.
Tonight we're burning all the tough times
.
By the time she and Santana arrive back at the apartment, Rachel is just waking up.
"I was just about to call you," she addresses Quinn, her voice pitched higher in clear anxiety, "Where were you?"
Santana smiles easily and intercepts, "Quinn was awake when I got home and we felt like going out and getting a coffee. Kinda like a throwback to Cheerios days when we'd grab an early coffee before Saturday practices."
Quinn glances at her quickly, taking in the effortless lie, and puts a smile on. "Yeah. Sorry to worry you, Rach. I figured you'd want to sleep."
Rachel smiles, "Thank you, I did require sleep. I'm feeling better this morning than I was yesterday!" Indeed, she looks better. More focused, healthier. And for the rest of the day, she acts better. Not so inwardly focused as yesterday. She talks to Quinn a lot. Not about much substantial, and though Quinn isn't ready to yet, she certainly never sees an opening to come out (or to talk about her roommate like she'd tried the night before, but having discussed it with Santana lessens her need to unload about that topic).
The play that evening with Santana and Kurt next to her in the audience is kind of perfect. Kurt spends much of it alternately gasping excitedly at things he likes and tutting disapprovingly at things he doesn't; Quinn finds they agree on much in terms of the production. Santana just snorts a lot whenever something even remotely ridiculous happens. The guy playing Professor Dade (Daedalus) stumbles over a word and almost says "wang," and Santana slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle a loud snort and proceeds to shake with suppressed laughter. Quinn glances at her, and suddenly both are suppressing laughter for a good five minutes while Kurt just glances at them incredulously from time to time.
It feels really good to laugh with Santana, even silently.
Rachel is much more engaged with the crowd after this performance, and after receiving hugs, Quinn, Santana and Kurt stand near her sort of awkwardly and watch her work the crowd alongside a few of her castmates. She throws that male lead a few awkward little smiles and glances nervously at the female lead, but the little guy playing Ike hams it up right next to her as they talk to audience members; Quinn soon discerns that most of the people they're talking to are other students or professors, which makes sense. Before Rachel finally rejoins them, Quinn notices the small guy whispering in Rachel's ear with a subtle gesture toward Kurt. Quinn glances at Kurt to see him smirk and smooth his hair a little.
Kurt catches her glance, "No need to be rude," he murmurs from the side of his mouth, "Maybe he'll remember me one day when I come to try out for a show he's working in."
By Sunday, her stomach is knotting somewhat at the prospect of heading back to New Haven. She and Rachel look like they're about to enjoy a typical morning together in front of the TV until Rachel puts down the Wiimote and turns to Quinn, "Actually, I wonder if you could help me? I'm trying to decide which performances to try out for next."
"Off-Broadway, or…?" Quinn asks.
Rachel sighs and twists her mouth a little, "I've been doing some off-Broadway auditions with fair regularity, but nothing has come up yet. This is just on campus." She heads over to her little desk in the corner of the common room and shuffles in her messenger bag before producing a thin yellow folder. She brings it back, and Quinn sees it's full of flyers about various auditions on campus.
"Now, I'm strongly considering this one," Rachel smiles, extracting a flyer for Amahl and the Night Visitors. "I feel certain I have the right look to land the lead in this one."
Quinn frowns, "Wait. Isn't this an opera?"
Rachel looks momentarily surprised, "Yes, it is!" she exclaims excitedly, "How did you know that?"
Quinn shrugs, "I'm not sure. Just picked it up somewhere." She glances at Rachel, "You really want to perform in an opera?"
Rachel tilts her head, "Why not?"
"Well…that's not really…what your voice is suited for," Quinn answers carefully.
Rachel waves a hand, "I've been speaking to my voice instructor and he's agreed to give me some extra lessons to help me master the style. I mean, I know the basics. Lots of vibrato, smooth transitions between chest and head voice, exaggerated vowels in the words…"
"Okay," Quinn acquiesces, "It just doesn't seem like something you'd enjoy, I guess."
"It's college, Quinn! It's the time to try new things!"
Quinn can't stop the wince from passing over her features and finally just says tentatively, "But is that the reason you're doing it? Or are you doing it because you want to get a lead role your freshman year?" When a brief scowl passes over Rachel's features, Quinn continues, "I'm not saying this isn't something you could do and enjoy. I'm just wondering about your motives, and whether you're doing it because you want it, or because you want the benefits."
At Quinn's words, Rachel just presses her lips together and closes the folder, "Thank you for your input," she murmurs, putting it away. Quinn winces, and is about to apologize, but Rachel merely comes back to the couch to lean against her, like always, and everything seems…alright.
It's enough to keep her from worrying about going back to school for a little while, at least.
She arrives back on campus fairly late in the evening. She stands in front of the door to her room, hesitating, and turns her key noisily for several long moments before entering. With the way Stephanie has been lashing out (and Quinn knows that's what she's doing, and she knows she's doing it because she feels rejected by Quinn, but…), she wouldn't put it past Stephanie to still be naked in bed with Lucas when Quinn comes home.
Instead, her eyes flick up tentatively to see Stephanie sitting on her bed, legs folded under her, reading. Stephanie glances up and gives a nod.
"Hey," Quinn says awkwardly, with a nod of her own. She begins to unpack her bags, but the silence is stifling, and she is sure she can feel Stephanie's eyes on her. Finally, she asks begrudgingly, "How was your weekend with Lucas?"
There's a touch of a smile in Stephanie's voice. "We had a lot of fun! We watched movies, played board games. You should have been here, actually. He wanted to hang out with you, too. He had me invite Steve, Sean and Lulu to play games."
Quinn glances at her uncertainly, because that doesn't sound like the sex-marathon weekend Stephanie had been implying before she left, and wouldn't Lucas prefer she be gone if there had been sex? "Maybe next time," she responds neutrally.
Stephanie hums a little bit before asking in a smaller voice, "How was New York?"
"Great," Quinn tries to enthuse, "Rachel's play was really amazing."
"Oh," Stephanie says quietly, "I didn't realize this was her play weekend." Quinn looks a little surprised, then almost facepalms, because of course Stephanie had seen Rachel talking about the play on Facebook. She probably would have wanted to come see it; Quinn forgets that the two are acquaintances enough that this would be normal.
"Sorry I forgot to mention it," she says, actually regretfully.
Stephanie shrugs, "It's no big deal. I probably would have decided to stay here to try to get some of the sex and I didn't end up getting anyway," she finishes a little bitterly.
Quinn eyes her, "You didn't have sex with Lucas?"
Stephanie sighs heavily, "I tried. I did everything short of flat-out telling him to fuck me. He didn't seem to catch any of it. Quinn, I can't live like this. I need sex regularly or I go crazy."
Quinn feels her face burning, "Oh. Um. I'm sorry to hear it didn't work out."
Stephanie just sighs again, her gaze lingering on Quinn's body, "At least he's fun to hang out with." She meets Quinn's eye for the first time in days, "Give him a chance, Quinn. He's not much like that persona he uses in class."
"Maybe," Quinn concedes.
She sits on her own bed and works on homework. The silence between them is awkward, but at least it's not stifling.
.
I'm dancing in the limelight and still I tip over
.
Rachel is seething a little.
Just a little.
She's going through her yellow folder of audition flyers, and she keeps going back to that damn Amahl and the Night Visitors one. The one that Quinn questioned her so fiercely on.
It really doesn't seem like such a bad thing that she wants to explore something different while she's in college. She just performed in a very serious existential drama! She's sure she can learn just as much from trying out opera.
It's not a big deal, she supposes. Just some advice. Kurt had excitedly told her to go for it. Santana had looked at her with horror, asked her why in hell she would subject herself to opera, and told her to "do whatever the hell you want, Berry."
It's just that…Quinn makes her pause.
She refuses to dwell on it, because there's so much else to dwell on.
Jeremy. The…manual intimacies they'd shared. Her confession to Santana and Kurt (which…Kurt still looks at her like she betrayed him, and now Santana is having trouble meeting her eyes, which is just…absurd). And Jeremy.
God, it was…hard to even describe just what happened when they started kissing. How little she actually enjoyed it. How the idea of him was just so much more appealing than the reality.
It's not that he was bad, despite the fact that he'd been drinking. He kissed well, he was courteous and always waited for her to consent before he touched her in different places. She found herself letting her dress fall down to her waist voluntarily, hoping she would become more aroused by his attention on her breasts and though it felt very good…physically, it was like she couldn't connect her mind to what was happening.
She had almost gone through with it—the show must go on mentality. When she felt him pressing against her leg, she'd unzipped his pants and watched him remove them fully. He'd put a condom on immediately, but stressed as he did so that they didn't have to do anything. She'd nodded, told him she wanted to, and with glowing eyes he'd reached down to touch her.
His eyebrows betrayed surprised as he found her…not very wet.
And he was nice about it. He stressed he didn't want to hurt her and asked how he might be able to help her get more aroused. Did she want him to finger her? Go down on her? Rachel found herself blushing and stammering and so he'd smiled, leaned back and said, "Why don't you show me how you like to be touched?"
Feeling so stupid, Rachel hiked up her dress and rubbed herself in front of him. She watched his eyes hungrily take in the action, watched him stroke himself, and tipped her head back and thought about women.
It felt…natural to do so. Because despite fantasizing all her life about men, there was a dark corner in her mind that remained quite compartmentalized in which she kept these secrets: Rachel Berry did not watch much porn, but when she did, it was usually lesbian; when Rachel Berry had her first orgasm, she was fantasizing about kissing Olivia Wilde; when Rachel Berry made love to Finn Hudson, she would shut her eyes, and sometimes imagine girls.
And until this moment, it stayed compartmentalized. She believed her sexuality was merely a tiny bit fluid, that feelings she got around girls sometimes were "girl-crushes," that her enjoyment of lesbian porn was just the way the female body was wired—she'd read that study that showed evidence women could get aroused by any porn. It was what was in her heart that mattered and that? She believed that would always be men.
But somehow, this moment became pivotal. The way she decided not to look at an aroused Jeremy pleasuring himself, choosing instead to think about women, well…that gave her pause.
Maybe they were a bigger part of her erotic imagination than she thought.
Because it wasn't as though she didn't fantasize about men. She did, usually heavily romanticized fantasies that ended with slow, impassioned lovemaking, often with the boy she was currently interested in (so frequently, Finn). She had enough fantasies about loving men and being loved by men that her fantasies about women flew under the radar, And she had enough feelings about men and so few about any individual women that she really didn't have cause to think about sex with women in any specific way very often. But there was something about this…
She began to breathe heavily, but in panic, not arousal. Jeremy gave a little groan of approval. Rachel sat up a little more and stared at him for a moment, very nearly telling him to just…to just get it over with, but…
"I'm really sorry," she said quietly, "I'm not sure I'm ready to be…fully intimate with you. I thought I was, but…"
"Hey," Jeremy had said, somehow cool and coherent despite drinking and despite his aroused flush and glassy eyes, "It's okay. It's okay. I just want to do what you're comfortable with."
She'd puffed out a breath and asked in a small voice, "Can I touch you?"
And she had. And she'd…really enjoyed the way he'd responded to her touch, had enjoyed watching his face. And when he came, she felt a swell of emotion—pride, affection, elation. And desire, for him to kiss her, hold her, love her. A rush of all the feelings she had felt were missing when they started the encounter.
He did kiss her and hold her for several long moments while he fully regained his energy and then offered to touch her, and she let him, despite not being very aroused, telling him, "I don't always come, it's okay…"
To which he responded, "Yes, that's okay if you don't, but we can at least try together, right?" And Rachel tipped back her head and imagined a handsome man—like Jeremy—who picked her up and held her and brought her flowers and smelled nice, and took her to bed and gently caressed her, slowly made love to her, but as the fantasy progressed…he became a beautiful woman who watched her from between her legs as she licked and kissed, whose breasts Rachel would cup as their hips bucked together. And as the fantasy oscillated wildly between the two images, at this moment, it was the woman who made her wetter and wetter.
She ended up having to guide his hand herself, while her hips bucked erratically at his fingers, but she came with a soft cry, stifling herself, mindful of how full the apartment was. He'd kissed her again, told her how beautiful she was, and passed out not long after.
Rachel lay awake for awhile, waiting for the dull pulse of alcohol to leave her system, wishing she were not in some stranger's bed with her castmate. And worrying about her erotic imagination.
But as she pondered, she actually began to calm, because it had been different with Finn. When he kissed her, she melted. When he held her, she smiled. And when they made love, she was usually so focused on him and wanting him to feel good that she didn't even need to worry about how aroused she was—she would get there because she just loved him so much. And the times she thought about girls? Those were generally the times she was exhausted, and not very into it, but wanted to please him, so she thought about the kinds of things that would get her there.
She thinks that's the difference. She doesn't love Jeremy, and, well, she's never really had a boy get her off with just his hands before. So she needed more of that erotic energy thinking about girls sometimes gave her to get there with him.
Which…yes. That can mesh with what she knows about herself, and can now admit to herself. She loves men, but…women arouse her sometimes.
And what made it worse was probably the fact that she left before Jeremy even woke up, because of how badly she wanted to get home.
That night, when she left Quinn doing her homework in the lobby of the theater and began walking back to the dressing rooms, she found Jeremy waiting for her. And she could see right away the distance in his eyes.
"Hey," he'd said tentatively, "You okay?"
And she sighed, met his eyes briefly and smiled, "I'm okay."
"I was worried about you," he prompted, "when I woke up and you were gone. Gretchen said she let you out around 6:00."
"Does she ever sleep?" Rachel joked weakly, because, indeed, Gretchen had been sitting at a chair in her dining room alcove with a book when Rachel woke up, seeming completely unperturbed by the people sleeping all over her furniture and floor around her.
Jeremy had smiled fleetingly, "Not really, no."
A few moments of silence, and finally Rachel said quietly, "I'm sorry."
Jeremy shrugged, "It's okay. I'm just glad you're safe. It's so stupid that I didn't have your number in my phone. I could have sworn I had it."
Rachel nodded a bit, "I did enjoy last night," she said quietly, "And it was not a mistake, I want you to know that. But I just…don't know if I want to do it again."
His lips twisted and he nodded, "Okay. I…okay."
"It's not you," she winced as she began the cliché, "You're a wonderful lover, Jeremy. You're courteous and kind and invested in my pleasure. But I think I need to step back a bit. Maybe date someone for awhile before I jump into bed with them."
He laughed a bit hollowly, "I get it."
"We're friends, right?" she implored.
"Of course, short stop," he answered weakly, "Hey, you'd better go get ready. We have a show to do!"
Rachel'd felt numb and empty the entire time she got ready.
If she's honest, she still feels that way a bit.
She'd had no idea how terrifying the power of breaking someone's heart could be.
.
The future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore
.
It's to that weird point where…they really are just so comfortable with each other. They've fallen into their routines. She knows when Kurt is going to take his shower. She knows when to expect them home. She knows when Rachel is going to start getting ready for bed. She knows when she'll have the common room to herself, so she can have discrete Skype sex with Brittany, listening hard all the while for either of her roommates getting up to use the bathroom.
They're like…some sort of weird family sometimes. She never imagined she'd be so close to these two, that they would actually all confide in each other, and spend time together. On those uncommon evenings in which they're all home, they watch Buffy together and order food, and it's nice and kind of perfect.
One night, the week before Hell Week, Rachel is in bed early, and she and Kurt—back from a morning work shift—sit on the couch together, trying to decide what to watch, "Okay, so, there isn't much more Bad Girls Club that I could find, so, maybe we should start something else?" Kurt suggests.
"I've got it," Santana grabs the Wiimote. Kurt squeaks slightly, but lets her have it. "I got into this while your asses were in Lima for Christmas. Shit's crazy and I don't want to watch it alone."
"Twin Peaks?" Kurt asks skeptically, "Am I really going to want to watch this?"
"Chill, it has nothing to do with tits."
"Ooh, it's that guy from Desperate Housewives."
"What? Oh my god. Whatever. Sure."
"Wasn't he on Sex and the City, too?"
"How should I know? Can I actually start the episode or are you still staring at the cover photo?"
"Oh, sure, right. Go ahead."
Even though she watched it not too long ago, Santana is on the edge of her seat with anxiety. She knows there's going to be a body, wrapped in plastic, on the beach. She knows she's going to have to watch Laura Palmer's parents weep and something about it all is exciting and makes her emotional.
Kurt, on the other hand, seems to turn green as soon as the plastic is removed from the girl's face. And by the time the girl is on the morgue table, Kurt is reaching for the Wiimote and pausing. "What the hell are you making me watch?"
"…A murder mystery?"
"I can't. I'm sorry, Santana, I can't. I just don't deal well with the thought of dead teenagers."
Santana twists her mouth guiltily, now recalling just how Kurt handled Karofsky's suicide attempt, and even though the circumstances behind Karofsky and the fictional Laura Palmer are not remotely similar… "Okay. I get it. Sorry."
He smiles a little, "It's okay. Let's just…find something lighter to watch?"
About two weeks later finds Santana and Rachel on the couch together. Kurt had retired early, despite Santana's eyes pleading with him to stay (she just can't shake the weird feeling she gets around Rachel now, and she's even started sleeping in tank tops because…god it's all so strange). Rachel seems relaxed and smiles languidly at Santana, "So what do you and Kurt do when you stay up late together? I have energy tonight."
Santana smiles a little bit. Since her play finished up, Rachel has been trying out for other productions, but in the meantime, she has been apologetic about not hanging out with Kurt and Santana much and has been almost overly eager to spend time together. Santana shrugs and says, "There's this show I started watched when you guys were away for Christmas. Kurt won't watch it with me, but maybe you will?"
"Oh, I would certainly give it a chance!" Rachel smiles.
And it seems to go okay. Rachel is horrified and at one point about halfway through the Pilot tells Santana she's not sure she can continue to watch it, because of how dark it is, and Santana responds with, "Rachel. You watch The X-Files with Quinn all the damn time. Don't tell me this is too 'creepy' for you."
Rachel twists her mouth a bit, "Well, yes, but The X-Files deals with the nature of the unexplained or the mysterious and that is something that is fascinating to me. But this is a real murder."
"It's not real," Santana scoffs, "It's no realer than West Side Story and geez, half the cast was dead on the stage at the end of that show." It's a major exaggeration, but she hopes it proves her point. "Give it a chance. It's campy as fuck sometimes, too."
Rachel smiles and does end up watching one more episode with Santana before excusing herself to get some sleep, but she admits, "I liked it. It's not as bad as I thought."
But when Santana tries to get her to watch it with her on her other nights off that week, Rachel always has an excuse. After the third rejection, Santana decides Rachel was just being polite, and doesn't actually like the show.
For whatever reason, she doesn't want to watch it alone. Maybe because it's a murder mystery and she wants someone to kick around ideas with. To try to solve the mystery first. But one afternoon, when Rachel and Kurt are both working, Santana tries to come up with someone who would actually watch this with her and comes up with Puck. Maybe because the show is dark, or whatever, and Puck's always kind of gotten her.
It actually doesn't take too many texts to convince him to get on a Google hangout, queue up Netflix and watch the show with her. Santana watches the Pilot with him (for the fourth time, dammit) and the next episode before Puck apologizes and says he has to get some sleep before his early shift. "This is cool, though," he admits, "Just let me know when you wanna watch again."
"Sure," Santana nods, and they disconnect. Even though they barely spoke through the episodes, and any time she glanced at Puck his expression looked glazed and exhausted, there had been something nice about watching the show with him.
The next time, they talk only a little bit more. Santana tells Puck he looks terrible (he does; dark circles under his eyes, a few days' worth of stubble on his face), he cracks a grin and tells her he smells even worse. He asks her, crudely, if there's any hot pussy up there in New York, she rolls her eyes and tells him yes, but none that would touch him. They don't talk too much about the show, except to both express appreciation for Shelly Johnson (Puck also gets a boner for Audrey Horne, or at least he says he does, it's not like he shows it to Santana).
By the fourth time they're watching the show together—and finishing off the first season—there finally comes a moment in which, between episodes, Santana hears Puck take a deep breath. She looks at him, curious, to find him still staring at his television screen, but then he murmurs, "Santana…I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my life."
She tries to inhale, but it's suddenly difficult, and she flicks her eyes away from her computer and back up to her screen, where the opening credits for the next episode are playing. "Yeah. I really, really don't either," she answers lowly.
They're silent throughout the season finale.
.
Lucy's underground, she's never coming back
.
Stephanie seems like she's done trying to torture Quinn with Lucas, which is good. But for whatever reason, Lucas is also hanging around them a lot more now.
It sucks, because everyone else seems to like him. Quinn quickly ascertains why: Lucas plays Starcraft, too, although he has upgraded to Starcraft II and has been playfully fighting with everyone else to get them to play it. But just that basis seems to be enough to win over Steve and Sean. Even Lulu seems to enjoy his company.
He does seem awfully interested in Quinn, though. He tries his best to include her in all the conversations, turning to her with dark eyes and asking, "What do you think, Quinn?" She would fight not to roll her eyes and keep her answers relatively brief.
Toward the end of the week, Lucas joins them for dinner again, and his phone buzzes halfway through the meal. He extracts it, reads it, smiles goofily and types a reply. When he looks up and notices the attention on him, he just shakes his head. "Sorry. My boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" Stephanie blurts.
Lucas chuckles, "You didn't know? Yeah. I'm a homo."
His eyes dart to Quinn just as she opens her mouth and…she almost takes the opportunity. She almost just says, "Me too," and lets whatever fallout there is come, but she stops when his eyes meet hers, and clamps her mouth shut.
But from the way his eyes linger, she's positive he knows.
Regardless, it's a good way to vet her friends' responses.
As she suspects, Lulu just smiles; she'd had a feeling from some of the things said in the Feminism seminar that Lulu is an ally. Steve…he might be a little quieter for the rest of dinner, but really, he's been like that a lot lately. Sean is absolutely no different to Lucas than before the admission.
Only Stephanie seems to need some time to process it, but Quinn suspects that has more to do with her trying to seduce this gay guy than anything else.
And all of that, combined with the conversation she had with Rob where he made clear his status as an ally…Quinn feels like maybe she could do this. Maybe she could actually come out at school.
And then early the next week, someone finally makes the obvious joke.
"The names around here are pretty ridiculous," Lucas begins, in the same tone of voice he uses for beginning one of his trivial anecdotes in class, "Like, Steve and Stephanie? And Sean? Come on. Not to mention, Lucas and Lulu."
"And Lucy," Stephanie cuts in.
Quinn feels herself blushing.
"What?" asks Sean, puzzled.
"Lucy. It's Quinn real name," Stephanie gazes around at them, bewildered, "You guys didn't know that?"
"It's…really not my real name," Quinn begins.
Stephanie faces her, and her expression is guilty and…Quinn knows, now, that this wasn't one of Stephanie games. "But it is, though. When I got the paperwork saying you were going to be my roommate, that's the name it gave me. But when you contacted me first and signed your emails with Quinn, I figured you preferred your middle name."
"I do, yeah," Quinn started, "And…there really isn't a Lucy here. I'm not Lucy. It's just Quinn."
"Oh, I get it," Lucas says, "It just doesn't feel like you, right? Because you've always gone by Quinn?"
Quinn went with it, "Sure. The name really doesn't fit me, anyway." Because it's easier than trying to explain the broken, sad, ugly, unhappy little girl that she buried. The girl that doesn't exist anymore. There's no way she can tell them that it doesn't even feel like Lucy is in her head anymore because…that just sounds crazy. But there's no other way to feel about how completely she is Quinn. There is only Quinn in her head. A Quinn who likes books, and doesn't care about being popular and is gay, like Lucy.
But Lucy is gone.
"Well, still," Lucas tries, "Lucy and Lucas. Just another thing we have in common, right Quinn?"
His eyes are twinkling when Quinn meets them apprehensively.
Oh, he knows.
A/N: Chapter titles from The Presets, "This Boy's In Love," Psapp, "Always In My Head," The Tallest Man On Earth, "Love Is All," and Phantogram, "When I'm Small."