VI
Quinn regains full consciousness later that evening. They've placed her in a shared room with a woman who doesn't say a word to any of Quinn's visitors.
She's had a few.
Besides Rachel, Santana, Kurt and Blaine, some others drop by to check in with the unassuming blonde. Frankie, Alec and Jasmine visit after rehearsals let out early - the female protagonist wasn't around, so Elliot let them go with minimal grumbling - bringing flowers and a stuffed teddy bear with them.
Tom and Denny stop by a little later, with freshly-baked cookies and grim expressions.
"She's fine," Rachel has to assure them, because she can't stand the guilty look on Denny's face. The woman has taken such a liking to Quinn in the few interactions they've had, and Rachel feels even more guilty that this is all not real.
She's not Quinn's partner.
And she's starting to realise that maybe she wants to be.
Jason, from Quinn's office, stops by, after Santana sent an email to Quinn's supervisor from Quinn's phone, letting the man know of the situation.
Unfortunately, Dr Jordan Price is in Chicago, and so he made sure to let Quinn's colleagues know. He also made sure to request periodic updates on Quinn's recovery.
A recovery that's taking far too long for Rachel's liking.
She's restless and fidgety, and she needs to see Quinn's eyes. She needs to see piercing hazel looking back at her to be sure that Quinn really is okay.
But, that doesn't happen until almost nine o'clock, when Santana has fallen asleep, and Kurt and Blaine have gone to get them all coffee and something to eat. Rachel can't even think about food at a time like this, but she knows Quinn will expect her to consume something.
So, Rachel is the only one awake and around when Quinn's eyes finally open, and the relief Rachel feels is overwhelming enough to bring tears to her own eyes. She moves into Quinn's line of sight immediately, and smiles when cloudy hazel eyes settle on her face.
"Hi," Rachel whispers, settling on the edge of Quinn's bed.
Quinn blinks slowly. "You're here," she croaks, her voice rough and her throat obviously dry.
Rachel rushes to get her some water, and then positions the straw in her mouth so she can drink.
"You're here," Quinn says again, once she's drank her fill. Then, attempting to look around, she asks, "where is here?"
"The hospital."
Quinn groans. "I'm not okay?"
"You're stupid and stubborn, is what you are," she admonishes as gently as she can, because she's mad at this woman for worrying her so much.
Quinn doesn't say anything for a full minute. "I can't feel anything."
"It's just the morphine," Rachel assures her. "Everything is working, I promise. They ran all the tests. It was just a flare-up."
Quinn closes her eyes. "Are you mad at me?"
While Rachel wants to say yes, she doesn't. She says nothing, which is answer enough.
"Does my mom know?"
"I called her, yes."
"Is she on her way?"
Rachel hesitates. "No, she's not," she finally answers.
"Good," Quinn murmurs. "She'll just worry unnecessarily."
"That's saved for the rest of us," Rachel mumbles, and Quinn sighs, her eyes still closed.
The two of them sit in silence for long, long minutes, and Rachel just studies Quinn's face, starting to feel the events of the day catch up with her.
"Hey, Rachel?"
"Yes, Quinn."
Quinn's smile is lazy, sloppy. "I have a question," she murmurs; "Do short people also start their stories with 'When I was little…' or do they just say 'As I am today…?'"
Despite herself, Rachel laughs, probably from extreme relief. If Quinn is making horrific jokes, then she must be okay, right? It's not even that funny, but Rachel is exhausted, and Quinn has just put her through the emotional ringer. "I don't know," she says, answering Quinn's question.
Her brow furrows adorably. "You don't?" she asks, pursing her lips. "Why not? You're short."
Rachel shakes her head in amusement. "I missed you," she says, reaching out to smooth a hand over Quinn's soft blonde hair.
Quinn looks at her seriously, her gaze intense. "I always miss you."
Rachel leans forward. "Would it be wrong to get you to reveal all your secrets while you're like this?"
Quinn blinks at her. "I don't have any secrets."
"Liar."
Quinn lifts her chin slightly. "You know everything about me," she says.
"Do I?"
Quinn looks pensive. "If you looked hard enough, you would," she murmurs, and there's something very melancholy about her statement.
"Quinn?"
"Rachel?"
"I don't know everything about you."
"Like what?" she challenges.
Rachel smiles, her fingers threading through Quinn's hair. "What do I want to know," she muses. "What is your favourite colour?"
Quinn thinks long and hard about that one before she says, "Red," ever so seriously.
"Favourite food?"
Quinn looks almost pained by this question, but she eventually answers. "It has to be soup."
Rachel can believe that. "Okay, I'm going to ask you a very serious question, that has been up for debate for some years now."
"Uh oh."
"Tell me, Quinn Fabray, who is your best friend?"
But, it isn't Quinn who answers the question. It's Santana who speaks, having woken during Quinn and Rachel's conversation.
"Don't answer that, Fabray," the Latina says as she rises to her feet and stretches. "We both already know I'm your favourite."
Quinn smiles at her, her eyes slightly unfocused. "You're here."
"I missed a lab for you."
"Sorry."
Santana moves towards her, her fingers clasping around Quinn's closest hand. "You had me worried, Q."
"I'm okay?" she asks, more than says, as if she needs clarification from more than just Rachel that her biggest nightmare is not coming true.
"You're okay," Santana confirms. "Want to tell me what happened?"
Quinn's eyes flick in Rachel's direction for a moment, and then she sighs. "I - I couldn't feel my legs when I woke up," she says. "It was… terrifying."
Rachel wonders if it would be untoward to leave the room, but then Quinn's free hand reaches out for her, closing around the wool of her sweater. It seems like an unconscious thing, because her focus is still on Santana.
"I've - I've had nightmares like that before, and I thought, if I could just wake up, it would be fine." She blinks. "I'm guessing that didn't happen?"
"No, Q, it didn't," she says. "You gave us quite a scare."
"Sorry," Quinn murmurs.
"It's okay," Santana assures her, bending to kiss a pale forehead. "You just focus on getting better, and I'll worry about killing you later."
Quinn lets out a breathy chuckle, and the sound is so wonderful that both Rachel and Santana soak it up. "I had a dream," the blonde says.
"About what?" Santana asks.
"I was at Hogwarts," she says, and Rachel has to stifle a giggle. "I was a witch, San."
"Were you in Slytherin?" Santana asks, unable to stop herself.
"Ravenclaw, actually."
Santana snickers. "Then, it was definitely a dream."
"Santana," Rachel admonishes, but she's still trying not to laugh.
Quinn looks at her. "It was Post-War," she says, and she sounds so, so serious. "Hermione was there, and her surname was Potter. No double-barrel or anything." She grins. "Told you."
Rachel laughs now, her heart warming. "You sure did, Quinn."
Eventually, the four remaining visitors have to leave, and Quinn is given enough morphine to knock her out, once more. It takes everything Rachel has to walk out the door, but she promises to text Quinn whenever the blonde is awake.
And, said blonde is awake randomly at four o'clock in the morning.
Quinn: I have a teddy bear. I have decided to name him Ekko.
Quinn: Do you know where he came from? He's being awfully tight-lipped about his birthplace.
Despite her grogginess, Rachel can't help her laugh as her bleary eyes adjust to the bright screen in the darkness of her bedroom. She made sure to keep her phone on the highest volume in case Quinn decided to message her, and she's glad for it.
She rubs at her eyes as she considers her response.
Rachel: Hello, Ekko :) Frankie, Jasmine and Alec brought him for you, so you'll have to ask them from where he hails.
Rachel: How are you feeling? Did you get some good sleep?
Rachel settles in, expecting to have to wait a little while for a response, but the texts arrive not a minute later, surprisingly clear and without any spelling mistakes.
Quinn: Nope. He's still acting aloof, pretending not to know who those people are. Who are they, by the way? I have to thank them for my fierce little protector, Knight Ekko.
Quinn: It's dark here. I don't like it. Can I come home?
Rachel's stomach flips at the sight of the words, and she wonders just how lucid Quinn is in this moment. She can't imagine it's that much, because she doesn't seem to remember Frankie, Alec and Jasmine. But, then again, her grammar is impeccable, and it's all perfectly punctuated.
Rachel: They're members of the cast of my show, remember? They were at the picnic on Sunday. Maybe Ekko can't remember them because his life began when he met you?
Which, okay, sounds incredibly sappy to Rachel, but it's doubtful Quinn is going to remember any of this when the sun rises.
Well, Rachel hopes she doesn't.
Rachel: Of course, you can come home. I'm coming to fetch you tomorrow, and then you can have all the soup you want.
Quinn: I think you're right. Ekko doesn't seem to know anybody but me. And the nurse. She's scary. She keeps coming in to check my blood pressure. Is it high? Is that why I'm here? Am I dying?
Quinn: Tomorrow is too far away. Why can't I come home now?
Rachel is so, so tempted to get up and go fetch Quinn right this instant, but she knows that's impractical. She honestly can't tell if Quinn is okay or not. There are moments when she's… her usual self, and then others when it's obvious she's hopped up on pain medication.
She believes she's speaking to a stuffed animal. If that isn't cause for alarm, Rachel doesn't know what is.
Rachel: You're at the hospital because you hurt your back, Quinn. The nurse is just doing her job. I hope you're being nice to her.
Rachel: It is too far away, I know, but it'll be here before you know it. You'll see.
Quinn: I'm always nice. Ekko even says so.
Quinn: So, I can't come home?
Rachel, in all honesty, doesn't really know what Quinn means when she says 'home.' She doesn't even know if Quinn will be going to her own apartment when she gets discharged. Won't she need someone around? Will Rachel go and stay with her? Santana, maybe? Will Quinn come here?
Rachel: Ekko is very smart. You should keep him around.
Rachel: Where exactly is home, Quinn?
Quinn: Wherever you are.
Rachel sucks in a breath, her heart skipping a beat.
Rachel: Well, I'm right here, Quinn.
Quinn: Will you stay with me? I'm afraid of the dark.
Rachel, again, has to resist the almost irrepressible urge to go to Quinn. It's damning, she thinks, to want to be in the blonde's presence this badly, just to be sure she's okay.
Just to know, for sure.
Rachel: Always, Quinn.
For lack of a better term, Quinn is a… bundle of nerves in the morning. After her doctors come by to discuss her prognosis, run a few tests, and then clear her for discharge later that afternoon after the physiotherapist gives her approval, Quinn has all the time in the world to… stew.
Too much time to think.
To reflect.
To read through her late-night text conversation with Rachel and question its general absurdity. She ended up forwarding it to Santana and Kurt, hoping to get some semblance of understanding from either of them.
Santana's response was what the actual fuck?, and Kurt texted back, I didn't know you were afraid of the dark; why did I not know that?
So, yes, her friends have been less than helpful, and Quinn can't seem to make sense of her own words. Or Rachel's responses.
It's not as if anything heavy was revealed, right? It's not a big deal that Quinn may or may not have admitted to finding home in Rachel Berry. It's just a thing. It doesn't have to be made to be any bigger than it is. Because it's not. Big.
It's just a thing.
It continually plays on her mind when the physiotherapist visits, helping her ease out of bed, and then taking her on a walk around the hospital floor. It doesn't hurt, though it's uncomfortable.
Halle, the physiotherapist, suggests using a crutch for a few days, but Quinn opts for a cane. She's used one before, and she much prefers it.
Halle makes all the necessary notes, gives Quinn instructions on her aftercare and refers her to another physiotherapist for her next few sessions before she gives Quinn the go-ahead to go home.
Home.
Wherever Rachel is.
Quinn immediately texts Rachel, and then struggles through a shower. It makes her feel both amazing and horrible. She's clean but distinctly uncomfortable, and her back is tender.
Still worth it.
Maybe.
She's going to have to do things herself, so she may as well get used to it.
Quinn isn't sure how long she's going to have to wait for someone to come and get her, so she settles back into bed and answers her emails. They're mainly regarding school and work, and a few are from students who have heard she's in the hospital.
Her supervisor has given her the week off. Technically, she can work from home, and he expects edits on Monday morning. He also makes a very cryptic remark about finding a nugget of gold in Chicago, while he was speaking at a conference, and he asks her to send him a meeting request for whenever she's ready to talk.
It's both exciting and nerve-wracking, because Jordan Price is quite the character. She loves him, she really does, but he gets far too much satisfaction from being intentionally provocative. He claims it brings out the best in his students, but it just makes them hate him a little bit.
It's in that position that she receives her first visitor of the day.
Honestly, if anyone bet Quinn money on who that person would be, she would never have even thought to pull this name out of a hat.
But, alas, Quinn Fabray comes face to face with none other than Megan Porter.
Quinn freezes when she sees her, and Megan seems to hover in the doorway, seeking permission to enter the room.
The moment extends past awkwardness, and it's the sound of Quinn's roommate grunting in her sleep that jolts Quinn into motion. With thinly pressed lips, she motions for Megan to enter with a wave of her hand.
Megan is cautious with her approach, which is expected.
Quinn breaks the silence first, because it's obvious to them both that she's going to have to be the one to do it. "What are you doing here?" It's asked curiously, with merely a hint of accusation.
Megan can't seem to meet her gaze. "I'm - I'm still a part of the WhatsApp group," she says. "They were talking about… all of this."
"And you wanted to see for yourself that you inflicted the damage you wanted to?" Quinn automatically snaps, even though she knows it's not entirely fair. It's not Megan's fault Quinn has such a shoddy back, but still. She wouldn't even be here if Megan wasn't such a… sore loser.
And a bitch.
Megan visibly wilts under Quinn's glare. "No," she says. "That's not why I'm here."
"Then, why are you here?"
"To apologise, mainly," she says. "I - I got fired, you know?"
And, no, Quinn didn't know. "Why?"
"I don't think it's entirely because of what happened with you," Megan says, and she sounds sombre. "Rachel was right. My… attitude wasn't exactly making me easy to work with, and I wasn't helping the working environment." She sighs. "I suppose I pissed off Denny one too many times, and we all know she wears the pants when it comes to Tom."
Quinn can agree with that much, at least.
"I was jealous," Megan confesses, and it looks as if it pains her to say the words. "Of Rachel, mainly. She's just so… nice. Strong. Unflinching. Determined. It's almost unnerving, and I hated it about her. I wanted to see her fail, and I realise that's…" she trails off. "That's on me, and not her."
Quinn audibly swallows, a flicker of something familiar registering in her mind. "Not that I condone anything you've done, but I can understand it. I wasn't always very… nice to Rachel, either. I recognise those frustrations."
"I thought that was supposed to be misplaced sexual frustration," Megan says, and she sounds oddly curious.
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Are you trying to say you secretly have the hots for my girlfriend?" she questions.
"Uh." And, Megan honestly looks as if she doesn't know.
Quinn almost laughs. Broadway really is like high school. "Yeah," Quinn says with a slight roll of her eyes. "Rachel will do that to you."
Megan frowns. "But, I don't - I'm not - that isn't even - "
Quinn waits patiently.
"No," Megan finally says. "I mean, no." She shakes her head. "No. Just, no."
Quinn relents. "Are you jealous of her talent?" she asks.
"Of course," Megan says, thankful for the new subject, even though the topic isn't exactly any better. "She's probably the most talented person I've ever met, and the best and worst part is that she doesn't really know just how gifted she is."
"Oh, she does," Quinn mutters.
"She really doesn't," Megan counters. "Whatever talent she thinks she has, it's exponentially more, and she's only going to get better."
Quinn thinks she's being entirely too calm in this moment because, honestly, there is a lot of Rachel Berry worship going on, and Megan doesn't even realise she's doing it. She's not sure what she's supposed to do in this moment. What does she say? Does she actually act like Rachel's girlfriend and lay down the law? Or…
"Look," Quinn says; "I don't really know what you expected coming here, but I'm not sure I can give it to you. I don't, for a second, think this is what you wanted to happen from the incident on Sunday, but it did. I am sorry you got fired, but I take no blame in that, and I won't have you blame Rachel either. I appreciate that you admire her talent and her… being, but I would really appreciate it if you would stay away from the both of us." There isn't even a hint of a question in her tone. It may sound like a request, but it really isn't.
Megan nods once. "It's all real, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You're in love with her," she says. "I thought, maybe, that it was all an act… but it's not, is it? It's real?"
Quinn grits her teeth for a moment, her heart aching. "It is for me," is what she chooses to say, and that's all there is to it. It's real for her, and she's left to wonder what 'Always, Quinn' means for Rachel.
"It's not just you," Megan says, but neither of them is allowed time to unpack that, because the topic of their conversation decides to make her appearance at that exact moment.
Quinn lets out a sigh of relief when she sees Rachel practically stroll into the room, a takeaway bag of some sort clutched in her hand.
Rachel's steps falter when she sees Megan, and then she immediately shifts into Protective-Rachel mode. "What are you doing here?" she hisses at Megan, hurrying to Quinn's side. "Are you okay?" she asks, dropping her voice, softening it in a way that's always been reserved for Quinn.
"I'm okay," Quinn tells her, her eyes unable to look away from Rachel's concerned face. She really is very pretty.
"Is she giving you a problem? I'll call security."
Quinn smiles at her, just so relieved to see her. "It's fine," she assures her. "We were just talking."
Rachel regards Megan with suspicion. "About what?" she asks warily.
"I came to apologise," Megan says, feeling two feet tall under Rachel's withering glare.
"Which," Quinn says; "you technically haven't done yet."
Megan stares at her for a moment, thinking back on their conversation. "Oh," she says. "Right, well, I'm sorry. About Sunday, and about everything else." She sighs. "I obviously have quite a bit to work on and through, and that's what I'm going to focus on while I'm, uh, unemployed."
Rachel's eyes widen, clearly proving that she didn't know as well.
Megan smiles sadly at her. "It looks like you're probably going to be getting a new Understudy," she says. "Hopefully, this one is going to be easier to break in."
Quinn can tell Rachel is a little speechless, so she decides to speak. "You make it sound as if you can be broken in."
Megan shakes her head, looking mildly amused. "Lesser people have tried."
Rachel pinches Quinn's forearm, and the blonde scowls at her.
"What's that for?"
"What is happening right now?" she asks, keeping her eyes on Quinn.
Megan takes that as her cue to take her leave. She ducks her head slightly, and then clears her throat. "Well, I should get going," she says. "Sorry, again, and I hope your recovery goes well." She looks at Rachel. "Good luck with the show," she says. "I'll be sure to come and see it when it opens."
And, with that, she spins on the ball of her foot and leaves the room, and its inhabitants in silence.
Rachel pinches Quinn again.
"Quit it," she complains.
Rachel just does it again. "I thought you couldn't feel anything."
Quinn grabs her hand before she can inflict any more pain. "Stop," she says. "Use your words."
Rachel stares down at where Quinn is still holding her hand. "Megan was here?"
"She was."
"You were talking to her?"
"I think we've reached an understanding."
Rachel squeezes Quinn's fingers. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not."
Rachel sighs, trying to let the unease she felt coming in here and finding Megan with Quinn subside. "Are you ready to go home?"
When Quinn looks at her, Rachel feels both everything and nothing. It's heaven and earth, and Rachel resists the urge to run.
She's not ready.
She doesn't even know what any of it is.
Real or not.
"Are you going over there again?"
Even though Rachel knows there's no accusation in Santana's question, she still feels her hackles rise.
"She just got out of the hospital," Rachel says, which isn't exactly true. It's Thursday evening, and Quinn has been home since Tuesday. She's doing well, getting around easier and being the worst patient imaginable.
It was a fight and a half getting Rachel to agree to let Quinn stay at her own apartment when she was discharged, and then another fight entirely when Rachel insisted she was spending the night.
Wednesday morning was such a mess that Quinn practically forced her to go home later that evening, because neither of them wanted to go through another disaster like that on Thursday morning.
Granted, Rachel would have been more prepared, but she got the distinct impression her hovering was starting to annoy Quinn and she was reaching her threshold.
But Rachel misses Quinn and, based on the endless number of texts Quinn has been sending about Sir Ekko - he truly is a Knight, now - and the ongoing Harry Potter marathon, Rachel doesn't think she'll survive the night without seeing her fake girlfriend.
"That's not an answer to the question I asked," Santana says, giving her a pointed look.
Rachel blushes slightly. "Yes, I am," she says, and then tracks the Latina's eyes as they drift to the small tote bag she's clutching. "I have the day off tomorrow, so I thought I would spend the night."
Santana merely nods. "Does Quinn know that?"
"She's about to."
Santana laughs, and then sighs happily, her eyes drifting to the side. "So, that means I can invite someone over?"
Rachel eyes her.
"And get freaky and loud all over this glorious, spacious apartment," she adds.
Rachel shudders. "Remind me to lock my bedroom door before I leave," she says. "Do I know this person we may or may not be inviting over?"
"I don't think so," she says, frowning slightly. "She's Giovanni's friend from work, and her name is Michelle. I've decided that I'm not getting involved with a medical student ever again. We're all going to be fucking narcissists, man."
"You're already a narcissist, Santana."
She chucks a salted peanut at Rachel, which she easily dodges. "Get the fuck out of here."
Rachel grins at her. "Anything you want me to tell Quinn?"
"Dude, they invented phones for a reason," she says, rolling her eyes. "But, since you're offering, tell her that we still gotta talk about that thing she's still being all hush hush about saying out loud, even though we all know the truth of it."
Rachel frowns. "Will she even understand what any of that means?"
Santana's smile is entirely too wicked. "Oh, believe me, she will."
And, well, if Quinn does understand what the sentence truly means, she doesn't show it to Rachel. She just pulls the brunette into a hug, and then invites her inside.
"Set your stuff down, get comfortable," Quinn says. "I'm making a fresh batch of popcorn. We're about to get started with Goblet of Fire." She does this cute, little jig, and then hobbles towards the kitchen.
Rachel can only watch her go, this odd sensation that she's witnessing her whole heart walking around outside of her body starting to take root. It's an entirely foreign feeling to her, given her tendency to throw herself head first into potential relationships.
With boys.
She imagines things are different with this particular sex, and then bucketloads different because this is Quinn. She's her own breed, obviously, and Rachel just can't seem to read her. How is Rachel supposed to know if Quinn is feeling anything like she is without actually asking her? Wouldn't she be able to tell? Is she not looking hard enough? Is she just reading everything wrong? What is real or not?
So many questions.
"Rach?" Quinn calls out. "Can I add salt? I'm skipping the butter, don't worry."
"Sure," Rachel immediately answers back. "Thank you."
It doesn't take them long to get settled on Quinn's couch, blankets draped over their bodies and their focus on the television screen.
Well, Quinn's focus, because Rachel keeps sneaking glances at the blonde.
"Look at that," Quinn suddenly says. "How does this not prove Harry and Hermione are meant to be together?" She looks at Rachel, exasperated. "She's the only one who never let Harry down. She's always stood by his side, defending him against his enemies, bullies and tormentors when nobody else did. She's always stayed, especially when Ron didn't.
"I mean, look at the way she hugs him. Those hugs, as bone-crushing as they probably are, clearly give him strength and comfort to survive whatever life throws at him. This is why, Rachel, this is why I will always ship them together. She's the only one who truly loves him, through all of it. Through the rage and confusion and self-loathing; she's always just seen him, and she's never asked him to be anybody other than himself. That's special."
Rachel regards her carefully, wondering if they're actually still talking about these fictional characters. There are certain parallels between her own relationship with a teenage Quinn especially, but it's never really been something they've unpacked together. Rachel's sure Quinn has discussed it at length with her therapist the same way she has, but there are some topics they just don't go near.
"You really feel strongly about this, don't you?" Rachel asks.
Quinn smiles sheepishly, flushing slightly at her own outburst. "I do."
Rachel resists the urge to call her adorable. "Quinn?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you want to go as Harry and Hermione to Vogue's Halloween party with me?"
Quinn stares at her for a moment, clearly caught off guard. "Rachel Berry, are you asking me out?"
Rachel can't quite read her tone of voice and her face isn't giving anything away, so she panics and says, "Frankie, Jazz and Alec are going to be there."
Quinn blinks. "Oh."
Rachel swallows. "So, is that a yes?"
Quinn clears her throat, shifting slightly. Her mouth is turned downwards slightly, but Rachel won't allow herself to think it's in disappointment. "Sure," she says. "Somebody has to make sure you don't do anything crazy."
"I resent that."
Quinn smirks at her. "I'm going as Hermione, by the way."
Rachel gasps. "What? Why?"
"I'm taller."
Rachel huffs. "That has no bearing here, whatsoever," she argues. "In the books, Harry is described as being as tall as his father, which is taller than Hermione. Daniel Radcliffe's unfortunate height should not be a factor here, at all."
Quinn just laughs.
Rachel glares at her, and then says, "I actually think you should go as Draco."
Quinn raises and drops her hands in exasperation. "Why does everyone think I would be a Slytherin?" she asks pointedly. Then, her eyes narrowing, she says, "I swear, if you go on about Drarry or Dramione, I'm going to scream."
Rachel laughs out loud. "I accept canon, Fabray." Then, because she honestly can't resist, she says, "Though, you are blonde, and Draco's blonde, so…"
She receives a throw cushion to the face for her troubles.
Rachel doesn't expect to wake draped across Quinn's body on the couch. She can't even remember falling asleep but, one look at the screen, tells her that Harry Potter and the Order of The Phoenix is long over and they're back at the DVD's menu.
She also doesn't know how she ended up so close to Quinn. The last thing she remembers is being on the opposite end of the couch. Right?
Wait. No. She ended up using Quinn's projectile as a pillow for her head, shifting until she was resting against Quinn's legs. And, now her head is pillowed against Quinn's abdomen. How did she get here?
She can feel Quinn's hand on her shoulder, fingers curled around her sweater, and she can hear soft breathing from somewhere above her. She has no idea what the time is, and she honestly doesn't care. She's not moving. She's entirely too comfortable, even though she's sure some part of her is going to be stiff later.
Still, Quinn has a surprisingly agreeable couch.
Quinn is also shockingly comfortable.
It's with that thought that she slips into slumber, once more.
Only to be woken by an insistent tap to her shoulder what feels like mere seconds later, but is actually a few hours.
"Berry," Quinn is saying. "Berry, you have to get up."
"No," Rachel grumbles, swatting at the tapping hand. "Five more minutes."
Quinn chuckles. "Please," she says, "I have to pee, and you're kind of pressing down on my bladder."
That does it.
Rachel practically jerks away, probably giving herself whiplash in the process. She scrambles into an upright position, her hands moving to flatten her hair and wipe her mouth. Oh, God, was she drooling?
Thankfully, Quinn just looks amused at Rachel's mortification. "As much as I want to tease you right now, I really do have to pee." And, with that, Quinn gets to her feet - slowly and, clearly, painfully - and then limps out of the room, leaving Rachel to calm her racing heart and try not to freak out.
No.
There's absolutely nothing to freak out about. She was sleeping. Quinn was sleeping. They were… kind of cuddling. Friends sleep on couches together all the time. Right?
Rachel is still contemplating her downfall when Quinn returns, decidedly not looking as if she just woke up. It's unnerving how beautiful she is, especially when she's not even trying.
"Bathroom's free if you want it," Quinn says. "I'm going to make some coffee. What do you want for breakfast?"
For a moment, Rachel is struck by how domestic this all is; how this is something she could get used to; how she finds herself wanting this. With Quinn.
Always, with Quinn.
"If you don't answer in the next five seconds, I'm just going to make bacon and eggs," Quinn says when her silence has gone on too long.
Rachel shoots her a look. "Are you asking for another lecture, Fabray?"
Quinn rolls her eyes. "No, I'm asking for what you want for breakfast, and time is running out for you to state your preference, because I want coffee, and you won't like me until I get my coffee."
"I always like you," Rachel automatically says, the words almost like a defence mechanism, but against what? She thinks she doesn't want Quinn even to entertain the idea that there's a bone in Rachel's body that doesn't simply adore her.
Quinn eyes her. "I don't know about that," she says. "I turn into quite the grumpy bitch when I don't have my coffee."
Rachel shakes her head as she gets to her feet. "Nope," she says; "I stand by my declaration. I always like you. You're just more amusing when you're on a rampage."
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "A rampage?"
"You do realise I have seen you in the mornings, right?"
Quinn grins at her. "You're almost better than coffee, you know," she says, and then walks away.
Rachel isn't exactly sure what that means, but it feels heavy, for some reason.
A lot of things between them seem to be carrying extra weight these days, and she's just hoping she doesn't end up buckling under it all.
"Can I see?"
While Quinn has managed to get used to having Rachel around, somewhat, she still can't get over having her close enough to touch when she's inspecting her healing back. She's just emerged from a hot shower, and she's five seconds away from slipping on her t-shirt, but Rachel is here, and she's staring.
Quinn isn't sure, but she swears Rachel's eyes actually darken.
"Does it still hurt?" Rachel asks, walking up behind Quinn.
Quinn shivers when she feels cool fingers against her lower back. "Not really," she says, cursing how shaky her voice sounds.
Rachel's fingers trace the bruise. "It's looking better," she says.
Quinn wants Rachel to be touching her, but she doesn't want it to be like this. "Yeah," she murmurs, twisting away and slipping into her clothes. "Soon, it'll be like it never happened."
Rachel hums thoughtfully. "Is - is that what you want?"
Quinn turns to look at her in confusion, the mirror behind her. "What?"
"Forget it all? Pretend it never even happened?" She looks away. "It just kind of seemed like you forgave Megan, and I - I suppose I don't quite understand."
Quinn frowns. "I thought you were the one who believed in second chances?"
Rachel bites the inside of her cheek. "I suppose that's easier when it's only me involved," she admits carefully. "I find I'm irrationally and unendingly angry, because she hurt you, and I can't stand the sight of you in pain."
Quinn swallows. "I'm always in pain," she whispers, and she can't be sure if she means to make the confession or not.
Because, well, it's the truth. Whether it's physical, emotional or mental; there's always a part of her that hurts.
She's hurting right now, having Rachel look at her with all the care in the world, and not knowing if any of it is real. There's a part of her - traitorous as it is - that imagines it is; that thinks Rachel must feel it, too, but then she can't be sure, and she's not willing to risk their friendship.
Anyway, it isn't as if Rachel has given off the impression she would even be open to a real relationship with a woman. Quinn has watched carefully, waiting and observing.
But, no, Santana is right when she says Rachel is boy crazy. If anything, her rekindling her romance with Jesse St James a few years ago was answer enough, and it was more than enough impetus for Quinn to give in to Julia's advances.
And, what a lot of good that did her in the end.
God.
"Do you?"
Quinn blinks, coming back to the moment. "Do I what?"
"Forgive Megan?"
Quinn shrugs. "I'm not really thinking about her, to be honest," she admits. "I don't think it's that I forgive her. It's that there's a part of me that almost understands her."
"How so?"
Quinn hesitates. "As you're well aware, I wasn't always so comfortable with myself. I - I allowed my family's expectations to mould me into someone I hated with every fibre of my being, and it made everything about me… ugly." She closes her eyes for a moment. "I was angry a lot. Like, I was filled with this unquestionable, neverending rage that consumed me, because I knew I wasn't being true to myself. I knew I buckled, and gave in to the pressure to be a certain image. I knew I wasn't strong enough to hold onto my very essence, and it's that weakness I discovered in myself that I sought in others, as if it would help me justify my own inability to… remain Lucy, I guess.
"Which is when I happened across you, and you were just so fucking strong. It was unnerving, and I - I was so angry with the way you didn't let anything affect you. I was jealous and enraged that you wouldn't just give in, and just crumple, so I made it my relentless mission to break you, and I ended up destroying myself in the process."
Quinn can't even look at her. It's the most she's ever revealed about her teenage years. Sure, the two of them have talked sporadically about their experiences, but Quinn has spent many a session with her therapist trying to unpack the intricacies of her high school psyche.
"It sounds ridiculous now," Quinn continues. "I was such a… child, but also not, and I'm embarrassed just thinking about it. Ashamed. Horrified. But I learned, and I grew up. I mean, you kind of have to when you're fifteen, pregnant, homeless and terrified that the world is closing in on you in the worst ways.
"But, I learned," she says. "I made mistakes. I still do, and I still learn, and I'm constantly trying to be the best version of myself because I get to be. I get to be exactly who I want to be, and I hate myself far less these days because of it." She huffs out a breath. "What I'm trying to say is that I recognise aspects of that in Megan and, while I don't condone it at our age - or any, really - I can understand it."
When it looks like Quinn has finished her surprising monologue, Rachel really doesn't know what to say. It's not the first time Quinn has left her speechless, but it's the first time it feels pivotal.
Like, whichever way Rachel reacts in this moment defines the future of their relationship, and they both know it.
So, Rachel does the only thing she can think of doing. With little preamble, she steps into Quinn's space and puts her arms around the taller woman, holding her close and trying to use her body to say what her mouth is unable to.
Quinn is tense for a few moments, and then she relaxes in Rachel's embrace, hearing the words in Rachel's silence. They just hug for a slice of eternity.
No words are exchanged.
Still, so much is said.