Warning: Abuse
She didn't answer, and in that split second hesitation, Rachel started to think that maybe she'd just made a horrible mistake.
After all this time, after everything she'd done, surely there was no way—
"Rachel, of course, come in."
She couldn't take the look on Quinn's face, that expression of utter heartbreak that seemed to be the norm every time Quinn's hazel eyes met Rachel's brown ones. She didn't want to have that look focused on her all night, and so once again, as she'd done five hundred times on the walk from her house to Quinn's apartment, she thought about just getting a hotel room. But she was tired and she'd cried too much, and her cheek stung, and so Rachel simply nodded and let Quinn close the door shut behind them.
"You're hurt."
Rachel shook her head. "I'm fine." Maybe if she said it enough times, Quinn would believe it.
"Rachel, what happened?"
Maybe not.
She was wearing sweats, Rachel noted. Grey sweatpants with NYU emblazoned on the side, and a simple black tee-shirt. Her hair was down, in a mess over her face, giving her the appearance of someone even younger than what she was. It was cute, she thought, but now wasn't the time to think of that.
Not when it felt as if her face was on fire.
"May I have some water?" Rachel asked politely.
"Oh, um, yeah," Quinn said, and gestured towards her couch. "Sit down, Rach, I'll get it."
She smiled gratefully at Quinn, taking the time to look around the apartment while the other young woman was occupied with a pitcher of water she pulled from the refrigerator, and a glass she took from one of the cabinets.
Rachel could feel Quinn's eyes on her, but she tried not to think about it as she focused on the unmade bed, the books thrown on the floor next to the couch, the cat with part of his ear missing as he padded across the floor and jumped up next to her. The apartment seemed different, she thought to herself. It was nice being there during the day, when they had their baking… it wasn't a date, she reminded herself. But there was a different atmosphere, one of stilted politeness even as they were growing steadily more familiar with each other. Here, sitting in the half-darkness on Quinn's couch in the middle of the night… it was actually more comforting, and more unnerving at the same time. There was the bed with its mountain of pillows, a bowl and spoon sat on the coffee table, a paint-stained cloth thrown haphazardly over one of the chairs… Here, Rachel thought, was a glimpse of how Quinn actually lived, and she found herself wanting to ask a million questions.
What do you watch on television now? What music do you like? Do you only listen to Broadway? (Rachel thought she'd be both impressed and alarmed if the answer to that was yes.) What's your favorite movie? Who's your favorite actor? What books do you like to read?
Did you really miss me as much as you said?
Soon enough the glass was in her hands and Van was in her lap. Rachel smiled, one shaking hand detaching from the glass to pet him. "You've gotten a bit of a bad reputation," she said to him softly. "I think your mommy might have been wrong about you."
"Oh, I'm definitely not wrong about him," Quinn said, sounding amused even as she kept staring worriedly at Rachel. "I just think you've bewitched him."
"Maybe so." She waved her fingers in front of his face and laughed when he batted at them. She looked at Quinn.
"I won't be any trouble, I promise."
"I'm not worried about that," Quinn said. "I'm worried about you. What happened?"
She shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I'm fine."
She wasn't fine, and it was everything. She wondered if the way her face felt was the same as Elphaba's skin felt whenever it came in contact with water. Bookverse Elphaba, she reminded herself, since it had only been a rumor in the musical… Rachel took a long drink and tried to smile at Quinn.
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"Rachel, what happened?"
"I can't do this, Quinn," Rachel said, and sighed when her voice cracked. Honestly, breaking the note on stage would be less horrifying than breaking in front of Quinn. "I can't talk about it, not tonight."
"But will you? Not tonight, but—"
"Maybe. I don't know."
They fell into silence again, interrupted only by Van purring as he nuzzled into Quinn, having deserted Rachel for her moments earlier. Now Rachel understood Quinn's jealousy, but she smiled, watching as the other woman scratched lovingly behind his ears.
"Does it hurt?" Quinn asked suddenly, and Rachel jumped a little. "Sorry."
"Not physically, no."
She tried not to replay the words that had happened before the slap, the words that had come after. She drained the water glass and sat it on the coffee table, then thought better of it and stood up.
"I'll just… put this in the sink." She may not be the best company at the moment, but she wasn't going to be rude company either.
Just as quickly as she had stood up though, she was met with Quinn blocking her way to the "kitchen," her hand grasping the glass, her fingers curled lightly around Rachel's.
"You sit down," Quinn said, and Rachel shivered a little at the tone in Quinn's voice. Tender, but focused. She was commanding without even meaning to, without even realizing it. A person's nature never truly leaves them, Burt had told Rachel once. He'd thought he'd been talking to her about singing.
"I can put the glass away. Do you need anything else? Something to eat maybe? Some toast? Anything?"
She'd leaned into Quinn before she had a chance to think about it, before the doubts had time to creep into her head and make her think that really, maybe getting a hug wasn't the best idea. But with the cup between them, fingers intertwined over cool glass, Rachel rested her head just at Quinn's collarbone, and Quinn wrapped her free arm around Rachel's waist.
"Talk to me?" Quinn begged in a whisper.
"I can't." She'd shuffled closer. "Not tonight, not yet."
She'd never thought it would be like this. She tried never to think about it at all, but when she did, Rachel never imagined it would be like this. She never imagined being in Quinn's arms, standing in the middle of her living room, in the dead of night, with a handprint on her face and the sudden realization that she hadn't even brought any clothes with her.
"I didn't bring anything," she confessed aloud, laughing a bit through the tears that were beginning to flow down her face again. "I remembered to put on shoes, and I have my credit card but…"
"Princess, please tell me what happened."
Princess. Quinn's arm was steady and firm against her back, her fingers still tucked protectively against Rachel's as they both held onto the glass. How long had it been, since she'd been anyone's princess?
Five years, Rachel guessed. Too long, and not long enough.
"Not tonight," Rachel said with a shake to her head. "In the morning, after I've had some sleep… maybe. But not tonight."
"All right," Quinn said, and Rachel let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd hoped Quinn wouldn't push, and bless her, she hadn't.
"Just let me make up the bed," she was saying, and Rachel felt the slight twinge of disappointment as Quinn pulled away and offered her a forced, cheerful sort of half-smile. "How many pillows do you like?"
"I don't… need many, two?" Rachel answered. "Really, just give me a sheet to put on the couch and a blanket, and I'll be fine."
"The couch?" Quinn said in confusion, and then shook her head. "You're not sleeping on the couch, Rachel. You can take the bed."
"What? No. I'm not going to take your bed."
Quinn stopped and turned back to Rachel, looking almost comical with an armful of pillows and sheets. "You're not sleeping on the couch, Rachel."
"You know, if I had paper and several pens I could make a well-reasoned chart as to why I refuse to take your bed."
"And I would rip the chart up and toss it in Van's litter box."
As if on cue, Van hissed from his position in the corner of the room. "Hush you, before I throw a pillow at you," Quinn said affectionately, then dumped the pillows and blankets on the couch before turning to Rachel.
"I want you to sleep in the bed," she said gently. "I couldn't live with myself if I thought you were uncomfortable."
"You think I could live with it if you weren't comfortable?" Rachel said, and then bit her lip. What was it about Quinn that had her revealing just how much was still there? She'd fought so hard to break away, and she had. But it seemed that none of it really mattered, because there were those little moments of care that kept creeping in. She wished she could just go to bed.
Go to bed, then go to work tomorrow and talk to Burt about… maybe an apartment. Or going back… home.
She didn't even have her uniform.
"I guess I'll just go to sleep now," Rachel said awkwardly.
She could feel herself blushing, under Quinn's intense gaze, before she shook her head.
"You can't sleep in jeans, Rach."
"I didn't bring anything with me," Rachel said again. "I'll be fine."
"Do you want to take a bath?" Quinn asked. "Or a shower? It might make you feel better, and you can wear something of mine."
"I just want to sleep," Rachel said tiredly, and Quinn nodded, swallowing hard and going to a small chest of drawers against one wall off to the side of her bed.
"Here," she said, standing up and crossing the floor again to hand Rachel the clothes.
Rachel glanced down at the tee-shirt and boxer shorts, quirking an eyebrow at Quinn, who grinned sheepishly.
"You're kind of short," she said, and Rachel snorted. "I just think this would fit better, you'll be comfortable until we can go somewhere and get you clothes."
We. Rachel smiled a little. She wondered if she'd be able to go get her clothes, or if she'd have to dip into her meager little savings to buy an entire new wardrobe. The panic of the short walk to Quinn's apartment started to set in again, but she took a deep breath and tried to still her nerves.
"Rachel?"
"Thank you," she said, and looked to the bathroom. "I'll just go change."
Moments later, she came out clad only in a pair of purple and pink striped boxer shorts, and Quinn's "I Love Oz" Wicked shirt. Quinn was perched just as nervously as Rachel felt, on the edge of the couch, and she jumped up when she saw Rachel.
"It smells like you," Rachel blurted out, then blushed furiously.
Of all the dumb things to say…
"Yeah?" Quinn smiled, her eyes lighting up.
Maybe not so dumb.
"Yes," Rachel nodded. It reminded her of the hug, moments ago.
"Are you sure you won't let me sleep on the couch?" she tried again.
"More than sure," Quinn nodded. "Will you need anything tonight? I keep a small light on in the kitchen, so if you do, you can get up and get whatever."
"I think I'll be fine." Rachel hesitated before going over to the bed. "Thank you, Quinn."
"You're welcome, princess. Get some rest."
She slept fitfully, on her left side. Words and images kept invading her sleep, things that she would rather forget and things she would be desperate to remember come morning. But come morning, she knew they would slide away from her like scents on a breeze, and all that would be left would be the idea of it. The ideas used to be enough, in those days after she was 14 years old.
These days, not so much.
She got up at some point to retrieve another glass of water; the light was just starting to come into the window and apparently the sound of the refrigerator opening was enough for Quinn to sit bolt upright on the couch, her hair rumpled and once again falling into her face.
"Rach?"
"I was just getting water, go back to sleep," Rachel whispered, and made her way back to the bed. It brought tears to her eyes again; it seemed that Quinn wasn't sleeping very much either.
Still, she fell back onto the couch with a quiet "Ow," and Rachel giggled quietly before slipping back under the covers.
Quinn's bed was soft, and warm. And it smelled like her.
Hours later Rachel woke up to the sound of dishes rattling, and she sat up and wiped her eyes to see Quinn standing at the counter, muttering to herself and surrounded by pots and pans. Catching sight of Rachel staring at her, she smiled brightly.
"Hello, sleepyhead," she said, her eyes still clouded with a little concern. "Sleep well?"
"I did," Rachel said, even though she was pretty sure Quinn could see through the lie. As always. "What are you doing?"
"Breakfast," Quinn announced, then furrowed her brow. "Well, I'm trying, anyway. I was going to make an omelet but the eggs were expired, and then I figured toast was a good bet, but I couldn't offer just toast, so now there's toast and sausage and I think I have cereal in here somewhere. I don't cook very much. Or eat breakfast usually, for that matter."
"No breakfast? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Quinn. It sets us up for optimal performance at whatever tasks we may need to accomplish, whether at work or at school or just… in anything. We have to get you eating breakfast."
We.
"You can start by having breakfast with me, then," Quinn said. "A good breakfast with even better company…"
Rachel climbed out of the bed and walked over to perch on one of the stools sat at the counter. "You shouldn't go through all of this trouble," she said quietly. She smiled a little sadly when Quinn reached out the grasp her hand, squeezing it for the merest of seconds before letting go.
"But I will," the other girl said, and after a few minutes had toast and sausage plated up and sat in front of Rachel. "Orange juice?"
"Coffee?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Lucky for you I actually have some. I usually keep it on hand for finals. It probably won't be what you like but—"
"But it'll be enough," Rachel finished. "Really, thank you."
After a moment the apartment was full of the scent of strong coffee, and Rachel sighed deeply, taking it in. She didn't feel like eating but Quinn kept watching her intently, and so she picked at her food hopefully enough to make her stop worrying. Quinn handed her the coffee and Rachel tried not to drink it all in one gulp, knowing that the idea of liquid energy was a false one, but still wondering if liquid bravery was a possibility.
"Rach…"
"She knows."
Rachel froze; she hadn't intended for that to come out as forcefully as it had. She watched as Quinn's eyes widened, and she shut her own, briefly.
She's in New York? Rachel Barbra Berry, are you out of your mind?
"Who knows… what?"
It was out, already, there was no sense in denying it, but Rachel still couldn't look at Quinn. She folded her hands around the coffee cup and held onto it for its warmth, and remembered Quinn's fingers lingering over hers last night.
"My mother. She knows you're in New York."
"Oh."
"We had an argument." Rachel laughed, a dry sound lacking any humor. "But of course we did, I always knew…" No, she couldn't say that. She couldn't let Quinn know that she had hoped for—
For what, exactly?
"We had an argument."
"About what, princess?"
Would you stop saying that? Rachel wanted to shout, but she knew it'd be yet another lie. She thought of the little silver crown, sat on the table by her bed.
"About me. About you. You'll notice I no longer have my phone."
"You walked over here without a phone?!" Quinn's voice was panicked, and Rachel gave her a wry look.
"That's what you're worried about, rather than the fact that I walked over here in the dead of night with nothing but my credit card? I didn't even have my mace or my whistle."
"Of course I'm worried about that but I wasn't sure I was allowed to!" Rachel flinched, and Quinn sighed.
In seconds Rachel felt the warmth, not of the coffee cup, but of Quinn's fingers once again caressing hers.
"I'm sorry."
"I deserve it."
She deserved that, and more.
"No, Rach, you don't. You really don't."
"I'd forgotten my phone at the house, when I went to work. I was late getting home because it took me forever to clean up." A flicker of pain crossed over Quinn's features and Rachel made a mental note to ask her about it later.
"And Mom… got worried, I suppose. She found my phone and…"
You can call me princess.
"Oh, Rach. I'm so sorry, I should have been more careful."
Rachel shrugged, toying with the hem of the I Love Oz shirt. "It's not the first time she's gone through my phone, nor, I suspect, would it have been the last."
She began to tell it all, then, of how Shelby Berry had been waiting for her daughter in the living room when she'd finally come home from work. She didn't tell Quinn of how she'd wiped the tables and cried, thinking of her. Thinking of her hazel eyes and her soft smile and the gentle way that she'd hugged Rachel.
Rachel had tried not to think about Quinn, after that day when she was 14 years old, but when she did, every day since, she thought of what it would be like, to be held in her arms.
She didn't tell Quinn about how she'd sung, one of her favorite songs about heartbreak and love and hope regardless of what life had thrown at you. The song that had been on her iPod, tucked in a playlist labeled simply Q.
She thought of the Q, burned onto her skin with a black sharpie, next to the phone number that had proved to be her downfall.
She told Quinn about her mother standing up from the couch, fury blazed on her face, and how Rachel had sighed, knowing that it was going to be one of those nights. Rachel spoke haltingly of the fear because this wasn't one of those nights, this was something completely different, and Quinn's hand pulled hers away from the coffee cup and entwined their fingers together, anchoring solidly and protectively.
There were words like how dare you and why would you do this and don't you know she's only going to hurt you and I can't believe you'd do this to me and then, finally, the words that had been her undoing.
"I'm tired of being sad just to keep you happy!"
The slap had been swift, had been painful, had been so utterly unexpected and such a first that it had left them both stunned, Shelby with her eyes wide and apologetic, and Rachel with her hand on her face feeling completely lost.
She didn't tell the blonde woman holding tightly to her that Rachel's first thought had been go to Quinn.
She wasn't sure if it would make Quinn feel triumphant or just sad; it left Rachel feeling empty.
She'd lost. After all this time, after all she had tried to do, she knew the truth.
She'd lost.
"She begged me to stay," Rachel said. "She begged me to stay, said she was sorry, said that she'd get me a new phone with a different number and we could forget it ever happened."
Quinn snorted, and Rachel sniffed.
"I left and came here. I'm surprised she hasn't called you."
"Rachel, it's her, isn't it?"
Rachel looked up, not understanding. "What?"
"She's why. She's why you…"
Rachel shook her head. "I can't talk about that," she whispered.
"We need to talk about it." Quinn was insistent, and that's when Rachel noticed that Quinn's eyes were red-rimmed.
She'd been crying, and the panic, the need to fix it, in Rachel was natural and instantaneous.
She pushed it aside.
"I can't, Quinn," she said stubbornly. "And I won't. Not now, maybe not ever. But definitely not now."
She knew Quinn wanted to push, could see it in her eyes and in the way the hand not occupied with Rachel's tightened against the counter, but Quinn just nodded.
"She hit you."
"Yes."
"Has she hit you bef—"
"No, never."
"You're telling me the truth, right? That's the first time?"
Rachel sighed. "My mother loves me, she wouldn't do that."
"Rach—"
"That was the first time, Quinn. We argued, I smarted off, she slapped me."
"I'm sorry, princess."
"I am too," Rachel shrugged. She suddenly felt tired again.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Rachel admitted, and she stood up, beginning to pace the apartment in Quinn's boxer shorts and a tee-shirt that clung to her and smelled of flowers and a little spice. She liked it, Rachel decided.
She loved it.
It was Quinn.
"I might stay with Burt for a few days, let it blow over. He's got a room over the shop that he uses for storage but it has a bathroom, so maybe I can stay there till things calm down."
"You can't go back to your mother," Quinn said resolutely, and Rachel turned to her with another shrug before she resumed pacing.
"I don't have anywhere else to go, Quinn."
"You could stay with me."
Rachel stopped her pacing and stared at Quinn, not sure if she'd heard correctly.
"What?"
Quinn came from around the counter and stood in front of Rachel, a few feet away but close enough that Rachel could see the determined line of her jaw, the deep concern in her eyes.
After all this time, Quinn Fabray still worried about her?
"You can't go back there," Quinn was saying. "I know you said it was the first time but Rachel… you're not happy. You're not happy, princess, and I know you're not."
"I know."
"So… stay with me, just for a few days. We can go and get you some clothes, things you would need for maybe a week. You can rest and relax and I'll go to my classes, and after a little while, you can decide what it is you want to do. No strings attached, Rach, I promise."
No strings attached, Rachel repeated to herself. I do suppose I made sure of that. No strings attached, no ribbon connecting anyone's heart and mine…
She let herself wonder about what it would be like to stay a few days with Quinn. A few days, a week. Just resting. Maybe Burt would let her take a few days off; she imagined he would if she told him what had happened, after she talked him down from trying to kill anyone.
She could sleep. She could sleep, and she could eat whatever she wanted, maybe bake a cake and eat the whole thing.
Or share it with Quinn.
She could sleep and she could eat and she could… she could sing. Maybe she could sing along to Hallmark commercials or in the shower, or along with nearly every song in that playlist labeled Q.
She could pet Van and maybe, just maybe, Quinn's fingers could be in hers and she could breathe.
She could breathe, and she wouldn't have to worry about what time to be home and what time to call if she was going to be late and singing quietly in the dark of her bedroom as she tried to sleep with the merest idea of a memory tickling the back of her mind.
She took a deep breath.
"Okay," Rachel agreed. "Okay."