woman across the grass, fuming.
"Listen, maybe, uh, you and I could get together sometime...after Rachel leaves."
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" she snapped.
"We'll just have to do that, hmm?" he continued, and reached out to touch her hair. Before he could, his wife called out for him, and he scurried away. Quinn stormed off in the opposite direction.
Where was the car, again?
"Hi, tailgaters. I'd like to mention a couple of our silver sponsors: Jacobs Distributors, Norrell Saddlery, and we'd like to give a great big thanks to our platinum sponsor, Rachel Berry Enterprises." The air horn blew, signaling the continuation of the match. Quinn gave up looking for an escape and settled on a distraction, leaning against the fence. She squinted against the sun. Which team did David say he was on?
"The ball is in for chukker number four."
"You all right?" Rachel said, trying again.
The blonde continued to stare out from the balcony. "I'm fine."
"Fine. That's good. Seven 'fines' since we left the match." Rachel leaned against the doorway. "Could I have another word, please?"
Quinn spun around, eyes narrowed. "Asshole! There's a word."
Rachel blinked. "I think I liked 'fine' better."
"You know what?" Quinn shouted, throwing her hands up. "Just tell me one thing: Why did you make me get all dressed up?"
"Well, for one thing, the clothing was appropriate."
"No, what I mean is, if you were gonna tell everybody I'm a hooker, why didn't you just let me wear my own clothes, okay?"
Rachel frowned. "I did not—I didn't—"
"I mean, in my own clothes, when someone like that guy Hudson comes up to me, I can handle it; I'm prepared."
The brunette tried to sort through the day. She couldn't remember anyone giving Quinn a hard time, but knew it was like Finn to say something inappropriate. She sighed, fixing her gaze on the ground. "I'm very sorry. I'm not happy with Finn at all for saying or doing that. But he thought you were some kind of industrial spy. The guy's paranoid."
Quinn nodded, crossing her arms. She took a few steps forward, invading the brunette's space. "Are you my pimp now? You think you can pass me around to your friends?"
Rachel glanced up at her, shocked, and stammered.
Quinn poked her in the chest angrily. "I'm not some little toy!"
"Look, I know you're not my toy," Rachel protested, trying to catch the blonde's hands in her own, but she shoved past her, heading towards the bathroom. "Quinn! Quinn, I'm speaking to you. Come back here!"
The blonde locked the door behind her, leaning back against it as Rachel knocked on it and jiggled the doorknob unsuccessfully.
There was a beat of silence, before an audible sigh. "I hate to point out the obvious, but you are, in fact, a hooker! And you are my employee."
A blunt thud sounded, and Rachel assumed the blonde had thrown a punch into the wall. "Look, you don't own me. I decide, okay?"
"Quinn—"
"I say who; I say when; I-I say who—"
Rachel backed up a few paces, throwing all her weight onto the door. The old lock gave way, and she was faced with an angry, wild blonde curled in the empty bathtub. Rachel stood over her. "I refuse to spend the next three days fighting with you. I said I was sorry. I meant it. That's the end of it!"
Quinn glared at her, pulling her legs into her chest. "I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm sorry I ever got into your stupid car!"
Rachel snorted. "As if you had so many more appealing options."
The blonde buried her head into her arms, tension in her body giving out as her voice dropped to a low murmur. "I've never had anyone make me feel as cheap as you did today."
The brunette scoffed. "Somehow, I find that very hard to believe."
Quinn stood slowly, leveling her gaze with Rachel, before moving to the main room. Rachel was close behind, half-running to keep up with the blonde's long, determined strides. "Where are you going?"
"I want my money. I want to get out of here."
Rachel sighed. "Come on!"
Quinn pocketed a wad of cash, opening the door and pushing the elevator button. She kept her gaze focused on the shiny, gold doors before her. If she looked into the brown eyes that were set on her, she was afraid she'd unravel. Or worse, stay.
After a moment, Rachel moved from the doorway to Quinn's side, leaving only a few inches between them. "I'm sorry." When Quinn didn't start yelling, she continued. "I wasn't prepared to answer questions about us. It was stupid and cruel." She dipped her head, trying to meet Quinn's eyes. "I didn't mean it. I-I don't want you to go."
The blonde shut her eyes, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
Rachel reached over, taking the hand in hers. "Will you stay the week?"
"Why?" the blonde muttered.
Rachel paused, looking down at their hands. "I saw you talking to David; I didn't like it."
"We were just talking."
Rachel chuckled. "I know. I didn't like it."
When she looked back up, Quinn had opened her eyes, and was gazing at her, wearily. The elevator pinged, and the bellhop stepped out, smiling. "Down?" he asked, cheerfully, looking between the two, who ignored him.
"You hurt me," Quinn said.
Rachel bit her lip. "Yes."
Quinn stared at her, before walking back through the penthouse door. "Don't do it again."
Rachel nodded, following after her.
The bellhop watched them go. He stepped back into the elevator, shaking his head. "Lesbians."
The brunette was in bed first, reading a book as she waited for Quinn to finish up in the shower. The blonde had accepted her apology, and promised she would finish the week, but Rachel was still worried. She knew she had hurt the woman, and regretted how she had acted in the argument.
Over dinner the blonde had avoided eye contact. Rachel only hoped it would be forgotten in the morning.
She heard Quinn come into the room and change into an old t-shirt and cotton shorts, slipping into the other side of the bed. Rachel glanced over from her book, a small prick stabbing her heart when she noticed the blonde was about as far on the edge as she could be.
With a sigh, she set a bookmark in place, put the book onto the table, and switched off the light.
Adjusting sheets sounded like banging pans in this awkward silence. Rachel gave up trying to be comfortable, and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and wished that sleep would come to her soon.
A few moments later, the sheets rustled beside her. She felt a body inch closer to her, pausing a foot away. Rachel turned her head, squinting in the dark. She made out Quinn's frame, hovering near her. Neither said a word. The blonde, reaching a decision over the internal conflict, closed the distance between them. She laid her head on Rachel's shoulder, letting her curves fit against the brunette's. She hooked their ankles together, looking for comfort in contact.
Rachel's tongue was brimming with questions, but she bit down, knowing the blonde would come to her only on her own terms.
Just as she was falling asleep, quiet words reached her ears.
"First guy I ever loved was a total nothing," Quinn whispered, playing with their fingers. She could feel Rachel's gaze on her, but was afraid of what she'd find in them if she looked. So instead, she closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of Rachel's body. "Second was worse. My mother called me a bum magnet. If there was a bum within a fifty-mile radius, I was completely attracted to him."
Rachel ran her hand through Quinn's hair, smiling softly at the blonde's exhausted state. Her hazel eyes were hooded, and she never remained this close to the brunette for this long. The brunette began to trace patterns on her shoulder.
"But my mother preferred the bums to, you know, any kind of woman. Once she found out I was a lesbian, she sent me away, at first. Tried to pray away the gay. When I came back, not cured, I became the scandal of the family, dirtying the Fabray name. The rumor circulated through church, through school…" Quinn sighed. "It's not an option, being gay, in a small town in the Bible belt. My mother didn't kick me out, but she stopped seeing me as her daughter. So I left."
"Oh."
"And there I was: no money, no friends, no scandals."
Rachel felt Quinn shrug. "So you chose this as your profession?"
Quinn chuckled, vibrations sending a shiver up Rachel's spine. "I worked at a couple fast food places, parked cars at wrestling. And I couldn't make the rent. I was too ashamed to go home. I mean, adding 'hooker' to being a lesbian? They'd burn me on a stake."
Rachel laughed, not doubting her words.
"Anyway, that's when I met Santana. She was a hooker and made it sound so great. So one day I did it. I cried the whole time." She hesitated, clearing her throat. "But then I got some regulars and, you know—it's not like anybody plans this; it's not your childhood dream."
Rachel sensed the defensive shift, and pressed a kiss onto her head. "You could be so much more."
Quinn shook her head. "People put you down enough, you start to believe it."
"I think you are a beautiful woman, prettiest I've seen. But you're also much more than that, Quinn."
The blonde sighed, tucking her body further into the contours of Rachel's. She closed her eyes, ready to drift off. "Yeah, well, the bad stuff is easier to believe."
Hah, the scene where she returns to that store kills me every time. BIG mistake. (:
How 'bout you guys? Favorite lines, scenes, moments? Parts you hated, loathed?