Chapter 7 - Badge and Gun (John Mayer)

I feel myself shiver slightly when I realize that Quinn is wrapped so tight around me. I'm still not over the fact that she came all the way to New York to be with me as I go through this ordeal. I know our relationship is not that simple and I know we've yet a lot to talk about, but her breath on my neck is comforting to say the least.

The fact that she came for me means the world. And it means that she still cares for me.

My head hurts, I think from the sun, but also because today is the day I have to bid goodbye to a good friend forever. This is not something I've ever had to do before and the thought that I'll never see her again scares the shit out of me. I pull Quinn tighter to me, subconsciously, and begin to count my breathing. Maybe this way I'll be able to clear my head.

Quinn stirs behind me and mumbles, "good morning." It's so familiar, I don't know how to react. Most of the time she's been here I've been thankful because she keeps my mind sane but waking up with her in my bed, holding me, it's too much. We're not together so it kills me.

I think she realizes this because she mutters something and slowly extricates her arms from around my waist. "Sorry," she says and I feel the bed dip when she turns away from me to face the wall. Now it just feels cold.

As much as my heart wants to talk about it, my head tells me to ignore it. Again, we are not together; we're barely friends at this point.

Well, it's complicated. I mean, if she's willing to come be with me without a second of hesitance when she knows I need her, then we are probably at least friends but... you know how this goes. It's the push and pull of a relationship that's not really over. It's a dance with one partner denying it's happening and the other having to struggle to keep up.

I get up to shower. I can't stand thinking about this - this being Hey and her funeral and Quinn. Picking up my towel from a chair on the way to the bathroom, I pretend to not have noticed just how sexy Quinn looks.

"I've never done this before..." I tell her once I'm showered and sitting on a chair across the bed, rolling my black pantyhose up my left leg.

She's watching me from the bed, I can feel her stare. "Me neither," she says, but I don't look. I know that if I look, I won't be responsible for the actions that follow.

Only now that I'm in this compromising situation do I realize that changing in front of my ex-girlfriend probably isn't the most logical thing I could have done. I am grieving, so I partly excuse myself, but I also berate myself for not considering her feelings.

She thinks I can't see her turn away, but I can. So she walks across the room to the mirror next to my chair and fixes her hair. It looks classy and respectful, pinned up to the side. She is wearing a dark blue lace dress, so dark that I could barely tell it's not black.

While I walk to the closet to grab my dress, I comment, "Hopefully it's a quick ceremony..." I don't think I could stand it if it was too long and sad. All I can think about is how I was the last person to have been with Hey and how I wasn't the best for her; I didn't treat her as well as she deserved it. And I practically robbed every other person in her life of sharing that last moment with her. I put my heels on and pull the dress from the hanger.

I stand in front of the dress, Quinn forgotten, contemplating about what I'm supposed to tell Hey's parents about our relationship.

I pull the dress over my head and fix it in places before looking over my shoulder at Quinn, "Will you zip me up?"

She says, "sure," and I am both relieved and not. After asking, it comes to me that it might not be easy for either of us. Sure, it's just zipping up a dress but that can be rather intimate, and in my current state, I don't feel like I am able to keep my emotions in check like Quinn always expects me to.

It takes a while for her to get to me, and I still can read her really well, I know. She is over-analyzing it, much like I am, but I can't help that. I hope she doesn't think I'm hitting on her, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't anticipating the moment her hand touches me again. Her warmth brings comfort and familiarity and it's all I'm asking for.

I feel her hands hover over my shoulders, unable to do the simple task at hand and I wonder if she's just that repulsed by the thought of touching me. "Quinn?" I ask.

She asks, quietly, "Yeah?"

"Are you going to zip me up?"

I finally hear the tremble in her voice, "oh yeah, of course."

"There," she says with finality as soon as she's done. She walks away and I try not to be hurt by her needing the distance, even if all I want and need right now is for her to hold me.

I wish that I could tell her that I no longer expect her to be around and support me; I wish I could tell her I don't need her to be my rock, but that's a lie. All I want is her. And despite the fact that her face is so worn down, she still looks as striking as ever. You'd think we were going to her friend's funeral and not mine. I wonder if this - her being here - is taking that much of a toll on her. If it is, she shouldn't have come at all. Maybe she realized that being my friend is not exactly what she wanted, that she regrets coming here.

I turn toward her and ask her that without those exact words, "Ready?"

She nods and doesn't look away for once. And it's when she walks back to me and interlocks our fingers that I know she doesn't regret it at all.

That night, after the funeral and burial and the whole thing, I am laying on my back on my bed, with eyes closed.

I hear the door squeak open and feel the bed dip not a few moments later.

"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," Santana says and I open my eyes wide, to check that it really is her. When I have visual confirmation, I throw myself at her and sob into her shoulder. "Quinn didn't really tell anyone she was coming... I - I wanted to be here earlier."

"Oh, thank you so much," I whisper, not for dramatics but because the knot in my throat won't allow me to speak any louder. "Thank you for coming."

"What can I do to make you feel better?"

I pull her down on the bed with me and wrap her arm around my midsection. This is much safer, with Santana. With Quinn there's too much at risk. "Just be here."

"Ok. I am here."

"Where's Quinn?" I ask, a few minutes later, when the haze in my head has cleared some.

Santana sighs behind me, I feel her stomach press against my back. "She went out. Didn't say where she was going."

I try not to care but I can't, so instead I turn around to face Santana. She doesn't let go of me. "Sarah, then."

"Probably," Santana doesn't lie to me, but does add, "I think she might just be a friend though."

"Clearly someone important if she leaves me here to go to her."

"In her defense," Santana starts slowly, careful not to hurt my feelings, "you are broken up. And she has done more than any of us could have expected."

I know she's right. I know that I have no right to complain about her seeing Sara, but it fucking hurts. "I mean, yeah, but she knows that I'm -"

"She does. That's why she waited until I got here to go."

I want to cry again, not for Hey this time. As selfish as it sounds I want to cry for me. I want to cry for the death of the one great thing in my life; I want to mourn for my relationship with Quinn. "It still feels somewhat inconsiderate."

"Maybe. You could try telling her that," Santana suggests. "But knowing Quinn, that probably wouldn't go over well."

"Fuck. I hate still feeling like this," I admit.

"I'm sure that she isn't trying to hurt your feelings, Rach. But being here with you over someone you used to... well, fuck - for lack of a better term, probably wasn't easy for her either. I'm sorry I have to be the one to remind you of that."

And she is right, again. Because I forgot to consider that, didn't I? That, despite her trying to be cool about it all, it's still awkward and that still didn't keep her from traveling to be with me. She also made sure I had my best friend before leaving and she didn't tell me so I wouldn't be more upset. I feel awful, being upset at her. I wish I could take all of these feelings, bottle them up, and throw them in the ocean for them to drift far far away.

"Do you think she still likes me?"

"I know she still loves you," Santana reassures me. "But I think that she needs to realize that for herself, in her own time. In her own way. Sometimes that means going out with other people; dating others. And, whether she still loves your not, Quinn will always care about you."

That's reassuring to hear and it makes me smile. I can't believe that I actually agree with the idea of Quinn seeing other people, but if it means that she will come back to me in the end, then I'm more than happy to make the sacrifice.

I change subjects, "Dad and Daddy?"

"Cooking. We need to make sure you're eating right. I hear that's still somewhat of a problem."

I sniff, drag my sleeve across nose, "I don't have an appetite."

Santana shrugs, "you still have to eat."

"Whatever," I mumble. "Not like it matters."

"Hey!" Santana says, pissed. "Of course it matters. I need you alive and healthy. We all do. Even Quinn."

"Anyway," I say, not really wanting to go back to that topic. "How's Britt?"

Santana indulges me, knowing that I'm not asking out of the goodness of my heart, but letting me know anyway. In fact, she goes on for hours on end about how she and Britt are doing, and how their road trip was. I appreciate her for wanting to help me keep my mind off where things are, so I cuddle in closer and let her voice drift me to sleep.

The next morning, over breakfast, my parents bring up the idea of seeing a therapist once again. I try to avoid the topic, but with Santana's help they manage to convince me to at least attend one session. Apparently, I've been through a very traumatic experience. Watching someone die. Yeah, so, what if it is traumatic? Why can't I just go back to life as I know it and ignore all the doubt and anger in my heart?

I quit the show.

Spring Awakening.

That same morning, after they confirm my appointment with the doctor, I call the director and tell him I quit.

Nobody understands my decision, really. Santana seems like she wants to be supportive, but she mostly sighs annoyed and then walks away.

My parents try to reason with me, but I don't really feel like being in a show, singing and dancing when life is so depressing around me. Besides, the plot line is just as fucking depressing as my life and although the music hits home, so do the feelings and I would slowly lose my mind over it.

My director promises that the moment I feel ready and that I ask for the role back, it's mine.

I'm packing up my stuff to go to Lima when Quinn opens the door to my bedroom and clicks it shut behind her.

"So you're leaving when?" She asks, tense.

"Um, tonight. I think the flight leaves at 7."

Quinn shifts, crosses her arms and huffs. "Rachel." She uses that tone of voice that I know means she'll reprove me. She doesn't agree with something that I did and I can guess what it is.

"Save it," I tell her and continue packing. "I'm not really in the mood for your lectures."

"My lectures!" She shouts, agitated. I try not to let it get to me because I know the past week has been rough for all of us. "Rachel! You do understand you quit Spring Awakening!"

"Uh, yes, I know."

"And you don't see how that upsets me...? Okay," Quinn runs a hand through her short hair and offers, "you and I almost broke up over that damn show! This is everything you've always worked for and you're throwing it away!"

"I'm not," I say, stubborn as always. "And as I recall, we are broken up anyway so I don't see how that is any your concern."

She stops pacing in my room and looks at me, "wow." Her eyes widen and she takes a few steps back toward my bed. "Rachel, that's not the point. What I was trying to say is that clearly this show means something to you. You can't quit because you're sad. You'll get through this and you'll need something to do. You'll hate yourself when y-"

"Shut up, Quinn! Shut up! Don't tell me how I'll feel! Stop acting like you know me so well, because apparently you don't care to know me still!" I throw my hands in the air and turn around, picking up shoes from around me to pack. "If you did, we wouldn't be apart, would we?" I turn to face her and await her response.

"That's not fair. You know it's not that easy. Don't you see I'm telling you this because I only want what's best for you?!"

"Life isn't easy, Quinn, but you don't get to lecture me about this."

She sags on my bed, the fight flushing out of her, "I'm here for you, Rachel. I came back to New York just for you. How can you think I don't care for you?"

Her elbows prop on her knees, hair falling over her face. I feel sorry for being so rash, but I don't really apologize. I just sit down on my chair and breathe out, slowly.

"I -" she starts, pulling her eyes up to meet mine. "What could I have possibly done now to make you believe that?" She asks, hurt flashing in her eyes.

I can't tell her about Sarah. I can't let her know about how my heart feels so heavy and it's not only because of Hey. "Stop, Quinn," I practically beg. "Please. Because I can't deal with this, not right now. Not right now," I repeat and close my eyes. "I have just lost a friend, my heart can't take anymore pain."

She stands quickly and closes the distance between us, dropping in front of me. She kneels on the floor and grabs my hands. "I don't want to cause you any more pain," she tells me. "And I'm so sorry for everything I have said or done that might have been hurtful. I - Rachel, please reconsider Spring Awakening. You deserve a break but - you're brilliant in it."

"I -" I pull my hands back and try to come up with an excuse but she interrupts me before I can.

She shifts on her knees, her lips pulling into a small smile. "You're so, so good," she whispers, her eyes shining bright as if she's just seen El Dorado, the City of Gold. The raw quality of her voice, the raspy voice I love so, is demanding, "I can see you on that stage, claiming the spotlight even when you're not supposed to be. Your portrayal of Wendla is - Rachel, you are her. You make me want to run up and hug you every time, even though I'm supposed to know it's only a character. You are the face of that show! Remember how much you wanted it? Remember?"

I want to kiss her.

And I hate myself for it, but I do it anyway.

I grab her by the neck, pull her up from her knees - she places her hands on the chair beside either one of my thighs for support, and lets me.

The world literally stops.

I can feel myself grimace. I extricate my hands from her neck and hold her cheeks instead.

My eyes open, slowly, but our lips don't part.

She's right there - hazel eyes holding mine down.

She breathes out against my lips and then drags hers across them, to land on my cheek.

"I'm sorry," I try.

"Don't be," she says.

My hands fall from her, landing on my thighs. "But I am."

"Rachel," she reaches for them again but I turn away.

"Quinn, I didn't meant that. I - it's not right. Not right now."

I can see the hurt on her face as she stands, licking her lips as she does so. "Okay, yeah, you're right."

My jaw is quivering, my hands shaking too. I don't know how to deal with anything that's happening to me. "Quinn." I say, trying to salvage something of what we fixed while she was here. "I'm - I -" I stop talking. I breathe, she looks away. "Please, don't pull away from me again."

"I won't, Rach." She tells me and I believe her.

But then she turns and leaves me anyway, door creaking as she goes.