It seemed that fate had decided to take a vacation.
Christmas came and went, and Quinn left New York to spend a couple of weeks with her family. Even before and after the visit, though, she hadn't seen Rachel. She had started to return to her old habits of checking store windows, of taking random routes to the grocery or to school, but each time she was met with the familiar disappointment of not catching sight of brown hair and deep brown eyes.
It was just as well, Quinn thought, because Rachel's eyes that day in Times Square still haunted her. She couldn't get them out of her mind: the dark pain mirrored there, or the tears that had coursed down her cheeks. There was something else in her eyes that Quinn had thought she'd seen, but maybe she had, like always, wanted it so much she'd imagined it. But she couldn't shake the feeling that in the midst of Rachel's pain, the agony of whatever was going on in her head and heart, Quinn had seen something else, the moment Rachel's eyes had met hers.
Something that looked a lot like hope.
She'd tried not to think so much about what Elle had told her that day, about how much the separation would have hurt Rachel as well, possibly even more than it had hurt Quinn. Quinn had felt more than a little ashamed of herself, because in the five years since her heart had broken her single focus had been to fix herself by finding Rachel, to make Rachel explain why… and not once had she thought of how much "her" little one had hurt after that night. But it seemed as if the more she tried not to think about it, the more she would see Rachel's eyes and feel that old ache in her heart, now magnified even more.
And then the invitation came.
She had taped it to her refrigerator, and everyone who knew her would laugh at the way that she'd pause to trace it with her fingers, every time she went for a glass of milk or the rest of that salad for dinner. It was fairly simple, even unimpressive, with just black lettering on stiff white stock. But the lettering meant everything.
The New York University Art Department cordially invites Quinn Fabray to present her artistic endeavors at our annual Winter Showcase.
She'd been disappointed that her parents and grandmother couldn't come, but Connie had taken a cruise with some women from her karaoke group, and Judy Fabray had just gotten over a bout of the flu and was still not well enough to travel. But their pride in her was evident; Quinn had had to hold the phone away from her ear when her grandmother had found out. Her father had offered to pay her first six months' rent on a new, larger apartment as an incentive, saying that she would need a bigger place "once Rachel comes to stay."
But to her surprise, Quinn had declined.
"We don't know what she wants, Dad. I mean a bigger place would be nice but Van and I are happy where we are."
Van had looked at her reproachfully before padding off to the bed to ignore her for the rest of the day. Quinn rolled her eyes.
It had meant a lot to her that her parents were starting to be more open about Rachel; when they had heard that she'd found Rachel they were concerned that Quinn would lose sight of her education, but they were also cautiously optimistic. Quinn suspected that it was less approval of Rachel, and more that they knew just how stubborn her daughter could be.
And it wasn't like thoughts of "what if" weren't still dancing around her head, especially now that they had had their little "chance encounters," but after a month with no contact, Quinn had started to wonder if maybe fate was curled up on a beach somewhere, drinking a mojito and taking in the sights.
"I think a mojito is probably too girly for fate," Jamie said.
"He'd have a beer," Sam agreed as they made their way towards the gallery, pushing past people rushing home in the dimming sun.
"Who says fate is a he, though?" Elle asked. "After all, the moirai are goddesses, endlessly spinning each of our threads." She grinned at Quinn, who smiled back.
"Someone find me a couch, I think I'm going to swoon," Jamie declared with her hand melodramatically over her heart, and Quinn shook her head, thinking that Jamie and Rachel would get along, if they ever met.
"Did I ever tell you intelligence was sexy?"
"At least once a day, my lady," Elle said, and slipped her hand into Jamie's with a soft smile.
"Only once a day? Huh, I need to up my game before someone sweeps you away."
"Not happening, but," Elle glanced at Quinn, who was trying desperately not to hear their conversation. She was trying to keep down her jealousy whenever she saw them interact, but it was even more acute now that Rachel was so close but still yet so far away.
"I think maybe we should have more discussions about what Fate would drink."
"Beer," declared Sam emphatically.
"Coke."
"Ew, no, that's blasphemy, pet. Pepsi."
"No, no, no! Come on, you think after sitting around whirling threads all eternity—"
"Spinning."
"Spinning threads all eternity, Fate's just going to sit there and tilt back a Pepsi? Wait, I got it, I got it. Vodka."
"Fate probably would be a little stressed out…"
"All those threads everywhere…."
"Fate would need to relax somehow."
"I'm telling you, vodka."
"Each and every one of you is insane," Quinn said, but she was laughing and grateful for the distraction as they finally made it to the gallery. She stopped a few feet from the door to stare at the sign in the window.
"It has my name," she said half to herself, unable to take her eyes off it, halfway down the sign. She felt an arm slip around her shoulders and she smiled up at Jamie. "Apparently I'm 'one of NYU's rising artists,'" she joked, and felt silly at the sudden rush of tears.
She wished Rachel was here to see it.
"You're the best of the rising artists," Jamie clarified, squeezing her. "Now come on, Fabray, pull yourself together."
"I just wish—"
"I know what you wish," Jamie interrupted her, but softened her tone when Elle appeared at her side with a gentle hand on her arm. "But what you need to realize is that this night is all about you. Not about Rachel, not about you and Rachel. Just you. Own this, Quinn, because this is all you and your talent."
"While you ladies are out here being mushy and supportive, Fate and I are going to find the alco-" Sam stopped, tilting his head, and then grinned, a light blush appearing on his cheeks.
"Yeah, I got it, Puck. Not too much."
She didn't like it, Quinn thought, that Sam's intended chose to dominate his life without even being a part of it, or even seeming to want to be any time soon. But it wasn't her life and Jamie was right, this night was supposed to be about Quinn and her achievements. She walked into the gallery, which was already filling up with other students and their families, as well as servers walking around with champagne and hors d'oevres.
"Champagne?" Sam said. "Fate is disappointed, and so am I." Still, he grabbed a glass from a tray and held it out to Quinn. "For the artiste."
Quinn smiled. "You take it," she said. "I need to find the restroom first."
It was located in a narrow, dark corner of the gallery; Quinn slipped inside a stall and took a deep breath, leaning her forehead against the door. This was it, she thought, only vaguely hearing the restroom door creak open again. Someone was washing their hands, humming Twinkle Twinkle Little Star wordlessly, and she grinned to herself a little.
She'd finally done it. This was the first time in her life that Quinn Fabray actually felt like she had achieved something. On her own, without any help from her parents or her grandma, or even Fate. She was going to go out there and wow everyone with her personality, with her talent, with her… what did Rachel call it, that one time?
Right, right, her witty repartee.
Quinn took another deep breath and smoothed her hand over the white dress and jacket she wore, put her handle on the stall door and turned…
And ran smack into someone else.
"Rachel?"
"Oh, come on!" the girl exclaimed, throwing up her hands after a moment's hesitation. "This is getting ridiculous!"
She was wearing… a server's outfit, Quinn realized. It was the same black pants and vest with a long-sleeved white shirt that the others were wearing, minus the men's black bow ties. Her hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head, but a few strands of hair had escaped its confines and framed brown eyes that weren't dark with hurt or pain, but lit with a strange fire as she actually huffed and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at Quinn.
Quinn clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to maintain control under the realization that Fate may have taken a vacation, but She was back to work now. Spin that thread, Quinn thought to herself, and then smiled at Rachel.
"Hi."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Hello," she said finally.
"Did you, uh, stop working at the diner?" Quinn wasn't sure if she'd classify serving at an art gallery as much better, but her heart was still racing from the fact that the one person she'd wanted to share this moment with… was actually here. With her. The bathroom suddenly felt so much smaller, and they were so much closer.
And she really needed to stop staring at Rachel's lips.
Rachel shook her head. "Burt has a small events company on the side. I needed some extra m- extra work so he offered."
"Oh." Quinn wondered why Rachel would need extra money, and couldn't stop from blurting out "Seen Wicked too many times this month?"
Rachel's mouth dropped open a little while Quinn wanted the earth to open up and swallow her, but she managed a grin when Rachel said quietly, "One can never see Wicked too many times."
"No, I suppose not."
"Why are you here?" Rachel asked suspiciously. "Did you know I would be?"
"No," Quinn answered with a shake of her head. "I didn't. I um, I'm one of the artists." She gestured weakly towards the gallery that awaited them outside the bathroom.
Rachel's eyes widened. "You're an artist?"
There was a hint of awe and maybe even a little pride in her voice, but again Quinn might have been imagining that. Still, she blushed and ducked her head.
"I paint every now and then," she downplayed it. "Submitted three of my paintings and I guess they liked them."
"I-I guess they did." Rachel's head was down, but she was looking up at Quinn, and worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
"I should… probably get back to work."
The wave of desperation was swift, but Quinn fought it down and forced a smile.
"No rest for you, huh?"
Rachel nodded, a slight curl to the corner of her lips. "No rest at all. I hope you have a lovely night, Quinn. You… deserve it."
"Thanks," Quinn replied, but Rachel was already gone out the door. Quinn sighed and followed her with a shake to her head.
Within minutes, Quinn found herself caught up in a whirlwind of New York gallery life, or at least NYU exhibition life. Many of her professors surrounded her, as well as some of the girls from her sorority. She found herself explaining the meaning behind the paintings – although Sam's was a little difficult to explain without scandalizing everyone. Someone delivered roses to her from her parents, and as she read the card she caught sight of Rachel watching her, only to turn pink to the tips of her ears and vanish around the corner.
Finally catching a break after an hour or so, Quinn found Elle and Sam lingering back from the crowd and she gratefully accepted another glass of champagne. "Where's Jamie?" she said, her brow furrowed.
"Here," she said, and appeared at Sam's elbow. The front of her shirt was damp, and Elle quirked an eyebrow at her.
"One of the servers spilled champagne on me," she said in explanation. "It was just an accident, she seemed really distracted."
"My poor lady," Elle said sympathetically. "I'd have brought another shirt if I'd known the art gallery would be dangerous for you."
"Watch it," Jamie warned with a smile, and Elle winked at her.
"So," Jamie said to Quinn. "What's it like being as famous as… some really famous artist?"
Quinn laughed. "I'm not famous."
"Getting there, though," Sam pointed out. "So am I, now that I've been immortalized in oil… offstage."
Quinn choked on her champagne, sputtering as Elle politely patted her back while laughing. "You three are going to destroy my career before it even gets started," Quinn coughed.
"You're welcome," Elle said. "I've been meaning to ask you… have I seen who I think it is here?"
Quinn nodded, regaining her breath. "Yeah. She's here."
"She?"
"Rachel."
"Rachel's here?!" Jamie said loudly, and Quinn quickly shushed her. "Where is she? Come on, you've been going on about her for the last year, you can't just not show me who it is."
"Fine," Quinn said through clenched teeth, looking around before she finally spotted Rachel handing a glass of champagne to an already overly-inebriated guest. "That's her." She pointed as subtly as she possibly could, hoping that Rachel didn't notice.
"Oh," Jamie said, and Quinn looked at her suspiciously as a sly grin spread over her face. "Her."
"Yes, her," Quinn said, immediately ready to go to Rachel's defense. "Why'd you say it like that?"
"Because she's the one that spilled champagne on me."
"Oh," Quinn said, her palm immediately finding her cheek as she chuckled. "Distracted, did you say?"
"Very. Now I know why. And she talks… a lot. Did you know that she talks a lot? I mean like she doesn't shut up, she just keeps on and on and—"
"That's quite enough," Quinn interrupted, but her smile was warm. "She talks a lot. If I had a beautiful voice like that I guess I'd talk a lot too."
"I'm going to ignore how stupid that actually sounds," Jamie said, "and just say that she's lovely, Quinn. Really lovely."
"Kind of good to have a face to go with the obsession," Sam said, but Quinn could tell by the expression on his face that he was really just joking to lighten the mood. Of anyone, she figured Sam knew the most how hard it was for her to be away from the one she wanted to share the night with.
"You're both just being really terrible," Elle said with a slight pout, then smiled as she wrapped Quinn up in a hug. "Don't mind them, Quinn, they're just silly."
"Thank you, Elle." Quinn stuck her tongue out at Jamie over Elle's shoulder. "I'm glad at least someone understands."
Quinn didn't want to be the person who stood and watched Rachel during the whole event, especially since there were so many people that apparently wanted to come up and talk to her now, but not watching Rachel proved to be a little impossible, since Rachel had apparently taken it upon herself to hover near enough to Quinn to watch her, while also maintaining a distance.
And it seemed that Rachel's concentration was centered on one person. The sweet, smiling girl who talked easily with Quinn from her position standing at her left. Answering her questions and making her laugh and relax with simple conversation. Taking her mind off the petite server that continually watched them.
But if Elle noticed the hole Rachel's eyes were boring through her, she didn't say anything.
Eventually everyone began to filter out of the gallery with Elle, Jamie, and Sam lingering with Quinn as she said her last goodbyes to all of her well-wishers. She was ready to head for the door herself when she caught sight of one of the servers, standing in front of the paintings, staring intently at Quinn's rendering of Jamie and Elle.
"I um… I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow sometime," Quinn said, watching Rachel.
"We were going to get food," Jamie protested, and Elle shook her head, tugging at her arm.
"Quinn has more important things to think about than food right now, my lady," she said, and Quinn gave her a grateful smile.
"What's more important than food?" Sam asked, but followed his two newfound friends out the door with a thumbs-up at Quinn.
Quinn waited until more of the servers had cleaned up the gallery and disappeared into the back rooms before she set her face with determination, and walked up to stand next to Rachel. She was quiet, knowing that anything they would do, even speaking, needed to be on Rachel's terms. Part of Quinn was content just to stand there; it hadn't escaped her mind that this was the closest she had ever really been to Rachel, close enough to feel the other girl's heat, and it sent a thrill through her.
But she also had to counter herself, to maintain the emotional distance that Rachel herself had created. So Quinn was silent, and waited. Finally it paid off.
"She's beautiful."
"Which?" Quinn asked, feeling stupid by the question.
"The little one," Rachel said, and Quinn smiled slightly.
"Elle," she supplied.
"Elle," Rachel repeated. Suddenly she reached up and pulled the pins out of her hair; Quinn's breath caught in her throat when the dark locks fell over Rachel's shoulders. Her fingers itched to run through them; she clutched her black purse tightly to her chest to stay her hands.
"She looks as if she's very sweet."
"She is," Quinn nodded. "She's a very nice girl. I like her a lot."
"Yes, that was apparent."
Quinn arched an eyebrow, turning slightly to look at Rachel fully. "So you were watching us."
Rachel flushed again, and Quinn realized that it was absolutely adorable. "I could lie and say of course not, that I would never do such things, but since I've already obviously called myself out…"
"You really have," Quinn laughed, then quieted once more, since Rachel hadn't taken her eyes off the painting. What was Rachel's interest in it, she wondered.
"The other girl in the painting—"
"Jamie."
"Jamie. She was here tonight as well, I'm sure she told you that I spilled champagne on her, much to my mortification."
"It's fine," Quinn was quick to reassure her. "She um… she knows, so it was fine. She wasn't angry at all."
"Oh. Well that… that's good," Rachel said, and Quinn's heart ached when the petite young woman unconsciously hugged herself.
Had she been afraid Jamie would be angry? That she would be angry that Rachel had (accidentally) made a mistake.
"I'm curious," Rachel said softly, "About why Jamie is in this painting with Elle."
Quinn tilted her head in confusion. "Well because she's Elle's mistress."
"Oh," Rachel said again, sounding surprised and—was that relief? "I thought that… I thought…"
She didn't complete her sentence, and suddenly, everything was clear to Quinn.
Rachel had watched her. Watched her, with Elle. Had she seen Elle hug Quinn? Had she thought—
"We're not together, Rachel," Quinn clarified gently.
It should have elated her that Rachel was, it was obvious now, jealous of the interaction she'd had with Elle that night. And not just that night, Quinn remembered. Rachel had seen her with Elle in Times Square. And so it didn't make her happy, it just filled her with an indescribable sadness.
It couldn't be further from the truth, but Rachel had thought she'd finally moved on.
"I was just listening," Rachel blurted out, and Quinn drew back a little, startled. "I wasn't trying to stalk you, I was just listening to you and your… friends, because I don't- I didn't…" She visibly deflated, and shook her head, curling even more within herself, if it was possible.
"Anything you want to know about me, you can ask," Quinn said. Her voice was softer than she thought it had ever been before; she was treading delicate territory here. Her sadness was being replaced by a little hope that Rachel wanted to know about her, that it appeared she was distressed that she didn't know anything about her.
Maybe, all these years, Rachel had worried about her just as much. Maybe, all this time, Rachel had wondered.
Rachel nodded, taking a few steps to the right, to Sam's portrait. She tilted her head, regarding it.
"You're very good," she said, sounding matter-of-fact. "The portraits are an amazing likeness, and they seem to capture… something, though I'm not certain what."
Quinn smiled to herself and glanced down at her feet. If she didn't know any better, she'd think Rachel was trying to sound like someone knowledgeable about art. Which for all Quinn knew, she could very well be. But it was cute, like Rachel was trying…
To connect.
"That's Sam," Quinn said. "He lives in my apartment building, and babysits Van when I go back to Lima."
"Van?"
"My cat."
"You have a cat," Rachel said, a genuine smile crossing over her face, reaching her eyes this time. "I've always wanted a cat."
"You don't have one?"
And just like that, the smile disappeared, and Rachel stiffened. "I don't have any pets," she sniffed. "Allergies."
Your allergies? Quinn wanted to ask, but didn't. "I see," was all she said.
"Are you happy at the university?"
"There are things I wish I could change," Quinn said carefully, "But for the most part, yes. I've met wonderful people like Jamie and Elle and Sam, my sorority sisters. I have some great friends."
"Friends," Rachel echoed. She moved away from Sam's painting, to the last of the set.
"This is—"
"Your grandmother."
Quinn's mouth dropped open, and Rachel nodded at her.
She remembered.
"Does she still sing?"
Of course she remembered. The tears rushed to Quinn's eyes again and she brushed her sleeve across them, quickly.
"Every day," she said with a small laugh. "I don't think it would be my grandmother if she didn't sing." And it wouldn't be you if you didn't sing.
Or hum Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in a gallery bathroom while she washed her hands.
Rachel nodded again, and then looked up at the clock on the wall. "I should go," she said, and once again Quinn felt the bitter disappointment. "Mom will be expecting me back."
"You probably should. It's late; it's not safe to be out at this hour."
Rachel gave Quinn a knowing look, even as she said "I'll just take the subway back. I have my whistle and my mace, I'll be fine."
It was a little alarming, the thought of Rachel walking around with a… whistle and mace, had she said? But Quinn held her tongue, even as she said sadly, "Right. Well I um… I guess… have a good night, Rachel."
"Coffee."
"What?"
Rachel picked at a loose thread on her vest, refusing to meet Quinn's eyes. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted… coffee." She finally looked at Quinn. "But just coffee. Nothing else. I mean, we could talk, while we have coffee, but that's it. Not a date. Just coffee. Or tea, tea, if you like tea."
She felt as if the smile would split her face. "Rachel, are you asking if I'd like to get coffee with you?"
"Not tonight, because I can't. But… tomorrow, maybe, if you're not busy. Or the next day if you are, or next week if you can't do it this week, I—"
"Tomorrow is fine," Quinn interjected, resisting the urge to jump up and down like a child at Christmas at Rachel's rambling.
"Oh," Rachel said, looking as if Quinn's agreement had startled her. "Well… there's a coffee shop just before you get to the diner?"
"I know it," Quinn affirmed. I've looked for you there more than once. "Is three too late in the afternoon?"
"No, no, that would be… perfect," Rachel said, and it melted Quinn's heart that the girl actually sounded shy. "I-I'll… see you at three, Quinn."
"See you at three," she repeated, watching as Rachel moved towards the door.
Once there, though, Rachel stopped and turned. "Congratulations, Quinn," she said, and once again her soft smile seemed to reach her eyes. "You really do deserve this."
Quinn sank against the wall next to her paintings while she watched, through the gallery window, as Rachel moved down the sidewalk towards the subway station. She laughed to see the whistle and mace clutched tightly in her hands, and Quinn shook her head in amazement.
Somewhere in the universe, the threads were spinning.