Her alarm didn't go off.
Her alarm didn't go off and she had already missed one class, and was set to be nearly 20 minutes late for her next one.
Quinn smiled as she turned her attention away from the clock and poured a second glass of orange juice. She would miss her classes today and she didn't care.
Because at ten minutes after two a.m., with lips feeling bruised from kisses and a small brunette tucked sleepily into her, Quinn had reached over to her phone and turned the alarm off.
Rachel was still asleep, warm under blankets and with a small pout on her lips that had formed when Quinn had woken up thirty minutes ago and reluctantly extracted herself from the girl's embrace. Dark curls tumbled haphazardly over the pillow and Quinn's smile grew softer, remembering how she'd awakened several times during the night just to run her fingers through Rachel's hair. She'd needed the reassurance that Rachel was, really and truly, finally hers. At one point, Rachel had stirred with a whispered "Hi," and another gentle kiss before she'd drifted off again. It seemed that for the first time, both of them could actually sleep.
Quinn wasn't sure that she still believed that everything was real. She kept running her fingertips over her lips, replaying the kisses from the night before. It had taken them both a while to stop crying; Rachel from the utter pain of revealing why the bond had been broken, and Quinn from the grief of the lost little girl Rachel had been, and the ultimate relief that finally, finally they were together. She wasn't under any delusion that she could fix things in an instant; in fact she was more than a little scared about the gravity of the situation. But always, always under the fear had been the constant drive that she'd had ever since she was seven years old.
Take care of Rachel.
Now that she was able to truly think about things, even in the haze of last night's events and still being half-asleep, Quinn could feel the growing anger at Rachel's mother, bubbling just below the surface. Maybe it was because Quinn had grown up with her mother and her father; maybe because she'd had an amazing family, full of people who supported her no matter what – and who – she was. But even if she hadn't had her mom and dad and her grandparents, Quinn couldn't imagine someone in her life doing what Rachel's mother had done to her.
And Quinn knew it had left Rachel damaged. Knew it in the way the younger girl acted as if she constantly needed reassurance, as if she was constantly in fear of doing something wrong that would raise someone's ire. Which was precisely why Quinn had let Jamie know, in no uncertain terms, that until she could make things right with Rachel, maybe it was best Jamie didn't come over again. She knew that pained Elle probably more than Jamie; but Quinn also wanted to make sure that the next time Jamie and Rachel interacted, it was on Rachel's terms.
She was glad that she'd finally done a little bit more than her usual grocery shopping; now she had toast, cereal, fruit, bacon, and eggs to offer Rachel. Two plates done up on a small wooden tray, flanked by glasses of orange juice and a small fresh gardenia resting in the center. Quinn was alerted to a slight rustling from the bed and rolled her eyes.
"Not yet, Van, I'll have your breakfast in a minute."
"I think he's still enjoying your pillow, actually."
Quinn turned and saw Rachel staring up at her with bleary eyes; her smile threatened to split her face, but she couldn't help it. Rachel was warm and sleepy in her bed, looking at her with love and hopeful expectation.
Rachel Berry loved her. Had always loved her, bond or no bond.
"Sit up, princess," Quinn instructed softly, and brought the tray over to the bed.
"What's all this?" Rachel asked, pushing herself up against the pillows as Quinn positioned the tray across her lap.
"Breakfast," Quinn said simply, slipping onto the bed next to her.
"Oh." Rachel stared at it, then at Quinn. "You didn't have to, I could have gottmph—" She stopped, her words cut off from Quinn unceremoniously popping a blueberry into her mouth.
"Hush," Quinn said with a grin. "Breakfast."
Rachel chewed and swallowed, then looked at Quinn again with a shy smile. Leaning over she brushed her lips with a kiss.
"Thank you, Quinn. Everything looks wonderful." Her hand moved to the fork to the side of her plate, but stopped.
"What about your classes?"
"Rachel, I have no problem with feeding you your breakfast if it means no lectures."
Rachel hmphed quietly but picked up her fork and started in on the eggs. She ate in silence for a few minutes, before reaching across the tray and nudging Quinn's spoon in her direction.
"All right, I get the hint," Quinn laughed, and leaned back against the headboard, getting comfortable so she could eat her own breakfast.
"It really is wonderful," Rachel said, taking a sip of her orange juice. "I thought you told me that you didn't cook much?"
"I have a good reason to, now," Quinn said, taking Rachel's free hand in her own and squeezing it gently.
"You don't have to cook for me all the time."
"That's not what I meant, Rach."
Rachel leaned her head on Quinn's shoulder. "But if you do, make sure it's always breakfast."
Quinn shook her head and kissed the top of Rachel's. "What would you like to do today?"
"I want to go see my mother."
The feeling of revulsion was instant, and Quinn pushed her plate away, the fork clattering noisily against the glass. Rachel's hand in hers tightened.
"Quinn, look at me."
She almost didn't dare to, afraid of what she might see, but Rachel's eyes were wide, bright, understanding.
"If I'm to stay here," Rachel said carefully, "I need my cds. I've been away from Barbra far too long."
Quinn picked up her fork again, trying not to reveal too much of the worry that Rachel's words had caused her. "I'm a little jealous of your attachment to Barbra," she teased. "How much competition have I got here?"
"Oh, I don't know," Rachel drew out, a dimple appearing in her right cheek.
Dimples! Quinn thought to herself, and nearly squealed. This wasn't something that she hadn't known; she felt as if she'd known nearly everything about Rachel since the girl was six years old, but now Rachel was finally hers, new to know and discover.
"I've never heard you sing, so I'm not sure how you stack up against Barbra Streisand."
Quinn made a face. Rachel used to always pester her to sing, but she never would. She didn't mind singing with her grandmother as they drove with the top down to her karaoke competitions, but for some reason, singing by herself was just…
But now Rachel's eyes were soft and deep, and the words were coming before Quinn could stop them.
"I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright… and I pity, any girl who isn't me tonight…"
She trailed off, staring down at her plate, her cheeks flushed and hot with embarrassment. She blinked in surprise when she felt Rachel's lips against the corner of her mouth.
"Barbra has no chance."
"Do you think it's a good idea for you to go… there?" Quinn finally asked after a few more moments of silence.
Rachel finished off some more fruit, appearing deep in thought, before answering. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know what she'll say or what she'll try to do but I need my clothes, my cds. Some personal items. And I do think that my mother and I need to talk."
"Do you want me to—"
"Yes," Rachel said before Quinn had even had a chance to finish the question. "I know that I could do this on my own if I wanted to. At least, I think I could, now. But I don't want to. I want you there with me."
"That could cause problems," Quinn warned. She wanted to say that it would cause problems because she'd probably find it hard not to punch the woman that had slapped her princess, but she wisely kept that quiet.
"I know," Rachel agreed. "But my mother needs to know that… despite everything, you and I are…" Now it was Rachel's turn to blush, and Quinn couldn't help but find it the most endearing thing in the world.
"My mother needs to know that you and I are a package deal."
"A package deal?" Quinn said with a raised eyebrow. "Are we on sale?"
"Of course not," Rachel huffed. "But I can sing, dance and act. I'm the total package, and I made a deal with you."
She stuck out her tongue, and there was that dimple again, and Quinn Fabray knew she was gone, at the hands of Rachel Berry.
"A deal, huh?" she said, focusing on her bacon and not looking at Rachel. "What's included in this deal?"
She didn't want to scare Rachel, to drive the girl away any more than she already had at first. Quinn no longer had any dreams of guiding Rachel to her knees and making her into the perfect submissive. That was a good thing, Quinn knew, but she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't want Rachel to submit to her. But just like the incident with Jamie, she knew it had to be on Rachel's terms. And Rachel needed her to go slow.
"Like a turtle," Quinn muttered to herself, and Rachel looked at her oddly.
"I don't know what's included," she said. "I suppose that it's something we can work out as we go? I'll get notebooks and pens when I retrieve my things, so we can write them down."
"I uh, have pens and notebooks here, Rachel."
"Gold star stickers to highlight the most important points?"
"… No."
"Well then."
"I almost forgot about your love for gold star stickers," Quinn said a little sadly, and Rachel removed her hand to wrap her arm around Quinn's waist.
"And I almost forgot about your insatiable love for bacon," Rachel said, her head once again on Quinn's shoulder.
"I don't have an insatiable love for—" She stopped, glancing over and seeing Rachel's knowing look. "Okay, I do."
Rachel smiled and kissed her cheek before saying softly, "I know there's a lot we need to figure out, and I do need us to go slow. But I don't see why we can't write things down. Things you want, things I need. Just… please don't be disappointed in me if those two things don't match?"
Quinn shook her head and took the tray with its now-empty plates, setting it down on the floor next to the bed, and gathered Rachel into her arms.
"I won't say I'll never be disappointed," Quinn said truthfully, "But you are never going to be a disappointment to me, princess. You may be the total package, but you're not perfect. Neither am I. I think as long as we know that, we'll be okay."
Rachel was nervous and fidgety during the walk to the subway, and even more nervous and fidgety on the subway ride to the house she shared with her mother. She was gorgeous, Quinn thought as she watched her carefully. Rachel's legs seemed to go on for miles in the new skirt she wore, and Quinn's mouth was more than a little dry as she tried and failed not to notice the tightness of Rachel's sweater over her curves. But all of that was eclipsed by the faraway look in Rachel's eyes as she unsubtly watched a couple standing close together holding on to one of the rails. The dominant cuddled her submissive close to her, and he seemed as if he couldn't get close enough to his mistress. They were affectionate and happy, clearly in love.
There was something a little like jealousy and a lot like sadness in Rachel's eyes, and Quinn moved closer to her, her hand lightly resting on Rachel's knee. Rachel jumped, and Quinn smiled apologetically at her.
"It's not your fault," she said quietly.
"Yes, Quinn, it is, I—"
"Rachel." Her voice was sharp, but only mildly so; still, it was enough for Rachel to instantly sit up and take notice.
"I know you feel guilty, and I know you blame yourself. But there's only one person I blame, and it isn't you."
"She didn't mean to…"
"She may not have known how bad it would be for you, but yes, Rachel, she meant to."
Rachel was quiet for a moment, then leaned her forehead against the subway window, watching the world fly by.
"I still love her."
Quinn's heart broke, and she slipped her arm around Rachel's waist, kissing her temple. "I never asked you not to, princess."
Rachel's house was a small one, on the outskirts of the city not far from the diner. Nothing about it screamed anything but ordinary; there was nothing about the two story white house that would have revealed anything about its inhabitants, and the pain both had gone through. Quinn wasn't sure, as they slowly approached the green front door, if that made things better or worse.
The door swung inwardly before they knocked.
"Rachel," said Shelby, "I'm glad you're home."
She was, Quinn reflected again, a near carbon copy of her daughter. Older, taller, and maybe a little more borne down by the weight of her own personal world, but as alike Rachel Berry as a person could be. The same hair, dark as to be almost black. The same eyes, and, of course, the same nose. And the same smile, strained and polite as Shelby regarded Quinn.
"You've brought a guest."
Rachel had hugged her mother, and now she drew back, holding out her hand. Quinn took it and squeezed, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Shelby, who glared. Quinn steeled herself.
"Mom, you've met Quinn already," Rachel said, and moved past Shelby, who had stepped back, to pull Quinn into her house.
Quinn said nothing as Shelby shut the door behind them. She was busy studying the pictures on the walls, pictures of baby Rachel. She smiled, tears rushing to her eyes as she took in Rachel playing in her backyard, a ball clutched in her pudgy hands. Rachel taking her first steps, arms held out, balancing herself. Rachel throughout her school years, positioned in front of generic photo backgrounds. And as many pictures as there were of Rachel alone, there were just as many, if not more, of Rachel with her mother.
There was clearly love in that house, Quinn knew, even if, in the one picture of fifteen year old Rachel and her mother, their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes.
Quinn didn't address Shelby, but kept her gaze fastened on Rachel, who stood in the middle of her living room floor, twisting her hands together now that she had let go of Quinn's.
Rachel took a deep breath. "I came to get my things, Mom."
"Your things?" Shelby said. "I don't understand…"
It took all of Quinn's effort not to roll her eyes. Of course the woman understood, she had to understand. Your daughter's leaving, she wanted to yell. She's getting the hell away from you and your sick kind of concern, and she's moving in with me. And I'll take better care of her than you ever did.
She stayed quiet. Mostly because Rachel was speaking.
"I've come to get my clothes, my cds. Other things. I'm going to take them back to Quinn's."
"Back to Quinn's." Now Shelby's voice was cold, as were her eyes when she regarded the blonde young woman standing next to her daughter.
"Rachel, you're not going back to Quinn's."
Quinn made a noise low in her throat, not enough for Shelby to hear, but Rachel did, and she put out her hand for Quinn to take.
"Rachel, baby, I've indulged this nonsense long enough. I've let you stay with her long enough for you to think about things, and now it's time for you to come back home. Where you belong."
"You have no idea where she belongs," Quinn spoke up, but silenced when Rachel shook her head.
Shelby laughed. "I think I know better than anyone where my daughter belongs."
"Better than she does?" Quinn asked. "Have you ever once asked your daughter what she wants?"
"I'm not going to be lectured about my daughter by you," Shelby spat out, taking a step forward, and Quinn positioned herself in front of Rachel.
"What are you going to do," she said, meeting Shelby's eyes. "Slap me?"
Shelby seemed to deflate almost immediately, and for a split second Quinn actually felt sorry for her. But not enough for her to give in.
"I know how you feel about me," she admitted. "I know you've been hurt and you think I'm just going to do the same thing to your daughter. And—and maybe I will, or maybe she'll hurt me, I don't know. Or maybe this'll all be just perfect, like it should be. I don't know that either. But all I know, all I've known since I was seven years old is that we deserve to be able to try. You took that away from me. You took it away from your daughter, and…"
Quinn sighed and shook her head. Her voice was tiny when she spoke again. "And I'm going to fight like hell to get it back." She looked at Shelby. "I'm not going away. Not anymore. I love her."
"And I love her," Rachel said, and Quinn smiled at her gratefully. "But I still love you, too, Mom. I just have to do this. I'm going to stay with Quinn."
Shelby was silent for what seemed like hours, before she finally nodded, with tears in her eyes. "If that's what you want to do, Rachel," she said, "I'm not going to stop you. You'll come visit though?"
Rachel nodded. "Yeah, Mom. I'll come visit."
Shelby smiled slightly, and so did her daughter.
Once inside her room, with the door closed to give them privacy, Rachel sank onto her childhood bed and gave out a shaky breath. Instantly Quinn was at her side, holding the smaller girl to her. "Are you all right?" she asked, running her hand through Rachel's hair.
"Mmhm," Rachel said, nuzzling into Quinn. "That was just harder than I expected it to be."
"I know," Quinn said, looking around the room. Her eyes fell on a small silver crown, on the table next to Rachel's bed, and she smiled. Reaching out, she picked it up and then lightly, gently, placed it on Rachel's head.
"Rachel," she pronounced quietly. "Princess of my heart."
Rachel bit her lip, blushing, before she bent forward and kissed Quinn's hand. "I've changed my mind."
"About what?" Quinn asked, beginning to panic.
"You actually are quite romantic."
The people on the subway looked as if the two women with four suitcases and a rolling case had three heads each, but they left Rachel and Quinn alone once they realized Rachel had mace ("I have mace and I know how to use it!") in her hand. It was a struggle to get Rachel's cds, books, playbills, notebooks (and pens) and an excessive amount of argyle up the stairs, but finally everything was thrown into a corner of Quinn's – their –apartment, with vows to clean everything up tomorrow.
As she cooked them both dinner, Quinn watched Rachel place the silver crown onto the table next to her side of the bed, then turn to smile at her. "You make me feel like a princess."
"Good, I'm glad. You are."
"I don't have a fancy name for you…"
She was so used to calling Rachel princess that it had never occurred to Quinn that Rachel never called her anything but, well, her name. She could admit to herself that she used to dream about Rachel calling her Mistress or Ma'am or even My Lady, like Elle called Jamie, but Quinn worried that it would be too much, too soon. She was still desperately worried about scaring Rachel away.
"I don't need a fancy name, Rach," Quinn said, smiling her reassurance. "As long as you call me yours, I'm happy."
"Maybe we can come up with some things you'd like to be called and write them down. For later, you know."
"For later," Quinn echoed, trying not to let herself get carried away with excitement.
Baby steps. Turtle steps. Something like that.
They sat close together on the couch and ate dinner, laughing at Van as he tried to uncover the contents of the various suitcases now invading his space. Quinn insisted on not letting Rachel lift a finger to help with the dishes, only letting the girl perch on one of the stools at the counter and watch her. She knew that it had been a hard couple of days for Rachel, even harder than perhaps any of her other days, and so Quinn was determined to take care of her.
Which was why, as she started to pull out the books she would need to study for her classes tomorrow, she looked over at Rachel, and quietly asked, "Would you like to take a bath? Not a shower, but a bath. To relax."
Rachel seemed startled by her question. "I'm all right, really, Quinn."
"Okay," Quinn said with a nod.
"But a bath would be nice…"
She smiled and wordlessly got up, stopping Rachel on the way to the bathroom. "I'll get it ready," she said, and kissed her lips gently.
She liked this, Quinn decided, as she took towels and washcloths out of the cabinet and rested them to the side for Rachel to use. It made her feel good, it made her feel protective. Even if it was something as simple as turning on the tap and testing the water before plugging the tub and watching it begin to fill. Almost as an afterthought she plucked up her favorite body wash and squirted some into the water, grinning when the suds began to take over.
Going back out in the living room, Quinn smiled, seeing that Rachel had selected some pajamas to wear and was now waiting awkwardly.
"In you go," Quinn said, guiding her to the bathroom with a light pat. "Take all the time you need, I'll just be out here studying."
Rachel hugged her impulsively, and Quinn held her close, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you," Rachel mumbled, then pulled away and disappeared into the bathroom with what sounded to Quinn like a delighted sigh.
Nearly two hours later, Quinn was beginning to wonder if Rachel had fallen asleep or wasted away to a prune when the bathroom door came open and Rachel reappeared, a sparkle in her eyes that made Quinn's breath catch in her throat.
"That was amazing," she declared, moving to drop her dirty clothes into the hamper, and Quinn couldn't help but laugh. "I've often said that a nice bath can be the cure to almost anything, and I do believe that once again I'm right."
"You probably are," Quinn replied, her eyes drifting back down to her book. She frowned and made a note in the margin, half-cognizant of Rachel watching her.
"You take good care of me," Rachel suddenly said, and Quinn looked up, laying her pen down and nodding.
"I try," she said, sensing by Rachel's expression that something was on her mind.
"I mean, you treated me to breakfast in bed, which, I might add, has completely spoiled me for any breakfast in the future."
"So you've told me, repeatedly."
"And then you… made sure I was all right after… you know."
"I know."
"Then dinner, and now the bath."
"Rach, I'm not sure I understand—"
Rachel was standing at the counter, looking adorable in pink pajamas and with her hair in braided pigtails. She worried the hem of her pajama shirt with her fingers as she finally asked what apparently had been on her mind.
"You're just taking such good care of me, but… who takes care of you?"
Ah, so that's what it was. Who did take care of Quinn? She wondered to herself. Her parents and her grandmother, sure, when she was back home in Lima. But in New York… well, there was Jamie and Elle, and Sam. They were good to her, they were her friends, but Quinn couldn't say with any certainty that they took care of her.
She was the one who gave herself the medicine when she was sick, took herself to the doctor if she needed it. She bought her own groceries, drew her own baths, and made her own dinners…
She shrugged at Rachel. "I take pretty good care of myself, princess," she joked, and turned back to her studies.
She fully expected Rachel to sit with her, to maybe watch television or just to sit in quiet comfort as she studied, which is why Quinn felt a little unnerved when ten whole minutes went by and Rachel made no move to leave the counter, but just stood there, watching her. Quinn got the sense that something was still going on in the young woman's mind, but she had no idea what. She also didn't know if she was meant to ask; Quinn figured that Rachel would let her know in her own time.
She got her answer when Rachel crossed the floor to her and stood in front of her for a moment. Quinn glanced up, eyebrows furrowing when she saw the intense look of purpose on Rachel's face.
Her heart stopped, the world stood still as slowly, effortlessly…
Rachel knelt in front of Quinn.
And oh, she was beautiful. She was tiny and uncertain, all dark wet hair and flushed face blushing with submission, hands that didn't know what to do with themselves until finally, awkwardly, they settled on Quinn's knees and held on, trembling. Her back was straight, her head was down with eyes raised until they met Quinn's through lashes and Quinn couldn't help but wonder where had she learned to be so perfect?
There was no collar, no black leather or whips and chains, no handcuffs or things that Quinn had learned in textbooks. No flowery words of dedication, no signed set of rules and limits that would have to come later. There wasn't even a song.
There was just Rachel Berry, shaking slightly in pink pajamas, with a ridiculous cat purring and rubbing against her bare feet as, Quinn realized, she offered herself to the woman who called her "princess."
It was the most unromantic, most beautiful picture Quinn could never have painted.
She covered Rachel's hands with her own.
"Rach?" she queried softly.
This was Rachel's decision. Not Quinn's order.
"I'll take care of you."
Rachel's promise. Not Quinn's demand.
She cupped Rachel's cheek with her hand.
Rachel smiled.
Quinn did too.