WHO: Benji Karofsky (@benjikarofsky) and Franco Del Rio (@southsidefranco). Mentions Topher Pierce (@topherxpierce)
WHERE: Benji’s apartment
WHEN: 9th May 2019
NOTES: Not handling the combination of Benji getting drunk and getting bombarded by hateful anonymous messages, Franco has a major meltdown that a slightly-tipsy Benji has to fix. Or at least put a band-aid on... in the form of a major bombshell.
TRIGGERS: Withdrawal/recovery mentions, vague drug use mentions; ‘blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ mentions of the following: chloroform use, (not-sexual) tying
BOLD: Benji
ITALIC: Franco
WORD COUNT: 3975
Franco had not coped well with the anon messages and it had made him get stuck in his own head. He'd already got Aaron to agree to give him weed and he was determined to get out the house once he found the key. He hunted high and low, trying not to throw anything in his way, the rage inside him making him cry his way through the hunt. When he finally found the key, he took his phone out of his pocket, placed it on the table so no one could contact him and started to unlock the door.
Benji stumbled into the room, all the noise from Franco's frantic search alerting him that his boyfriend was trying to make a break for it. He had hoped that Franc would have waited until he was a little more sober to attempt his escape, but oh well. Looks like that wasn't going to be the case. "Franc," he whispered, slowly closing the gap between them. "C'mon, Baby. Don't make us have to do this the hard way... I know you're upset. Let's just talk."
Franco turned to look at Benji, “I can’t do this Benji” he half shouted out, “I can’t do it. People hate me. People think I’m a disgrace. Those words... they were saying those words”. His breathing was ragged, his frantic search and emotions making it hard for him, “I’m sorry” and he turned back to the door, fumbling with the key as his hands shook.
"Franco, I know you're upset, Baby... But we can't fix it until you calm down a little. Running off and doing HaShem-knows-what... That's not the way to do this, okay? Let's talk about the mean people... let's talk about the words... we can do all of that and more. But we need to do it from the couch."
At this point, he was close enough to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Franco's waist. "Gotcha," he whispered, slowly kneeling down to the floor, pulling Franco down with him.
Franco dropped to the floor with Benji but brought his hands up in fists, his anger making them shake as he felt Benji hold him, "You don't need me in your life" he cried out, "I ruined your life and now I want to leave and deal with this my way so please, just fucking let me go. I don't want to hurt you please".
Benji sat down on the floor and pulled Franco into his lap, starting to rock him gently. "Franco, where is all this coming from? Why wouldn't I need you in my life? How on Earth have you ruined my life? Who put all this crazy stuff in your head?"
Franco gulped, trying to rid the lump in his throat, "Those messages. Those anons. They said I ruined your life. That I'm hurricane fuckup and that I... That if there was a ranking system, I wouldn't even be on it". He shook his head and started to push at Benji, "Please. Please let me go and get some weed or something" he said as he tried to free himself from Benji's hold.
Benji simply rocked Franco, not letting Franc's panic make him upset. "Baby, I barely even wanna humor you saying any of that stuff. You know none of that's true. Just... explain to me how you've supposedly ruined my life. C'mon. I'm listening."
Franco shook his head, "Please let me go" he half screamed again, pushing at Benji with as much force as he could given his emotions, "I can't talk this out... It makes no sense to me and I need to leave. I need to take my addict ass and let you love happily".
"You're hurting me, Franc," Benji stressed, tightening his grip on Franco's waist so he wouldn't be able to get loose even through all the pushing. "Baby, you have to calm down... I do love happily. I love you. And you're not an addict. You're recovering." He swallowed hard. "What the hell did these anons say to you to get in your head like this, Baby? You have to snap out of it."
"I don't care" he breathed out, still struggling in Benji's arms. It wasn't true, he did care but he just wanted to be let alone and pushing Benji away, that seemed like his thing. "I said that. I said I was recovering and I didn't ruin your life but they kept saying I did. It made me... I can hear them, from the casino... Telling me how pathetic I was and how no one needed me or cared about me". He continued to struggle as tears streamed down his face, "Let me go Benji. Let me go to Aaron and get the drugs, please. You can't hold me forever. I'll leave as soon as you let go".
"Casino?" Benji stopped rocking as soon as what Franco was saying finally clicked in his mind. "Oh, Baby..." he said softly, holding Franco as tightly as he could; if he thought it was going to be difficult to get out of his grip before, at this point, it was going to be near-impossible. "I do need you. I do care about you. And I'm not the only one, Baby... You have to believe me. Do you think I would've done so much to make sure you stayed well if I didn't need you?"
Franco felt suffocated by the grip but he knew Benji was trying to keep him safe, trying to keep him in the house but it didn't matter, he still struggled his urges and wants over powering his body. "No, no one wants or needs me. I'm a drug addict, a disgrace to the town. Your life was going swimmingly until I came along. Until I convinced you that fucking me would get you over Topher. I can't do this. I can't do it Benji, let me go".
"You're hurting me, Franc," Benji reminded through gritted teeth, still keeping his grip tight. "You're recovering, Franc. Stop it. Also, how are you the town disgrace? Do you realize how many insane things are happening in this town? You have to stop spouting these lies, Baby. Think about what you're saying. ...How was my life 'going swimmingly'? I had spent my entire adolescence obsessed with a guy who was never gonna love me back. " He sighed.
"Do you realize that I was gonna stay single for the rest of my life? I was convinced that because I couldn't be with him, it was a sign that I was never meant to be with anyone. Sure, the events that got us together were a little shaky and weird, but how on Earth can you pretend my life was perfect before you? ...You're not going anywhere, so it's in your best interest to calm down."
Franco shrugged his shoulders, though it would have been hard to tell from the movements he was making as he tried to free himself, "Then let me go". "Cause I'm the resident drug addict... I'm the one who thought weed was too boring and took that step up to heroin and I dragged so many people through hell because of it".
He gulped, he knew he'd been hiding the fact that Toph was gay until the day Topher came out, "He could have loved you. He could have loved you so much. He was gay after all, he just didn't tell you. I'm not pretending I'm telling you what they said". All his words were broken up with angry sobs. He gulped and shook his head, "Oh yeah and what will you do huh? Drug me again."
"You're recovering, Franc! Will you stop it?" He rolled his eyes, "We've been over this, Franc. Just because he's gay doesn't mean he ever would've loved me. It's probably better that I didn't know. It would've just tricked me into falling over him like a lost puppy for another 7 years... I know that they said that, but it doesn't make it true. You have to listen to yourself." He gritted his teeth, trying not to let Franc get to him. "You're trying to push my buttons... stop it."
"Recovering? At the first sign of trouble I'm trying to get out and get something to take the pain away and I'd be out there now if you'd just let me go" he said, half shouting the last words. "Topher is a gay man, of course he'd have fallen for you if he knew you had feelings. Why do you think I told him that night in the restaurant to tell the truth... So you could finally come clean and tell him but we were already down this rabbit hole". He nodded, "Well, you said it's in my best interests and I know what that means. You did it once before when I wouldn't calm down and if you don't let me out I'm gunna end up breaking all your shit or you."
Benji closed his eyes. "You are recovering", he said through gritted teeth, "You're getting better. It takes time. And once you get into classes, you'll learn better ways to cope. The first 2 months are the hardest and you know that," he regurgitated, struggling to keep his tone level; he couldn't remember how many times he was forced to say this mantra in the last few weeks and the more he had to say it, the harder he had to work to convince himself to believe it.
"It doesn't matter," he waved off; he could feel blood start to boil and he closed his eyes tighter--he couldn't afford to lose his temper right now. "Del Rio, you need to calm down. Right fucking now."
"So you keep saying! But recovery will take time and time is not something I think I can handle right now" he said, simply put. He was done, he didn't want this any more. He knew Benji deserved so much more then him, at least that's what his messed up brain had convinced him off. "It does matter cause that's how you fight isn't it".
He knew he would regret this in the morning if he remembered it but he was being blinded by rage and desperation, "I can't and I won't! I need to get our of this house, please let me fucking go!"
"You're recovering and you're doing it now. Every time you fall off the wagon, it makes it that much harder to get back on." He stressed. "You're not going anywhere. I don't care if I have to hold you all night, Franco."
Franco scoffed, "I don't want to recover" he screamed out, "I don't want to I want to go and get high and I don't care any more". Franco started to thrash a bit more, "You can't fucking hold me all night".
"Franco, my shoulder! You have to stop!" he screamed, hissing through the pain; he knew Franco wasn't himself when he got like this, and he knew that yelling was unlikely to get through to him, but it was worth a shot. "You're right. I can't! But if I let go and you walk out that door, you're gonna lose a hell of a lot more than just sobriety!" he screamed back, the blood pumping in his ears.
"Stop trying to hold me down then" he screamed back, stuck in his own mind, desperation coursing through him. He didn't want to hurt Benji, it was the last thing he wanted but he was spiralling. "If it means I lose you then I have to take it" he spat back, "You let go, I'll be going. I can't stop this. I can't stop myself" and he knew that was true, he was beyond even his own control a this point
"I'm not losing you, Franc!" Benji screamed. He bit his lip to fight through the pain and pulled Franco off the ground, dragging him to his bedroom by his upper body.
With all his might, he pushed Franco onto the bed, then closed and locked the door behind the two of them. "You have to calm down," Benji said firmly, leaning against the door as he tried to catch his breath. "You're so close, and I'm not letting you fuck this up..."
Franco struggled against Benji the whole time he was dragged to the bedroom. Benji was strong sure and the drug abuse had made him lose a hella lot of weight and muscle so it was possible Benji could do this.
He jumped up of the bed, pacing the floor and staring at Benji as he did, "I don't have to do anything! I don't want to be here any more Benji! I want to go and I want to do it now" and he stopped short of the wall in front of him, slamming his fist hard against it, leaving a mark in the wall.
"Do you care about being high more than you love me?" Benji snapped back, his voice loud, but not angry. "Do you?" He swallowed hard, taking the second to choose his next words carefully. "Would you really rather be numb than feel the things that you feel with me? Do you really want an early grave more than you want an apartment and a dog? ...Do you really want drugs more than you wanna keep your promise to me?"
He took a breath and stepped to the side of the door opposite the door handle, slipping the ring off his finger as he did. "Because if you do, then take this and go. But know that I will never, ever forgive you."
"I care that I can't control myself any more Benji and no amount of begging and pleading is changing what is happening in my head". He didn't want this. Didn't want Benji too leave him and it was like the words were bringing him down and he hoped enough to stop him fucking this up, "I don't have an apartment. I have a temporary accommodation and a shared trailer and we both know that dog ain't mine".
Franco watched Benji remove the ring, watched him step away from the door and took a few shaky steps towards him, "I don't want to leave" he finally admitted, "But I don't think I can stop myself either".
"Not yet we don't. But we could," Benji explained, putting the ring back on and slowly inching towards Franco. "Don't you want all that? An apartment that's ours... a dog that's ours. We could have all that one day. And more. You just have to stay clean first... If you don't wanna leave, then stay with me," he whispered, "we'll work through this just like we always do." By this point he was close enough to Franco to gently cup his face, doing it lightly enough that he could pull back if he wanted.
Franco had to admit it sounded nice. Like somehow his messed up reality could become a dream life. His eyes filled with sadness and despair, "I want that so much but I don't think I can... I don't think I'll make it that far. It's too much and I just... I can't do this" he said pulling himself away from Benji and punching out at the wall again, "I don't deserve this" he shouted at spot he kept punching
"Baby..." Benji whispered, coming up behind Franc and gently wrapping his arms around his waist. "Shhh... You have to stop it with this deserving thing." He placed a line of kisses from his boyfriend's neck to his ear and tried to rock the two of them slowly, his voice soft. "I've told you a million times. And you can do this, Baby. Because you're doing it with me."
Franco didn't want this. His whole body wanted to punch shit bit his mind was trying to unfog with Benji near him. He reached down and moved Benji's hands, reaching forward and grabbing the dresser in front of him, pulling it to the floor. He didn't know how to stop, had warned Benji he wanted to break shit. As soon as the dresser was over he went back to his spot on the wall, a hole nearly formed, "I. Can't. Do. This" he screamed, each word broken with a sob and a punch.
"Franco!" Benji yelled, grabbing him again. "Baby, baby please..." He whispered, pulling Franco away from the wall a few steps. "Please, Baby..." he kissed his neck again, not sure of another way to calm him down. "Baby, please, please, please..." He begged, accentuating every word with a kiss.
Franco could hear Benji pleading with him too stop but his head was playing tricks and he didn't quite know what to do, "Stop it" he screamed, "Stop saying please" he begged, knowing he was hurting Benji, "My head, it won't listen" and he brought his hands up too his head, "I can't take this" and he booted the bed frame, "You've got to do something... Anything" he begged.
"I don't know what you want me to do, Baby," Benji whispered, pulling Franco back from the wall and onto the bed. He sat on Franco's legs to keep him still, then pulled him into his arms to cuddle him. "You... you have to tell me how you help you, Baby. I refuse to tie you up again; I promised I wouldn't."
Franco's whole body was shaking as Benji sat on his legs. Being tied up, with his state of mind, would not solve this problem. He was already trapped in the kidnapped memories. He gulped, "I need you to knock me out" he said simply, "You're trained to do that.... It's the only way I'll stop".
Benji shook his head wildly, holding Franco tighter. "I can't do that, Baby. I can't just knock you out every time time you panic. That's not a solution." He kissed his boyfriend's neck gently. "Besides, I'd have to knock you out with chemicals again... If I hit you, it's gonna hurt."
"Then hurt me" he cried out, "It's what I deserve and it is what I need" he spoke, his voice now quiet, "I don't want to be awake. All the while I'm awake I'm going to fight you, I'm going to try and leave and I don't want to do that. What if I hurt you again?"
"Stop it," he whispered, rocking him gently. "If you hurt me again, then I'll handle it. We're gonna get through this. And we're gonna do it without punishing you. Because you don't deserve that, Baby."
Franco knew he needed to calm down. Benji had already removed the ring once and the idea of it broken his heart, "I don't want to hurt you Benji please" he begged, "Don't give me that chance".
Benji hushed him, kissing the side of his head. "As long as it gets you better, I don't care, Franc. We're not knocking you out; we're getting through this the right way."
Franco looked up at him, almost begging in his eyes as he held Benji's hand and looked at the ring, "You promised you'd never take it off" he breathed, "You can't take it off". At least now his mind was somewhere else, focussing on something else.
"And you promised me you'd stay sober or die trying..." Benji replied, more to himself than to Franco. He looked down at his boyfriend, watching him wildly inspect his hand. "I'm not gonna take it off again, Baby. I'm sorry. I know how much it means."
Franco didn't take his gaze of Benji's hand, almost like it was keeping him grounded. Like seeing the ring reminded him of the promise he had made. He bit his lip and looked up at Benji, tears still in his eyes as but no longer falling his body calm for the first time the whole evening, "Marry me?" He breathed out.
Benji blinked, taking a second to process what Franco had asked. Of course he and Franco couldn't get married right now; Benji was only 18 and barely through his freshman year of college. Plus, more importantly, the two had only been dating for two months and of those two months, Franco hadn't even spent a whole month of it sober yet. It just wasn't realistic. But, at the same time, Benji could tell by frantic way that his boyfriend obsessed over the ring on his finger that the wrong answer could push him off the deep-end for sure. All he wanted was to make sure Franco made it through these first two months and stayed sober.
"...Okay," Benji squeaked out before he could stop himself.
Franco felt his jaw physically drop open when Benji said that word. Had he really just agreed to marry him? He felt shock now course through him, making him feel like he couldn't breathe, sure he'd missed a few breathes as he tried to find words to say. He looked up at Benji, tears spilling again, from happiness he assumed and asked, "Really? You'll marry me?"
Benji looked down at Franco, the tears in his boyfriend's eyes sealing his fate. With how happy he was, there was no way Benji could back out of this. Telling the truth now would crush Franco and probably lead to him getting addicted again. If getting married kept him sober, he'd do it; the two were already living together. How much different could it be? Shakily, Benji nodded his head and pulled Franco into a kiss.
Franco couldn't believe it. Benji had literally agreed to marry him and he was flooding with emotions. He didn't think there was a chance that Benji would have said yes but now he had, he felt so many emotions. He kissed Benji back and gulped, "I don't know what to say" he breathed out, "I didn't think you would say yes"
Benji gave a shaky smile, secretly thanking YHWH above that he could play his emotions off as happiness; the last thing he wanted to do now was to dig this hole deeper by giving Franco any doubts. "I don't think there's anything to say," he whispered, pulling Franco into another kiss; if he kept kissing him, maybe he could distract Franco long enough to change the subject.
Franco took a deep breath and pushed himself backwards, so his legs were hanging down the side of the bed but his back was flat against it. He was tired, he was exhausted and he still had cravings but they were somewhat subdued in the shock of it all, "You didn't have to say yes" he breathed out, "I was calming down, I just took my chance".
"...How could I say no to you?" Benji whispered, pulling Franco into another kiss to give himself time to think of something else to say. "But you have to stay sober, okay? If... if you want me to marry you, you can't relapse."
Franco shrugged his shoulders, "Cause you are young? Cause I didn't want to push you but I love you and I promise, I'm still going to have urges but I'll try really hard to overcome them. I'll tell you how I feel and I'll really try" he said his voice breaking with emotion, "It's not like we have to get married tomorrow... It can be a long ass engagement"
"A long engagement. Okay," Benji replied, hugging Franco tightly so he couldn't see his face. He could feel his breathing start to pick up--was this what a panic attack was like? "A long engagement," he whispered, more to himself than to Franco. He could do this. As long as it kept Franco alive and sober, he could do this.
"I love you too," he whispered, finally processing the rest of what Franco said.
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The ranch would have been Clara’s kind of scene at any other point in the year; people were milling around in groups, laughing happily and drinking glasses of champagne, getting ready to ring in the New Year with their friends and alcohol. There were a lot of metallic clothes and leftover Christmas sweaters and glitter and someone had Prince playing from their phone. Clara was pretty sure if she were in a better place that she would be making friends with these people, she would be dancing and flirting her way into free drinks. Her heart wasn’t in it though and she closed her eyes on the bench where she was perched, breathing in the scent of firewood and musk and trying to figure out when exactly her life had gotten so fucked up.
She was here on a trip with her friends but all she’d done since arriving was avoid all of them. Tess had insisted on a game night but Clara had skipped out on that after they’d had their fight because it had only made the realization more real that she’d been right about this whole situation: there was no way that letting the whole Alex situation take course naturally would result in them still being friends. Tess had become belligerent when Clara had asked about her feelings for Alex, defending the fact that her feelings were real despite the fact that she couldn’t give Clara anything concrete beyond a fantasy. Of course, Tess was naive and immature but she had never seen her friend so defensive and rude about anything. Normally, Tess was willing to do anything to make others happy but this situation had brought out the worst in both of them and it brought her back to the place where she just wanted everything to go back to normal.
She was about ready to, once again, start weighing her options when she felt someone sit down beside her. Clara tensed, hoping that it was some random stranger and not one of her friends. Trying to be nonchalant about it, Clara glanced to her side and saw that it was neither a friend nor a stranger. Isaac sat next to her, looking at her intently and she sighed once more, bringing her feet up on the bench so that her knees pressed against her chest. The silence seemed to stretch between them and it became obvious that Isaac wasn’t going to speak first and Clara felt a spark of annoyance. “I guess Tess told you about the whole situation goin’ on right now?”
Isaac was silent for a moment, taking the time to put his hands behind his head and leaning back casually, as though he had all the time in the world. “The little ‘love triangle’ you’ve got going on?” he finally answered, with a sideways glance at her. “Yeah. I’ve heard about it.”
It took all of Clara’s restraint to not roll her eyes; coming from Tess it probably sounded like an actual love triangle but the situation was more nuanced than that. The entire thing had sprung from Tess’s actions and questionable choices but Clara figured it was best not to start pointing fingers with Tess’s cousin. Besides, Isaac was a psychology grad student so he must have some kind of insight into the human psyche or whatever the fuck it was that was going on right now. “Yeah?” she responded, unimpressed. “What’s your take on the situation?” Maybe Isaac would be able to offer her some profound wisdom or thoughts that would make sense of the whole situation. Or at least give her an actual reason to act one way or the other.
"The way I see things, I don't think you were ever in the triangle.” At Clara’s questioning look, he continued. “You're Tess's best friend and you wanted to make sure that this guy was good enough for her. It's a classic case of introjection.” Isaac was watching her as he spoke and Clara felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. “What better way to make sure of that he was good enough than by introjecting her feelings for him?"
Isaac seemed to be watching her carefully, gauging her reaction to what he was saying but Clara honestly didn’t know what he was talking about. “Introjection.” She tried the word out, repeating it carefully so that she wouldn’t mess it up. She had a feeling this was something she should know, something they had talked about in class before but she had honestly only signed up for psych at the beginning of the semester because she knew Isaac was going to be the T.A. The material hadn’t seemed important at the time but Clara tried to bring up the memory now. Slowly, a vague recollection came to her and she gave Isaac a puzzled look. “You’re saying that I never really liked Alex?”
Isaac shook his head solemnly and continued speaking slowly, making every word feel like it held the utmost importance. “No. You just introjected the feelings Tess has for him for yourself. Maybe it felt real but...” He paused and gave her a look that almost felt like pity. “It never was.”
Confusion filled her with his words; what he was saying made sense in a distant kind of way but it didn’t feel like it actually related to her situation in any way. She knitted her eyebrows together, trying to work through his words but she was caught off guard when he reached out and took her hand, clasping it between both of his. “It happens a lot with cases like these,” he explained as he rubbed her hand in between his, still watching her carefully. “It’s hard to tell the difference between how you think you feel, and how you really feel."
It was hard to think with the warmth of his hands on her own; she’d been craving some kind of physical contact all day because she had been in such a shitty place but she had also been avoiding her friends. Isaac’s touch was the first act of comfort she’d had since being in Alex’s arms the night before. The thought made her doubt herself. She’d been so comfortable with him but if Isaac were right, then she’d taken on some sort of pseudo role for Tess who had never been comfortable with physical affection. All of Tess’s words from the year came flooding back to her, accusing Clara of not being herself, saying that the real Clara needed to be found again. Had Tess been right all of this time? Confusion swirled in her mind and she tried to free her hand from Isaac’s grasp because the friction was making her head fuzzy but Isaac simply linked their fingers together, holding her in place.
The room started to sway as everything began to catch up to her; how torn she’d been about the whole situation, her nerves and panic, her fear at losing all of her friends, the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in days, the wine cooler she’d had earlier that day, the heat from the fire, and the strange way that Isaac’s hand felt both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. Clara couldn’t focus on anything and she was starting to feel like the one time she’d decided to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl five times in a row. She squeezed her eyes shut as nausea welled up inside of her and unwittingly clasped tighter at his hand. “Can this whole… Introjection thing have physical manifestations?” she asked.
She couldn’t see Isaac’s reaction but she felt him scoot closer. “Of course. Like any other feelings, real or otherwise, it can lead to destructive behavior and a lack of attention to your own needs.” Clara tried to process this but her head was still spinning. She felt Isaac slide his hand behind her, resting his hand on her lower back but Clara made no attempts to make him move. “It can also lead to depression and anxiety since the person experiencing Introjection is facing so much confusion about their real feelings. It can manifest with a lot of different physical symptoms.”
This was too much for Clara to take in and she kept her eyes firmly closed as Isaac rubbed small circles on her back with the pad of his thumb. She felt sick at the thought that she might have done anything to hurt Alex, even on a subconscious level, and she was suddenly grateful for the fact that she hadn’t eaten for a while. She was pretty sure if she had anything in her stomach it would be making a reappearance right now as guilt and worry swarmed her mind. An image of Alex’s face, sweet and gentle and kind, passed through her face and she knew she would never forgive herself if she allowed herself to get with him, only to later find out that it had all been some psychological joke. Clara spoke slowly, feeling as though she might get sick at any point. “What do I do?”
"You learn to stop introjecting Tess's feelings,” he replied, still circling his thumb on her back. “Anytime you start to feel what she’s feeling, replace it with something else.” It seemed that he was hesitating; the silence that followed felt heavy and deliberate it was several long moments before he continued. He moved closer to her once more so that his mouth was right near her ear and whispered in a deep voice. “I can help with that.”
That was enough to make Clara open her eyes, though she immediately regretted it. His face was annoyingly close, swimming in and out of her line of vision as vertigo threatened to consume her. She immediately snapped her eyes shut once more and took a deep, slow breath. “You can help with that...” she echoed, dully. He was clearly hinting at something beyond talking to her, beyond even the hand on her back or his physical closeness. “When I wanted to date you earlier this year, you said that we couldn’t because of age and ‘being at different places in our lives,” she stated. Her feelings for Issac were long gone but she was still curious about this sudden change of attitude. “What changed?”
“I’ve been watching you in class and I realized that you’re more mature than I thought,” he said in his steady voice. Clara could feel his eyes on her and she kind of wished he would give her some room to breathe. “Besides, we’re both adults so maybe the age difference isn’t such a big deal.” He flattened his palm against her back and rested his other hand on her knee, rubbing the material of her jeans with the flat of his hand. “I have to go chaperon some college activities. Make sure that there’s no underage drinking going on and that everyone is behaving appropriately.” Instinctively, Clara nudged her wine cooler behind her but Isaac laughed as he stood, letting his hand linger on her knee. “What’s a few hours between legal and not legal? You’ll think about what I said?”
Clara hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded her agreement. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” She watched as he walked away, feeling more and more nauseous by the moment. After a stunned minute where she tried to recap what had just happened, she took out her phone and sent Tess a text, apologizing for her actions earlier that day and claiming sickness as an excuse for not showing up to game night. She was tempted to ask her friend to come walk her back to the room; she really was light headed and she was afraid that she might end up on the floor but Clara quickly dismissed that idea. There was too much to think about and Clara was pretty sure she had a long night ahead of her.
WHO: Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry
WHEN: April 13, 2020
WHERE: Rachel's Apartment in Yorkville, New York, NY
WHAT: A night of celebrating Quinn's birthday takes an unexpected turn.
RACHEL: Tonight, they're celebrating.
Rachel has spent most of the day tidying up her apartment in anticipation for their date. Every nook and cranny is spotless, and there are fresh sheets on her bed. She doesn't think she's being too presumptuous—they've shared a bed before. They just haven't shared one without some form of clothing between their bodies and the sheets. Rachel is hoping tonight will be the night when that finally changes.
But that's not what (or why) they're celebrating.
Yesterday was Quinn's twenty-sixth birthday, and tonight, Rachel is cooking a (belated) birthday dinner for her gorgeous girlfriend. And okay—technically the vegetarian linguine with cauliflower and brown butter sauce accompanied by a spinach salad isn't exactly the most complex meal Rachel could have chosen to show off her hard-won culinary skills, but she's hoping Quinn will enjoy it nevertheless. She even has some crumbled bacon and a (soon-to-be) hot bacon dressing ready to be added to the mix should Quinn prefer some form of dead animal product with her otherwise vegetarian meal.
There's a bottle of wine chilling in the refrigerator if Quinn decides to indulge with a small glass, but otherwise, Rachel is stocked with sparkling cider, sparkling water, coffee, tea, and juice. And because she knows Quinn is being careful about her sweets, especially now that she's made the Jets Flight Crew for another season, Rachel had baked a flourless, gluten-free, honey almond cake for dessert that Quinn can sample with almost no guilt.
The table is set and adorned with candles, the stereo is playing a soft mix of Motown classics and ballads, and Rachel is dressed and ready for Quinn to arrive.
She's opted for a simple blue dress for the occasion—not too terribly fancy and modestly cut on top but with a short enough skirt to show off her legs. Just because they're staying in doesn't mean Rachel shouldn't dress up a little for her girlfriend. She wants tonight to be perfect.
She'd even arranged for a car to pick up Quinn at her apartment and deposit her on the doorstep of Rachel's building so she wouldn't have to take the train (and a subway and walk six blocks). Quinn had protested that it wasn't necessary, of course, but Rachel had insisted. After all, Rachel had been the one to take a taxi to Bloomfield yesterday morning just so she could take her girlfriend out to breakfast on her actual birthday, complete with a dozen red roses and a hardback copy of Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox that Rachel had managed to locate. Unfortunately, Rachel had needed another taxi to drive her back into Manhattan just a few hours later so she could make her two o'clock matinee.
Quinn had thought she was crazy to expend so much effort for a few hours, but Rachel thinks it was absolutely worth it.
Quinn is worth it.
And in a few more minutes, she'll be here.
QUINN: Yesterday was the best birthday Quinn's had in… well, ever. Even though she only got to spend a few hours with Rachel, the fact that her girlfriend had made the effort to be with her (and brought her flowers and a book no less!) made her day.
And now she's moments away from picking up from where they left off yesterday morning, and Quinn can't stop the smile that forms, knowing she's about to see Rachel again—and that her girlfriend is making her dinner. It never fails to make warmth blossom in her chest and send her falling harder.
Quinn definitely likes being the recipient of Rachel's affection and attention—no one has ever made her feel so special.
Finally reaching the fifth floor landing of Rachel's apartment building, Quinn feels a small rush of excitement, her pace quickening ever so slightly down the hall until she's standing in front of Rachel's door. Letting out a breath, Quinn smooths down the front of her yellow dress, wanting to look her best for Rachel, before lifting her hand to knock.
RACHEL: She checks on her dinner one more time before Quinn arrives, removing the cauliflower, which is simmering in butter and olive oil, from the heat. All she has left to do is melt the rest of the butter and add the shallots and sage before combining it with the cauliflower and linguine, which is already cooked and warming on the stove. It will only take her about five minutes.
Rachel is gently replacing the lid on the pot when she hears the knock, and she draws in an eager breath and practically skips through her apartment to answer. She pauses to straighten her dress, saying a silent hello to her old friends, the butterflies, before she opens the door to say hello to her beautiful girlfriend.
And oh—but Quinn takes her breath away. Every. Single. Time.
Rachel's gaze roams helplessly over Quinn, taking in the sleeveless, yellow dress that molds every one of her perfect curves like a lover's embrace, and her lips curve into a besotted smile.
"Hi, baby," she greets happily, reaching for Quinn to greet her with a soft kiss. Quinn practically sighs against her lips, and Rachel grins, pulling back. "Happy day after your birthday."
QUINN: "Hi," Quinn replies with a happy sigh, taking a moment to look at Rachel and appreciating the lacy, blue dress she's wearing tonight. "You look beautiful," she says, earning a pretty blush from her girlfriend, who gestures for Quinn to comes inside.
"And whatever you're cooking smells delicious," she continues as she steps into Rachel's apartment and catches a whiff of the pleasant aromas emanating from the kitchen. "You didn't have to do all this… but thank you," Quinn says, looking intently at Rachel. "It means a lot."
RACHEL: "I like doing nice things for you," Rachel insists, pushing her door closed before she steps into Quinn and loops her arms over her shoulders. Quinn's hands reflexively come to rest on Rachel's hips, and Rachel smiles up at her, sinking her fingers into Quinn's silky hair. "It makes me happy."
Quinn's answering smile is so sweet, and Rachel can't resist urging her down for another kiss—one that lingers far longer than their brief kiss hello. When they finally part again, Rachel sighs in contentment.
"And, believe it or not, I like have someone to cook for," she says with a grin. She'd painstakingly learned how to cook (after burning more than a few meals) while she'd still been attending classes at NYADA in the hopes of saving herself some money, but now she usually just throws together something fast and easy before her shows. It's nice to have someone to share her meals with again.
"I'm making linguine with cauliflower and brown butter, so I hope you brought your appetite," she teases.
QUINN: "I most definitely did," she assures Rachel, her content smile transforming into a playful smirk as she lets her gaze roam over her girlfriend's face. "But I'll make sure to leave room for dessert," Quinn promises with a low husk before leaning down and stealing another kiss from those too-tempting lips.
Rachel's fingers lightly scratch against her scalp, sending a pleasant shudder down Quinn's spine. Her stomach chooses that moment to rumble, causing Rachel to giggle adorably against her mouth, and Quinn reluctantly pulls away, offering Rachel a sheepish smile.
RACHEL: The adorable growl of Quinn's stomach keeps Rachel from suggesting that they start with dessert, and she grins. "I definitely have something sweet for you later," she promises, brushing the pad of her thumb across Quinn's lower lip. Quinn's smile goes from sheepish to sexy in the blink of an eye.
"But first," Rachel drawls, reluctantly extracting herself from Quinn's arms, "I'm going to feed you."
She catches Quinn's hand as she steps back, silently urging her to follow with the intention of getting her settled in at the table. "I just have a few finishing touches to put on dinner. It will only take a few minutes, but I can pour you a glass of wine while you wait. Or water, if you'd prefer. Whatever you'd like. My fridge is your fridge.
QUINN: She likes this—how Rachel has opened her home to Quinn and made it feel like one of the safest and sweetest of places in her life. She tries not to think too far ahead in the future since they've really only just begun their relationship, but sometimes she can't help but fantasize about a day where Rachel's refrigerator is actually Quinn's as well.
Quinn presses her lips together thoughtfully for a moment as she decides what to drink. "Hmm, I think I'll have a glass of wine."
RACHEL: "Wine, it is," Rachel says, leading Quinn over to the table. "It's Chardonnay, if that matters. It's supposed to pair well with the cauliflower, butter, and olive oil in the recipe." She's not exactly a wine connoisseur, but Stephanie had recommended it, so Rachel is trusting her on the matter.
"You can have a seat while I pour you a glass," she suggests, resting her hand on the back of the chair and ready to pull it out and hold it for Quinn while she sits. "Unless you'd rather watch me putter around the kitchen," she jokes—but now having said it, Rachel can't help thinking how wonderfully domestic that would be, and she suddenly feels warm all over.
QUINN: The idea of Rachel pouring her a glass of wine while Quinn waits at the table has Quinn's mind suddenly and unpleasantly harkening back to her formative years, when her mother would do exactly that for her father.
"I'd rather help," Quinn replies a little too sharply, before regathering herself and softening. "I mean, if you need help. Otherwise, I'm happy to wait in the kitchen with you."
RACHEL: She doesn't miss the momentary sharpness in Quinn's tone. Rachel has been trying to stay in tune with Quinn's moods and learn her tells as much as she can, but the odd moment is here and gone in the space of three words, so Rachel chooses to let it go. She wants to make tonight special for Quinn, and stirring up her demons with undue cause wouldn't really the best start to their evening together.
"I certainly won't mind having you close to me while I putter." She reaches for Quinn's hand again, happy when Quinn clasps on to it with a grateful smile. "Right this way, my lady," she prompts, pulling a giggle from Quinn as Rachel leads her the few short steps into the kitchen.
QUINN: The momentary darkness is lifted as quickly as it came, replaced by the warmth of Rachel's touch and her sweetness. Quinn happily follows Rachel into the kitchen, reluctantly releasing her girlfriend's hand so she can pour Quinn a glass of wine.
"Thank you," she says as Rachel hands it to her, which earns Quinn a pleased 'you're welcome,' before her girlfriend turns her attention toward the stove.
Quinn takes a sip of Chardonnay as she watches Rachel put the finishing touches on their dinner, letting it sit on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. It's been awhile since she's had a drink—the last time being New Year's Eve, and even then, it was only a small glass of champagne. Coupled with the fact that Quinn hasn't eaten since lunch, she supposes the little buzz that comes isn't surprising.
But it feels good, especially combined with the natural buzz that always seems present when she interacts with Rachel.
RACHEL: She'd cooked the linguine noodles before Quinn had arrived, straining the water and keeping them warm under a lid. It doesn't take very long for her to melt the rest of the butter and stir in the sage and shallot before adding the pasta and cauliflower. She finishes the mixture off with some parmesan while Quinn watches her with an impressed smile—glass of wine in her hand.
"I have a spinach salad in the refrigerator to have with the pasta," Rachel tells her. "I also have some bacon you can add to yours," she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And you have your choice of warm bacon dressing or poppy seed."
She has a feeling she knows what Quinn will choose.
QUINN: Her mouth practically waters at the mention of bacon, but there's also a spark of affection from Rachel having gone the extra mile to make dinner even more to Quinn's liking—in spite of her girlfriend's obvious aversion to all things meat. The crinkling of her nose is absolutely adorable.
"You're the best," Quinn replies with a content smile before taking another sip of wine, watching Rachel's mouth curve up into a shy smile over the rim of her glass. "I'll have the bacon dressing," she confirms after lowering her glass and placing it on the counter. "Do you want me to take the salad out of the fridge and bring it to the table?"
RACHEL: Quinn's compliment makes Rachel feel giddy. She's so glad Quinn seems to approve of her meal, and she hopes that approval will continue right through the actual tasting of it.
"If you wouldn't mind," Rachel answers gratefully. "There's a small plate of bacon on the shelf next to it. You can grab that too and add as much as you like to your salad. The dishes are already on the table."
Quinn dutifully opens the fridge and grabs the salad and the plate of bacon while Rachel puts the linguine and cauliflower on simmer for the moment. "I'll heat up the dressing for you," she announces, slipping past Quinn with a smile to take her turn in the refrigerator where she pulls out the bacon dressing for Quinn and poppy seed for herself.
She loves how domestic it all feels.
QUINN: "Comfortable" is the only word that comes to mind as Rachel seamlessly works her away around Quinn in the kitchen.
This is good, she decides as she places the bowl of spinach salad on the table. The single candle as their centerpiece isn't lost on Quinn. She notices all the romantic touches Rachel has put on tonight's dinner, and it practically makes Quinn's heart melt.
RACHEL: She pours herself a glass of wine while the bacon dressing heats in the microwave. When the timer goes off, Rachel pulls out the container and quickly tests the temperature. Satisfied that it's sufficiently warm but not too hot, she transfers it into a more attractive, not microwave-friendly container.
She carries her wine and the dressing to the table, setting her glass down across from where Quinn is peppering the portion of salad she's scooped onto her plate with the crumbled bacon bits, and Rachel grins indulgently. "Your dressing, my dear," she offers, placing the container next to Quinn.
"Would you prefer to eat the salad first? Or would you rather have it with the main course?" she asks. She personally prefers it as an appetizer, but she knows some people like it better as a side dish. Tonight, she'll defer to Quinn.
QUINN: "I'd prefer to have the salad first," she replies as she looks up at Rachel, offering her a soft smile, which her girlfriend returns, seemingly pleased with Quinn's decision.
She takes another sip of her wine as Rachel scoops out some salad for herself, and Quinn allows her eyes to roam as she does. Rachel really does look beautiful tonight, and the soft light from the candle seems to accentuate her beauty even more. And that dress looks absolutely wonderful on her—although Quinn certainly wouldn't mind seeing it come off.
Quinn places her glass back down and unconsciously licks her lips as Rachel finally takes a seat across from Quinn. Undressing Rachel will (hopefully) come later. First things first though—finally getting to eat this delicious food that her girlfriend made for her.
RACHEL: Pleased that Quinn's preferences are in line with her own, Rachel settles down across from her beautiful girlfriend to enjoy dinner. Quinn's gaze feels like a caress on her skin, and Rachel's cheeks heat under the pleasant scrutiny. It's a far cry from the way those hazel eyes used to make her feel when they were kids, but she's so very glad they're getting the chance to rediscover one another now that they're older and fully aware of their own desires.
Lifting her wine glass, Rachel holds it in the air between them. "Here's to us."
QUINN: It's strange how little things—certain words or phrases—can trigger an intense emotional response in her, seemingly out of nowhere.
Of course, Quinn knows it's not really out of nowhere. Her demons are always lurking under the surface, and sometimes the smallest thing can seem to awaken them.
But Rachel's toast has Quinn's mind flashing back to senior year of high school. Regionals. Quinn almost finding the courage to tell Rachel the truth of her own feelings, but Rachel had been singing "Here's to Us" to Finn... and only Finn.
And if he was still alive, Quinn wouldn't be here right now, would she? It should be Finn that Rachel is sharing a meal with and making this toast to.
Quinn mentally shakes her head, trying to push the unpleasant memory and guilty feeling away as she raises her own glass.
"To us," she says, hoping she appears more confident than she feels.
RACHEL: Quinn's smile is noticeably tight around the edges as she echoes the toast, touching her glass against Rachel's with a musical clink. Rachel's own smile slips a little, but she momentarily bites back the urge to ask Quinn if something is wrong, instead lifting her glass to her lips and taking a sip as she continues to study her girlfriend over the rim.
It occurs to her that the wine was possibly not the best idea. Quinn did claim that she can have a drink now and then, but she has to be careful. Rachel hopes that Quinn isn't pushing any limitations in order to please her.
Setting her glass down carefully, Rachel runs her tongue over her lips. "So...how was your day?" she asks neutrally, opting to feel her way around Quinn's mood in general.
Maybe she's only imagining things. Or maybe Quinn merely had a bad day at work. Rachel has put so much thought into making tonight perfect—she hates the thought that she's somehow unknowingly said or done something to upset Quinn.
QUINN: She sets her (now-empty) glass down as well and considers Rachel's question. Quinn didn't mean to drink that so quickly, and doing so on an a still empty stomach has her feeling the effects more than usual.
And she kind of wants another glass, thinking it might help keep her in a better mood. Why do her thoughts have to take bad turns at the worst times anyway?
"Long," Quinn replies after a beat, trying to focus on the present and the fact that Rachel wants her here, despite the voices in the back of her mind that say otherwise. "But most Mondays are, because waiting all day to see you seems to make the day drag on." She bites her lower lip for a moment before asking, "How was yours?"
RACHEL: Despite her lingering concern, Quinn's words send a little rush of pleasure through Rachel. She feels the same way about Mondays now—they're her very favorite day of the week, but the mornings and early afternoons seem to drag on forever, and she finds herself counting down every minute until she can see Quinn again. Sometimes she feels like she's wishing her life away, but she's hopeful that someday soon, they'll have far more than just Mondays to spend together.
"Equally long," Rachel answers with a grin, "and filled with cleaning the apartment and grocery shopping." And possibly a very detailed beauty regime that may or may not have involved trying on six different dresses before settling on the one she's wearing—but she doesn't share that with Quinn. "My day has most definitely improved in the last forty minutes or so."
A shy smile graces Quinn's lips, and Rachel feels herself relax at the sight. Surely Quinn wouldn't be looking at her that way if she was truly upset about something.
"Can I get you more wine?" she asks, noticing Quinn's empty glass. "Or some water?" she adds, thinking that might be the safer choice.
QUINN: There's a small sense of relief that comes from knowing Rachel's day has gotten better since Quinn arrived, and she tries to grab on to that thought—to focus on the positive rather than the negative thoughts that loom in her mind.
"Can I have both?" Quinn asks in response to Rachel's question. Wine will help keep her relaxed, she decides, but water sounds good too.
RACHEL: "Absolutely," Rachel answers with a smile. "I'll only be a minute," she promises as she stands.
Lifting Quinn's wine glass from the table, Rachel hurries back into the kitchen and carefully refills it—maybe a little less full than the first glass—before she grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Then she grabs another, deciding to join Quinn in having both. Rachel pulls down two glasses from the cabinet and sets them both on the counter next to the wine glass while she gets some ice from the freezer, adding it to the glasses before opening the water bottles and pouring them over the ice.
She picks up the wine glass and one of the water glasses, shaking her head at having created the need for two trips, and delivers the drinks to Quinn. "Here you go," she says, setting them down on the table. "I'll be right back," Rachel promises again, noticing the confused wrinkle in Quinn's brow right before she turns around to retrace her steps.
Returning with her own water in hand, she sinks back down into her chair with a smile and watches Quinn return it. "Shall we eat?"
QUINN: "Definitely," she agrees with a soft nod before picking up her fork and shifting her attention to the salad, which she had taken the liberty of drizzling the bacon dressing on while Rachel had been in the kitchen.
Quinn closes her eyes and lets out a soft hum of pleasure as she chews. As much as Quinn genuinely does like spinach, the bacon makes it so much better—the saltiness of it is so satisfying. "This is delicious, Rachel," she declares after swallowing her first bite, looking across the table to find Rachel watching her with a pleased smile.
RACHEL: She gets far more pleasure than she should just from watching Quinn savor her food, but everything about her expression is borderline pornographic, from her closed eyes to the motion of her sensual mouth to the sexy moan of appreciation. It happens every time Quinn truly enjoys what she's eating, and it makes Rachel wonder what Quinn's reactions might be when she's enjoying something other than food—something fairly specific.
Shaking herself out of those decadent thoughts, Rachel focuses on the food and the company. There will be time to consider dessert later. "I'm glad you like it," she says, letting a little bit of pride over her culinary skills seep into her words as she lifts her own fork. "But it's only the appetizer," she teases with a grin before she slides a bite of the salad into her mouth, taking her time to chew it thoroughly as Quinn watches her.
QUINN: She doesn't know what she enjoys more—teasing Rachel or Rachel's teasing. Although, if Quinn were honest, Rachel's words and flirtatious demeanor aren't affecting her as much as they normally would.
Quinn wants to chalk it up to the fact that she's hungry for actual food, but, truthfully, she can't shake the feelings of guilt and shame that are still trying to cling to her. It's frustrating, but Quinn hopes that they'll subside soon.
"I can't wait to taste what else you have in store for me," Quinn replies with a playful smile of her own, reminding herself that the more she focuses on the good things about tonight, the less room there is for the thoughts and emotions that want to interfere.
RACHEL: So many possibilities race through Rachel's head—things she'd like Quinn to taste that have nothing to do with food. Really, one of these days, with the way they end up flirting over their meals, they're probably going to forgo the food altogether and have each other for dinner instead.
Rachel really can't wait for that day.
"I think you'll approve," she promises with a secretive smile—her thoughts still lingering on their inevitable future. "I even have something sweet for dessert." In addition to the kisses she's hoping to offer Quinn, of course.
QUINN: "I look forward to it," she replies, feeling warmth pool in her belly at the thought of what's to come later.
They fall into a comfortable silence, stealing glances of one another as they resume eating their salad. Each time Rachel's eyes catch hers, Quinn takes it as an opportunity to continue trying to push away the idea that she doesn't deserve this.
It's only semi-successful, and Quinn finds herself reaching for her wine after nearly every bite. It's more reflexive than anything, and Quinn's glass is soon empty.
But that's okay. She's feeling better now because of it, and she'll be able to enjoy her time with Rachel more.
RACHEL: By the time they finish the salad, Quinn's glass is empty again, and Rachel frowns thoughtfully before taking another sip of her own wine. That niggling worry that something is bothering her girlfriend returns, and even though the hostess in her feels compelled to offer Quinn another glass, she thinks Quinn might be better off if she doesn't.
Rachel decides to try again to get Quinn talking while they enjoy the pasta, and setting down her glass again, she manages a smile. "Are you ready for the main course?"
At Quinn's nod, Rachel stands, clearing away the empty salad plates and taking them to kitchen to deposit into the sink. Then she removes the linguine and cauliflower from the heat—ready to serve it up and continue their meal.
QUINN: She sips her water as she waits for Rachel to return from the kitchen. The buzz from the wine has created a pleasant kind of fuzziness in Quinn's mind and body, momentarily pushing out all her self-doubt. But she'd rather be enjoying this with Rachel than by herself.
Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait long. Quinn breathes in, once again closing her eyes in appreciation as Rachel places the steaming bowl of pasta down on the table. "It looks and smells amazing," she says, opening her eyes to meet Rachel's gaze. She smiles, feeling a surge of affection for her girlfriend.
But Rachel's returning smile seems a bit... off somehow. Quinn can't put her finger on it, but it makes her stomach churn slightly. She bites her lower lip, looking away and wishing her wine glass wasn't empty.
RACHEL: Slipping back into her chair across from Quinn, Rachel's lips curve at the compliment, and she manages to say, "I hope you think it tastes amazing too," but she's admittedly preoccupied with her silent attempt to figure out Quinn's behavior. On the surface, she seems okay—doing and saying the right things—but some of her smiles aren't reaching her eyes, and until tonight, Rachel hasn't really seen her drink more than a few sips of alcohol.
She remembers that alcohol is a depressant and wonders if Quinn is attempting to use it that way tonight.
Rachel is trying to be supportive and conscientious regarding Quinn's bipolar disorder, but she still feels like she's floundering around in the darkness, looking for some neon sign to direct her when there's nothing but a flick of a match that quickly burns out and leaves her blind all over again. It's so incredibly frustrating not knowing if she's helping or hindering Quinn at any given moment—not knowing how much to push Quinn to open up to her and when to back off. She's never been particularly good at backing off.
Still, she did put a lot of effort into preparing the food, so she decides to give them both a little more time to enjoy it before she says anything.
QUINN: Rachel gestures for Quinn to go ahead and serve herself first, so Quinn does, aware of Rachel's watchful eyes on her. Normally, she likes it when her girlfriend stares at her—it usually makes Quinn feel like she's on top of the world—but the guilt that is gnawing in her belly right now, which a part of Quinn knows isn't even logical, leaves her feeling self-conscious under Rachel's gaze.
She wonders (worries) what Rachel is thinking. What if she's second-guessing things? It's something that's been in the back of Quinn's mind since they started dating, and sometimes those thoughts get louder and it can be hard to wrestle control of them.
Quinn chances a glance up once she finishes piling pasta on her own plate, and the smile Rachel sends her—the warmth in those brown eyes—settles Quinn a little.
RACHEL: Quinn takes a generous helping of pasta, and Rachel offers her an encouraging smile before she fills her own plate. Picking up her fork, she murmurs, "Bon appétit," and hesitates long enough to watch Quinn take her first bite before she lifts a forkful of linguine to her mouth—relieved when the gently seasoned, buttery flavor settles on her tongue, proving that her recipe turned out okay.
Quinn's expression isn't quite as orgasmic as it was for the salad—Rachel hopes it's simply the absence of bacon—but she does hum quietly in approval.
"So do my kitchen skills get a gold star?" Rachel prompts a little uncertainly.
QUINN: "Absolutely," she replies with an assuring nod, savoring the flavor of buttery garlic that lingers on her tongue. "This is honestly one of the most delicious pasta dishes I've ever tasted. And remember that I've eaten many an Italian meal with Kaitlyn and her family, so... I think you've earned more than a gold star, Rachel."
RACHEL: Quinn's praise manages to cut through Rachel's concerns, at least for the moment, and she flushes with pleasure. She really does love being able to cook (without any kitchen mishaps) for her loved ones—and Quinn is most certainly that.
"Thank you, Quinn," she murmurs, feeling her cheeks heat. "I'm so glad you like it."
Quinn's genuine smile and reiteration that she does, in fact, love the pasta, eases some of Rachel's tension for the moment—enough that she can relax a little and enjoy her own food.
They both turn their attention to their meals for a time, but with every bite Rachel takes, her thoughts move further back to Quinn. They're about two-thirds of the way through their plates when Rachel finally gives voice to one of them.
"So, other than today being long and nearly intolerable without me," she attempts, leading with a small bit of humor, "did anything...notable happen?" she asks, trying again to get Quinn talking in hopes of her opening up about anything that might be bothering her.
QUINN: "Kind of," she admits. "My boss... my mentor in the publishing world, told us today that she's going to retire next year. And it... it makes me sad."
It's true. It's all true. And while it does make Quinn feel uncertain about things, it's not the main thing that has her feeling off-balance tonight.
RACHEL: "I'm sorry," Rachel murmurs sympathetically, feeling sad for Quinn but grateful to know that she wasn't imagining that there was something bothering her girlfriend. "I know it must be difficult to think about being there without her. It isn't exactly the same, but I've definitely felt the absence of Audra since she left the show last month, even though Laura is wonderful too. It's just...different."
Of course, it was no surprise to anyone that Audra would want to move on after devoting a full year to the role—they were honestly lucky to keep her that long. So far, the show's popularity isn't suffering for the change in casting. In fact, having new spin on Miranda has reinvigorated their performances, and Rachel likes to think the audiences are noticing.
But this isn't about Rachel. It's about Quinn.
"You're allowed to be sad about it, Quinn. It's natural. And you can talk to me about it. About anything that's bothering you," she stresses, hoping the message gets through.
QUINN: "Thanks," she replies with an appreciative smile, but there's still an underlying feeling of unease. Quinn doesn't want to talk about what's really bothering her, especially not with Rachel; she would much rather forget about it.
"I'm sure I'll get used to it, but I do worry about what her leaving is going to mean for our company, and for me," she admits. "Stability is really important for me to have."
RACHEL: Nodding in understanding, Rachel wishes there was some way to ensure that Quinn will always have the stability she needs, but she knows she doesn't have that power. All she can do is try to make sure she continues to be a source of stability and permanence in Quinn's life for Quinn to hold on to when everything else feels like it's falling to pieces.
"You said she's planning to retire next year?" Rachel asks. At Quinn's nod, she offers a reassuring smile. "Then your boss and the company have time to make a plan for the transition, although I know the not knowing can be frustrating. Have you talked to her at all about your concerns?"
QUINN: "I haven't, no," she replies, shaking her head and realizing that Rachel is right. As much as unexpected changes can throw Quinn, she has time to get used to the idea before it happens. And talking with her boss is a good idea. "But I will. Thanks, Rach."
RACHEL: "You're welcome," Rachel responds automatically. "I'm sure everything will work out," she says, smiling supportively. She hopes Quinn's conversation with her boss will ease her mind, but until then, she's going to do everything in her power to distract Quinn with more pleasant thoughts.
Quinn smiles gratefully before taking another bite of the pasta, and Rachel joins her, feeling far more at ease now that Quinn has told her what's been bothering her. She really wants them both to be able to enjoy the evening and each other's company.
QUINN: As they continue to eat, Quinn tries to stay in the moment with mixed results. Once those negative thoughts and emotions creep in, it's hard to get them to stop—even when Quinn tries using the techniques her doctor has taught her. The frustration that comes just seems to create a feedback loop of feelings of inadequacy.
"Can I have another glass of wine?" she asks Rachel after a few minutes.
RACHEL: Her fork stills over her plate at Quinn's request, and she carefully chews and swallows her last bite. It settles heavily in her stomach. Quinn has already downed two glasses, and Rachel doesn't know how much is too much for her—in regards to her bipolar or for the lithium she's taking.
Licking her lips, Rachel carefully lays her fork across her plate. "Um...I don't," she begins, stopping to consider how best to phrase this. She doesn't want to police Quinn, but she can't help being concerned. "Are you sure it's okay? '-with the medication you're taking?" she stutters out quickly, biting into her lip as she waits for Quinn's answer.
QUINN: She presses her lips together and glances away. Rachel makes a good point, Quinn knows, but...
"It's fine," Quinn assures as she meets Rachel's eyes once more.
And while lithium does somewhat increase the effects of alcohol for her, right now, Quinn doesn't care. She just wants to feel better.
RACHEL: It's fine?
Rachel could just get up and get Quinn another glass—maybe not even fill it up halfway. There probably isn't even that much wine left in the bottle. But she can't shake the feeling that it really isn't fine, and she takes a deep breath as she studies Quinn.
"O-okay," she agrees hesitantly, nearly standing before she pauses. "It's just...you don't usually drink much alcohol, and I can't help wondering if," she trails off at Quinn's frown before she bites the bullet and asks, "Is...is there something else bothering you?"
QUINN: "No," she lies, her stomach twisting with guilt. But really, there's no point in getting into it with Rachel. It will ruin everything.
"I just... I want to enjoy my birthday, that's all."
That, at least, is the truth.
RACHEL: She wants to believe Quinn. And really, it seems like a perfectly reasonable request. Why shouldn't Quinn be able to relax and enjoy her birthday by splurging with a few glasses of wine? After all, Rachel has put so much work into making tonight perfect and romantic, and while she never had any designs to get Quinn drunk, she had purchased the wine with the thought that Quinn might enjoy a glass or two for her birthday.
Rachel is still hopeful that she might persuade Quinn to stay tonight, and if she does, can one more small glass of wine really hurt anything? They're in a safe space.
So Rachel says, "Okay," again—this time with a little more conviction—before she stands up and takes Quinn's empty wine glass into the kitchen along with her own mostly empty one, having decided that she'll join Quinn in another glass. She only fills both of them just under half full, noting that there really isn't very much left in the bottle now, and she tells herself that it's okay.
Quinn is here with her, and it's her birthday dinner, and she's probably still a little upset about her boss, but everything is fine. Tonight might not be as perfect as Rachel had initially planned, but it can still be perfectly wonderful because they're together.
QUINN: She takes a few sips of water while she waits for Rachel to return from the kitchen, opting hold off on eating anything more until then.
Quinn turns her attention to the music softly playing in the background, and a small smile graces her lips when she recognizes the strains of The Marvelettes' "Please Mr. Postman."
Rachel really has put so much into making tonight special for Quinn, in all ways both big and small, and Quinn tries to keep holding on to that fact.
Moments later, Rachel returns with their refilled glasses, and Quinn murmurs a 'thank you' as her girlfriend places her glass on the table.
RACHEL: She smiles at Quinn, hoping it isn't too tight around the edges, as she sinks back into her seat. They resume their dinner with a little smalltalk peppered in. Rachel asks about the book Quinn is currently working on, glad to listen as Quinn seems to relax into a neutral topic of conversation. She doesn't fail to notice that Quinn seems to drink a little less of the wine as she talks about her work.
Before long, they've polished off the pasta, and Quinn has polished off another glass of wine.
"Would you like dessert now?" Rachel asks. "Maybe some coffee? Or would you rather wait a bit?"
QUINN: "Could we wait a bit? I'm actually pretty full," Quinn replies before biting her lower lip.
She's actually feeling a touch more relaxed—she has a pleasant buzz from the wine, talking about the Arthur Miller biography has her mind fixated on a less stressful topic, and she's enjoyed every bite of her food.
"This has honestly been one of the best meals I've ever had," Quinn continues, lips curving up into an appreciative smile as she gazes across the table at her girlfriend. "Thank you for doing all this."
RACHEL: "I've told you, I like doing nice things for you, Quinn," Rachel reminds her, beaming at Quinn's compliment. "And I'm happy you enjoyed the food so much. I was a little worried you might not like it," she admits. Not everyone is a fan of cauliflower and butter-based sauces.
"Did you want me to put on a pot of coffee for later? Or I could heat the water for some tea if you'd prefer," she offers as she sets her silverware across her empty plate in preparation for clearing off the table.
QUINN: She wonders if she'll ever fully believe how much Rachel likes making her happy. It's not that she thinks her girlfriend is being untruthful; it's just difficult for Quinn to wrap her head around sometimes.
"No thanks," she replies, mimicking Rachel's actions with her own place setting before coming to stand. "I might like to have some tea later though," Quinn continues, picking up her plate and empty glass. "But if you want coffee or tea now, you should have some. Don't wait for me."
RACHEL: "I can wait," Rachel dismisses, more concerned with Quinn's preferences right now in her attempt to be the perfect hostess. It won't take long to brew them both some tea later.
"And you don't have to bother with the dishes," she chastises, standing beside Quinn. "You're my guest, and it's your birthday. It will only take me a moment to clean off the table," she promises, lifting her own dirty plate. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable in the living room?"
QUINN: "Okay," she agrees softly, reluctantly setting her dishes back down on the table.
"Actually, I'm going to use the bathroom first," Quinn says, nature's call growing stronger now with all the water and wine she's consumed. Plus, she'd like to freshen up a little before reconvening with Rachel in the living room. After eating bacon, Quinn wants to make sure that taste is out of her mouth for her girlfriend's sake.
Just the thought of what they'll likely be getting up to has Quinn wanting to feel Rachel's lips against hers, and she can't stop from leaning down and stealing a quick kiss. "See you in a few," Quinn promises.
RACHEL: The soft shadow of Quinn's kiss is still lingering on Rachel's lips as she watches her walk away, and Rachel smiles to herself as she gathers up the plates, feeling so much better about the evening to come. Quinn seems more relaxed now than when she first got here, and, once again, Rachel chalks it all up to a bad day at work.
She definitely has some ideas on how she can help Quinn relax even more.
Rachel hums along with the music filtering in from the living room as she hurries into the kitchen and quickly rinses the plates, leaving them to sit in the sink until later. She makes another trip back to the table to extinguish the candle and pick up the napkins and pasta bowl, making quick work of dumping the remaining pasta into a container and storing it in the fridge. A few hurried wipes with a rag to the table and then the kitchen counter is enough for now—everything else can wait. After all, she has a girlfriend to entertain.
QUINN: She takes care of her business, letting out a small sigh at the feeling of her bladder finding relief. Quinn readjusts her dress before flushing the toilet and heading over to the sink to wash her hands.
As she rinses her hands under the running water, Quinn's gaze automatically falls to the toothbrush holder on the wall and the two brushes that sit side-by-side—Rachel's pink and Quinn's green. It's been that way since last week when Quinn stayed over Rachel's for the first time. It's a small thing, she knows, but Quinn likes this little bit of cohabitation.
She then grabs her toothbrush and gets to brushing her teeth. She looks in the mirror as she does and notices that her skin is a little flush—most likely from the alcohol, she realizes.
Quinn is definitely in the territory of being heavily buzzed and is very close to the edge of actually being drunk. But that's alright. She feels good and the negative thoughts from earlier are currently subdued.
RACHEL: After washing her hands in the kitchen sink, Rachel breezes into the living room to—not find Quinn. Since she's pretty sure that Quinn didn't make a break for it, she figures her girlfriend must still be in the bathroom, so Rachel takes the opportunity to grab for her phone, quickly turning on the self-facing camera and using it to check her appearance.
She's in the middle of fluffing her hair when she hears the bathroom door open and the click of Quinn's heels on her hardwood floor, and Rachel hastily tosses her phone onto the chair before spinning around with a smile to greet Quinn as she glides into the living room.
"Hey, baby," Rachel breathes, closing the distance between them and slipping her arms around Quinn's shoulders. "I missed you," she teases, brushing her lips over Quinn's and tasting the minty flavor of her own toothpaste. She smiles into the kiss, loving that her girlfriend was thoughtful enough to freshen up for her.
QUINN: She responds instantly to Rachel's embrace and lips against hers—her own hands find purchase on slim hips as Quinn deepens their kiss, and the fire of her desire is quickly ignited.
Although, Quinn isn't in a rush to sate it. She wants to savor this—savor Rachel and every taste and touch—and despite the fuzziness from the wine (or maybe because of it), Quinn feels more connected to Rachel than ever. Then again, it's hard to think about anything other than her girlfriend when she's pressed up against Quinn, scratching her nails against Quinn's scalp, and kissing her like this.
RACHEL: Quinn turns the flirty kiss that Rachel had intended into something much different, but Rachel doesn't object in the least. Instead, she sinks her fingers into Quinn's hair and falls into her, forgetting all about the dessert in the kitchen and thinking they should just have each other instead. But they have time, so Rachel eases back with a sigh—though it's hard to resist diving back in when she sees the desire shining in Quinn's eyes.
Rachel runs her tongue across her lips, savoring the lingering taste of wine and toothpaste and Quinn. The opening strains of Smokey Robinson singing "Ooh Baby Baby" filter into her awareness, and Rachel smiles up at Quinn.
"Dance with me?"
QUINN: "I'd love to," she agrees with a smile of her own, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist to keep her girlfriend close as they start to sway in time to the music. Quinn doesn't want Rachel to drift too far away—she'd much rather keep her wrapped in her arms—so their dancing isn't anything complicated. But it's nice, just being close like this.
And, oh, she really would like to kiss Rachel again, but... there's time for that later. Quinn's never actually danced intimately with Rachel before, and now that it's happening, she wants to enjoy this.
Rachel rests her chin on Quinn's shoulder then, and Quinn lets her eyes drift shut as she breathes in the familiar scent of Rachel's shampoo and perfume.
RACHEL: This is nice. It's been so long since Rachel has danced with someone this way—the kind of dancing that's barely more than two bodies pressed close together and swaying in time with the music—and Quinn is the perfect height for Rachel to rest her chin against her shoulder and bask in the moment.
Smokey is singing about doing his girl wrong and losing her, and Rachel frowns mildly, thinking that this probably wasn't the perfect song for her first dance with Quinn, but she'd really wanted to dance with her, and the music had been slow and smooth and perfect for melting into Quinn. The heat of Quinn's skin and the way her curves feel against Rachel's body more than makes up for the less than satisfactory lyrics.
"We should definitely do this more often," Rachel murmurs contentedly, already wondering where she might be able to take Quinn dancing on their next date. "I've always loved the way you move," she confesses, remembering how often her gaze would follow Quinn when she'd perform back in school.
QUINN: "Is that so?" she asks, feeling warm all over from Rachel's words as her lips curve up.
Rachel hums in confirmation, and Quinn's mind wanders to all the different ways they could move together. But there's also the undeniable thrill that comes from knowing that Rachel enjoys watching Quinn perform.
Granted, right now Quinn's thoughts are a little more fixated on the more intimate ways she can move with Rachel. "The feeling is very mutual," she murmurs, letting her hands slide up the curve of Rachel's back as they continue to gently rock.
RACHEL: Quinn's wandering fingers coupled with her husky words send a shiver of pleasure racing down Rachel's spine—not-coincidentally right underneath Quinn's touch. Rachel curves her own fingers around the nape of Quinn's neck as she lifts her chin from Quinn's shoulder and turns her face, nuzzling her nose against Quinn's cheek and inhaling her scent.
"You haven't even seen half of them yet," she whispers playfully, looking forward to showing Quinn all the new moves that she's picked up over the years and eager to learn some of Quinn's intimately.
QUINN: Rachel's words send a rush of anticipation through Quinn. Combined with the way that Rachel's touching her and moving against and with her, Quinn couldn't stop her body from responding to her girlfriend even if she wanted to.
"I can't wait," Quinn husks before turning her head slightly and pressing a kiss just under Rachel's jaw.
RACHEL: Rachel's eyes flutter closed at the feel of Quinn's lip against her jaw, and a little moan slips out as her head tilts back, allowing Quinn to explore the expanse of her neck. Behind her eyelids, a fantasy takes shape of Quinn dancing her right into her bedroom, slowly peeling her dress away, and exploring every inch of her body.
Rachel's hand slides up to tangle into Quinn's soft hair. "I...I can show you if you like," she manages breathlessly. "Whenever you're ready."
QUINN: Quinn's breath hitches, her mouth momentarily pausing in its exploration of Rachel's neck as a pleasant shudder races down her spine.
Even though Quinn has wanted Rachel—has imagined and fantasized being with her more times than she can count—she was still afraid to actually go all the way with her. Because Quinn knows, there's no going back for her once that line is crossed.
But now all trepidation is gone. "I'm ready," she murmurs, brushing her lips along the corner of Rachel's jaw.
RACHEL: Her arousal has been growing steadily from the moment they started dancing—with all of Quinn's curves brushing against all of hers in the most perfect ways imaginable—but now, Quinn's simple declaration has Rachel's breath catching and her body shifting into overdrive because Quinn is finally ready to take the next step in their relationship.
Pulling back, Rachel searches Quinn's heated gaze for any sign of doubt. She hasn't forgotten that Quinn has been drinking, and she would never want to take advantage of her lowered inhibitions. "Are you sure?" she asks carefully. "I would never want you to regret anything in the morning."
QUINN: "I'm sure," she answers with a soft nod as her eyes roam over Rachel's face as her fingers lightly grab on to the lacy fabric of her girlfriend's dress.
Quinn lightly licks her lips before admitting, "I was hoping we'd take that step tonight the second I saw you in this dress."
RACHEL: The last of Rachel's concerns slip away, and her lips curve into a coy smile—happy that her final dress choice had been a winner but even happier that Quinn wants this as much as she does. They've been circling this moments for months, and now that they're on the cusp of consummating their long suppressed desires, Rachel wants to savor every second of teasing that will lead them to the pleasing.
"Oh, this old thing?" she teases, scratching gently at the nape of Quinn's neck. "I just threw it on."
After trying on and discarding the other six.
"I'll be happy to let you take it off of me," she purrs—her hooded gaze falling to Quinn's oh-so-tempting mouth.
QUINN: She can't stop the soft moan that slips past her lips—Rachel's words and touch stoking the fire that burns low in Quinn's belly.
"Happy birthday to me," Quinn replies with a sensual smile before leaning down and capturing Rachel's lips with her own.
RACHEL: She melts into the kiss, parting her lips and meeting Quinn's talented tongue. Desire rises up in her like a tidal wave, but at its base is a swell of emotion so powerful that Rachel knows she'll happily drown in it forever.
She lightly scratches her nails down Quinn's back while Quinn's hands travel south until they mold to Rachel's ass. Rachel moans into the kiss, feeling her arousal spike even higher. This could escalate so much more quickly than Rachel had intended.
Forcing herself to break the kiss, Rachel gasps in a breath. "Happy birthday to you," she echoes huskily, mindlessly running her hands over Quinn's back. "I baked you a cake," she murmurs, a little distracted by the fire racing through her veins. "I don't suppose you want your dessert now."
QUINN: She lets out a breath and her eyes flutter open as Rachel pulls back, momentarily wondering why they're not still kissing. But her lips curve back up into a smile as soon as she registers Rachel's words.
"Oh, I definitely want my dessert now," she replies, her need for Rachel climbing by the second. "I'd just rather skip the cake part and have you instead."
RACHEL: Any thought of slowing this down flies out the window with Quinn's sexy smile and husky words, and Rachel's eyelids flutter as an embarrassing moan escapes her lips. She's never wanted anything or anyone as much as she wants Quinn Fabray right now.
"Then have me," she urges wantonly, guiding Quinn's lips back to hers.
QUINN: Those three words combined with Rachel's hungry kiss have Quinn's knees practically buckling as a surge of pleasure rushes through her.
Quinn doesn't have to be told twice.
She opens her mouth, brushing her tongue against Rachel's, as her hands squeeze the supple flesh beneath them, causing Rachel's fingers to grip tighter in blonde hair, making Quinn want her all the more.
RACHEL: There's fire everywhere Quinn touches, burning through the frustrating layer of fabric that separates her skin from Quinn's skilled hands, and Rachel grows increasingly breathless from Quinn's kisses. Still, she needs more. She needs to be closer. She needs to feel every inch of Quinn against every inch of her with nothing between them but the heat of their bodies.
For a heartbeat, Rachel entertains the notion of stripping their dresses away right here and now and dragging them both to the floor, but there's a big, cozy bed just down the hallway, and Rachel is suddenly desperate to see Quinn spread out naked on her sheets.
It takes a nearly Herculean effort to tear her mouth away from Quinn, and when she does, she's met with a growl of frustration as Quinn attempts to lure her back with darkened eyes and persistent lips.
"Bedroom," Rachel manages to gasp out, and it's enough to have Quinn nodding her agreement with an almost feral grin and loosening her possessive hold on Rachel's body.
Rachel drags in a breath, tempering her arousal long enough to grasp Quinn's hand and lead her to the bedroom.
QUINN: Her body is thrumming with desire and the anticipation of finally getting to see and taste and touch Rachel without the barriers of clothing. And knowing that Rachel wants this just as much as Quinn does stokes the fire in her belly even more.
Fortunately, it's a short walk to Rachel's bedroom, and Quinn unconsciously licks her lips as Rachel leads her through the threshold—she can't wait to get on that bed and get Rachel out of that dress.
But as they near the bed, there's a moment of hesitation on Rachel's part. Quinn barely catches it, but then she notices that the lamp on Rachel's nightstand is on and that her girlfriend is reaching for it.
"Leave it on," Quinn pleads, grabbing hold of Rachel's wrist to stop her and causing darkened brown eyes to gaze at her. "I want to see you."
RACHEL: She's not some shy virgin by any means—not anymore—but Rachel can't deny that she still feels a little moment of anxiety at Quinn's request. It's not specific to Quinn, really. She's just always been more comfortable letting go of all her inhibitions in the dark, especially with a new lover.
But this is Quinn—gorgeous, sexy, could-have-been-a-Greek-goddess Quinn—and even with the little tickle of insecurity that creeps in beneath her desire, Rachel wants to see all of Quinn more than she wants to hide any of her own imperfections in the shadows. So she lets her hand fall away from the lamp and offers Quinn a shy smile.
"Whatever you want," she agrees softly, lifting a hand to cup Quinn's cheek. "As long as I get to see you too."
QUINN: Her eyelids momentarily flutter closed as Quinn soaks in the feeling of soft fingers against her face and the gentle (but certainly not lacking in desire) request from her girlfriend.
Hazel eyes open then as she reaches up to touch the hand against her cheek while her other hand wraps around Rachel's body, pulling her that much closer. "You will," Quinn promises. "But not before I have my way with you."
RACHEL: Quinn's sultry promise sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing over Rachel, and a guttural moan tears through her as her eyes fall closed. "Yes, please," she begs just before she practically drags Quinn's lips back to her hers, kissing her greedily.
Quinn responds instantly, ravishing Rachel's mouth and effortlessly taking control of the kiss. Rachel is more than willing to give it to her—to give Quinn whatever she wants tonight—because what she wants and what Rachel wants are two sides of the same sensual coin. So when Quinn drops her hand to Rachel's hip and guides her back toward the bed, she doesn't resist, and soon enough her legs are hitting the edge of the mattress.
QUINN: She can hardly believe how responsive Rachel is to her touch, but Quinn is so beyond the point of want that her mind can barely process it on any sort of concrete, sensible level.
Not that it matters.
Rachel's back hits the mattress, and Quinn's nostrils flare with desire. Her hands have no idea where to go—all she knows is that she wants them everywhere.
Hazel eyes bore into dark brown as Quinn drops her forehead against Rachel's as her hands hook into the underside of that beautiful, blue dress.
RACHEL: She loses her breath at the emotion swirling behind Quinn's eyes—a captivating mixture of desire and adoration directed solely at Rachel. She'd never dared to dream that Quinn could look at her this way or want her this much, but it's all right there in a heated gaze and determined hands on her body. The effect it has on Rachel is akin to tossing gasoline onto a fire.
Quinn's fingers graze against Rachel's sensitized skin as she slowly drags the material of her dress up over her legs, and Rachel arches against her, rocking her hips as she tugs Quinn back down into a scorching kiss.
QUINN: A soft moan escapes into Rachel's mouth as Quinn's hands run along the outside of bare thighs. She decides actually touching Rachel's bare legs is even better than looking at them, and Quinn can't wait to finally get between them.
But first she needs to finish getting Rachel undressed.
Her hands trail up toward Rachel's hips, fingers brushing the outside of lace panties, and grab the bottom of Rachel's dress once more, pushing it further up.
Rachel lifts her hips, and Quinn feels warm anticipation flood her belly as her heart picks up speed.
RACHEL: Biting into her lip, Rachel's gaze is locked on Quinn's hungry expression as she eases the dress over her hips. The material is loose enough that there's no resistance to removing it, and Rachel lets her arms fall limply to the mattress above her head, moaning when Quinn pauses to dip her head down and steal another open-mouthed kiss.
Rachel shivers with barely suppressed excitement as Quinn continues to work her dress higher, revealing more and more of her body, and then Quinn is breaking their kiss to urge the fabric over Rachel's head, leaving her in nothing but a lacy blue bra and panties—happily at Quinn's mercy.
QUINN: She draws back as she finishes removing Rachel's dress, tossing it off to the side, before straddling her waist and savoring the feeling of the inside of her thighs against her girlfriend's heated skin.
Hazel eyes darken as she takes in the sight of Rachel laying beneath in nothing but her underwear, feeling a tug of desire low in her belly. This is so beyond Quinn's wildest dreams. Oh, sure, she'd seen Rachel in skimpy outfits back in high school (much to Quinn's frustration), but that was ten years ago. And so much has changed since then.
"You're so beautiful," Quinn breathes out, finally lowering her hands, free to touch Rachel without anything getting in the way.
Well, almost. As nice as Rachel's bra is, Quinn would rather see it off. She slides her hands up Rachel's sides, earning Quinn a soft moan as Rachel's back arches slightly off the bed.
Quinn takes that opportunity to slip her hands beneath Rachel's upper back, deftly undoing her bra, which Rachel is all too eager to help her remove.
But as it comes away, freeing Rachel's breasts, Quinn catches a glimpse of small, black lettering on Rachel's left side. Her curiosity momentarily overrides her desire as Quinn brushes her fingers over it and leans in closer to see what it says.
'Hold on to that feeling.'
Quinn's brow furrows as an odd feeling creeps over her. There's something familiar about the line, and it must mean something important if Rachel tattooed it on her body, but Quinn's having trouble immediately placing it.
RACHEL: It takes a moment for Rachel to become fully aware of exactly where Quinn's attention has wandered. She'd been far too distracted by the erotic vision of Quinn straddling her in all her disheveled, aroused glory—not to mention the unbridled joy she'd felt at hearing Quinn tell her that she's beautiful. Even after three months, Quinn's earnest admiration still gives Rachel butterflies.
But right now, Quinn's brows are furrowed as she gazes at one particular spot on Rachel's skin, running her fingers over the phrase that's been tattooed there for the better part of the last seven years. Rachel's left hand moves to her rib self-consciously, touching the words that she knows by heart—her fingers brushing against Quinn's as she does so—and causing Quinn's guarded eyes to meet hers in silent question.
This isn't the first time Rachel has had to explain the tattoo to a lover, but it's the first time the person she's explaining it to will truly understand what it means to her.
Rachel nervously licks her lips, never breaking eye contact with Quinn. "They're lyrics," she reveals softly, not bothering to tell Quinn what song they belong to—not when she can see by the clear flash of pain in hazel eyes that Quinn has remembered it all on her own. "I had it done not long after…"
Rachel doesn't say his name—not here and definitely not now—but she doesn't really need to. Quinn already knows.
QUINN: Her heart drops into her stomach and her blood runs cold as realization slams into her, her gaze falling back to Rachel's ribs.
Finn. This tattoo is for Finn, for the song he and Rachel first performed together. To remember him by, to hold on to him and their love.
And it hits Quinn all over again that she wouldn't even be here right now, with Rachel laying half-naked beneath her, if not for his death—if not for Quinn wishing him out of the picture.
The guilt comes crashing back, consuming Quinn as her hands start to shake and her breathing becomes uneven.
RACHEL: Rachel's heart begins to race—desire instantly smothered with fear as she watches the color drain from Quinn's face and her body begin to tremble while she visibly struggles to drag air into her lungs. It's like a switch was suddenly flipped, and Rachel is left completely in the dark, but she recognizes the beginnings of a panic attack from the little glimpses she's witnessed with Quinn in the past months. But Quinn has always been able to pull herself out of them before they escalated.
Rachel awkwardly pushes herself up into a sitting position—not the easiest task with the position they're in—and she reaches out to grasp Quinn's hands, hoping to bring her back from wherever her mind has taken her.
"Quinn, baby, it's okay," she promises worriedly. "You're okay. You need to calm down and breathe. I'm right here. Come back to me," she pleads.
QUINN: She's slipping, and Rachel's voice and touch is both an anchor and a painful reminder of Quinn's reality: it's not okay.
Tears prick hazel eyes as Quinn tries to steady her breathing with little success. She stares at Rachel's worried gaze, and the feelings of guilt and confliction grow.
She doesn't belong here. She doesn't deserve this. None of it. She's only here because Finn is dead.
"I... I can't," she manages to get out, pulling her hands away from Rachel's and scrambling off the bed and running her hands over her face. She has to get out of here.
RACHEL: The sudden absence of Quinn's body against hers leaves Rachel feeling suddenly colder than she ever has in her life. She stares wide-eyed at her girlfriend who looks like a scared rabbit ready to bolt.
"What do you mean 'you can't?'" Rachel asks shakily, cautiously shuffling to the edge of the bed even as she awkwardly lifts an arm to cover her bare breasts—suddenly feeling entirely too exposed.
She doesn't understand what's happening. How had they gone from being completely lost in one another—on the verge of consummating their mutual desire—to this? Rachel knows that Quinn still carries some misplaced guilt over Finn's death, but she'd never thought for a moment that the simple tattoo that she'd gotten in his memory would affect Quinn this way.
"Quinn," she practically whispers, standing up on unsteady legs. "Please talk to me."
QUINN: She shakes her head. She can't make sense of her thoughts. All Quinn knows is that her stomach is twisted in knots, her heart is flooded with guilt, and her mind is filled with self-loathing.
What could she even say to Rachel, besides...
"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers, gazing at Rachel apologetically before turning to leave.
RACHEL: Before Rachel can really process what's happening, Quinn is out of her bedroom—heels clicking rapidly against her floor like tiny gunshots to Rachel's heart. All she can think is that Quinn can't leave. Not like this. Not in the state she's in.
Shaking herself out of her stunned inaction, Rachel rushes after Quinn, barely managing to snag her wrinkled dress from the foot of the bed where Quinn had tossed it only moments ago. She doesn't waste time putting it on again—only pressing the bunched material against her naked chest in a feeble attempt to cover herself as she runs out of her bedroom.
"Quinn! Please wait," she begs tearfully, just barely managing to catch Quinn before she runs out of the apartment. Flinging out a desperate hand, Rachel blindly grabs for Quinn's wrist. Quinn tugs sharply against her hold but doesn't break it. She also doesn't turn around, her other hand gripping the doorknob with white knuckles.
"Please don't leave like this," Rachel cries, stepping closer to Quinn's rigid body. "I'm so worried about you. If...if you won't stay, at least let me call you a taxi."
The thought of Quinn walking out into the street like this—not knowing where she might end up—is enough to have Rachel teetering on the verge of what feels like her own panic attack.
QUINN: Rachel's hand wrapped around her wrist practically burns her skin, and Quinn sucks in a breath.
But when Rachel pleads—begs—for her to stay, Quinn pauses, unable to completely run away. Rachel's always had this way with her.
But she's on the verge of breaking, and she can't... she can't do it in front of Rachel.
Just one more reason why she doesn't deserve her, Quinn realizes.
"I'm sorry," Quinn repeats quietly, painfully.
And she is. She is so sorry.
But she can't even begin to put into words why.
RACHEL: "It's okay," Rachel whispers brokenly, even though it really isn't. None of this is okay. They're supposed to be in her bed right now, making love, but instead they're standing here in tears. Rachel sniffles as she drops her forehead to Quinn's shoulder, and her tears come even harder when Quinn shrugs away from her.
Rachel sucks in a sharp breath, lifting her head. "I...I'll call the taxi," she chokes out. "Just...just stay here for a minute," she pleads, cautiously letting go of Quinn's wrist as she steps back. She clutches her dress closer to her chest as if it will somehow protect her from her own heartbreak as she turns to look for her phone on the chair where she'd thrown it earlier.
QUINN: "No," she argues with a soft shake of her head. "No. I don't... please don't cry. Please."
The sight of Rachel crying cuts into Quinn, and it just makes her hate herself all that much more.
She's ruined everything.
But as much as she's always wanted Rachel and loved her for the better part of ten years, Quinn begrudgingly accepts that this was always how it was meant to be—she could never be what Rachel truly deserves.
Because she's not good enough.
RACHEL: Quinn's sorrowful words have Rachel turning around to look at her again, finding her still standing by the door with her hand on the knob, though turned around just enough to look at Rachel with quiet agony radiating off her body. Clutching her phone in one hand, Rachel presses it against her chest to keep the dress in place while she quickly lifts her other hand to wipe haphazardly at her wet cheeks. She sniffles again, swallowing thickly against the burning in her throat, and tries to compose herself.
She needs to be stronger for Quinn.
"I'm crying because you're leaving," she croaks out, wiping her cheeks again before dropping her hand back to the material covering her chest. She digs her fingers into the fabric almost painfully.
"I'm so afraid you're going to walk out of here and...and," she stutters as squeezes her eyes closed, trying to make every worst case scenario that's flashing through her mind disappear, "I'm never going to see you again," she finishes on a pained whisper, shaking her head as she opens her eyes and silently pleads with Quinn to tell her that will never happen.
"Please just stay," she urges again. "Talk to me. We...we're supposed to work through this together."
QUINN: Her heart plummets further into her stomach, and Quinn swallows thickly. Her thoughts are racing and her emotions are churning, and every part of her is screaming to leave because she's about to break.
But Rachel's pleas and tears have Quinn's feet rooted.
Her eyes slam shut as her fists clench, face screwing up a little.
"I don't... I don't know how," she admits shakily, shame once again flooding through her as her own tears start to fall. "You'll hate me," she whispers, wiping angrily at her eyes.
RACHEL: Her heart lurches, and she drops her phone back to the chair before rushing forward. The sight of Quinn's tears and her self-loathing words make Rachel ache, and she reaches for Quinn—still clutching her dress with one hand while the other curves determinedly to Quinn's cheek.
"Oh, Quinn. Baby, no. I could never hate you. I love..."
Rachel snaps her mouth closed before she finishes the declaration, sucking in a breath as Quinn's startled gaze connects with hers. She swallows heavily, shaking her head slightly as she slowly drops her hand.
"This...this isn't how I wanted to say it for the first time," she admits sadly.
Rachel had imagined this whole evening turning out so very differently. Her first 'I love you' was supposed to be sweet and romantic, but the current circumstances don't change what's in her heart—the love that's been growing inside of her for months, probably from the moment she'd seen Quinn again at that Jets game last October. And now the woman she loves is in pain, and Rachel doesn't know why or what she can do to help.
"But I've been feeling it for so long. I love you, Quinn."
QUINN: She can only stare, her breath caught in her throat, as Quinn tries to process Rachel's words despite her own turmoil.
'She loves me.'
Quinn lowers her head then, pressing her lips together as her eyes close, sucking in a sharp breath through her nose before shakily exhaling.
"I... I love you too," she admits, but her stomach still churns with guilt. Rachel never could have loved her without Finn losing his life. "But I'm not..." Quinn shakes her head, furrowing her brow as a few more tears slip out, "good enough."
RACHEL: Hearing Quinn's confession of love should bring Rachel nothing but joy, but the tiny flicker of happiness that comes is immediately snuffed out by her next words and by how broken she looks right now, and Rachel feels another tear escape over her cheek at the thought of how wrong tonight has gone.
She reaches out to cup Quinn's face again, gently lifting her head back up until she has no choice but to look at her.
"You are so much more than good enough, Quinn," she insists, praying that Quinn will hear her and believe. "You're still the prettiest girl I've ever met," she murmurs, brushing a thumb over Quinn's wet cheek and offering a small smile as she recalls what she'd told Quinn so many years ago, "and still so much more than that."
Quinn tries to shake her head—to silently deny it—and look away, but Rachel won't let her. Forgetting about her grip on her dress, she steps closer to Quinn and frames her face with both hands. The material slips down and catches somewhere between their bodies.
"I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I...I don't know what's happening inside your head right now, but I want to help you through this...if you'll let me."
QUINN: Rachel's gentle touch and sweet words both soothe Quinn and makes her guilt flare. Rational thought is trying with how she feels right now, but the way Rachel is looking at her—with love and devotion—it's everything she ever wanted, and nothing that she deserves.
Her eyes fall closed again, as more tears escape. Quinn is still afraid that things will go even more sideways if she stays, but she no longer has the ability to leave, even if she wants to, because the dam is about to break.
RACHEL: Quinn doesn't give her a verbal answer, but Rachel can see the tears streaming steadily over her cheeks and the way her body is beginning to tremble even more that it already had been. Swallowing thickly, Rachel moves her hands from Quinn's face to her shoulders.
"Quinn, honey, can you come sit down with me?" she urges gently. Quinn drags in a shuddering breath before choking back a sob, but she gives a short, jerky nod of her head.
Rachel releases a quiet sigh of relief and, after quickly sinking down to grab her dress, carefully leads Quinn the short distance to her sofa and guides her down. Quinn's fingers immediately curl into the cushion, and she gazes up at Rachel (or maybe her tattoo again) with red-rimmed hazel eyes filled with pain, guilt, and fear.
"I'm just going to..." Rachel trails off as she shakes out her dress, lifting it awkwardly in explanation as she arranges it so she can slip it back on. She doesn't want to be half-naked for whatever is going to happen next.
QUINN: She averts her gaze as Rachel slips on her dress, but not before catching another glimpse that tattoo, and the tears come faster.
Quinn buries her head in her hands as she finally breaks. There's no coherent thoughts in her head, only a tidal wave of emotion that she has to ride out.
She's vaguely aware of Rachel sinking down on the couch next to her and a warm hand on her back. It makes things both better and worse, and Quinn briefly tightens her fingers in her hair as her jaw clenches.
She knows she should say something—offer some kind of explanation to Rachel—but trying to get her emotions under control while in the throes of an anxiety attack is impossible.
RACHEL: She doesn't know what to do. Rachel can only sit there in silent agony, helpless to do anything but rest a comforting hand on Quinn's back while she falls apart beside her.
It's the first time she's had to watch Quinn go through something like this, and she's suddenly terrified that she might not be good enough or strong enough to be what Quinn needs in the long run. She's been worried whether or not she's capable of helping Quinn deal with her episodes and everything that comes with them, but it's even worse now that she's confronted with the painful reality of how inadequate and impotent she feels while it's happening.
Battling her own tears, Rachel curls her free hand over Quinn's thigh and bows her head close to Quinn's. "I'm here, Quinn," she murmurs. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," she promises, repeating it over and over again as Quinn breaks in her arms.
QUINN: She doesn't know how much time passes as she falls apart on Rachel's couch, crying and feeling absolutely wretched about herself for every reason imaginable. Her heart is pounding inside her chest, her body shakes, and her stomach continues to churn.
But eventually, the worst of it tapers off and Quinn is able to come back to her surroundings—focusing on Rachel's quiet pleas and the warmth of her body.
Quinn tries to slow her breathing, dragging shaky inhales through her mouth and expelling them.
Long moments later, she manages to get out a whispered "I'm sorry."
RACHEL: Quinn's body relaxes against Rachel in increments, and Rachel holds her closer. "You don't need to keep apologizing," she says softly, resting her forehead against Quinn's temple. "But if it helps, you'll always have my forgiveness for whatever it is you think you've done to need it."
Rachel feels Quinn grow tense in her arms, and she doesn't understand why.
"Do you...can you talk to me now, Quinn?" she questions tentatively, wanting to understand what just happened and why.
QUINN: She's always admired Rachel's ability to forgive, and she's been so grateful for her forgiveness—dating all the way back to high school—but some things are unforgivable.
Quinn swallows thickly. "I'll try," she replies a little unevenly. Even though she's terrified to do so, a part of Quinn knows she at least owes Rachel that much.
RACHEL: Relieved to hear that Quinn is finally willing to talk to her, Rachel lifts her head and quickly brushes away the remnants of her tears. She feels puffy and gross from the crying, and Quinn looks—well, actually, Quinn still looks beautiful despite the evidence of her tears, but she also looks drained and miserable.
Rachel reaches up to sift her fingers through Quinn's hair, pushing it back from her eyes. "Take your time," she encourages. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises again.
QUINN: She lets out another breath to try and steady herself. Her head is still swimming, and she doesn't really know where to start.
"I love you, Rachel," Quinn finally says, voice quiet and pained, not daring to look at Rachel, instead staring bleary-eyed at her lap. "I've loved you for so, so long... but you... you loved Finn."
RACHEL: Sucking in a breath, Rachel's hand stills in Quinn's hair. She'd had her suspicions since she'd reconnected with Quinn and discovered her sexuality that her attraction to Rachel might have gone all the way back to high school, but now with Quinn's confession, Rachel realizes that it had been more than just an attraction.
An indescribable ache settles around Rachel's heart just thinking about what Quinn might have been feeling—and oh, all those confrontations that they'd had over Finn come rushing back. Rachel wonders now just when Quinn's feelings for her had changed.
She remembers how Quinn had all but begged her not to marry Finn—remembers the moment she'd given in and agreed to come to the wedding with glistening eyes and—
'When you were singing that song, you were singing it to Finn and only Finn, right?'
Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, biting back a whimper. "You were in love with me," she realizes with a growing sense of dread. "When I...when I tried to marry Finn, and you...you nearly..."
Quinn had only answered that damned text because Rachel had sent it—because she was coming to a wedding that she didn't approve of with her heart broken, all because she was in love with Rachel and wanted her to be happy. And Rachel had shut her eyes to the obvious truth because there was no way she could have believed at the time that Quinn Fabray could ever feel anything like that for her.
"You nearly died because of me," she whispers in horror.
QUINN: She shakes her head, sniffling. "That wasn't your fault," Quinn insists. "And I didn't die. I got a second chance, and then a third." Her brow furrows with the knowledge that Finn wasn't given another chance.
"But you only had eyes for Finn, and I just wished..." Quinn trails off, shame flooding her, but she pushes on, knowing Rachel deserves to know the truth.
"For years I wished that you would see me like you saw him. I wished that he would disappear from your life." Her stomach churns with guilt as her eyes close once more. "And then he did. And now I have you. You... you actually love me back, but only because he's gone."
RACHEL: For a moment, Rachel sits in stunned silence, processing what Quinn is telling her. There's a familiar stab of pain that comes with thinking of Finn's death—of the way he'd died and everything they'd left unsaid and undone—and hearing that Quinn had wished him gone, even for a moment, multiplies that pain exponentially.
Rachel sits back, curling her arms around her stomach protectively, and she doesn't miss Quinn's choked sob at the loss of her touch.
If she removes herself from that pain—and God, it's hard—she knows that Quinn isn't saying she'd wished Finn dead. Gone and dead are two very different things. After all, Rachel had uncharitably wished Quinn would conveniently disappear once or twice in those early days—when things between them had been really bad and when Quinn had been the thing standing between Rachel and her obsessive need to win the heart of her leading man.
She can't really blame Quinn for wanting a chance with Rachel without Finn between them when Rachel had done the same thing in her quest to have a chance with Finn.
But Quinn so very obviously blames herself.
In an instant, Rachel realizes exactly why Finn is such a trigger for Quinn. It isn't merely the fact that she'd been given a second (and third) chance at life when Finn hadn't, it's that she feels like her secret wish for a clear path to Rachel somehow came true and now she can never let herself take it because the price was too high.
"That's what triggered you. And why you never reached out to me," Rachel realizes brokenly. "You think Finn's death is somehow your fault. That I'll hate you for wishing him gone."
QUINN: She nods jerkily. "And you should," Quinn says before swallowing thickly. "I would. I do."
And oh, how she does. But Quinn's always been selfish, so despite her self-hatred and guilt, she grabbed on to the chance to be with Rachel after all these years, even though part of her knew she was only second best, and that Finn owned Rachel's heart.
RACHEL: Shaking her head in denial, Rachel is quick to shift closer to Quinn on the sofa, taking one of her hands and urging her gaze to Rachel with the other. The ache in her heart intensifies in the face of Quinn's self hatred. But—
"I don't hate you," Rachel says very clearly. "I've never hated you, Quinn. Even when we were fifteen and I had a reason to." She doesn't elaborate on those reasons. She doesn't need to. Quinn is already hurting enough without a more detailed reminder of their colorful past.
"You are not responsible for Finn's death. He made a choice to get into that boat with those boys when they'd all been drinking," she chokes out, shaking her head again as she drags in a deep breath to compose herself.
Quinn's eyes are filled with tears, and she tries to look away, but Rachel won't allow her to.
"You didn't take him away from me, baby. He took himself away, and even if he hadn't, we weren't together at the time," she reminds Quinn sadly. It's part of what had made losing Finn so difficult—all the might have beens and maybes. The sad truth is that Rachel can never be certain that their story would have had a happy ending if Finn had lived. "Maybe we would have found our way back to each other someday, or maybe...maybe we would have drifted even further apart. The only thing I know for certain is that Finn didn't die because of some unvoiced desire for a chance to find love that you had when you were eighteen," she insists, squeezing Quinn's hand.
"So, please...please, baby. Forgive yourself, because I already have."
QUINN: She tries to focus on Rachel's words and warm brown eyes that refuse to let Quinn look away. A part of Quinn knows what Rachel's saying is true—and she wants to believe it more than anything (needs to, really)—but she's still all mixed up, half-way drunk, and, well, still Quinn.
Another sharp breath escapes Quinn's nose as she grips the cushion beneath her. "I can't. I don't know how."
RACHEL: Puffing out a breath, Rachel nods sadly. Some part of her had expected that Quinn wouldn't forgive herself so easily. As much as she wishes her words could be enough to ease Quinn's guilt, she knows only Quinn has the power to do that, and she simply isn't there yet.
"Even if you can't forgive yourself right now, please believe that I don't hate you, Quinn. And I don't blame you. I love you, and I want a future with you," Rachel tells her earnestly. "Finn might be gone, but we're both still here, and we're alive, and we have a chance at happiness with each other. Maybe you don't feel like it right now, but you do deserve to be happy, Quinn."
QUINN: Rachel's words about Quinn deserving happiness are so much like ones she's heard before from both Kaitlyn and Dr. Herrara, but accepting them as truth is still too hard.
But Quinn tries to grab hold of the fact that Rachel wants a future with her... she doesn't really know how it's possible, but Rachel seems to think Quinn can give her a chance at happiness.
"I want you to be happy," she says after a beat. "It's all I've ever wanted, really. But I'm messy, Rachel, and I don't know if I can give that to you."
RACHEL: She hasn't failed to notice that Quinn is only talking about Rachel's happiness and not her own. It breaks her heart.
"Life is messy," she points out with a frown. "It can be tragic and painful and sad, but it can also be beautiful and thrilling and full of hope and second chances." Rachel lifts her hand again, stroking Quinn's cheek with her thumb. "I want all of that with you, Quinn. The good and the bad."
Quinn's eyes flutter closed as she exhales shakily. "I know it won't always be easy, but I want to try. Can we...can we please try to make each other happy?" Rachel asks, suddenly fearful that the answer might be 'no.' "Or...or is being with me...remembering how I felt about Finn...always going to be too painful for you?"
She never wants to be the cause of Quinn's pain, but she can't change the fact that she'd loved Finn Hudson first—even if her heart belongs to Quinn now.
QUINN: She can hardly believe it. After everything, Rachel doesn't hate her? She still wants to be with her?
Quinn considers Rachel's question as best she can. The future is so hard to picture when she's prisoner to this moment—to the pain and the guilt she still carries with her, along with the demons that can take hold when Quinn starts to spiral.
The truthful answer right now is 'both,' but Quinn can't bring herself to say it—knowing that Rachel is still willing to be with her, despite it all, makes her swallow down the word.
"I want to try," she replies, finally looking toward Rachel and taking in the sight of her tear-streaked face and worried gaze. Quinn frowns. "God, I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm so sorry. I ruined everything tonight."
RACHEL: A sad laugh passes Rachel's lips. "Well, this certainly isn't how I planned for us to finish our night together," she concedes, reaching out to brush a few messy strands of Quinn's hair back from where they've again fallen over her eyes.
Rachel can't deny that she's disappointed her attempt at creating the perfect evening had fallen apart so spectacularly. Part of her had known from Quinn's odd behavior and the drinking that something was wrong, but she'd chosen to believe that it would be okay because she'd wanted it to be, ignoring the signs that Quinn was struggling. Tonight has been a reality check for her—another painful reminder that she can't simply will things to happen (or not happen) because she wants it so much. She has to learn to be even less self-involved when it comes to Quinn and less afraid to voice her concerns.
"But I think maybe I needed to better understand some of the demons you keep battling," Rachel muses, gazing into sorrowful hazel eyes. "And tonight isn't completely ruined. You're still here," she points out with a small smile. "You stayed with me. And...and you love me," she murmurs softly, finally letting herself feel the joy of that discovery.
Quinn Fabray loves her. That's too much of a gift to be thrown away just because that love comes with a few extra complications, and Rachel Berry has never been afraid to put in the extra effort when something really matters to her.
QUINN: "I do," she confirms quietly, watching Rachel's smile grow as that realization sinks in.
There's still a level of emotional discomfort that tempers Quinn's own happiness at seeing Rachel's eyes practically light up, or the happiness over her own feelings for Rachel actually being reciprocated.
But that doesn't change the facts, Quinn realizes—she loves Rachel, Rachel loves her in return, and despite Quinn's messiness, she wants to try to make a relationship work.
Although, tonight was hardly the worst night of Quinn's life. She just hopes Rachel will never have to bear witness to anything like that.
RACHEL: The little flame of hope and happiness in Rachel's heart burns even brighter, and she leans closer, brushing her lips over Quinn's in a sweet kiss. "I love you, Quinn," she says again, watching Quinn's eyes go soft.
"Will you stay the night?" Rachel asks hopefully. "I just want to hold you," she promises, stroking Quinn's cheek. The need to keep Quinn close to her right now is so strong, and she doesn't want either of them to be alone tonight. Not after what just happened.
QUINN: She still feels awful about how tonight turned out, and part of Quinn just wants to hide in her bedroom. But Rachel's soft kiss and gentle touch and desire to be close has Quinn not giving into that particular demon and choosing to do what's ultimately best for both her and Rachel and their relationship.
"I'll stay," she breathes, reaching for Rachel's free hand, which instantly grabs hold of Quinn's.
RACHEL: "I'm glad," Rachel whispers with a smile, grasping onto Quinn's hand. She's happy that Quinn is agreeing to stay. It reinforces her belief that they'll be able to work through these difficult moments together.
Her oldest friends are still worried that she's making a mistake—that Quinn will end up hurting her—and the fact that Quinn has continued to keep her distance from them hasn't helped. Blaine has been more understanding thanks to his experience with his cousin, but even he has cautioned Rachel that being in a relationship with Quinn might have some really low points. As if Rachel doesn't realize that.
But she still believes more than anything that Quinn is worth it, because the good moments are so very good—filled with laughter, shy smiles, wonderful conversations, and so much happiness. It's everything Rachel has always wanted to experience with a partner, and if having that means learning to navigate the darker episodes of Quinn's mental illness, then Rachel is damn well going to do that.
"Do you need anything right now?" Rachel asks, squeezing Quinn's hand. "I can make us some coffee or tea if you'd like."
QUINN: She smiles sadly at Rachel's question. What Quinn really wants to do right now is curl under a blanket and not think. Granted, the 'not-thinking' part of that scenario is pretty much impossible.
"Tea would be good," Quinn answers. "Preferably without caffeine, if you have it."
RACHEL: Nodding in understanding, Rachel mentally pictures the boxes tucked away in her cabinet. "I think I have some decaffeinated black tea. I know I have chamomile and ginger." She'd just restocked her herbal teas last week. "I'll put the water on. Just let me know which you'd prefer."
Rachel reluctantly tears herself away from Quinn's side, smoothing her dress as she stands. "And if you're in the mood for comfort food, I still have that cake. It's gluten free."
QUINN: She immediately feels the loss of Rachel's warmth, but she's too drained to attempt to follow her into the kitchen.
"I'll have chamomile, please," Quinn says, thinking it would be the most calming—even if just psychosomatic. She worries her lower lip for a moment, feeling badly about what she's going to say next. "And I need to pass on the cake. My stomach is too knotted up to eat anything."
RACHEL: She'd kind of expected that answer, and she offers Quinn a supportive smile. "I understand. Why don't you sit back and relax for a little while. I'll just be a few minutes," Rachel promises.
Quinn nods tiredly and watches Rachel turn for the kitchen. Once she's inside and out of sight, Rachel leans her hands against the countertop and takes a few deep breaths, feeling suddenly exhausted herself. She can only imagine what Quinn must be feeling.
Shaking her head, Rachel straightens from the counter and reaches for her tea kettle. After filling it with fresh water, she puts in on the burner and sifts through her cabinets for the chamomile tea before pulling down two mugs.
She leans back against the counter, waiting for the water to boil and giving Quinn—and maybe herself—a little extra time to calm down.
QUINN: She slips her shoes off and lifts her legs up onto the couch before shifting to lay down on her side, grabbing one of the throw pillows and tucking it under her head. Quinn lets out a sad sigh and closes her eyes.
She still feels all mixed up, and her body is tense and shaky and tired all at once. She tries to focus on her breath, but she's still stuffy from crying, so it doesn't really work.
It's then that Quinn realizes those old Motown songs are still playing in the background, and this time it's Jimmy Ruffin asking "What Becomes of the Broken Hearted."
RACHEL: The whistle on the teapot begins to trill, and Rachel quickly removes it from the heat, pouring the steaming water into each waiting mug in turn. She neatly arranges the string of the teabags over the rims so that they don't slip inside before carefully lifting them and padding back into her living room.
Rachel frowns when she doesn't immediately see Quinn in the spot where she'd left her, and her heart lurches at the possibility that Quinn had snuck out on her after all. But then her eyes catch on the toe of a yellow shoe on the floor, peeking out around the edge of her sofa, and she practically sighs in relief.
Continuing into the room, Rachel heads for her coffee table to deposit the tea, thinking that Quinn might be in the bathroom, but as she walks around the back of the sofa, she notices her girlfriend curled up on the cushions. Rachel pauses to take in the sight. Quinn must be exhausted, and Rachel's heart goes out to her as a sad smile curves her lips.
And then she hears a muffled sniffle.
Frowning again, Rachel steps closer and notices that Quinn's cheeks are wet again and her shoulders are shaking just enough to be noticeable. Rachel's heart lodges in her throat, and she quickly sets the mugs down on the table, splashing a bit of the hot water onto her wrist as she does so. Rachel hisses at the burning sensation, but the momentary flash of pain is the last thing on her mind as she sinks down next to Quinn, immediately reaching out to stroke her hair.
"Quinn, baby, are you okay?" she asks worriedly, wondering what could have happened in the short time she was in the kitchen.
QUINN: There's a quiet but persistent ache in Quinn's heart, seemingly only exacerbated by the music playing, and she can't stop the tears that start falling once again.
So caught up in the feeling, she doesn't notice Rachel's return until she feels gentle fingers in her hair and the worried question that accompanies them.
Quinn swallows thickly before opening her eyes to look at Rachel. "I don't..." she sniffles, not really knowing how to explain why she feels this way, but she still feels guilty all the same. "I'm sorry."
RACHEL: "Oh, sweetheart, no," Rachel whispers, not knowing what to say.
She slides down as best she can on the edge of the sofa cushion—awkward angle be damned!—and attempts to hold Quinn in a loose embrace, resting her cheek against Quinn's shoulder.
"Don't apologize for what you're feeling. Just...tell me if I can do anything to make it better," she begs, wanting nothing more than to curl her body around Quinn and protect her from the whatever demons are tormenting her now.
QUINN: Hazel eyes flutter closed once more. Rachel's comfort and love is more than she deserves, but Quinn can't bring herself to push it away.
She does, however, manage to push away the urge to apologize again.
"You're perfect," Quinn replies softly after a beat. And she is.
Quinn furrows her brow and tries to bury herself further into the couch and against Rachel at the same time. If only she could be what Rachel really deserves.
RACHEL: Despite the situation, Rachel finds herself smiling at Quinn's words. To hear Quinn Fabray tell her that she's perfect—it's everything.
"It's about time you noticed that," Rachel jokes softly, attempting to make Quinn smile a little. The sad chuckle that follows isn't exactly what she was hoping for, but it's certainly a start.
With Quinn's subtle shifting on the sofa, Rachel finds a little more space and decides to take advantage of it, maneuvering around—despite Quinn's little whimper of protest when Rachel momentarily lets go of her—so she can slip in behind Quinn and curl around her the way she longs to. Quinn immediately grabs the arm that slides around her waist and holds it tightly to her body.
"Just rest for awhile, baby," Rachel murmurs soothingly. "I'll keep you safe."
QUINN: Having Rachel hold her like this—wanting to keep Quinn safe—eases some of the ache that's settled over her. If only Rachel could keep Quinn safe from the darker parts of herself.
But that Rachel is willing to stay at her side, quite literally, when Quinn stumbles—it helps.
The music changes to something more upbeat, and as the sounds of the Four Tops crooning float through the air, Quinn focuses on the warmth of Rachel's body and her protective embrace. She feels herself start to relax ever-so-slowly, even though her melancholy feels like its seeped into her bones.
RACHEL: The tension in Quinn's body gradually begins to melt away in slow increments. Rachel can feel the change in her, but she doesn't delude herself into thinking that everything is okay now. Still, she's relieved that Quinn finally seems calmer.
Rachel closes her eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of Quinn's shampoo and perfume as her own exhaustion settles in, and she lets herself sink further into the warm cocoon that surrounds them—content for the moment just to lie here between Quinn's body and the back of her sofa.
It's hardly perfect, but it's real, and it's enough for now. Rachel holds Quinn just a little bit closer with no intention of ever letting her go.
QUINN: She doesn't know how long they've been laying here like this, but Quinn isn't in any hurry to move. She wouldn't mind falling asleep like this, in Rachel's arms.
Even though things went sideways tonight and Quinn is still feeling low, now that Rachel knows the truth, some of the weight has been lifted. Rachel doesn't hate her for it. And somehow, she actually loves Quinn.
It's what she tries to hold on to as she starts to drift off, hoping and praying that it will be enough to keep the lurking demons at bay.
As much as Dustin liked the apartment she was living in, being downtown constantly surrounded by so many people was starting to wear her thin. The noise of the passing traffic kept her awake, every sound turning into a potential threat in her half asleep brain. She hated how pathetically scared it made her feel all the time, but nothing seemed to change it. So, if that wasn’t going to change, she figured that another change was in order. Getting away from the town a bit, out to a more remote area where things would be calmer, seemed like the best course of action.
Wandering along the pier at the local marina, Dustin’s eyes scanned over the boats, her attention focusing in on the minute details. Living on a houseboat had always been a dream of hers, something more out of a movie than a thing people did in real life. It was just far enough out of the way of people to bring a sense of peace to her mind and it even gave her a sense of freedom, allowing her to just take off on a whim to sail the world. Reaching forward just a bit too far to slide a hand along the side of one of the boats, Dustin tipped forward, nearly falling into the ocean before she caught herself. “Fuck,” she grumbled under her breath, taking a few steps back. “Close call.”
Katie couldn’t explain why it was that Bianca being mad at her cut so deep. When Katie had been going through one of the hardest times of her life, Bianca had been waiting with baited breath to steal her boyfriend. That wasn’t the kind of girl she thought she would end up in bed with. But all of that was behind them and she had thought they were moving past it. The girl had seemed so angry with her and it hurt more than Katie had imagined. She sent a quick text to Maya, asking her to come cuddle with her; something that had been happening more and more often the last six months.
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It was three days into the road trip and the two couples were heading towards the Grand Canyon. Allison had researched and found a campsite where they could park up for a couple of days that overlooked the canyon itself, and they had managed to book prime spots.
They were still a while away from the campsite, and Allison had made Stiles let her change to music she liked. He'd agreed, though he was missing listening to his old classic songs. The heat was getting pretty intense. Stiles had on a loose fitting tank top and pale blue shorts that stopped at his knees. Allison was wearing her shortest shorts and a green tank top; and the both of them were still too hot.
"Do we have much further to go?" Stiles asked. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Scott and Kira's car behind them. Their air conditioning actually worked, he thought.
What: Lorcan tries firewhiskey for the first time after a rather dramatic day. Sebastian's there to help.
When: Dec 23, 2022
Where: Lorcan's Bedroom
Sebastian Smythe
Sebastian pulled a small, locked trunk out of the bottom of his suitcase and grabbed the firewhiskey and a glass out. He had come prepared with a few bottles, but he knew he wouldn't need much to get Lorcan to that buzzed, happy feeling he needed. Both of them needed to loosen up, but Sebastian was willing to give up the taste of alcohol for one day to give Lorcan that loosened up feeling. He needed it much more anyway. He waited for Lorcan to come back from his walk to clear his head and took one quick swig as he waited.
He was a little upset, but he mostly just wanted his boyfriend to be okay. He needed Lorcan to be okay. He didn't want to be the cause of any more drama for the other boy, but relationships weren't supposed to be easy.
Grayson's palms were sweaty, but he was already standing at the front of pathway before all the guests, and he couldn't do anything about it now. It was such an irrational thing to be concerned about, but he couldn't shake the fear that when he moved to put the ring on Sophia's finger, she would somehow be grossed out by his nervous, clammy hands. Much like the proposal itself, he just wanted today to go perfectly. This was one of the most important days in their relationship, and although he'd hated planning it, it was worth it to see the way everything looked now. Not to mention the fact that from the green grass beneath them to the blue sky above them, it seemed like the world had received the memo- today was important.
And really, despite that undercurrent of nerves, he was more excited than anything else. Excited to look into Sophia's eyes and say I do and know that she was committed to this with him. Committed to having a life together. His heart jumped in his chest- a terrible metaphor if he'd ever heard one, and one that he'd roll his eyes at if he found it in an essay from a student, but there was no other way to explain it.
It was amazing to think that they'd come all this way from high school. In all honesty, he hadn't seen it coming, not at the age of seventeen when they'd first kissed. Not even the first time they'd admitted they loved each other. He'd even quietly judged his friends for thinking that they'd end up with their high school sweethearts, privately thinking that that idea of love was stupid, especially at such young ages. And yet here he was, realizing it was anything but stupid as he waited for his high sweetheart to walk down the aisle. It just made sense now. Looking back, despite his mistakes, he couldn't think of anyone else he'd want to be waiting for at this altar. Sophia was the first person he'd really, officially let in once things got hard, but it was more than just that. He didn't just want to turn to her during the difficult times- he wanted to share the happy things with her, their accomplishments, their everyday ups and downs. Everything. He wanted to share it all with Sophia Thompson.
Well.
Share it all with Sophia Handler.
He knew he was standing in front of a large crowd of people, and he also knew his mom's eyes were probably glued to his facial expression, but Grayson couldn't hold back his grin at the thought. So what if he looked stupidly happy? He was stupidly happy.
The music started up again, signaling that it was time for Sophia's entrance,. Everyone turned around to search for her, and Grayson's eyes immediately locked onto the end of the aisle too, waiting like everyone else to catch a glimpse of his beautiful bride. They'd gone the traditional route and kept him away from her while she got ready, but he'd seen the dress beforehand, and he'd seen her- he knew she was going to look amazing, no matter what.
