AN: There is a conversation in this chapter that's an homage to another of my favourite TV couples. Any guesses?
XI
"She's not answering."
Quinn looks from the maître d' to Rachel, who's just spoken, and then back again. "She's not going to answer, is she?" she asks the man, noticing the knowing glint in his eye. Something about him oddly reminds her of Kurt, and she can't be sure that's a good thing.
"I'm afraid not," he says, looking at Rachel, who is trying to dial Denny's number again. "We have a reservation for Carpenter," the man tells Rachel for the umpteenth time.
"For two people," Rachel says, frowning.
The man smiles. "You are two people, are you not?"
Quinn can't help her smile, that immediately widens when Rachel lets out a frustrated breath and mumbles something under her breath.
"They did this on purpose," Rachel concludes. She looks at the maître d' and asks, "They're not coming, are they?"
"All I know is I have a reservation here for two," he says. "It's a lovely tasting menu, with a vegan option, that the chef personally put together."
Rachel covers her eyes with her left hand. "I should have known Denny would try to do something like this," she says. "She feels so guilty about the whole Julia thing."
Quinn places a hand on the small of her back. "She wanted to do something nice for you."
"For us," Rachel says, and then sighs. "It would be awfully rude not to accept, wouldn't it?"
"The absolute rudest."
Rachel steps into Quinn's space and reaches up to kiss her cheek, because she just can't resist. "It's a date," she says.
Quinn just about manages a smile. "I think that's Denny's plan," she says, and then looks at the maître d' with expectancy. "Where to, Maestro?"
He smiles warmly at her. "If you'll both follow me, ladies," he says.
Quinn uses the hand pressed against Rachel's back to guide her through the restaurant, both of them ignoring the eyes that track them. It's obvious they're being led into… the kitchen.
"Oh, my God," Rachel says as they're led to what she knows is the Chef's table. The buzz of the kitchen drowns out her next few gasps as they get seated opposite each other, and presented with their menus.
"We've paired wine with the dishes," a different waiter tells them, as he fills their glasses after Quinn has deemed it acceptable in that graceful way that is so inherently Quinn. "I'll return shortly with your appetisers."
Once they're alone again, Rachel stares at Quinn with wide eyes. "Oh, my God," she says, and then casts a look around the kitchen, suddenly in awe. "Oh, my God."
Quinn smiles at her wonder, her own heart beating faster than normal. She's on a date with Rachel Berry. Sort of.
They have dinner together all the time, but this feels different. As far as everyone knows, they're on a date, and Quinn intends to play the part to the best of her ability.
She's on a date with Rachel, and never in her life did she think this particular dream would ever come true.
"This is amazing," Rachel says, and then sips at her wine. "Is this what our lives could be like when we're both famous?"
"Both of us, huh?"
"What?" she asks innocently. "I'm going to be a famous Broadway actress, and you're going to be this famous, award-winning author."
Quinn tilts her head to the side. "We'll be a power couple, huh?"
"Oh, definitely," Rachel says with a happy smile.
"So, what, I'm the famous novelist, and you're this fabulous diva, and we wine and dine on the regular?" Quinn asks, indulging Rachel in this fantasy future.
Rachel nods. "But we're still going to have time to have a big family."
Quinn blinks in surprise, and then smiles widely. "How many are we talking here?"
"At least three," Rachel answers immediately. "Two boys and a girl."
"Are you going to make me coach Little League soccer?"
"You'll love it," Rachel teases. "And I'll bake cupcakes for the team."
Quinn gives her a speculative look.
"Or… you will," she says with a pout. "I make good cookies, Quinn."
Quinn says nothing, just sipping at her wine.
"You told me I make good cookies," she says. "Were you lying?"
Quinn sounds very serious when she says, "I would never lie to you about that, Rachel."
The severity of Quinn's tone gives Rachel pause, and she asks the question before she can stop herself. "But, you would about something else?"
Quinn doesn't immediately respond. "Tell me more about this life we're going to live," she says quietly.
Rachel gives her a curious look, but lets it go for now. She's just going to add it to the list of things they still have to talk about - which is growing longer and longer by the day.
"We're going to spend our summers in our beach house," Rachel eventually says, smiling widely.
"And Winter in the south of France," Quinn adds coyly.
"But, it won't matter where we are in the world," Rachel says; "as long as we're together."
Quinn feels something twist in her chest, and she suddenly knows pursuing this conversation was a terrible idea. Getting even a glimpse of the kind of future she could have with Rachel hurts in ways she never anticipated.
They could have this.
If Quinn were braver.
If Rachel were even remotely inclined to consider anything with a woman.
If losing their friendship was worth the risk of pushing for something more when the only sign Rachel would be remotely interested is this fake relationship they find themselves in.
Quinn clears her throat. "And, you would be happy?"
"The happiest," Rachel breathes, sounding almost wistful. "I think I've learned, through everything I've experienced and everything I've witnessed in my life, that success is wonderful, sure, but finding someone to love and having them love you in return is what this life is really all about."
Quinn clenches her jaw, and wills herself not do something unthinkable and start crying or anything ridiculous like that. "More important than winning a Tony, huh?" she asks, trying to alleviate some of the heaviness settling on her chest.
Rachel just smiles at her, and they settle into silence until their appetisers arrive moments later. It's essentially the same meal for both of them, though Quinn's has prosciutto where Rachel's has mushrooms.
"Vegans," Quinn teases with a roll of her eyes.
If there's any way to keep Rachel from talking, it's by feeding her good food, which is something Quinn has learned in the years they've been friends. It's taken them a while to get to this place in their relationship, and Quinn still counts herself lucky that Rachel ever deemed her worthy after everything she put the girl through in high school.
Rachel always assures her that she's been forgiven for all that, but it's something that constantly plagues Quinn because, even all these years later, she hasn't fully been able to forgive herself.
Quinn's therapist claims she'll never really be able to let it all go until she tells Rachel the true reasons behind all her bipolar behaviour towards her when they were younger.
When Quinn was still so far in denial, she didn't even know what she was denying.
When Quinn couldn't and wouldn't accept that there was something more to what Santana called her obsession with Rachel Berry.
An obsession that's landed her right here, feeling all these feelings for a woman who is only pretending to be in a relationship with another woman.
"This is so good," Rachel says, breaking into Quinn's thoughts. "I love these beets."
Quinn smiles knowingly. "The colour excites you, doesn't it?"
"It matches your blouse," Rachel says, her eyes unwittingly drifting down to admire the way Quinn's top hugs her upper body so snuggly.
"I know," Quinn says, and Rachel's eyes snap up, a blush tingeing her cheeks. "You like purple."
"I think it's my new favourite colour," Rachel says.
"Given up on the yellow, huh?"
She looks thoughtful for a moment. "I think so," she says. "Something about it seems… childish, almost, and I'm trying to be a grownup."
Quinn winks at her. "You'd have to grow a few more feet for that."
Rachel almost throws a carrot at her. "I get enough height jokes from Santana, thank you very much. I don't need them from you, as well."
Quinn smiles this smile that has warmth spreading through Rachel's entire body, and the brunette feels as if she's completely out of her depth. She always gets the feeling there's hidden meaning in every moment they spend together these days, and she keeps losing things in translation.
She's missing something, she knows - too many people have alluded to it over the last few weeks - but she honestly has no idea what that is.
"Quinn?"
"Hmm?"
Rachel watches as Quinn very carefully dabs at the corners of her perfect mouth with her napkin. "Can I ask you something?"
Quinn hesitates for a beat, and then nods. "What's up?"
Rachel takes a deep breath. "Why did you really agree to do this thing for me?"
"What thing?"
"This," she says. "This whole… ruse."
Quinn's nostrils flare at the word choice. She can't allow herself to forget this is all just an act to Rachel. It'll be too devastating if she allows herself to get wrapped up in how it feels to belong to the brunette.
"You needed me," Quinn says.
"This isn't exactly asking for a cup of sugar, Quinn," Rachel points out. "You didn't have to."
"You're right," Quinn says, and then lets them descend into silence when their waiter returns to collect their empty dishes. The conversation is a little stilted after he leaves with their next round of orders.
"I've always been fascinated by Ratatouille," Rachel says, looking thoughtful.
"The meal or the movie?" Quinn asks.
"Both, I guess," she answers with a grin. "You know, a lot of people think the rat's name is Ratatouille, when it's not."
"I know."
"You know?"
Quinn smiles softly. "It's Rémy."
Rachel almost jumps in her seat. "You do know."
"If you recall, Rach, you kind of made us watch a cartoon marathon when you and Jesse broke up."
"Animation," Rachel corrects with a pout. "And, I don't remember your complaining."
"I didn't," Quinn says.
How could she have complained when she had Rachel Berry burrowed against her side, seeking comfort and warmth? It was some of the worst and best days of Quinn's life, and she's still not sure she's ever recovered from the jarring sensation of her conflicted emotions: elation at the end of the relationship and heartache at Rachel's obvious heartbreak.
Rachel laughs softly. "While I binged kiddies' movies after my breakup, you binged - " she stops suddenly.
Quinn quirks an eyebrow. "Women and booze?" she finishes.
Rachel blushes, and looks to her right where people are whizzing past with trays and plates of food. She finds the inner workings of things to be fascinating, and this is no different.
"I guess we just deal with things differently," Rachel eventually says.
"I guess," Quinn agrees quietly. Then, because she's always been curious, she says, "I always got the feeling you were angry with me for that."
Rachel doesn't immediately respond, and she's relieved by the arrival of their main meal. She thanks the waiter with a kind smile, and then buys herself time by tasting the food in front of her.
Quinn waits patiently. She knows Rachel knows the observation won't be allowed to be avoided, so there's no rush.
Rachel gets to eat two bites of her divine Ratatouille before she responds to Quinn's words. They're opening up a can of worms Rachel doesn't think either of them is ready for, because the truth is she was angry with Quinn.
Still, she says, "I was worried for you." She takes a breath. "And, I suppose, a little disappointed."
Quinn flinches.
Rachel sighs. "I just - I guess I thought - "
"I would handle it better?"
"Something like that," Rachel murmurs around her forkful of food.
Quinn can't bring herself to eat. "Have you ever just wanted not to feel anything?" she asks.
Rachel doesn't answer either way.
"It's all I wanted," Quinn says, so quietly that Rachel strains to hear her. "I wanted all the pain and heartache and betrayal to stop, and I didn't know how else to do that without… destroying myself in the process." She sighs. "I've done that far too much in my past."
Rachel recalls all the various ways Quinn has tried to deal with her emotions, and she has to reason that a few one-night-stands aren't the worst way to get over a devastating breakup.
Because it was devastating.
Quinn wasn't herself for several months after her relationship with Julia ended, existing in a bit of a daze. She wasn't up for doing anything more than cooking and spending the evening in the apartment she eventually ended up living in when Julia was no longer there to co-sign the lease on the originally picked place.
God, the woman really fucked Quinn over.
Sometimes, Rachel gets the feeling Quinn hasn't ever really come back from the entire thing, a certain melancholy following her around as she navigates this new life she stepped into alone in New York City.
Except, well, she hasn't been alone.
Not even a little bit.
Rachel hasn't let her be, but even she has to admit they never used to spend this much time together before they started this entire arrangement. They were just two friends, who occasionally saw each other.
Now, well, they're in this pseudo-relationship, and Rachel hasn't seen so much of Quinn since high school.
And, back then, they weren't the kind of friends who would even do this. They're having dinner together, and that's something to marvel at, particularly if one was to look at all they've managed to conquer.
"I know you don't like to hear this, Quinn," Rachel says; "but I really am proud of you."
Quinn, almost predictably, ducks her head.
"I mean it," she says. "You've overcome so much, and look at you now. Just, look at you."
Quinn hesitantly lifts her head. "Do - do you think Beth would be proud?"
Rachel's heart breaks for her in this moment, and she reaches across the table to cover Quinn's hand with her own. "Of course," she says. "I think, you could tell her you know the lyrics to every One Direction song, and she would be ecstatic."
Quinn laughs. "I do not."
"You forget, Fabray, that I know all your secrets."
Quinn immediately sobers. "Not all of them," she says seriously, and Rachel feels a chill run up and then back down her spine.
"What don't I know?" she asks, frowning slightly.
Quinn smiles this sad smile that makes Rachel want to stand and hug her tightly. Quinn can't even meet her gaze, and she feels the weight of all the lies they've been telling each other settle heavily on her shoulders.
"Quinn?"
She sighs. "Did you know I'm allergic to walnuts?"
Rachel blinks once, twice, and then shakes her head. "I thought it was just bees?"
Quinn winces. "Those little fuckers."
Rachel giggles. "Do you remember - "
"I swear, if you mention the maple syrup incident, then I'm going to throw something at you."
She laughs properly this time. "You should have seen you."
"I almost died," Quinn says with a pout.
"You couldn't talk," Rachel says, still very amused.
"Rachel," she grouses. "It was horrible. Why are you laughing?"
"You were adorable."
Quinn huffs out a breath. "You're being a terrible date," she says, and then makes a show of returning to her dinner.
"I'm the best date," Rachel says, straightening in her seat.
"You're really not."
"Am too."
"My opinion is the one that counts here, Rach," she says; "and you're severely lacking."
"Ouch."
"I'm just saying."
Rachel looks comically wounded for a moment, and then her face takes on a determined expression. "You know what," she says; "just for that, I'm going to make this the best damn date you've ever been on."
Quinn makes the mistake of scoffing playfully and asking, "you reckon you can turn it around?" because she knows Rachel is competitive by nature.
Quinn should know she's in for it when the brunette leans forward, lays her palms flat on the table and says, "just you watch, Fabray. You're in for it."
For the most part, Quinn thinks she handles herself quite well, because, God, she is so not prepared for the moment Rachel turns on the charm.
Quinn is an attractive woman, and she's been flirted with countless times by both sexes, but she's honestly never felt so out of sorts being on the receiving end of someone's attention.
Rachel initially overshoots, asking all the cheesy date questions like so, you come here often? and what's your favourite food? but then she gets settled and their date… turns into a date.
The conversation flows easily - easier than it has all evening - and Quinn can practically feel all her good sense escaping her body as Rachel compliments and teases and lightly touches with warm fingers.
Rachel asks, "Are you going to be at my opening night?" with the kind of vulnerability Quinn hasn't heard from her since they were college freshmen, and Quinn knows she's done for.
There's really no escaping this.
She was never over Rachel - as much as she tried to convince herself - and she's definitely not helping herself by sitting here and doing this.
It's just going to make it hurt even more.
"Of course," Quinn says, smiling softly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"It's almost here," Rachel says, shaking her head. "December is like tomorrow."
Quinn smiles behind her wine glass. "How are the tickets selling, anyway? I remember Tom mentioning he was a little worried, because it's a fresh face and a new play."
Rachel blushes. "I hear it's going quite well, actually."
"Do I have to buy my own ticket?"
"Of course not," she says. "I already have your ticket ready to go. Front row, with all the other important people in my life."
Quinn feels her heart skip a beat, which is just the most cliché thing to happen to her. "Are you expecting flowers?" she manages to ask.
"Of course," she says, smiling brightly. "After this super amazing date we're currently on, I would expect nothing less."
Quinn shakes her head, smiling slightly. "I'll make note of that," she says, almost secretively. "Any particular kind?"
"I'm quite partial to the gardenia."
"Oh yeah?"
Rachel smiles through a nod. "It's kind of our flower, isn't it?"
"It is," Quinn agrees.
"They've always reminded me of you."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Because of their meaning, or because of the way they look?"
Rachel blinks slowly. "Both," she confesses quietly.
Quinn has known the meaning behind the gardenia from the moment she Googled it after learning that Rachel was the one responsible for her corsage their junior year of high school. It was a shock, and she felt slightly betrayed by both her and Finn - which proves to be a feeling that never quite dissipates, even all these years later - but Quinn got over it.
Kind of.
"Both," Quinn echoes, suddenly thoughtful. "Purity and joy," she murmurs, and then audibly swallows because this is touching on something that's been unspoken for many, many years. "And secret love," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
Rachel feels the shift in the air, her own heart beating irregularly. "Beauty and love, too," she adds when the atmosphere grows too heavy. "Which you are, Quinn: beautiful and just so, so lovely."
Quinn wants to tell her to stop saying things like that. Even if this is supposedly a date, it hurts her when Rachel says these things to her… because she doesn't mean them.
Quinn has to remind herself of that truth, because it would be so easy to lose herself in all of this.
In this fantasy.
She can't decide if getting a taste of what it could be like with Rachel is worth all the heartache that's surely to come. Is this what Santana warned her about?
Or, was it Kurt?
The worst part is that Quinn knew what she was getting herself into. She was convinced she would be able to handle it and, yet, here she is, sitting across from the one woman with the power to -
To ruin her.
"Quinn," Rachel says softly, her hands shaking under the table. "It's not a secret anymore."
"What?"
"My love," she says, and Quinn feels the weight of this moment begin to suffocate her. "For you. It's not a secret anymore."
Quinn sucks in a breath, and can't help but think Mine is.
"You know that, right?" Rachel presses. "I love you."
Quinn closes her eyes for a long moment, willing herself not to react too… strongly in this moment.
She wants to run.
She wants to hide away somewhere and try to forget anything to do with the way Rachel Berry makes her feel.
Even if it's everything she's ever wanted.
Just, having Rachel look at her as if any of this could be real means more to her than Quinn could probably feasibly explain - even written down - and the worst part is that it's going to end.
It's not real.
"I know," Quinn eventually says. "I know, Rachel."
Sometimes, Rachel doesn't think Quinn does, but there's nothing more she can say to convince her, when she's not even sure the extent to which her feelings go.
Rachel wouldn't go so far as to call it awkward, but it is.
The entire night has been this strange mixture of tension that is threatening to reach a boiling point, and Rachel doesn't know how she's supposed to turn down the temperature without burning either one of them.
Or, both of them.
"Want to take a walk?" Rachel asks as they're leaving the restaurant, decidedly not touching each other, at all. She wants to reach for Quinn's hand, but she feels something disjointed, as if there's been some kind of shift in their relationship, and she doesn't recall when it happened.
Maybe it's been happening all along, and she's just now noticing.
If she looks hard enough, what else is she going to see?
She gets the feeling from nearly everyone that she's missing something important, but she doesn't know what it is, and she's too afraid to ask someone to tell her. She knows it's to do with Quinn, but she's always been a little wary of anything involving the blonde.
They've managed to come this far in their relationship, and the truth of that still fascinates her.
Quinn fascinates her.
"A walk?" Quinn questions softly, absently glancing at her wrist for the time.
Rachel hesitates. "Do you have an early start tomorrow?"
Quinn merely shakes her head, and then slips her right hand into Rachel's left, interlacing their fingers with the kind of ease that's synonymous with their relationship, fake or not. "We can walk," she says, and then starts them doing just that.
Rachel takes out her phone with her own right hand and rolls her eyes at what she sees. "Denny finally got back to me," she says, showing Quinn her phone's screen.
Denise Carpenter: It seems the situation with Patrick is a little more serious than originally anticipated. It seems we're going to have to reschedule, but we do sincerely hope you two had a lovely evening ;)
Quinn laughs softly. "Are all you theatre people like this?"
"I don't know if that's an insult or not," Rachel says with a pout.
Quinn squeezes her fingers. "You should tell her we did have a lovely evening," she says.
Rachel eyes her carefully. "Did we?"
Quinn's expression falters slightly. "Kind of," she confesses. "I get the feeling something is amiss, but that could just be me."
"It's not just you."
Quinn traps her bottom lip between her teeth, and Rachel finds her gaze drifting down to her mouth. "Maybe we're just having an off night," Quinn says. "It happens, you know? We did used to clash a lot, and we've been doing so well for so long, so it might be on the cards for us."
Rachel raises her eyebrows. "Are you trying to say this is like the seven-year, uh, something?"
Quinn laughs, her head titling back. "Have we really been friends for seven years?"
"Round about," Rachel says. "I count from our senior year of high school."
"Oh?"
"Where do you count from?" she asks. Then, because she's Rachel, she adds, "If you count, at all."
"Do we have some kind of friendiversary?"
"I don't have an exact date," Rachel says, sounding entirely too serious about it. Even disappointed.
Quinn can't stop herself from releasing Rachel's hand and wrapping an arm around the brunette's shoulders. She pulls her close against her side, and presses a kiss to Rachel's temple. "God, you're adorable."
Rachel feels herself blush, even as her left arm automatically snakes around Quinn's thin waist. "I could probably figure it out, you know?" she says. "There are a lot of important dates from that year."
Quinn hums thoughtfully. "Which ones?"
Rachel knows to be wary of where this conversation could lead, because their senior year is something they very rarely talk about. Too many things happened, and they definitely don't bring up Finn Hudson or the would-be wedding.
Either way, those dates are burned in her brain.
Rachel remembers the day he proposed, because it's also the day she realised that Quinn Fabray was more important to her than nearly every other person (she wasn't related to, at least).
At the time, Rachel didn't put much stock into the fact that Quinn was the first person she went to when she couldn't decide either way. There was also a part of her that actually hurt at the idea of Quinn being in New Haven and not… New York.
Rachel didn't even know how it happened, but Quinn became this person in her life. Back then, she resisted it and fought against it until -
Until the mistake she was about to make by marrying her high school boyfriend ended up with her pseudo-best friend in a wheelchair.
Now, that date will forever stay with Rachel. Every year, it haunts her in the worst ways, and she always needs to spend the day with Quinn, regardless of what she has going on.
Quinn always indulges her, dropping everything to be with Rachel.
"Do you remember the day you told me we were 'kind of' friends?" Rachel hesitantly ventures.
Quinn nods. "I do," she says. "It's really hard being a teenage girl, isn't it?"
Rachel laughs. "I think we all deserve awards for surviving those years relatively unscathed."
Quinn bumps her forehead against the side of Rachel's head. "Speak for yourself," she teases. "I've been in therapy ever since."
Rachel turns her head to look at Quinn's face. "And, I'm so proud of you," she says. "I remember how… lost you used to be, and look at how far you've come."
Quinn sucks in a breath. "I'm still a work in progress, you know?"
"I think we're always going to be, Quinn," she says. "We're still young, and there's so much life left to live."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Hello there, Hallmark card," she teases lightly.
"I'm just telling you the truth," she says. "Nobody's perfect, Quinn."
"And, hello there, Jessie J," she says. "Or, would you prefer Hannah Montana?"
Rachel stares at her for a moment. "Do I even want to know how you know that?"
Quinn shrugs. "Beth," she provides as an answer, and it's more than enough for Rachel.
Rachel just squeezes her gently, and they fall into comfortable silence as they walk. Neither one of them makes a move to release the other, and Quinn accepts she's just doomed to suffer through Rachel's particular brand of affection for the rest of her life.
God, is she going to feel this for the rest of her days?
Quinn reasons that it'll eventually pass. It has to, because Quinn doesn't know how much more of this she can take.
She hopes - hopes beyond hopes - that it'll fade before Rachel finds herself in another relationship, because Quinn has suffered years of watching her be with other people, and she doesn't know how she'll get through any more of that.
Particularly after they've been through all of this.
Almost without her say-so, her grip on Rachel tightens, and she has the sudden urge never to let go. Like, if she releases her now, it's going to be for forever.
Rachel feels the sudden tension in Quinn's body, and she glances curiously at her, surprised to find the blonde's expression pained. Without thinking about it, Rachel tilts her head upwards and kisses the underside of Quinn's jaw. She inhales deeply, the scent of Quinn's skin making her a little lightheaded.
It's always been something that's fascinated her. Quinn has a very specific smell, and she's always wondered about it.
"Rachel," Quinn whispers.
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?"
Rachel shifts slightly, but doesn't move away. "I'm trying to figure out what you smell like."
Quinn's eyes widen comically. "Should I be calling you Jean-Baptiste Grenouille?"
"Who?"
Quinn chuckles softly. "Stop being creepy," she says, pecking the tip of Rachel's nose. "You're cute, but don't push it."
Rachel leans back, breathing out slowly. "You think I'm cute?"
"And, now, you're just fishing for compliments, Tinkerbell."
Rachel beams at her, her eyes lighting up. "I live for it, Fabray," she says. "It's my lifeblood."
"So dramatic," Quinn quips, glancing over Rachel's head at the slow-moving traffic.
"Don't sound so surprised," Rachel says. "You know me."
Quinn gives her a look that Rachel doesn't quite understand, and then asks, "Did you reply to Denny?"
Rachel almost reels at the subject change. "Uhm, no," she answers, fully aware that Quinn already knows she hasn't texted Denny back.
Quinn hums softly. "I did have a lovely evening," she says. "I especially enjoyed getting to meet the chef. People in the food industry have always fascinated me."
Rachel presses her lips together. "Is that a career you might have considered?"
"What? Becoming a chef?"
"Yes."
"Maybe," Quinn allows with a slight shrug. "I considered a lot things when I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to do."
"Like what?"
She tilts her head to the side, and almost trips on the uneven ground. "I actually wanted to be a doctor at some point."
Rachel can't help but wonder why she didn't already know that. "Really?"
"After the accident, and after spending all that time in the hospital and in recovery, becoming a healthcare professional really interested me."
Rachel swallows audibly, hating the reminder of the day Quinn could have been lost to the world. "So, why didn't you pursue it?"
"I figured out it wasn't really my… passion," she says. "I discussed it with Santana, and the way she talked about it wasn't what I felt. I never quite viewed it the way you did with Broadway, and that was important in helping me decide."
"On pursuing writing?"
"I was always a writer," she says. "I started at a very young age, scribbling down little snippets about my various imaginary friends." She blushes at the confession. "It kind of blossomed from there, I guess. I wrote poetry and limericks, and then I wrote short stories when I wasn't journaling.
"I used to write about this fantastical life where I had a family that loved and cared about me; where I wasn't such a crushing disappointment, and where I wasn't so terrified of - " she stops suddenly.
"Of what?"
"Being myself, I guess."
Rachel gets the sense there's more to it, but she's not going to push. "And, you get to be yourself now?"
Quinn's smile is a little on the sad side. "I'm trying," she says.
"All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy."
Quinn brings them to a stop on the sidewalk, and draws her into a proper hug, the fronts of their bodies pressing together. She doesn't say anything, because she doesn't know what she can even say.
She wants to be happy too, but she can't shake the feeling that Rachel is the only one with the power to make sure of that.
"Stay the night."
For the most part, Quinn doesn't know why she says the words, but Rachel is currently standing in her living room, looking slightly unsure, and Quinn doesn't want her to leave. She doesn't want this night to end, because they'll have to go back to reality in the morning, and she just wants to pretend for a little while longer.
Rachel doesn't even hesitate. "Okay."
They've established a bit of a routine by now, and they fall into it easily. Rachel's dress gets hung up in Quinn's closet, and she changes into the sweats Quinn silently hands her. She even has her own toothbrush in Quinn's bathroom, and the mere thought of it spreads warmth throughout her body.
"Do you need anything from the kitchen?" Quinn asks as she pops her head into her bedroom, smiling at the sight of Rachel crawling into her bed.
"Some water, please," Rachel says, settling into her side of the bed and reaching for her phone. She has a message from Denny and several from Santana. There's one from Jasmine, another from Alec and a handful from both her fathers.
She's too exhausted to reply to any of them, so she just makes sure to set her alarm and then sets the phone on the nightstand, just as Quinn comes back in, a bottle of water in each hand.
"All locked up?" Rachel asks.
Quinn nods. "Lights off and everything," she confirms, handing a bottle to Rachel. Then, because she can, she says, "You better drink your own."
"But yours tastes so much better."
Quinn just rolls her eyes, and then climbs into bed beside her. It takes her a moment to get comfortable, but she eventually settles, feeling her body begin to relax, even if it's far too aware of the other person in the bed with her.
"Goodnight, Quinn," Rachel says into the dark room, her left hand searching for and finding Quinn's right between their bodies.
Quinn gives the hand she's now properly holding a gentle squeeze, smiling at the warmth she finds. "Goodnight, Rachel."
They descend into silence for a few minutes, even though neither of them is near sleep. Quinn can practically hear Rachel thinking, and she's sorely tempted to ask her what's on her mind.
Almost inevitably, Rachel is the one to break the silence. "Tell me the truth," she whispers. "Did you actually have a lovely evening, or were you just saying that?"
Quinn can hear the vulnerability in her voice, so she rolls onto her side to face Rachel, smiling even though the brunette probably can't see it. "I had a good time, Rachel," she says softly. "I promise."
"Are you sure?" Rachel asks, also rolling over and shifting closer.
"I'm sure," Quinn says. Then, because it's niggling at her, she asks, "Why are you so concerned about it?"
"I - I just want you to have had a nice night."
"I did," she assures her. "Now, stop worrying about it, okay? I like spending time with you, and the food was really good. It's not like it's a chore for me, you know?"
Rachel shifts slightly closer. "I just - I don't see what you get out of this," she says.
"Free meals," Quinn offers lightly.
"I'm serious, Quinn," she says. "What do you get out of helping me?"
Quinn sighs. "I get to help you," she says. "Isn't that enough?"
"I don't know," she says; "is it?"
"It is for me," Quinn confesses, and she can almost convince herself she means it. Maybe not today, but it's going to be enough one day, and she can only hold out for that day… that she hopes is closer than she thinks.
She needs it to arrive.
Yesterday.
"I guess, sometimes, I feel as if I owe you," Rachel carefully admits.
"You don't," Quinn says, because she really doesn't need Rachel going around doing nice things in an attempt to make it up to her or something ridiculous like that. She barely survived this evening, so she really doesn't need Rachel devoting unnecessary attention towards her.
But.
It almost feels as if Rachel wants to.
"I get to spend all this extra time with you," Quinn says. "What more do I need?"
Rachel hums quietly. "We have been spending a lot of time together, haven't we?"
"Is that a bad thing?" Quinn asks, almost playfully.
"It's the best thing," Rachel says. "I love spending time with you."
"You just like that I cook for you."
"That, too," she muses. "But, I really do just like hanging out with you. Talking to you. Not talking to you. Just, being with you."
Quinn's breath catches slightly, and she's really not ready for any of this. "You like being with me," Quinn finds herself saying, echoing Rachel's sentiment.
Rachel reaches up with her right hand and cups Quinn's cheek. "So much," she agrees. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"You'd be fine," Quinn automatically says.
"Maybe," Rachel allows. "I probably would be fine, but I wouldn't be this."
Quinn frowns. "This?"
"This," Rachel says, sliding gentle fingers into Quinn's soft hair. "Exactly this."
Quinn doesn't really need her to say the word, because she already knows.
Rachel means it.
It's undeniable.
She's happy.