Lay down all thought of your surrender
It's only me who's killing time
Lay down all dreams and themes once remembered
It's just the same
This miss you game
-Miss You Nights
Rachel had a mental list of things she loved about Quinn. One of them was what the blonde was doing to her that moment. She felt her girlfriend's lips brush over her nipple several times, teasing it with hot breath and light touch. It was an extremely pleasurable form of torture. But there was something else that filled up her mind and senses. She got back from another audition and was, once again, not called back. With her tail between her legs, she went home to her good girlfriend who became preoccupied finding ways to comfort her.
"Quinn?"
"hmm?"
"What if I don't ever get a job?"
Quinn's mouth slowly released her hardened nub and looked up at her. "…Are we talking …", Quinn furrowed her brows, "..now?"
Rachel sighed and shook her head. "No, you're right. I'm sorry." She offered a small smile. "Carry on."
Quinn quirked her eyebrows then scooted upwards and held Rachel tightly. "You're going to get your break, Rach. I think…I think you're just being a bit impatient."
"You think so?", the brunette asked softly.
"This was only your fifth try, right? And we've been here for two years. The probability of you getting a role right now is quite slim—though of course not improbable— since you're still studying and not actively looking for auditions."
"But I have a classmate who got a part in an off-Broadway play."
"Kurt told me because her father was the producer."
"I need to get connections, then."
"No... What you need is to learn as much as you can in NYADA and continue auditioning every now and then if only for the experience."
Rachel nodded. "After my fourth rejection, it doesn't hurt that much anymore though."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Yeah, I think so. I'm just really worried that I might end up as your jobless struggling artist girlfriend while you wow the academic world with your insights."
"You won't be. Just keep on doing what you're doing, Rach. I'm more than sure that it won't be long; you'll be getting your start in the big theatre world."
"And you're going to be there, right? No matter what happens?"
"Front and center"
Rachel was pretty certain that she was not an evil person. She's not Hitler, or Nero, or any of those historical villains in one of Quinn's favorite shows: Ancients Behaving Badly. She never intended for anyone to get hurt. But it felt like with every move, she was in a catch-22 situation.
Or she could be proof positive of the boomerang effect.
She found herself staring blankly most of the time, blocking out lectures in class and barely eating. Her throat felt constricted most of the time like she was on the verge of crying. Numbness normally took over when something that reminded her of Quinn catches her attention. She looked and felt horrid in most days while she obsessed herself with checking her phone to see if Quinn had responded to at least one of her dozens of text messages sent.
So, please excuse the girl if you were one of the people who witnessed her break down at Rockefeller Plaza when she tried to call Quinn, for what seemed to be the 1 millionth time, and heard an automated voice prompt that informed her, "the number you have called is no longer in service."
It was the final nail on the coffin. First, her email messages bounced back, then Quinn's Facebook account was deactivated, now, this. She tried going to Santana's apartment only to be threatened with bodily harm by the Latina. She knew she was bordering on being a stalker when she held a stake out with Kurt for a few nights near Santana's apartment only to reach the conclusion that Quinn no longer stayed there.
Kurt had the sense to stop her from going to Fordham and look for Quinn. The blonde obviously didn't want to be found, Kurt told her. Even if she did get to see Quinn in her school, Rachel wouldn't have wanted to be publicly humiliated or to be absolutely ignored by her ex-girlfriend. So she left messages, twice a day; one in the morning and another one before she goes to sleep (if she ever got to sleep at all). Not a single response. She would have settled for a text message that told her to stop all forms of communication. Living as if she did not exist in Quinn Fabray's world made her feel so small and insignificant again. Just like high school. Only this time, she would have given everything she had for a mocking laugh after a slushie attack, cornering her against the lockers, or even hurtful messages on Myspace.
She shouldn't have gone back to Ohio. She should have manned up and told Quinn not to leave for England and just whisked the blonde away in some exotic and warm place in the Pacific islands. Or Florida. Florida can do. But she didn't. In the long list of regrets and mistakes she would recall in her memoire after her great Broadway retirement, she knew she would be dedicating a chapter or two on this period of her life, specifically this decision.
Ohio was nostalgia-land where time stood still. She saw the Finn Hudson of her past and she became the Rachel Berry of years ago. There was no one and nothing else; no wedding, accident, wheelchair, or beautiful hazel eyes that stared at her with so much intensity and adoration. It was just Rachel and Finn; Finn and Rachel. And so for a brief moment, she allowed herself to fully immerse herself inside that time capsule.
And Quinn was right. She was almost always right. When the weeks turned into months and the brunette felt as if she wasn't going anywhere with Quinn, panic started to build up. It took over her whole being after Quinn told her about Emily's invitation to spend the holidays in England. No matter what Quinn told her, if that British import decided to be serious in competition, Rachel felt she would lose. It's not even because Quinn looked up to the older woman, it's because Emily had so much more to offer. She understood Quinn's mind like Rachel never could and seems to be able to moderate the blonde's volatile mood without much effort. Emily could give something she could never give Quinn—the world.
Quinn told her there wasn't actually a choice. Emily wasn't a choice. She would choose Rachel in a heartbeat, but the brunette saw Quinn's actions differently. What she did with Finn wasn't a punishment; she wanted some sense of security that Quinn couldn't give her but Finn was willing to.
Quinn gave her three minutes. How could she have explained herself in three minutes? In the end, she wasn't even given that much.
She hardly thought though that it was unfair.
She simply ran out of time and chance.
She had three years to let go of Finn but she didn't.
She had every opportunity to explain herself and give Quinn the security the blonde was craving for but she didn't.
She had every reason to end her constant communication with Finn but she didn't.
They said play with fire and you get burned. This was fourth degree.
There was nothing she could do but wait. For what, she didn't know exactly. Finn hadn't exactly been helpful by constantly calling and hounding her about their situation. Rachel felt like her mind is about to explode. She needed distraction.
By some form of respite, the auditions came around. She wasn't exactly thrilled by the plot. After all, Clytemnestra was known for her extra-marital affair with Aegisthus while her husband, Agamemnon, was battling it out at Troy. So, she may have had the extra angst needed to have earned a spot as a member of the Chorus—a group of people who disliked the female protagonist with a passion. Yes, she identified with Clytemnestra—the manipulative, impatient, two-timing bitch that killed her husband —and hated it.
The first thing she wanted to do was to share the good news with Quinn. The blonde had been there throughout rejections, insecurities, and moments of wanting to give up. She was that one person who never lost faith in the brunette's potential. She deserved to know.
While Finn says, it is okay for her not make it; Quinn tells her it's impossible for her not to make it.
While Finn had always comforted her by saying she was enough for him; Quinn once admitted that she didn't feel adequate enough for the brunette because she believed Rachel deserved better.
No. Quinn deserved better, Rachel decided.
Let me go. Quinn's words kept playing inside Rachel's head. Three words, three syllables, so simple and elegant in the way the blonde said it. Though there was no anger or resentment laced in those words, Rachel will never forget the pure anguish in the blonde's voice.
She had no choice but to eventually give in.
That much Quinn deserved from her.
But the play changed everything. Rachel's anxiety grew the nearer they reached the production dates. Quinn had to know. Rachel knew she was being selfish. This was her first professional theatre exposure. Ten auditions later, and this is what Quinn had believed all this time. She will make it. It was impossible for her not to make it.
It won't be long; you'll be getting your start in the big theatre world.
And you're going to be there, right? No matter what happens?
Front and center
So with less than two months, Rachel had the epiphany about her new mission in life: Find Quinn Fabray.
She braced herself for facial and physical injuries the moment Santana saw her at the lobby of the Latina's apartment. But the taller brunette simply sneered at her then walked away. The second day, she Latina rolled her eyes and then left Rachel at the lobby. God must not have rested on Sabbath day because Santana finally relented after six days of waiting.
"I can actually call the police, you know? This qualifies as stalking." The Latina was literally catching her breath as she obviously just came back from running or jogging.
"You wouldn't be out of breath if you don't smoke, you know?"
"Fuck you. There are benefits to smoking."
"Like what?"
"Annoying people like you stay at a safe distance because you don't like the smell."
"That's it?"
"Smokers adjust better to higher altitude."
"You're making that up, aren't you?"
"No way I can make up that shit. What do you want, Rachel?"
"I was hoping we could talk."
Santana finished the contents of her water bottle then studied Rachel carefully. "Fine, let's go up."
The first thing Rachel tried to figure out, are signs of Quinn inside the apartment.
"Stop looking around. She's not here anymore.", the Latina laughed as she made coffee.
"She moved out?"
"Yeah."
"Well…could you tell me where?"
"You're lucky I've let you in my apartment", Santana smirked then handed the diva her coffee. "You're not getting any more information from me except Quinn is fine, healthy and moving on."
Rachel pursed her lips and nodded. "That's...that's good to know."
"And she's been dating left and right. Hot chicks. Like you know, Kate Beckinsale hot."
"Emily sort of looks like her", Rachel sighed.
"Exactly, that's apparently Quinn's real type", Santana winked deviously at her. "She likes worldly women who can top her and—"
"You don't need to give me a very vivid description of Quinn's sex life.", the diva grimaced. "I get it, okay? I get that I screwed up"
Santana clapped daintily. "Yay for you."
"Look", the diva breathed out, "I got a part in a play by The Acting Company. And I really want Quinn to know about it. Any chance that, out of humanitarian reasons, you would relay the information to her?"
"Nope."
"Please?"
"No, Rachel.", Santana said sternly. "Fix the mess you made. I'm not helping you this time. It's not just Quinn you betrayed, you know? I trusted you."
Just when Rachel thought she could not feel worse about herself, Santana had to remind her that it wasn't just Quinn she owed a life-long apology to. For a split second, the diva saw the hurt in Santana's eyes. The Latina did go out of her way to help her get things right with Quinn.
Rachel nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, Santana."
The Latina rolled her eyes and scoffed. "That doesn't mean anything to me right now."
"I know", Rachel said quietly. "I wish you could also watch the play?"
"Send me a ticket to a good seat and I'll think about it."
Rachel smiled softly. "Okay."
Santana walked her to the door while the diva explained the basic premise of the play. She accidentally glanced at a photo of Santana, Brittany and Quinn in their Cheerio uniforms hanging on the wall.
Great Spirit of Clytemnestra. The answer she was looking for.
The Blonde Oracle, Brittany S. Pierce.
Quinn would never keep Brittany out of the loop as far as communications is concerned. But both Santana and Quinn were protective of Brittany that they would shield her from aggravation. There was a huge chance that Brittany knew Quinn's number but is not aware that she's not suppose to give it out. Especially to one Rachel Berry.
She couldn't afford to feel guilty right now by dragging Brittany in the equation. After all, all is fair in love and war.
She stared at her phone for what seemed to be hours. She had actually gotten the number from Britt for some time now, but decided to hold off in using it. She was an impatient person, but not that impatient. But it was now or never. She knew there's going to be trouble the moment she uses it because Quinn would not stop until she finds out who gave her number away. Then Santana would hunt her down and probably skewer her at the Statue of Liberty. Rachel, however, believed it was going to be worth it. It was a good reason to die.
Rachel had to be very smart in trying to retrieve Quinn's number from Britt. Anyone who actually cared to listen to the tall dancer would know she was far from the dumb blonde she had portrayed herself to be.
She almost broke into a hallelujah when Brittany picked up the phone and chirpily greeted her. The brunette needed to tread carefully. She could lose the only chance she had.
"Hey, Britt"
"Rachel! How are you? I haven't heard from you in a long time."
"I know, I'm sorry. I've just been really busy. I got in this play, so rehearsals had been maddening."
"I can imagine. I'm currently on tour, actually."
"Oh, no wonder I hear lots of people. Are you in a bus?"
"Yep, pretty much. Congratulations, by the way. I wish I could see it."
"Me too. Britt, listen. Something weird happened to my phone. For some reason, all my contacts except for a few including yours and my dads, were erased and I can't retrieve them. Can you send me Santana's and Quinn's?"
Rachel closed her eyes and dreaded for the fall out when Brittany turned silent for some moment. "Britt?"
"Yes, hold on, Rach. I keep their numbers on my notebook, just let me get it. That sort of thing happened to me a year ago, so I keep a back up. Santana's idea. She's very smart."
"Oh, it did?" Rachel asked with a mixture of incredulity and delight. She looked up and mouthed "thank you, God"
"Just call her already", Kurt said in exasperation. "I'm getting really dizzy with you walking back and forth.
"What if she answers it? I'm pretty sure she didn't keep my number anymore."
"So, talk to her."
"I can't. I just want to leave a message."
"Text her."
"I don't trust texts, she could just delete it."
"She could also just delete the voice mail right away."
"Voice is more personal."
"Then call her. Now!"
And so, she did.
And Quinn replied that she would be there.
Then Finn called that he's flying to New York to watch her.
No.
Just no.
But Finn had made up his mind. He already had the ticket, and he will be flying with her fathers.
Traitors.
LeRoy washed his hands and said he wasn't the one who booked them.
Pilate.
Hiram said anyone was free to watch a play in this country.
Who are you? George Washington?
She hated everyone who's complicating an already complicated situation. She never extended her invitation to Finn, mostly because she needed time and space from him. In the months following her stay in Ohio, she had a sad realization that while Finn had actually shown much growth, wasn't the man she was in love with. What she felt with him in Ohio was real, but existed in a specific time and place. The question was whether she would try and move forward with him. It wasn't about choosing between Quinn and him anymore. Rachel knew she lost the girl, and the best she can hope for is to gain back the friendship they lost. That would be enough. More than enough.
The Bernie West Theater was a very small intimate venue with less than a hundred seats. In so many ways, that made it more nerve-wracking especially since Rachel can clearly see the radiant glow coming from one gorgeous blonde sitting at the front row, center aisle (Her fathers and Finn were thankfully seated a few rows behind Quinn). When she entered the stage, she and Quinn were literally within arm's reach and the diva swore she saw the blonde smile and wink at her at one point.
The play, as expected, was a success. Mostly because these are the kind of plays that avant-garde artists and theatre fanatics go to. Rachel felt like she was in the verge of something huge, and Quinn was there to share it with her. She met her fathers and Finn at the hall outside the theatre when Kurt came running to her with a huge bouquet of flowers that almost covered his lithe body.
"Aww, Kurt!", Rachel swooned. "Thank you!"
"Thank me for carrying this. But", Kurt leaned closer and stage-whispered. "This, didn't come from me."
LeRoy raised his eyebrows. "A fan. Imagine that."
"I wonder who might that be.", Hiram chirped in then glanced at Finn who simply shrugged. "Oh.", Hiram said in disappointment. "Should have known."
Rachel knew right away. Stargazer lilies. She looked around then craned her neck to look further but no sign of Quinn in sight. The brunette opened the card and her smile faltered at the very generic "congratulations" message and was signed off in a very respectful, "Best, Quinn".
She shoved the bouquet at Kurt and ran towards the exit in the hopes of still finding Quinn. Another stroke of luck. "Quinn! Quinn!", Rachel called out then ran further on the sidewalk.
Quinn stopped walking but took time to turn around. She breathed deeply then forced a smile."Rachel", she husked, "you were amazing. Congratulations."
No attempts for a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Just Quinn standing within a safe distance. That was good enough, Rachel thought. The blonde could have pretended not to hear her, but she turned around. She couldn't have asked for more.
Rachel took one step closer. "I got your flowers. Thank you so much"
"You're welcome", Quinn nodded.
"So, uhm..", Rachel mumbled with her hands wrung together.
"I need to, uh, I need to go.", the blonde said with her eyes darting everywhere but Rachel's direction. "Santana's waiting for me at the parking lot."
"Oh."
"You should go back in", Quinn pressed her lips together and smiled. "Finn's waiting for you."
"Quinn…"
"You look good", the blonde grinned then started walking backwards. "Congratulations, again."
Rachel could only smile and watch Quinn stare back at her as she walked further away until she turned her back and took longer strides.
"You look happy", Rachel mumbled for no one to hear.
A/N: You guys make me want to hug a thousand kittens with your reviews. I'm so amazed and I can't thank you enough. I wish I could hold a conversation with all of you but that would take a chapter or two just to comment on your views and opinion.
But just to address a general concern:
-I do read every single comment and take everything in consideration. I work independently but humbly, so I do try to weigh your (very strong) opinions where this fic should go. There are so many things that I fail to see but when pointed out by you guys, makes a lot of sense. With that, thank you again. Please trust me that things that fit in or can be accommodated in the fic, I will try to incorporate. But if it doesn't, I hope in the end, it still won't disappoint.
-I do try to make things as realistic as possible. We've all gone through some form of heartache. And we all know that life is made up of the grey areas. After all, if everything is in black and white, life would be one hell of a boring thing to go through.
-And yes, I am a very happy camper that you guys have such impassioned perspectives. I'm lucky and I know it.