Gazillion: noun \gə-ˈzil-yən\
: a very large number
I am sorry times a gazillion and twelve.
There have been plenty of moments in Rachel's life where she found herself unable to articulate her thoughts and feelings into words. One time, on her seventh birthday, her fathers surprised her with a trip to New York and she saw her first real Broadway musical. Another time involved the death of her grandmother. She even recalled one day in middle school when a boy introduced himself to her, and told her that he thought she was cute.
Times she'd been caught speechless existed beyond those few scenarios, but she found those three to be the most prominent in her mind as she stared unblinkingly at her friend. What she currently felt in her chest seemed a combination of how she'd felt at all of those moments and she couldn't even be sure she was breathing.
To say that Quinn had floored her would be synonymous with saying coach Sylvester was a teensy bit off her rocker. Neither would come even marginally close to aptly describing the subjects they encompassed. She felt like someone had just called a tornado a small wind.
Rachel oftentimes noticed that Quinn knew her better than she knew herself. Which always reminded the brunette that, as much knowledge as Quinn had about her, she had an equal lack of knowledge about the other girl. As an example, Rachel was frazzled that Quinn had simply gone back to chewing on bites of her salad as if what had just come out of her mouth wasn't something that shook the girl to her core.
She'd been called "little star" before, and even by Quinn once or twice. It wasn't the word choice, really; it was that Quinn had this habit of not saying much, but making every word that she did say incredibly layered and important, something to hold on to.
Yet, holding onto Quinn's words just usually didn't have the same impact as it did in that moment. Her words felt like someone had just shoved her into a wall and continued to apply pressure, waiting for her to collapse from a lack of air.
Silence was loud, Rachel realized. With each movement Quinn made—chewing, swallowing, preparing another forkful—the silence between them only grew louder. Her blood was pumping through her ears and she felt a hysterical bubble of laughter catch in her throat when she noticed that her heartbeat was oddly in sync with the blonde's chewing pattern. A quick thought flashed through her mind that if Quinn stopped chewing, her heart might stop, too.
At the strange noise that escaped her throat against her will, Quinn finally looked over and used her eyebrow to suggest her question. Words rushed out of Rachel's mouth, and she only hoped the sounds didn't seem as crazy as she thought they did.
"And people say I'm the one who talks in paragraphs," she voiced, realizing she did indeed sound every bit as weird as she feared. There was an awkwardness—her speech mixed with too little laughter to be a giggle, but too little seriousness to be fully sincere.
Her words, meant to be neutralizing, had an adverse affect on Quinn.
"Who said that?" Quinn asked, but Rachel couldn't peg the emotion behind it. She wanted to say the blonde sounded heated, maybe even challenging, but her face starkly contrasted the feeling when it paled considerably.
Still busy processing her earlier words, Rachel hardly even took note of the oddity. Instead, she focused on moving on, because she realized her mistake. For some reason she couldn't explain, she had slipped up and repeated the words on the note. The note that Quinn had probably helped...
An immediate part of Rachel just wanted to give up the act. There was only one reason not to admit it to her friend, but she didn't even have to debate it to know it was enough. Telling Quinn now wouldn't solve anything and it would only hurt the blonde's feelings. They were already on a weird platform, and Rachel didn't want to go and shake it up just yet.
"Everyone says it, Quinn," she stated, trying her best to keep the sour edge out of her voice. By now, she was aware that her original decision to keep the notes a secret only meant that they both knew the other was lying.
"Oh." She got in reply. Though she hadn't expected much of an answer, Rachel's thoughts floundered when Quinn looked relieved of all things.
Due to an unspoken understanding that Quinn wouldn't talk about things—in other words, anything they'd discussed during the walk—until she was ready, the last half of lunch had passed by quietly. In fact, the rest of Rachel's day went by quietly until she was on her way to Glee.
Her last class had ended early and she could practically hear the piano in the choir room calling her name. Her fingers would have been minutes away from brushing over the keys if the very literal sound of barking hadn't preceded the sight of a white Labrador puppy headed her way. A red collar circled his neck, and Rachel figured there must be a bell on the braided material if the jingling she heard was anything to go by.
Because the final bell had yet to ring, she was the only one in that particular hallway. With no one to share her befuddlement with, Rachel stopped in her tracks and waited to see what the animal would do. Sadly, a puppy in the hallway was not the strangest thing she had ever seen at McKinley.
The puppy slowed his sprint and Rachel thanked whatever part of her told her to wear jeans this morning when he immediately started jumping at her legs. Though she thought of herself as more of a cat person, she couldn't help the smile and the baby voice she took up when she crouched down and said, "Hey, little guy. What on Earth are you doing in the school hallways, huh?" His front paws landed on her knees as he reached higher to try to lick her face.
Rachel pulled back before any slobber found its way near her, but the puppy yelped happily anyway and she scratched behind his ears a few more times before guiding her hand to the collar on his neck and reading the metal tag that hung there.
Chester, it read. There was no number or owner identification, but Rachel figured his owner obviously took care of him. Though it wasn't as if she had inspected him, she knew well enough that his nails seemed trim and his coat was soft and clean. He even had the puppy breath working for him.
Just as she released the bone-shaped tag from her palm, a flash of white caught her attention. Rachel ran a single finger under the collar and tilted her head as something fell from beneath it.
"What did you have stuck in your fur there, Chester?" she asked, feeling slightly foolish for talking to a dog in an empty hallway. If anyone were to walk around the corner, which was likely seeing as the bell was a few moments away from ringing, she figured they would make a rude comment. Or join her, she supposed, depending.
Chester went back down to all fours when she stopped petting him. His wet nose prodded her knee as if to say 'Why you stop petting me?' and Rachel had to look away from the puppy eyes she was receiving. The thing she liked most about cats was that they could never guilt-trip her quite like a dog could.
The paper that had fallen out of his collar was rolled up like a scroll, and it snapped back the first time Rachel tried to open it. With a firmer grip—the paper was rather small, so it was a difficult task—the brunette opened the paper once again and didn't actually believe her eyes.
#13 She used to wear those atrociously adorable animal sweaters
A striking difference in this note from the others was that there were multiple eraser marks after 'she.' Luckily, the pencil had originally been pushed hard enough that Rachel could still make out the original phrase.
#13 She wears these ridiculous animal sweaters
The switch from present tense to past tense did not go unnoticed and, aside from the alliteration, the note was different in another way. Every previous note had been profoundly complimentary—even to the point of objectivity. Yet, this reason had seemed less like a compliment and more like a begrudgingly admitted truth. After all, atrocious and adorable weren't exactly synonymous.
The paper crumpled in Rachel's fist. Her emotions were usually all over the place—she had never denied being slightly dramatic—but she was done. A headache had already started behind her eyes and she wasn't willing to think any more than she already had.
Chester seemed to sense something and he stepped away before bounding forward. Rachel snapped her head over her left shoulder to see where the dog was headed. The last thing the brunette expected to see was Brittany calling out Chester's name as she rounded the corner and collected the mini-beast in her arms.
"There you are! I've been looking all over for you," the blonde scolded Chester, nuzzling him as she turned around and walked back down the hallway. There was no indication that the cheerleader had even seen Rachel, which only perturbed the girl further. She looked down at her fist and opened it, staring at the crushed paper.
Unless someone had planted the note under Chester's collar without the blonde's knowledge, Brittany knew.
There was no doubt in Rachel's mind that anything good was to come of her day. The feeling she felt in her gut since her alarm went off was undeniable. The day before in Glee, she'd learned that Brittany wasn't Chester's owner, and that she'd found the puppy in her locker after lunch. He had apparently scampered off almost immediately and she had skipped all of her afternoon classes to find him.
Had anyone else told the story, Rachel wouldn't have believed it. Yet, it was Brittany, so she did.
Regardless, Rachel's dreams had been unpleasant. Worse, they were too obscure in her mind for her to know why they were unpleasant. She was left only with a distraught feeling and a minor headache—the same one from yesterday. Her eyes even felt puffy, as if she had been crying, but she most certainly had not shed a single tear in the last twenty-four hours, so she didn't understand why. Thinking about it only worsened her headache.
After forcing down a small breakfast of fruit, Rachel grabbed the keys to her car and headed outside. A noise she had never heard from her car before sputtered out and she tried twisting the key one more time. When the car still didn't start, she groaned. Walking to school was the last thing she wanted to do, but she needed to get there somehow. Knowing Quinn would already be at school, she couldn't think of anyone available to drive her, so she set off.
In order to pass the time during her walk, Rachel thought about plans she could make with Kurt or Quinn. Noah crossed her mind and she realized she hadn't spent much time with her mohawked friend of late. With the thought of making amends to that, she entered the school doors and sighed at the empty hallways. By the time she scurried over to her locker and ran to physics, she was ten minutes late and informed that there was a test that morning. Rachel cursed herself for forgetting the fact and her frown deepened when she was handed the last ruler available. It was the really crappy wooden one that no one wanted, too thick and broken off at the seven and a half inch mark.
Her seat seemed extra uncomfortable, as if to mock her for not having studied for the test. She breezed through the first page, but stopped up short as the questions continued. Dancing, she could manage. Singing? Please, she practically did that in her sleep. Physics? She found it completely useless to her future; gravity brought things down and pushing something moved it.
By the time she was down to the last page of five total, Rachel's headache almost prevented her from doing any work at all. She stared at the next question, one of four more she needed to complete, and noticed that she wasn't even using the proper side of the ruler. Her fingers promptly flipped the piece of cheap wood over, but she never answered the question.
#14 Of all things, she hates physics the most
As much as Rachel wanted to ignore the letters, her finger traced over the thin piece of tape that secured the paper to the ruler. Many of the note locations surprised her, but she was not even going to try to figure out how her note-maker had managed to place that one. At the moment, he wasn't worth her time.
Going back to the test, Rachel measured one of the lengths she needed just as the bell rang. Panic rushed through her as her classmates started to get up to hand in their tests. She still had a few more to go and Rachel Berry always finished her work.
The next question looked less involved, so she skipped her current problem and went to that one. Her assumption proved right but, by the time she finished it, everyone had left and the teacher gave her a look from behind his desk.
Rachel sighed. She prayed she'd catch a break sometime today.
English started off normally, and Rachel thanked whatever forces might be. Of course, her reprieve didn't last more than ten minutes.
"I have a slight pop quiz for you guys, today," the teacher announced, walking around to hand out packets of paper. Since when was a "slight" pop quiz two pages long?
Rachel signed her name quickly at the top, not even bothering to draw a star next to it, and started to read the questions. A thunk resounded through the relatively quiet classroom when she dropped her head against the desk. She hadn't even skimmed the chapters the quiz was on.
Sue Sylvester was an absolute lunatic and, though Rachel had never wished anyone physically ill before, she came extremely close when the Cheerio coach announced that gym class would be taken outside that day.
It was forty degrees at the warmest, and Rachel hadn't brought sweatpants, so she was stuck in shorts and a t-shirt. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was even legal for the woman to host class in such cold temperatures. It probably wasn't, but Sue also probably didn't care.
The only thing that would have made class mildly less horrid was Quinn's presence, but Sue had exempted all of the Cheerio's so they could practice their routine inside. Not even Jesse was present, and Rachel wondered if he was sick at home. She hadn't seen him all day.
"Streisand!" Sue called out, and Rachel jumped mid-stride at the sound. At the beginning of class, the psycho woman had informed them that class would be "100 percent cardio," much to Rachel's dismay. Of course, Rachel refused to put forth too much effort, fearful of the damage the frosty air might cause her voice. Beside that, Rachel also felt her body rejecting the exercise early on and preferred not to be sick in front of everybody given the option. She tripped up slightly, barely catching herself before she did a complete face plant in front of the entire class, and her stomach tightened in a knot. "If you don't start moving faster than a quadra-amputee conflicted with ebola—"
Rachel didn't hear the rest of what the coach had to say, too busy dry heaving at the sudden wave of nausea that crashed over her. Today was most definitely not her day.
With only Glee and a couple classes left, Rachel agreed with the nurse that it would be best if she left school early and got some much needed rest. Of course, she didn't exactly feel like she was getting any rest when she spent the better part of the first hour tossing and turning, half asleep and coated in sweat.
When she finally did fall into a restful asleep, Rachel woke up two hours later to find her t-shirt and shorts sticking to her and she wondered how bad her fever must have been. Checking her phone, she noted a few concerned texts about her absence, and then one from Noah.
Noah: Jewbro, club party my house 2nit 9, c ya ther
Admittedly, Rachel felt a little better, but she wasn't sure she was up to going to her friend's get together. There was this bit of stress pushing her mental limits, and she felt miserable in a sense. What made it worse was that she really didn't understand why she was feeling so down.
Sitting up in bed, Rachel rubbed her face and groaned. She needed a shower and some time to think. Between school, Quinn, and the stupid notes she was losing her mind. It was almost funny, in a sardonic sense, that whoever was writing the notes was probably trying to be cute and romantic. The timing was just extremely unfortunate, and Rachel was ready for it all to be over.
Finished with her shower, Rachel grabbed the sheets off her bed and headed downstairs to wash them. She was still slightly tired, though she refused to admit she was anything more than just stressed, and laid down new sheets before collapsing on them. The brunette figured a short nap between the machine cycles wouldn't hurt, and she was almost asleep when she heard the front door open.
Concerned, and more than a little paranoid seeing as her fathers weren't due home for another hour, Rachel raised her head from the bed and listened. She heard light footsteps coming up the stairs and her spine stiffened as a shadowed figure stopped behind her door. Cursing herself for leaving the door slightly ajar, Rachel held her breath and waited.
"Rachel?" a soft voice called quietly, and the brunette released a puff of air. A pathetic sense of pride washed through her at the realization that she could have looked like an idiot for screaming bloody murder only seconds earlier, but she had refrained.
"Quinn?" she asked, watching as the door opened wider to show her friend standing there in a pair of jeans and a jacket with a covered bowl in her hands. She was hardly the epitome of robber turned murderer.
"I come bearing gifts." The blonde raised the bowl in offering, "It's tofu noodle soup. Kurt told me you were sick."
"I am not sick," Rachel huffed, her right leg kicking up in the air pathetically. She thought she saw Quinn's lips twitch at the action but chose to ignore it. "I am merely feeling…not well."
Quinn laughed at that, rolling her eyes as she walked over to the bed. Setting the bowl down on the ground, she sat next to Rachel and ran her hand through the dark conglomeration of hair atop her head. Rachel made a sound, humming when Quinn gave her head a little scratch.
"You are impossible, you know," the blonde admonished, and Rachel didn't really mind being impossible if it earned her a head rub.
"Did I hear you say tofu noodle soup?"
"This is actually surprisingly good," Rachel said, looking down at her soup and spinning the spoon to see the spices pick up.
"Gee, well thanks for the confidence," Quinn replied, poking Rachel in the leg from her spot on the couch. They were comfortably seated in front of the television, not really watching whatever was playing on the screen.
"I have the utmost confidence in you, Quinn. I just worry when it comes to vegan cooking. Have you even tasted it yourself?" Rachel sipped another spoonful, her eyebrows raised at her friend.
"Of course." Quinn rolled her eyes again, much to Rachel's amusement. "And it wasn't completely horrible." The smile starting at the edge of the blonde's mouth was enough reason for Rachel to grab the pillow next to her and toss it at her friend.
"Jerk," she muttered, going back to her soup. "I don't understand your reluctance to admit that vegan food can be just as delicious as regular food." She ignored the disgruntled sound Quinn made in favor of enjoying her food.
"So, are you planning on going to Puck's party tonight?" Quinn asked after a moment of quiet. She looked over at Rachel who sighed and looked down at her half-eaten bowl of soup. She really did feel better than she had earlier, though she wasn't sure if she was up to dealing with a drunken glee club.
"I don't know," she yawned. "How do you feel about going?"
Quinn shrugged, her hand running through her hair. "I have no particular preference."
"Can we decide after I take a nap?"
Quinn nodded, "Works for me, practice was exhausting today." She took Rachel's bowl for her and placed it down on the table before scooting down the length of the couch and melting into the backrest pillow at its end. With a hum of approval, Rachel leaned over until her head was resting on Quinn's lap, happy to feel the blonde's fingers raking through her hair for the second time that day.
The music playing in Noah's basement was loud enough for Rachel and Quinn to hear it from the front door of his house, so they walked inside without bothering to knock and headed down the stairs. It wasn't a surprise to Rachel that everyone appeared well past buzzed; both she and Quinn had slept longer than expected and were already an hour late.
The pair took in the scene before reacting, noting Noah behind the bar making drinks, Santana glaring at a wall with her hand clenched tightly around her cup, and the rest of the club scattered around playing all sorts of games.
"Rachel!" Kurt called, running toward her, a clear cup filled halfway with red liquid in his hand. "You made it! I thought…" he trailed off, his face squinting in concentration, and Rachel chuckled knowing it was the alcohol. "I thought you weren't feeling good."
"Yes, well, Quinn nursed me back to health, so all is well."
"Ah," Kurt said, nodding and giving Quinn a look Rachel couldn't decipher. "I bet she did."
Rachel's eyes narrowed at the boy, her head cocked marginally to the right. "What's that supposed to mean?" Upon receiving no answer, Rachel looked over to Quinn and noticed her friend's jaw was tense. "Quinn?"
Seemingly shaking something off, the blonde looked over at Rachel and smiled, though Rachel noticed it looked strained. "I think Kurt's just a little drunk, Rach."
Rachel shrugged, not overly concerned with Kurt's odd behavior. She figured she'd recall his oddities once they started hanging out more often.
"I'm going to talk to Noah for a moment," she informed Quinn before heading over to the bar. The blonde replied with a hum of acknowledgement before walking in Santana's direction.
"Ah, Jewbro, you came!" Noah greeted. He grabbed one of the cups and offered it to her, but Rachel waved her hand to dismiss it.
"May I just have a water, please?" she asked, and Noah sighed as he set the cup back down. He shook his head and mumbled something about her being a buzzkill, but reached down to grab a bottle of his finest water for her anyway. For all the reputation he had, Rachel loved knowing that she was one of the few who got to see the real Noah Puckerman every once in a while.
"You know, one day I'll convince you to have a little fun," Noah said, waggling his eyebrows at Rachel. She rolled her eyes, a smile forming on her lips, and accepted the bottle.
"And one day I shall convince you that a party does not require alcohol to be worthy of the description of fun," she returned, cracking the bottle open and toasting it in his direction.
Before Noah could comment back, Mike popped in and dragged the other boy over to a debate he was having with Artie and Sam about super heroes. Rachel chuckled to herself, amused by the enthusiasm the boys were exuding about such a childish subject.
Rachel sat at the bar alone for a few moments and scanned the party. Quinn was now sitting beside Santana, though the conversation didn't appear to be going all that well if Santana's body posture was anything to go by. Her head was resting on her fist, her nostrils were flared, and her free hand was tapping an agitated pattern on the top of her knee.
Rachel watched as the Latina eventually turned her focus to the blonde beside her and away from whatever had been previously holding her attention. Taking a look for herself, she noticed Kurt and Brittany laughing about something while playing some card game she thought might be Go Fish. It puzzled Rachel why Santana seemed so distraught over the smallest things with Brittany. Then again, Rachel noticed Quinn was the same way with her sometimes, so she guessed it really wasn't all that strange. Deciding not to stare, Rachel put it down to Santana and Quinn having similar walls.
There was another empty couch, and Rachel made her way toward it as she uncapped her bottle and took another drink from it. Everyone else—sans Quinn— appeared to be drinking, and Rachel was thankful to have the excuse of not having felt well earlier. Not that she felt she needed an excuse, but she figured it couldn't hurt.
A little over an hour into the party, Rachel was seated on a different couch with Brittany resting halfway on her lap after having plopped down wordlessly. Though she wasn't the closest to the blonde, Rachel wasn't really opposed to the girl using her as leg rest if it made her happy.
"Rachel," Brittany spoke, her head resting partially on Rachel's shoulder but mostly on the back of the couch.
"Yes, Brittany?" Rachel asked, turning her head to meet the other girl's eyes. With Brittany's legs kicked over her own, she found the angle only slightly uncomfortable.
"Look over there," Brittany said, her own head lifting and rolling lazily in a direction across the room. Rachel trailed her gaze in the same direction and spotted a few of the New Direction's members, wondering what the blonde was trying to turn her attention to. "Do you see S?"
Brittany looked back at Rachel quickly before snapping her head right back. Rachel looked around, taking in Mercedes texting rapidly on her phone while sitting on the couch next to Santana, who was frowning at something Noah was saying to her.
"Yes, I do. She's talking to Noah," she said.
Brittany nodded, sitting up properly and turning back to Rachel again. The blue in her eyes struck Rachel as searching, and she knew Brittany was opening a dialogue that she probably wouldn't have started had she been sober.
"Do you think she's happy?"
Rachel blinked, not having expected the question. Her thoughts rarely trailed over to the other girl, unless it was related to New Directions and song selection. Though, she admitted to herself that, recently, the girl had been on her mind a bit more often. One doesn't simply almost meet an early end on a staircase and never give second thought to her savior, after all.
"I think right now she seems rather irritated. I would normally be inclined to say Noah has probably said something offending to her, but she's been keeping to herself the entire night as far as I've seen."
The blonde sighed at Rachel's response, and the smaller girl felt bad for a moment, wondering if she had said something wrong.
"I mean in a granual sense," Brittany said, still looking at Rachel.
Eyebrows furrowed, Rachel took a moment to realize that the other girl meant general sense. "Oh," she stated. She looked back at Santana and wondered if she was sporting a similar frown on her face. "I suppose I wouldn't know. She never seems particularly happy. Why do you ask?"
When she turned back, the blonde's gaze was still so strongly focused on her that Rachel finally started to feel mildly uncomfortable.
"Why?" Brittany asked, confusing Rachel all the more.
"Why are you asking me why?"
"Why do you think she isn't happy?" Brittany still refused to look away from Rachel and the brunette swallowed, wondering what answer Brittany was looking for. She thought about the other girl, always walking through the school with a dominating demeanor. She thought about how Santana had to earn the uniform she wore through the hallways, how Quinn always mentioned how demanding practice was.
The more Rachel studied the other girl, the more she realized how alike to Quinn she seemed. They were both beautiful, yet in positions of power that sometimes made them appear scary more than anything else. They always seemed to be looking for more, something that they couldn't quiet grasp, and something that Rachel couldn't quite understand.
"She's missing something in her life," Rachel said simply. She wasn't sure if she was talking about Santana or Quinn anymore. Brittany's eyes lit up before her features fell, and Rachel felt as if she'd gotten the question right, but the answer wasn't the one Brittany wanted.
The blonde looked away and silence passed over the two for a moment. Rachel took the time to search the area for Quinn, and she found her friend to her left messing with the music player. Rachel wondered if she was right, and what it was that Quinn was missing. She could name a few things, like supportive parents for one, but she felt that the way the blonde carried herself hinted at more.
"Do you think she could be happy?" Brittany spoke again, and Rachel watched Quinn for another short moment before turning back to the girl on her lap.
"I would like to think so," she admitted, once again thinking of Quinn. A part of her feared Quinn would always have a tragedy warring inside of her, and she thought about what Quinn had said to her about campfires and water.
"What if…" Brittany trailed off, her eyes downcast. "What if what makes her happy makes her miserable?"
Rachel thought about it for a second, wondering once again what Brittany was getting at. She didn't really understand how something that could make someone happy could make said person miserable. She thought about Broadway, and how being on stage would never fill her with anything other than pure jubilation. She thought about her fathers, and how they would love her until they died. Then she thought about Quinn and she felt the statement make the slightest bit of sense.
Her friendship with Quinn was something she held very dear, and she never wanted to see it go. The blonde had done so many things for her, and she would never give up her memories of them for anything. But Quinn had her bad days, and her moods tended to rub off on Rachel, making her frustrated and upset for the sole reason that Quinn was frustrating and upsetting at times.
"Sometimes S won't eat chocolate because of the calories, you know? But she forgets that chocolate isn't going to kill her." Rachel laughed at Brittany's statement, her serious thoughts lifting, lightening the weight she felt pressing on her.
"Chocolate is good," she agreed, nodding. "In moderation, of course."
The pat on the shoulder was unexpected, and Rachel noticed how cool her body felt with Brittany's weight suddenly off of her. Standing right in front of Rachel, blue eyes serious, Brittany spoke. "Just remember that S is doing the right thing," she said before walking away.