Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
A/N: lol oops it's been some time… Thanks for putting up with me. And I totally don't blame you if you completely forgot what the dink happened in the first two chapters (stuff happened). This chapter is really a set up for the next one (which hopefully won't take a freaking century to write). Please please please feel free to leave any type of feedback. It means so much to me. And thank you so much for sticking with me through all of this.
So without wasting anymore of your time…
Enjoy X
Sophomore Year Part Two
.
When you were ten years old, your father threw a dinner party for some of his coworkers and his boss. He had just landed a big deal for the company and, as the Fabray's do, he wanted to "celebrate" (read: brag). You, your mom, and your sister had been cleaning the house for about a week straight leading up to the dinner party – despite the fact that not even one speck of dust ever seemed to have existed in your house. You would scrub the floors and wash the windows and shine the silverware and glasses for hours and hours on end. Meanwhile, your mother would hum under her breath, your sister would constantly stare out of windows, and your father would walk around with this look of pure pride on his face you would imagine his steps leaving a trail of purple footprints in his wake.
And then the night of the party finally came. Your sister did your hair and makeup that night even though she was only a few years older than you (your sister was always perfect at everything). Even though you were still Lucy, you imagined your dress being a bright orange and your shoes bright green and your stockings bright yellow; you never felt prettier or so light that you imagined you were a feather floating on a summer breeze. You were so proud of your father and the house and the food you helped your mom cook. You watched your father shake hands with different men and you watched them all clasp him firmly on the back as they congratulated him. You watched and turned blue as you wished that someday you could make your father this proud.
It was right after your father gave his speech when it happened.
He had just finished speaking about grace and balance and knowing when the perfect timing was; his fellow workers all nodded their heads in agreement and his boss had given a grin dripping with experience to your father. Everyone had loved his speech so much it made you so excited and orange that you weren't looking where you were going.
You never realized how much a simple tray of hors d'oeuvres could stain carpet so badly. And your dress. And your father's boss' shirt.
… You were just so excited…
But the moment the silver platter finally stopped clattering on the ground, you could feel your heart stopping right along with it. The dinner party had come to a screeching halt and you could just feel everyone's eyes flickering between you and your father.
If you hadn't still been seeing black and white, you're sure you would have watched all the color drain away from your world in that moment.
But, either way, you're pretty sure that's happening again.
Right now.
Because about ten minutes ago Rachel had gotten off the phone and told you that her dad was on his way.
To pick up Rachel. And you. Both. Together. At the same time. Rachel's dad. The man who loves her the most in the world. And would do anything to protect her. And gives her a loving home.
That he's taking you back to. Where they live. Him and Rachel and her other dad. All under one roof. That holds a lot of memories and other things. Like Rachel's room. Where she sleeps. And dreams. And laughs. And cries.
But that was ten minutes ago. And this is now. And now? Now you're standing out front of your school clutching your cheerleading bag like your life depends on it.
Because it does. Because Rachel is standing next to you. Waving. At her dad. Who just pulled up in front of you two. In a car. That you're supposed to get in. With Rachel. So her dad can take you both back to her house. Where they live.
Right.
Okay.
This is fine.
You're fine.
Your feet fell like they're made of cement and you kind of feel like barfing again but you're fine. Totally. One hundred percent.
Now if you could just remember how to breathe again.
You see Rachel open the passenger side door and toss her bookbag into the seat. She smiles at her father, whom you still can't see, and brightly greets him; her laugh trills back to you and restarts your heart a little bit in your chest. She closes the door and looks back to you, the ghost of her smile still floating on her face.
You can't really feel your face right now, but you're pretty sure you look like someone about to walk death row. Because you totally are. Because that's Rachel's dad in the car.
You hear coach's voice in your head; you think this is hard? Try getting into your soulmate's parent's car after finding out you're pregnant – and not with your soulmate's baby. Oh – and you were totally the worst person on Earth to your soulmate so her dad probably hates your guts. That's hard!
It totally doesn't help. Like, at all.
But Rachel is smiling at you so softly you barely miss it.
"Hey…" You try to respond to her but, honestly, there's like a desert in your mouth right now and you're pretty sure you'll never be able to speak again in your life. But Rachel is reaching out and gently prying your death grip from your bag's strap until she's holding one of your hands. If your palms weren't so sweaty, you're sure it would have been a lot better. Not that holding Rachel's hand is a bad thing because, honestly, you're pretty sure you could hold her hand until you died.
Which you're pretty sure will be very soon. Because either her father is going to kill you, your father is going to kill you, or you're going to suffer a heart attack. Or maybe all three. At the same time. Because that's just how much the world loves you, apparently.
Rachel gives your hand a gentle squeeze so you gulp and focus your attention back to her. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances back to the car.
"You're going to be alright, okay, Quinn? My dad is harmless, really. He's a drama queen like me, if anything. So whatever horror story you're planning out in your head right now, it's not going to happen. My house is a total safe space. Absolutely no judgment. Unless, of course, it's about musicals because in that case all bets are off – no one is safe." Rachel squeezes your hand again when you don't laugh because – oh right, any functioning person would realize she was trying to make a joke to make you feel better.
But you're pretty sure you stopped properly functioning about ten minutes ago. Or two years ago. Honestly, it's pretty much anyone's guess at this point.
With one more smile at you, Rachel drops your hand and turns back to the car. She opens the back door and slides over to the other side waiting for you to follow. With a gulp and one more glance at the bright sky above you (because you're pretty sure it'll be the last time you see it), you get in the car.
The first thing you notice is the smell of the car. It smells like cookies. Honest to god, I-just-entered-a-bakery aroma. Which, okay, you didn't really expect the car you were going to be killed in by Rachel's dad to smell like cookies so you guess this is a good sign?
You don't look at anyone until you're buckled up and your cheerio's bag is sitting on your lap casually protecting you. You quickly glance over to Rachel to see her giving you a small smile (which grows at the sheer terror on your face, you're sure) and then finally up to the driver's seat.
Rachel's dad is slightly turned around in his seat and he's looking at you with kind eyes behind his glasses. There are crinkles at the corner of his eyes as proof of years of laughter and his smile is almost identical to Rachel's and it astounds you because this is the man works with your father? Your cold and harsh father who only laughs loudly at fancy restaurants to let people around him know that he's above it all? Whose only wrinkles are from glaring and disapproving looks?
But here he is, smiling at you in a car that smells like your grandmother's kitchen.
"Hello, Quinn! It's nice to finally meet you!" He's holding out his hand and you try to as quickly and as casually as you can to wipe your sweaty palm on your uniform before you firmly shake his hand (you may be on the verge of death but you were still raised with strict manners).
"Hello, Mr. Berry, it's nice to meet you as well, sir." Okay so you weren't nearly as peppy sounding as Rachel's dad and your voice is a bit rough from your rather aggressive sobbing a few minutes ago, but you remembered how to talk so, really, it's a win for you.
"Oh, piffle, Quinn – call me Hiram. Mr. Berry will get very confusing very quickly and you make me sound like an old man. I've worked very hard on maintaining my youth, thank you very much." He grins at you before he turns around and starts to pull the car away. "I've practically got the skin of a baby."
You hear Rachel giggle next to you and instantly some of the tension leaves your shoulders.
"So much so you cried like one when you lost Trivial Pursuit last weekend – not to mention you're basically going bald like one, too," Rachel taunted through a smirk and a wink your way. You have to stare a little bit longer because you've never really seen this playful side of Rachel. And, hello, she just winked at you!
Hiram gave probably the world's largest gasp and threw a hand over his heart as he glared at Rachel through the rearview mirror.
"Rachel Barbra Berry! You take that back this instant!" His eyes flicker back to you and even though you know his eyes are brown like Rachel's, you see orange's and yellow's dancing through them. "Don't listen to a word she says, Quinn. I was only crying because my daughter and her father ganged up on me! I swear, I can't trust anyone in my home! It's a travesty, I tell you!"
Well you definitely know where Rachel gets her dramatics from, that's for sure.
You don't really know how to act or what to say, so you just give a weak smile and a pathetic chuckle. Rachel seems to take pity on you because she's suddenly lurching forward to control the radio. You're thankful for the topic change, but then you're struggling to gulp because Rachel's … backside… is right in front of you.
Your red face is staring out of the window (because you are a respectful lady) when you hear the music start up. It's not anything you know and it's obviously from a musical so you figure Rachel plugged in her iPod or put in a CD or something.
Rachel plops back down in the backseat and then it's quiet for a moment before she and her dad start singing to whatever song is playing. While they're distracted you stare at the trees flying by you and try to regulate your breathing.
Because, honestly, how you're acting is just ridiculous. So you're in a car with your soulmate and her father – so what? And you just happened to have found out you're pregnant. Again: so what? You're Quinn freaking Fabray and you've got red coursing through you. Stop acting like a scared little girl who is made of pink and women the hell up.
You feel your walls slowly rebuilding themselves brick by black brick until the storm inside of you is almost suffocated. Your hands are no longer tingling and your back straightens out matching your stiff jaw. You focus on the trees, their greens blurring together. You focus and concentrate on shutting everything off –
But then Rachel's holding your hand and it's so unexpected you can't help but jump a little. You whip your head from the window to look over at her.
She's just looking at you with her wide eyes filled with concern. She frowns a little when sees the black swirling in your eyes and minutely shakes her head.
"Don't," Rachel whispers to you.
And just like that, your walls crumble to dust.
Rachel squeezes your hand when she spots your trembling lip. You swallow around the lump in your throat and slam your eyes shut.
You will not cry anymore.
You ignore the lightning in your chest and focus on Rachel's warm hand in yours. You don't think about how on Earth you're going to get through these next few months, and only think about the thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.
You slowly open your eyes again to catch Mr. Berry looking away from you in the rearview mirror.
A small part of you wonders if he knows. If he knows all of what you've done.
(My god, think about what all you've done. To others. To Rachel.)
You squeeze Rachel's hand softly before letting go. You clasp your hands together and rest them in your lap. You glance over to Rachel to see her wearing the same concerned frown so you muster up the effort (and courage) to send a small smile her way.
You're still here.
And it seems to calm her apparent fears – if only a little bit.
(You just pray that you'll be able to stay long enough to fix some of this… But you can feel the gray pulling you down and you're terrified.)
The moment dissolves and Mr. Berry steps in to relieve the silence.
"So, Quinn, you're in glee club with Rachel? How're you holding up?" He sends a smirk to Rachel through the mirror and she does her part with an eye roll and a huff. You're thankful for their playful nature.
You clear your throat to answer. "Um, it's actually fun. It's a … nice change of pace from having a crazy woman scream at you through a bullhorn." The Berry's (Berries?) both laugh at your comment and you swear you can see the purple that tints Rachel's smile.
(It makes you feel good)
"Oh so Rachel hasn't broken out the bullhorn yet?"
You know it's just a joke but you still feel red cloud your vision. You didn't mean to insinuate that Rachel was crazy and you can only imagine what her father is thinking of you and your breathing comes in a little faster because you just keep messing up and why is Rachel always a punchline.
But Rachel gives you a quick side glance and (once again) comes to your rescue.
"Dad, I've obviously have been saving that level of crazy until Mr. Schue suggests we meet only once a month and never mentions a proper set list for regionals."
Rachel sends a reassuring smile your way and you will yourself to calm down.
"A very smart plan, if you ask me. But, ah, yes, Quinn, I have in fact heard many horrendous stories about your coach. I liked to hope that they are a bit exaggerated, but, well, no one is as dramatic as I am. Except maybe Rachel."
You look over to see Rachel's rebuttal, but she's only nodding her head sagely in agreement. "It's true."
And that's how the rest of the drive to Rachel's house goes: Mr. Berry asking a question, you answering, and then Rachel and her father sassing each other back and forth. It's so strange for you to witness… But it still calms you down with each laugh that's shared.
But then you're pulling into the Berry's driveway and you feel your hands becoming numb again. Because while the drive here had been surprisingly pleasant and distracted you from your impending doom… Suddenly it was made very real again.
Rachel and her father both unbuckle and step out of the car and you numbly follow them. You move on autopilot and don't even realize what you're doing before you're opening the passenger door and grabbing Rachel's bag for her. You both stand in shock for a minute when you turn to face her.
You're not even sure why you got her bag for her… it just felt… right to do. You'd like to be able to brush this off with an eye roll and a whatever it's just a bag… But you both know you wouldn't be able to.
You feel your face match the slight blush on Rachel's face when she takes the bag from you with a thank you, Quinn that is so purple and pink you feel yourself become tinted with it.
And if your fingers happened to brush each other's and stay for a few seconds too long for it to be a coincidence… Well. You just didn't notice.
You clear your throat and clutch your bag's strap as you follow Rachel into her house.
The first thing you think when you walk through the front door, is that this is what a house should look a feel like. There seems to be thousands of photos covering the warmly colored walls and there are knick knacks on shelves and candles that aren't just for decoration on the small tables. There's a small pile of shoes by the door and a blanket messily thrown across the sofa and the mail has been tossed on the coffee table. There's a vase filled with bright flowers and you can't help but feel a little green because it actually seems like people live here.
Whenever you're at your house, you can't help but feel like you're in a sterile lab.
But Rachel's house? Rachel's house is a home and you doubt she even understands how good she has it.
Your eyes are drawn to a particular photo on the wall where you can't help but compare the purple shirt Rachel was wearing in it to the color of a grape slushie.
You feel your face burn with shame as you look away.
(You'll never understand how good you have it. Well… had it, once the news gets around that you're knocked up.)
Rachel kicks off her shoes into the already existing pile and softly pads into the family room. You carefully toe off your sneakers and follow mutely.
Rachel turns to look at you and takes in your (probably shaking) hands death gripping your bag.
"Would you like something to drink or possibly eat? I'm not too sure how well versed you are on vegan snacks, but I'm sure I would be able to whip something up to your liking if you'd like?"
You jerk your head back and forth. "No. Um, no... thank you."
You are both silently standing still with about twenty feet in between. It is so awkward and tense you can't help but feel yourself begin to drown in gray.
(You expect the following months will be dripping in nothing but.)
Rachel suddenly takes a few small steps toward you like you're a wounded animal (your hands tighten around your bag and honestly you can't blame her). She licks her lips and reaches out her hands slightly as if to take the bag from you despite the large gap in between you two.
"Quinn… I know that you're scared… But… You're safe here." Your eyes widen and you feel your eyebrows coming together. You're so terrified and nervous because you haven't felt so much like Lucy in such a long time that Rachel could absolutely destroy you if she wanted to. "I promise."
But you feel a blanket of yellow slowly cover you when you realize that she won't.
She never will.
And then the gray is gone and your hands loosen. You take a deep breath and nod to Rachel because – even though you literally have no idea what's in store… You know that, somehow or another, Rachel will be here. So you ignore how stiff your fingers are from clutching your bag so tightly and place it against the nearest wall.
Rachel smiles encouragingly at you and gestures to the sofa. You walk over with shaky legs and you want to gently sit on the edge of it, but as soon as you feel the soft cushions, your body collapses. You heave a great big sigh and allow your eyes to drift shut.
A soft rustle comes from next to you and then there's a faint smell of strawberries. You don't bother opening your eyes until you feel a blanket being draped over you.
Rachel's right in front of you, her face so close to yours you can't help but think back to the auditorium. She let's go of the rest of the blanket and slowly stands straight again.
You never look away from her, and she never looks away from you. But then the storm is raging inside of you again, and you glance away before she can spot the pink in your stare. You take a deep breath and try to find the tiniest bit of courage left within you.
"Rachel, I…" But you don't know what to say. You don't. Because there's nothing you can say, yet there are mountains of words just waiting to come barreling out of your mouth.
But you're a coward. You're a coward and you're weak so you bite your lip and squeeze your hands together so tightly you think you're going to shatter your bones.
You don't say anything, so Rachel does.
"It's okay, Quinn. Just focus on getting some rest, alright? It's been a rather long day for you." You can't help but give a chuckle that is overflowing with self-hatred. You glance back up at Rachel and it looks as if there's a war within her and it makes your colors dim ever so slightly. Because even though you haven't bullied her this year (which whoop dee freaking doo, you're still a terrible person, Fabray), you still cause her pain.
You slam your eyes shut and shake your head, because even though you want to do nothing but fix this mess, you can't. At least, not right now.
Because, my god, you are unbelievably exhausted.
But Rachel is still standing in front of you and you know you won't be able to do anything productive while your body is absolutely buzzing.
"Actually… Could I possibly have a glass of water?" You speak softly and slowly because you don't have enough energy for anything else. But Rachel looks delighted she can help you in some way, so you know she doesn't mind that it sounds like you're speaking for the first time in years.
As soon as she turns to walk into the kitchen, you draw your feet up under you and scooch down the sofa so you're resting against the arm. The sofa really is extremely comfortable and the blanket Rachel covered you up with is warm and smells faintly like her you can't help but snuggle further into it.
You hear Rachel speaking to her dad in the kitchen and it reminds you of your own parents waiting for you at home. So you begrudgingly stand up from the cocoon of comfy and walk over to get your phone out of your bag. You quickly type out a message to your mom telling her you're at a friend's house (you pause when you type those words because you're not sure if it's a lie or not) and you don't know when you'll be home. But at least it's Friday so you don't have to worry about school tomorrow.
You toss your phone back into your bag and make your way back to the sofa. You're just getting comfy under the blanket again when Rachel walks out with a glass of water. You take it from her with a soft thank you and the cold water is beyond relieving on your burning throat. You set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of you just as Rachel softly sits next to you on the far end of the sofa.
The silence is so still and suffocating it reminds you of your grandmother's funeral where everyone was too scared to say a word and shatter the quietness.
It's ironic how the news of finding out you've created a life reminds you of death.
But a single '+' on a plastic stick pretty much signed your death certificate for you, so.
You let your hands drop to your stomach and you play with the fringe of the blanket.
What the hell are you going to do?
You're pretty much numb at this point, but you figured you could hide this for a little while. At least a month or two. Three if you're really lucky. But you would have to start going to the doctors to make sure everything's going okay. And you're not eighteen so you'll definitely need a parent with you.
The image of your father sitting with you as you get a sonogram is so absurd you can't stifle the manic laughter that rips through you.
It's so unexpected that Rachel nearly jumps out of her skin next to you. She's now looking at you like you've grow an extra head and a part of you gladly welcomes the change from her sorrow filled stares. But her reaction only makes you laugh harder and soon enough you're doubled over and clutching your stomach because it hurts so much.
You hear Rachel join you in your laughter and it sounds nervous at first. But then you accidentally snort and her giggles are yellow and they're dance through the air.
And then just as sudden as your laughter came, it was drowned out by an onslaught of tears. You're sobbing so hard you can barely breathe and you feel sorry for Rachel because your emotions are probably giving her whiplash and, really, no one should have to deal with you right now.
But then she's pulling you into a hug and you fall against her.
You're so tired of breaking down and crying. You're just so tired of it and you never want to do it again. Because you're sure you have cried oceans of black and gray at this point and your soul is craving orange sunsets and blue birds.
But Rachel is holding you again and even though the storm is threatening complete destruction to the body it rages within, you can't help but think of calm, white clouds. And that maybe one day, you'll be able to be light as a feather and float away on a warm wind.
But right now you're just so tired. And Rachel is holding you and she is soft and warm and safe. And for the first time in what seems like years, a part of your soul begins to slowly shift into place. Because even if your world is spinning out of control, Rachel is holding you and keeping you here.
She is holding you, and you fall asleep in her arms.