Rachel wasn't supposed to find out. She really wasn't. But that pesky Latina just couldn't keep her mouth shut. Santana had informed Rachel of a specific . . . trait about Quinn.
Quinn had a secret sweet spot on her body. It was on the very top of her head, near the back, the part where the hair started growing in different directions. Lord Tubbington had found it during one of Quinn's visits to Santana's and Brittany's. If one were to scratch the spot, Quinn would be under a spell, instantly happy and agreeable. Brittany called it "the nice button" of Quinn.
Quinn grumbled and munched on her celery—five more days of vegan to go—as she remembered the conversation with Santana after she found out Santana spilled the beans to Rachel about the spot.
"How could you! That was only supposed to be between you, me, and Brittany!" Quinn shouted into her ear.
"And Lord Tubbington," Brittany added.
"Ugh, stop screaming, I have a hangover, for crying out loud," Santana slurred. "I was drunk, okay," she said before passing out.
"I was drunk, okay!" Quinn mimicked. Thanks to Santana, Rachel now had access to a weak spot. She'd probably abuse the use of it! Using it to get whatever she wanted left and right.
"Are you all right?" Rachel asked from the kitchen. "You're talking to yourself again. I'm worried about you, Quinn." She was currently making a six-course meal. She was pulling out the big guns for this special week with Quinn.
Quinn forgot about Santana's drunken mistake and took the opportunity to complain.
"It's these vegetables! They're making me crazy!"
"That's absurd!" Rachel laughed. "Do me a favor and turn on the T.V. please." Rachel turned around and gave her the famous pouty face. "I need some background noise."
"Hmph," Quinn grumped but turned on the T.V. nevertheless. The default channel was some kid's channel, and Quinn hoped that Johnny Bravo was on. He always made her feel better. Quinn liked to think that he was the male version of her. Tall. Handsome. With a nice body.
Imagine her surprise when it wasn't Johnny Bravo that came on, but something else entirely that made her want to jump off a cliff.
"If. You. Like. To. Talk. To. Tomatoes! If. A. Squash. Could. Make. You. Smile!"
Quinn nearly choked on her celery as Bob the Tomato sang and Larry the Cucumber played the tuba.
"You've got to be kidding me."
They were taunting her.
"If. You. Like. To. Waltz. With. Potatoes! Up. And. Down. The. Produce. Aisle . . ."
Quinn cried (minus the tears). She couldn't stand looking at another vegetable. It reminded her too much of her bacon babies.
Rachel quickly rushed to her wife's side.
"Honey, baby, are you all right?" Rachel asked as she planted kisses along her wife's neck, murmuring soothing words.
Quinn pulled away and shot her an accusing look.
"Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't know that show was still airing! I thought it would be over by now!" Quinn didn't believe her. "What, you think I plotted this?" Rachel almost laughed at the idea but didn't due to Quinn's serious expression.
"Why wouldn't you! You just love the control don't you! You know what. Just because you're so damn gorgeous it doesn't mean I'll let you do this to me!"
"Quinn—"
"I bet you even see me as a vegetable! Huh!? What am I to you! Am I your wife or a piece of cabbage!"
"Okay, Quinn, now you're being ridiculous."
"Veggieta-a-ales! Veggieta-a-ales! Veggieta-a-ales!"
"Ugh!" Quinn grabbed the remote and changed the channel, only to be greeted with the image of a spinach-covered pizza.
"Just pop that vegan pizza in the oven and in thirty minutes it'll be more than ready to eat with a fabulous—"
"Damn it!" Quinn turned off the T.V. and stood. "I'm going to take a nap," she grumbled. She stomped up the stairs, marched inside the master's bedroom, and was about to slam the door, but chose to delicately close it at the last second.
Rachel smiled softly when she didn't hear the door slam. Even in her cranky state, Quinn still managed to follow Rachel's house rules. She got up and continued to cook her six-course meal. Perhaps her mushroom and bean fettuccine could ease Quinn's frustration.
Upstairs, Quinn had no plans on taking a nap.
Quinn sat in the chair in front of her computer and started playing one of her favorite songs in defiance.
"Bacon pancakes! Making bacon pancakes! Take some bacon and I'll put it in a pancake! Bacon pancakes, that's what it's gonna make! Bacon pancaaake!"
She hummed to the song, opened a new tab, and went to Youtube to watch some frying bacon.
Quinn didn't know why she felt a little guilty. It wasn't like she was eating bacon. She was just enjoying them. Just in another form. Rachel would surely find it reasonable. Quinn banished such thoughts of guilt and carried on with her indulgence.
Fifteen minutes later, unbeknownst to Quinn, Rachel made her way up the stairs to the bedroom. Rachel wanted to her to try out the sauce for the appetizer.
Quinn was so occupied in her own little world that she didn't hear the doorknob turn or the door swing open.
But she did hear Rachel's gasp.
"You're cheating!" Rachel yelled with heart-wrenching inflection, as if she had just caught Quinn with another woman.
Oh crap, Quinn thought as she faced the wrath of her wife who was currently on her period. Shit is gonna go down . . .
"No I'm not!" Quinn sputtered.
"Yes you are!"
"No I'm not!" Quinn insisted.
"Oh so if a married man, whose wife loves him dearly, has thoughts about another woman, and watches inappropriate videos on inappropriate websites, it doesn't count as cheating!?" Quinn was about to say something, to actually agree with her, but Rachel plowed through her interruptions. "Nnn! It's cheating!"
"But I'm not married to vegetables!" Quinn whined.
"You're married to me! You're devoted to veggies. For a week. You promised!"
"I've followed all the vegan rules, Rachel! I haven't drank or eaten anything dairy, I haven't touched any animal products, and most of all, I haven't eaten any meat! No bacon! I don't know what's the big deal!"
"Did you listen to my analogy at all?" Rachel sighed. She took Quinn's hands and pulled them both to sit on the bed. She held Quinn's hands in her own and looked warmly into Quinn's frightened eyes—it scared Quinn that Rachel's mood just did a complete 180. "I'm happy that you followed the rules. It's just, what I'm saying is . . . you're not giving me one-hundred percent."
Quinn's eyes lit up in comprehension.
"Oh."
Quinn's tense shoulders relaxed at the confession and the way Rachel almost looked shy.
"I'm sorry, babe," Quinn said.
"No, I'm sorry."
"No, you've got nothing to be sorry about." Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel and decided that it couldn't hurt to throw in a compliment. "You're amazing."
Rachel laughed at that.
"Tell me something I don't know," Rachel said, before leaning in for a long kiss.
—
"Ughyuuuck!" Claire said to Bailey on the phone. Her moms could be so loud!
"What's wrong?" Bailey asked.
"My moms are getting all romantic."
"Haha, like how romantic?"
Claire rolled her eyes. In a deep voice to imitate Quinn, she said, "Oh Rachel, I love you so much. Did I ever tell you that your eyes are like chocolate bonbons that I'd like to eat?" Then in an overly girly voice, "Oh Quinn!"
Bailey burst out in laughter.
—
Later that night, after Quinn, Rachel, and Claire had eaten the six-course meal and Claire had departed to her room, Quinn carried Rachel bridal-style into their bedroom, with Rachel kissing her deeply throughout the way, unaware of Rachel's scheme to use Quinn's "button."
When they settled in their bed, Rachel wanted to watch a movie, and Quinn willingly obliged. Rachel giggled inside. Step one. Check.
Halfway through the movie, Rachel successfully managed to get Quinn to lay her head on her lap. Quinn had refused at first; perfectly liking her position to the side where she had easy access to Rachel's neck and lips, but then Rachel practically shoved her down to her lap.
"Feisty . . ." Quinn chuckled. Rachel swatted her arm lightly in response.
Step two. Check.
She started subtly at first, not wanting Quinn to jump to the right conclusion, by rubbing softly at the back of Quinn's neck with her fingers. Then she gradually moved her fingers up.
When her fingers were nearly at the spot, she stopped. She waited until Paul Varjak—they were watching Breakfast at Tiffany's—was giving his speech about how Holly belonged to him. Rachel knew that Quinn always paid extra attention to the scene.
Rachel's fingers finally reached their destination, scratching at the spot.
Quinn hummed contently.
Rachel waited a few minutes so that Quinn wouldn't catch on.
Time for the kill.
"Hey Quinn, remember those Labrador puppies that Sam's dog gave birth to?"
"Mmmmmm . . .yeah, what about them?"
"Wouldn't it be nice to own one of them? I mean just think about the cuteness-overload. I think I'd die from it!"
"Hmmmm . . . I don't want you to die. You shouldn't get it."
Rachel frowned.
"I was figuratively speaking, Quinn."
"Mmm-hmmm."
"So . . .can we?"
"Can we what?"
Rachel leaned in close, close enough for her hot breath to tickle Quinn's sensitive ear, all the while continuing to stroke Quinn's spot.
"Get a puppy," she said softly.
Quinn gulped.
"Y-Yeah. Sure, why not?"
"Awww! You're the best, Quinn!" Rachel kissed her with so much gusto that it knocked Quinn breathless.
Rachel made sure to thank Santana the very next day.