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Chapter Text

Rachel woke to the warm sun toasting her thighs and sweat soaking into the neck of her blouse.  Her daddy had rolled the windows down – he always did when they were close to the resort, a herald for the summer of fresh mountain air that was to come. She pressed her elbows into the back of the passenger seat and watched the tall balsam firs rush by as they pressed on into the Catskills.

“Wakey-wakey, almost there.” Her father sing-songed, elbowing her upper arm without ever letting his hands leave the wheel.

Rachel smiled, letting it stretch her cheeks until it burned.  She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, her daddy had just been talking about his favorite subject, one of the lawyers that sat with him at the deli for lunch most afternoons, and while she did enjoy their easy father-daughter back and forth, her medical doctor father wasn’t exactly the most scintillating conversationalist.

While he prattled on about his lawyer friend's apparently hilarious “Rachel” sandwich order, she had been thinking about her summer, and what outfit she was going to wear to the annual Hawaiian welcome dinner, and before she knew it she was dreaming about Nancy Sinatra’s go-go boots.

“Sorry, I dozed off.” She said, her voice still heavy with sleep.  Her father just scoffed as he made the turn onto the grounds of Ben Israel’s Resort.

“I know, I know, dear old dad bores you to death.  Well, now’s your chance to have some fun with all of your little girlfriends.” He said as he pulled into the drive, where strapping young men were waiting like slobbering dogs to unload their car.

Rachel stretched her arms over her head, grabbing at her elbows as she caught the eye of one of them and blushed at his little wink.  She knew that all the boys who worked at Ben Israel’s were trained to flirt with the daughters, it was practically expected of them to round half the bases before the end of the summer, but it was a vile thing, if you asked her.  Almost prostitution if you really thought about it.  All of these doctors and lawyers and businessmen paying for their daughters to get slipped tongue in the woods. It was obscene, that's what it was!

And if she was licking her lips, it was only because of the arid mountain breeze.

She wasn’t a prude, of course.  She just wanted her daddy to think she was.  Wasn’t that the case for any self-respecting girl?

She also didn’t find any of the cabin boys, as Mr. Ben Israel liked to call them, very attractive. They were all broad-browed and whiskery and majoring in finance at insert Ivy League school here.   None of them were ever very interesting at all.

It hadn’t even mattered before, because she’d had a boyfriend for the last two years of high school, but–

“Now, no more moping over that Hudson boy.  What’s done is done, right? It was your own very wise decision.” Her daddy shut off the engine and tipped his hat to one of the boys that motioned for him to roll down his window.  Rachel’s smile fell into a petulant frown.

“Hello there, sir, can I have your name?”  The boy asked, quickly wiping the back of his hand over his sweating brow.  It was still pleasant out for being the end of May, but the sun was beating down hard.

“Well, you’re new, aren’t you?” Her daddy chuckled, probably the hundredth man to do it that afternoon alone.  They all thought they were so important, didn’t they?  They all thought people should remember their face after nary a glance.  Rachel gave the boy an abashed smile and he smiled back, nodding at her father.

“Hiram Berry, young man.  We’re here through August.”

“Ahh, in it for the long haul, then.  Very good, sir, very good.”

“And this is my daughter, Rachel Berry.  Newly single and on her way to Barnard in the fall.  Say, what’s your alma mater, son?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, looking back out her window as her daddy engaged the boy that was really just being nice for tips in a long, pointless conversation about the importance of making a little “pocket money” in the summer “for some good old-fashioned boys’ fun.”

Whatever that was.  Off in the distance, she recognized some of her friends – acquaintances, more like it, rounding up the first row of cabins, and then further back, a pack of strong, swarthy types carrying stage equipment and what looked like musical instruments.

Heading up said pack were two girls – no, women, a blonde and a brunette, wearing blouses that they’d tied up to show their stomachs and shorts so short you could see where their bare thighs brushed as they walked.

They were the crew, separate from the cabin boys, paid less and expected to be seen and not heard.  As such, they kept to themselves, but occasionally you would hear about one of the girls a cabin or two away running off into the woods with one of the greasy young men.

As they walked closer, practically tip-toeing across the sanded path where three boys were currently popping The Berrys’ trunk and hauling off all of Rachel’s things to cabin C-4, Rachel leaned out her window without thinking about it much.

Sure, she was interested in the crew, all the girls were in a sort of clandestine, monkeys at the zoo kind of way.  It was fun to watch them, but it wasn’t as if she was planning on talking to them, or worse.  She flinched at her own thought – what could be worse?

“All right, sweetpea, time to slip on those sandals and go have some fun!”  Her daddy rubbed his hands together, stepping out of the car and handing his keys to one of the young men with a clever slip of a few folded bills in the other.  The boy gave him a buttoned-up smile.

Rachel distractedly toed her shoes on, elbows pressed into the open window still.  The tan skinned brunette girl off in the distance was smiling and joking, throwing her head back at something one of the black-shirted men said.  Next to her, the blonde was steely-eyed, lips pursed like she had been through a lifetime of injustice.

They were both annoyingly beautiful.  Sometimes Rachel imagined that Mr. Ben Israel hired girls based solely off of how badly he wanted to schtup them.

Suddenly, the door that she was leaning against opened, and the cabin boy that had winked at her was standing there with his hand outstretched.  He squinted over at the gaggle of crew kids walking off towards the outdoor amphitheater. 

“That’s the dance staff this year.” He offered, both of them using their hand to shield their eyes from the sun as they watched the group until they could barely be seen beyond the pines.  Rachel noticed she had absent-mindedly gotten out of the car and was still holding the boy’s sweaty hand. She dropped it, embarrassed. 

“Y’know,” he continued, smiling down at Rachel. “The guys that teach all the old ladies the cha-cha-cha.”

Rachel’s nose wrinkled as she finally looked at the boy.  He had been there last year, but she couldn’t remember his name.  Something Geller?  Nathaniel, maybe? He was cute, she guessed, at least better than the other boys.  Taller.  Delicate facial features.  She thought of her now ex-boyfriend’s chin, the little curl of his lip when he smiled.

She had done the right thing, hadn’t she?  A part of her was begging to ask why it felt like she was drowning all the while without him.  He’d promised to write to her that summer once he got shipped off to wherever basic training was, but she wondered if he really would.  She wondered even more if, by the time she got it, she would care at all.

It was all too confusing to think about on summer holiday, before she entered into the brave new world that was Barnard College and all of the breathtaking opportunity it offered.

“What do the women do, then?” Rachel asked, ever the budding feminist.  Her daddy always joked that she would change the world by 1970, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that on a pre-med track in a city of millions.

The boy, Nathaniel or what have you, he chuckled.  Rachel officially didn’t like him, whether he was slightly handsome or not.

“I suppose they teach the men the cha-cha-cha?  Actually–” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Probably just the bunny hop on the lawn with the kids.  Babysitters, you know.”

“Well, I for one think that those women look far too talented to be babysitters.”

He pressed his chin into his neck, taken aback.  Rachel hated when men looked at her that way.

“Talented, eh?  I guess that’s one word for it.”  His smile was wolfish, and in that moment Rachel decided that she hated him.  He began to ask her if she’d like an escort to her cabin, but she was already following her father’s voice down the trail, leaving the boy standing in the burning sunshine.

Chapter Text

“Rachel, your ring!” Bethany Blumhoff swiped at Rachel’s hand as she walked into the mahjong tent, fanning the late afternoon heat from her face.  The zealous girl held it fast between her fleshy palms like it was a rare fruit.

The ring in question was the one that Finn, her ex-boyfriend, had given her.  A promise ring.  A “one day when we’re old enough” ring, an auspicious little quarter carat diamond on a slender gold band.  It was missing, and it should’ve been, but Bethany didn’t yet know that.

“Getting it cleaned?” The girl asked, her voice sweet and unassuming.  She was a year younger and so wide-eyed that it made Rachel herself look like a sage owl in comparison.

“Oh, I’m afraid not.  Unfortunately, Finn and I just–”

Bethany’s hand flew to her mouth. Rachel thought her face might’ve looked worse than Rachel felt.  She reached out a hand to pat the younger girl on the shoulder, to comfort, though she wasn’t even sure why.  Everyone knew that her daddy hated Finn.  It was only a matter of time before they went their separate ways.

“We didn’t work out.” She finished, keeping her voice cool, though that nagging part of her still wanted to cry about it, to release the ache in her chest.  It was okay, though, she had Barnard and she had new roommates and friends and classes, so many wonderful distractions.

“She can’t be too upset, that ring looked like it was made for a Barbie doll.” Sugar Motta called out, fiddling with the ends of Rachel’s ponytail from behind.  She smiled with her hand on her hip when she finally swooped around to look Rachel in the eye. 

Rachel gave her a red-faced smile in return, and then Sugar was moving in for a hug, her feet stamping in excitement.

“Rachel!  I’m so excited you got into Barnard!  I did, too!”

Rachel sucked in a very deep, very annoyed breath.  She’d heard through her daddy’s circles that Sugar had somehow gotten into one of their liberal arts programs, and it was absurd, because she was fairly certain that Sugar hadn’t done a day of homework in her life. She imagined that her father must’ve made a sizable donation to the school’s coffers before she got her acceptance letter.

Rachel’s daddy was well off, and they were able to afford a nice home on the Upper Westside, but the Mottas were unfathomably rich – the kind of generational wealth that spanned back to some Italian baron.

“Me too,” Rachel began, stepping back gingerly from the girl’s stronghold. “I’m glad to know I’ll have a friend there.  All of my friends from school are going out of state.”

The truth was, aside from Finn, Rachel didn’t really have friends from school, save a few mild acquaintances from the Glee club, and anyway, her participation in the club was a secret from her father.  She couldn’t very well bring her fellow singers home and blow her “science club” cover.

Oh, none of it mattered now, anyway.  They were all graduated and on their way to bigger and better, or in some cases smaller and worse things.

Without high school or Finn or, truthfully, her father weighing her down, Rachel felt confident that she would be flourishing, soon.

Any minute, now.

Sugar and Bethany started chattering on about whether or not they should participate in the end-of-session talent show that year, and Rachel just stared at the empty spot on her ring finger.  There was a tiny little strip where the sun hadn’t tanned her skin underneath that ring.  She would just have to make sunbathing a priority in the next few weeks, slather some coconut oil on her hands and hope for the best.

– - -

The vegetarian options at Ben Israel had gotten better over the years, but most times Rachel was still stuck with eating a giant mushroom cap slathered with pineapple sauce for the long-anticipated kickoff dinner.  She was currently cutting a portabella into little tiny pieces and listening to Mr. Ben Israel talk about what a pleasure it was to have all the old and new faces staring back at him, especially the pretty ladies, of course – ha, ha, ha.

He was an old creep, and everyone knew it.  It was the kind of joke that had stopped being one when she was 13, but he made it every year all the same.  Her daddy was a lot of things, a feminist not being one of them, but he turned up his nose at the man when they were alone, to which Rachel was always grateful.

Womanizing and thus womanizers didn’t interest her daddy, and she liked it that way, though she hadn’t seen her mother since she was a baby and couldn’t rightfully pick her face out of a crowd to save her natural life.

She still had dreams about her showing up one day, pretty and begging to fall back into their lives.

She’d left when Rachel was only one month old, not even old enough to eat real food, a fact that her father loved to parade around for most of her young life.  She was a no-goodnik, the woman.  Shelby.  Rachel hated that name as a consequence.  It sounded like she’d been birthed by circus performers.

Either way, they hadn’t been married, so maybe it had been for the best.  Now, she and her daddy were a kind of sob-story, and she didn’t exactly hate the attention it afforded her, or the rules she was allowed to break.

Oh, that poor, motherless girl.  We won’t tell her father she’s in the school play if she doesn’t want!  She doesn’t have to pass advanced biology, does she?  That voice of hers…

“That man certainly knows how to prattle on.” Hiram pushed the words out through his nose, eyes glancing over at the Nussbaums to their left – Miriam was a gossip, so it was best to whisper in her presence if you knew what was good for you.

“You’re one to talk, daddy.” Rachel smiled prettily, batting her eyelashes, not knowing that she was inadvertently making the worst kind of overture.

There was a cough to her right.  Rachel glanced over and almost had a heart attack to see how close Jacob Ben Israel was to her face, close enough that she could smell the brisket on his breath.

“Rachel,” He breathed her name out like it was tickling his vocal chords. “So pleased to see you again.”

She shivered, pulling her arms in closer to her sides.  Jacob was the resort owner’s son, a smarmy little weasel that had been drooling over her since grade school.

“Jacob, I trust you’re well.” She didn’t bother looking directly at his face, lest she imply something untoward, though Jacob had been known to take simply speaking to him as a sign of impending nuptials.  He cleared something repulsive out of his throat and reached up to adjust his thick-rimmed glasses.

Then, he touched her arm.  Goosebumps, the kind one gets when they’ve just seen roadkill, popped up all along her limbs.

“Since I imagine this might be your last year at the lodge, let me just say–” There that throat clearing was again, too disgusting to excuse.  Rachel couldn’t help how her top lip sneered. “If you need anything. Really, anything – you let me know.  I’m at your service.”

Jacob’s voice hitched at the end of his sentence and thankfully someone was walking towards the stage, making it rude for him to hover.

“Mr. Berry, it’s good to see you again as well.” He raised his eyebrows at Rachel’s father, who had been too wrapped up in his kalua chicken to notice his only daughter being pawed at.  When he turned to address them, he was all smiles, and Rachel had to fight not to say something that might get them kicked out before their vacation had even started.

“You too, Jacob.  Looking forward to the summer!” He shook the boy’s hand, her daddy always did that kind of thing with people he thought mattered, though Rachel wished he didn’t feel the need to encourage this one.

Up on stage, the activities director was listing off things like synchronized swimming and individual dance instruction, Rachel thought she even heard something about a French cooking class, and then everyone was left to their meals and, for some unknown reason, the Pennsylvania Polka blasting through the stage speakers.

Her daddy let out a little surreptitious hum.

“He’s a nice kid, Rachel.  I mean – he’s no Adonis, obviously, but you don’t care about that kind of thing.” He said it like he knew what kind of thing she did care about, anything at all, which he most certainly did not.

Okay, so he knew that pink was her favorite color and he knew that she hadn’t eaten meat since she was ten years old and he knew that she loved old Hollywood films like It Happened One Night.

But he thought she was the good, studious, mild-mannered daughter of his dreams.  He had no idea that she’d dreamed about running away with Finn and having his goyishe babies somewhere exotic, raising the kids on the beach, teaching them to dance and sing and be wild and carefree.

He also didn’t know that she had an equally intense dream of moving to bohemian Greenwich Village and becoming a famous lounge singer, taking on many lovers along the way.

He thought she wanted to be a doctor , when the presence of blood had been known to make her faint on sight.  Rachel supposed that parents did that kind of thing – told themselves lies about their children when the truth was too inconvenient.  For her father, it was more than just a lie, but an entire fabricated life that she, ever the dutiful daughter, had never had the heart to deny.

Her mother had been a singer, desperate to make it on Broadway, and when she’d left–

It was a tired old story, wasn’t it?  Rachel had to pretend she was all her father from toe to scalp, that she had somehow been formed from his rib and not birthed and subsequently left by a woman that hadn’t even cared to leave a forwarding address.

A woman that, according to one of Hiram’s rants after having one too many whiskey sours, had the voice of an angel.

An angel.  Rachel thought about that a lot, too, and in doing so had created a visual of her mother in her head that was far more seraphim than human.

“He’s just like his father.” Rachel said, hoping it was enough to shut her daddy down for the night, anyway.  There would be other dinners, other shuffleboard courts that Jacob Ben Israel made himself known on.

After the Pennsylvania Polka ended and Rachel had choked down most of the rice on her plate, the stage lights dimmed, and the evening’s entertainment was announced – a Broadway revue with dancing and singing by the lodge’s “talented entertainment staff!"   Rachel and her father’s table was front and center, she could reach out and grab Mr. Ben Israel’s chubby ankle if she wanted to.  She pushed her shoulders back as all of the kids that had been lugging pieces of a stage that morning pranced out in colorful outfits.

Behind them, a small band complete with string instruments organized themselves on stage.  After a moment of awkward silence, a drumbeat started up, and several of the boys were spinning the girls out in tandem to the tune of “Put On A Happy Face” from Bye Bye Birdie.

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.  The kids were good – all formidable dancers, Rachel noticed, watching a dreamy-looking blond boy and one of the girls from that morning do a modified watusi with her eyebrow raised. Mr. Ben Israel probably felt the need to step up his game after some of the competing resorts had actual professionals perform instead of bored college kids.  

They moved on mid-way through “Put On A Happy Face” to “Getting to Know You” from The King and I, and then a song from Easter Parade, not a Broadway musical, Rachel noted, but no one else likely even noticed.

She had goosebumps again, but the intensely pleased kind, the kind she was desperate to hide from her daddy.  Whenever he looked back over at her during the performance, which was far too much for her liking, she had to feign complete indifference to the sight in front of her.

When really – oh.  She felt like her heart would give out it was beating so hard.  The gorgeous caramel skinned girl that had been the veritable parade marshal of them all that morning sang with a strong but feminine voice, unlike anything Rachel had ever heard.

Though, she knew she could do better.  

She gulped, glancing around the room to spy other resort-goers’ reactions.  Most of them were staring politely just like her daddy, not leaning forward, rapt, their chin in their hands.

The music changed again, the brass instruments sharply trumpeting as the callous-looking blonde from the morning, the same one dancing the watusi like she was born to do it, stepped forward in her West Side Story-inspired curly crinoline dress.  Her collarbones stood out as she breathed deeply.  Nervous, Rachel thought.

“A boy like that, he’ll kill your brother–” That same strong voice started out from behind her, and the dark-haired girl was stepping up, running her palm across the blonde’s shoulder, taking center stage.

Rachel loved this bit from Westside Story.  She’d gone to the Rialto four separate times to see the show, three by herself and once with Finn.  She couldn’t even count how many times she’d waited until her daddy left the house before practicing both parts in the mirror, taunting herself, pleading with herself.

Soon enough, the blonde came in a tad sharp with “oh, no, Anita, no!” But managed to get a hold of herself fairly quickly.  In contrast to the brunette’s solid, assured timber, the blonde’s voice was breathy and panting, but also lovely in a way that Rachel hadn’t anticipated, like a young Marilyn Monroe.

It was sweet, and certainly Maria didn’t rightfully call for a sweet voice, but the disparity between the two was really the thing, and it worked well. So well that Rachel forgot, after a time, when the two voices had stopped quarreling and only the blonde’s was left tremulous along with the swell of the violins.  She forgot to act like she didn’t care.

“I have a love and it’s all that I have–”

Rachel practically gripped the tablecloth for dear life as she listened.  The band reared up.  The brunette came back in.

“When love comes so strong, there is no right or wrong–”

“Rachel. ” She heard the distant, barely-there hiss of her daddy’s voice over the final strains of music.  The brunette held her note for longer than the blonde, no surprise, but it was so –

“Yes? ” She spat back, not even realizing what she’d just done or even where she was, briefly, like her soul had been transported miles away and had just snapped back into her body.

The kids on stage all rearranged themselves for the final act of the revue, a satire of the Farewell song from The Sound of Music, with everyone pretending to be children of various sizes on their knees. 

Her daddy didn’t respond, only gave her a sour look as she pulled herself together and one of the boys, tall with olive skin and a heartbreaker face, pretended to be a cuckoo clock.

The whole place roared with laughter as the kids all shuffled around like Snow White’s dwarves.  Rachel noticed that the breathy blonde had two parts, the teenager and the youngest daughter, and she giggled through her hands as she sang in a timid, baby voice “the sun has gone to bed and so must I…”

At the end, as was custom, the audience joined in singing “goodbye” as the performers slowly waved themselves off stage.  Rachel clapped along with everyone else, and her daddy clapped, too. He wasn’t a monster or anything, he had a Something Happened On the Way to the Forum record stashed somewhere in his collection, it was only Rachel’s involvement that he didn’t care for.

“Well that certainly was something , wasn’t it.” He said, not using something as the compliment that it sometimes was.  Rachel bit the inside of her cheek again without making it too obvious.

“Very talented.” She suggested, not looking back up at the stage, nor at the little slit of light between the wall and the curtain where that blonde girl stood with her face back to scowling, her arms crossed in front of her, solemnly nodding at something that Rachel couldn’t hear.

Chapter Text

“Raarrr!”

Rachel jumped back as one of the children on the south lawn lumbered into her footpath, his face smeared with something sticky and his hands high and curled at the fingers.  Behind him, one of the entertainment staff was trying to teach a gaggle of children The Grizzly Bear, one of those dances they taught in Girl Scouts when she was a child.

Rachel let out a high, decidedly frightened laugh and tried to speed up to make her way towards the swimming pool, but suddenly her hand was being grabbed by another little boy, and she was thrust into the pond of teeming children, all pressing their chests together and holding up their arms like, well, grizzly bears.

The earth seemed to tilt on its axis as another child grabbed her hand, a little girl this time, trying to push her arms up to make her do the very silly dance move.  It was an unfortunate but true fact that Rachel had not spent too terribly much time with small children – or children at all. Their presence unsettled her on a good day, and angered her on any other.

Luckily, this was a good enough day, so she gulped and made a little show out of smiling and raising her arms, but then the instructor was pulling her by the belt loops on her pedal pushers and she found herself chest to chest with a tall, pretty blonde.

Not the blonde Maria from the stage show, it had been three days and Rachel hadn’t seen much of her or her friend at all.  At some point she thought she’d spied a flicker of black shirt behind the old rec center that must’ve been the cuckoo clock boy, but that was all there had been of that ragtag crew since Welcome Night.

Of course, she could go and look for them, and sometimes she thought she would, just to see if they were singing , maybe.  Practicing for some other performance.

She didn’t, though.  She crocheted potholders with the Brightman twins, drank shirley temples and talked about boys with Sugar while strolling the boardwalk, and had regular meals with her daddy.  He insisted upon those – it was a family vacation, afterall.

“You’ve gotta really get your shoulders into it.” The blonde insisted, twisting Rachel around with the motion of her body alone. “I’m Brittany.” She smiled, so close to Rachel’s face that she could smell the strawberry bubblegum on her breath. 

“I’m Rachel.”  The music was some Vaudeville trumpet number that sounded like the same three notes played over and over ad nauseum.  When the song finally ended, Brittany unlocked their arms and their chests and gave Rachel a hug , like she was one of the children and not a mostly unwilling adult.

“Good job, Rachel.  You’re a really good dancer.”

Rachel shook her head. “I’m merely adequate, but thank you.”

Brittany shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right.  But you could be!  You should come to my next class!”

Rachel raised her eyebrows.  Surely she knew those performers, didn’t she?  They were all one big team, some of the girls even said they had co-ed cabins, if you could believe it.  Rachel wasn’t sure if she did.

“Oh?  What time?”

“Now time.” Brittany grinned, gracefully bending down and turning over the ‘45 on the little turntable at her feet.  A Cole Porter song started playing through the tinny speakers.  Brittany fanned her fingers out and bent down to show one of the little girls, twisting her heels as she looked up and winked at Rachel.

Rachel sighed.  She looked back towards the pool, where Sugar was waiting to talk about Ben Feinstein’s publicly celebrated crotch bulge as Cole Porter sang “you’re sublime, you’re a turkey dinner!”  She crossed her arms in front of her, ignoring the sweat pouring down her back, and just watched.

This girl, Brittany, she was great with the kids, though it pained her to think that the cabin boy from that first morning had been right, that the women on the entertainment staff were just glorified babysitters.  Something indignant bloomed in Rachel’s belly, and she stood there until the song ended and Brittany was done ruffling the heads of all twelve children scurrying around her.

“All right, come back tomorrow and we’ll do the bunny hop!” Brittany called as all the children ran back to their parents, waving and giggling without care.  Rachel grimaced.

“Are you really just here to watch the kids all day?” She asked when Brittany turned on her heel, obviously not expecting her to still be standing there.  They collided, Rachel’s nervous hands into Brittany’s stomach.  Her eyes ran down Rachel’s frame.

“Wow, you’re – really short.” Brittany said, somehow making it seem like an abstract observation and not an insult.  Even so, Rachel let her grimace linger.

“Are you, though?  Here to watch the kids all day?  See, I’ve never seen you here before, and I come here with my father every year.  You seem like a talented girl, and–”

Brittany shrugged, her grin lopsided and a little bit dopey as she started walking off towards an undetermined point.  Rachel wondered how old she was, if they were the same age.  She looked like she could be anywhere from 14 to 30 in the right lighting.  Despite Sugar probably tapping her feet in wait for her, Rachel followed the girl.

“I’m a dancer.” She explained, her long legs striding across the lawn as Rachel tried her best to keep up.  “Moishe picked me up from the circus, though. He gives better benefits.”

“The Ben Israels give benefits ?”

“Yeah, like a bed and stuff.  All the mashed potatoes I want, too.”

Rachel licked her lips, nodding at the misunderstanding.  Of course Moishe Ben Israel gave more potato than pension.

Suddenly Brittany stopped, almost causing Rachel to bound straight into her back. 

“Hey, I wasn’t lying when I said you could be a good dancer.  I can tell.”  Brittany tapped her temple, as if she was implying something preternatural had already happened right in front of Rachel’s eyes.  Rachel curled her fingertips into her forearms, looking down at Brittany’s feet.  She was wearing bright white Keds that were grass-stained on the toe.

“Oh, sure, you probably say that to everyone.  My father is the one with the tipping cash, so–”

“No! I’m serious!” Brittany’s eyes widened, perhaps even more innocent than Bethany Blumhoff’s.  “You matched every move I made.  The Grizzly Bear is actually kinda hard.  You probably took ballet when you were little, right?”

Rachel shook her head, twisting her mouth up to keep from frowning.  To say it was a sore spot was to make the understatement of the century.  All the other little girls showing off their leotards and their pink tu-tus… The best Rachel got was Girl Scouts, and even then her daddy took her out once she graduated from the Brownies, something about too much time with loud-mouthed women.

Well, the joke was on him, because Rachel herself was a loud-mouthed woman, and she was proud!  Behind closed doors, in sound-proofed rooms.  Across boroughs, if possible.

Brittany hummed in the back of her throat, her high ponytail bouncing as she cocked her head.  Again, Rachel desperately wanted to ask how old she was, but she stopped herself.

“I’ve gotta go, Rachel, gotta see if those raccoons behind my cabin still wanna be friends,” she sighed. “We had a falling out.”

Rachel furrowed her brow.  Was that supposed to be funny?  Was it a joke and she was just too unhip to understand it?  All she could do was wave at the rapidly retreating girl as she skipped up the nearby knoll towards – Rachel’s eyes widened – towards one of the performers .  The dark-haired powerhouse singer.

So she did know them.  Rachel watched Brittany launch herself into the girl’s arms when she finally reached her, and they hugged, swaying like one of them had just come home from war.

Just then, the blonde performer stepped out from behind them, with a pale yellow collared dress on and casual sneakers, looking considerably more decent than she had that first morning with her stomach and thighs bared for the world to see.

She was ignoring the two girls still clinging to each other, choosing instead to look out at the far lawn, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.  Rachel tried to imagine what she was looking at, glancing over at the women doing toe-touching aerobics a few paces down, and then further towards the archery targets.

Rachel thought of Marilyn Monroe again; the girl’s hairstyle was curled and swept back in that same fashion, though just a bit longer.  She looked like a movie star, which was a perfectly acceptable reason to keep staring at her.  

It was possible, also, that she was prettiest girl Rachel had ever seen, even prettier than Donna McMahon, the “It” girl at Rachel’s school.  She heard that Donna got a modeling contract right before graduation and was moving to Paris, but this girl – this girl had Rachel holding her breath.

She shook her head, momentarily entertaining the truly harebrained idea of running towards the girls, trying desperately to convince them that she wasn’t like the other daughters , that she was something special, something worth looking out across the resort at.

“Rachel?” The voice came from a few yards away, and then it was closer and her name was being repeated to the tune of “Love is a Many Splendored Thing”.  Rachel forced herself to look away and address an incensed Sugar, sunglasses pushed up and ruining her hairdo all just to perfect her glare.

“S-sorry, I was–”

“Oohh, who are we looking at?”  Sugar stopped, going up on her tiptoes and swiveling her neck around to find her mark.  “Oh, it’s gotta be him.”

She pointed to the back of a boy off in the distance – it looked like it might’ve been one of the performers from the welcome show but she couldn’t be certain, not unless she was able to get a better look at those biceps.

“No, just – trying to figure out if I want to take dance lessons.  The instructors are supposed to be very good.”

Sugar looked at her with bored eyes before training them back on the distant blond boy’s back.  

“Yeah, I’ve heard.  The one fella that got all the laughs at the welcome show, I heard he gives great lessons.”  She wiggled her sunglasses up and down with the tip of her finger before letting them fall back onto the bridge of her nose.  Rachel glanced back at the spot where Brittany and her friends had been standing, but they were long gone, back to wherever it was they stayed all day, neither seen nor heard.

– - - 

The back porch of their cabin was screened in to ward off insects, and Rachel found herself scratching her nails along the material as her daddy talked about some of the men he’d met down at the Big House that afternoon, particularly one of the cooks, a man named Leroy who made “the best paella he’d ever tasted."

“Doesn’t paella bother your ulcer, daddy?” She asked, only half-listening as he gave his excuses.  That afternoon, once it became apparent that Sugar wasn’t going to leave her alone to follow the entertainment staff off into the woods, she had sat by the pool and gossiped, as was their usual custom.  After Rachel’s third iced tea, they’d somehow gotten onto the very topic that her dogged mind had been soaking itself in for days.

Sugar wanted to find where the real men were, referencing once again the swarthy, toned boy that had been the male lead on stage that first night.

Apparently Mrs. Kellerman told her that they threw wild parties in the old abandoned rec hall in the woods nearly every night.  People smoking reefer, getting drunk, having sex.  Rachel had certainly sucked down her iced tea with a gusto after that revelation.

But she’d told Sugar she’d be eating dinner with her daddy that evening and going to bed as usual, 9:45pm with a 6:00am rise time to take her morning walk.  It’s what she always did.  Sugar knew Rachel, and so she only shrugged and went back to her sunbathing, oblivious to the fire behind her eyes.

Now it was pushing 9:30 and she felt like her feet had been possessed, her heels tickling and itching to find their way to the elusive abandoned rec center.

“Something wrong, darling?” Her daddy asked, ashing his cigar gently into one of the crystal trays the resort left out for its high flyers.

“Oh, nothing, daddy.  One of the girls invited me to their cabin to paint nails and gossip and, I don’t know, I’m trying to decide if it’s a good idea.”

He huffed. “Well, why the heck not?  You’re 18 years old, and you’re here to have fun, aren’t you?”

“I think there might be drinking, is all.”

Her daddy patted her knee, hesitating for a moment before crossing his legs at the thigh.

“I trust you, sweetie.  Go gossip with the gals.”

Rachel smiled behind her palms, having pressed them into her face to hide whatever blush might find its way to her cheeks from all the bold-faced lying.  It wasn’t like she’d never done it before, she’d spent most of her high school career hiding things from the man, but it never actually got any easier.  Each time she felt like she lost some microscopic piece of herself.

“I don’t think I will.  Thanks, though, daddy.  I’m gonna hit the hay.  Don’t stay up too late smoking, you know it isn’t good for you.”

He nodded, tapping his cigar a few times against the ashtray with a drawn face. “I know, I know. G’night, Pumpkin.”

Rachel kissed his cheek and made her way back into the cabin, where she would stew and stew until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

– - -

The crickets were chirping.  It seemed almost like the moon was making a sound it was so bright, like a whistle that only she and dogs could hear.  Rachel lay in bed, arms pressed hard over the quilt, fussing with the suffocating sleeve cuffs of her night dress.

There she was, sheets up to her armpits on a hot summer night, fuzzy pink slippers by the bed, when there were kids her age – adults – doing any number of scandalous things out in the woods.  It was like she could feel the heat of it coming through the crack in her window, overtaking her, causing her to swoon.

Causing her to move.  She brushed her heels against each other, flexed her toes.

What her daddy didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.  That had been her mantra for almost four years, and it ran through her head like lines in a play as she threw the linens off of her body and tip-toed around the room, looking for an outfit that didn’t scream “I’m a virgin and I can’t dance.”

Lamentably, just about every single article of clothing she owned from the pleated skirts to the print sweaters spoke those exact words, not even letting Rachel part her lips to dispute at least half the claim as nothing more than hearsay.

She finally settled on a pair of lounge capris and a loose buttoned shirt.  It was the kind of thing that girls at her school wore to laze about the house, listen to records and smoke in their rooms.  Normally, she would tuck in the shirt, but she decided to throw caution to the wind and let it hang out, cool.

Her daddy was audibly snoring in the next room.  She squeezed her eyes shut as she slipped out the front door, sending a silent but heartfelt apology his way.

Chapter Text

She had only a fuzzy idea of where the abandoned rec center was, mostly from Sugar’s jabbering, but also from some whispers from the other kids who were desperate to escape the droll, sanitized summer with their parents at Ben Israel’s, even in their minds.

The full moon made it possible to navigate her way beyond the staff quarters until she saw the old half-rotted signs for the Abraham Stein Recreation Facility.  Rachel hurried up the pathway, narrowed and messy with weeds and vines from years of neglect, until she saw a light coming from a two-story building with a wraparound porch.

She held her breath and listened, hearing all at once the sounds of brass instruments on the wind.  Her heartbeat picked up as she took the pathway steps two at a time, not sure if it was the exercise or the anticipation that had her so worked up.

“Rachel?” She heard the voice just as she was panting on the overgrown grass that led to the entrance of that mystical, rundown building.  When she turned around, Brittany was standing there in her high and tight ponytail, mouth set in a perfect pink bow.  She was with the girl she’d been hugging that afternoon, their pinkies interlocked.

Rachel stared at those pinkies like they were a painting in the MoMA.  Someone cleared their throat.

“You know this girl, Brit?”

Rachel opened her mouth to explain herself, but all that came out was a gust of air, like opening the door to a long-empty room.

“Sort of, yeah.  She’s–”

“She needs to go back to the ice cream social with the other kiddies.  This isn’t for guests, minikin.  Staff only.”

Finally finding her voice, Rachel huffed, crossing her arms at her chest.

“I’ll have you know, I’m 18 years old.  An adult!”

Both of the girls looked at her like she was a petulant child, not one bit an adult, but they were quickly distracted by a blond boy running up the walkway, giving them a little wave and an “Evenin’, ladies." He didn’t stop to wait for a response as he pushed through the doors, letting out light and sound that made Rachel flush.

“See, Santana, we’re the same age.  Plus, Rachel’s kinda cool.  She talked to me like a normal person today.”  Brittany supplied, her eyes following the lure of rapidly closing double doors to heaven – or maybe hell, Rachel wouldn’t be sure until she stepped inside.

Santana raised an eyebrow, appraising Rachel in a way that she hadn’t been bothering to before.

“Fine, follow us, and if you say anything to dear old mumsie and poppop about this, I’ll gut you like a little–”

Rachel’s eyes widened, but Brittany squeezed her friend’s arm and it seemed to warn her off the death threats for the time being.

When the girls pushed the doors to the rec center open, Rachel was bombarded with an unmistakable heat, and when she finally looked around, she realized why.

Bodies.  Everywhere. There was something uniform and respectable about the milling of skirts and suit jackets over in the official rec center, the one where they held dinners and dances and the talent show every year.  This place, though.  There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind the movements, just wild writhing to the sounds of fast-paced, rhythmic music.

Rachel bit her lip, finding herself moving her shoulders to the beat.  It wasn’t bad , it was just that she mostly listened to Broadway standards and whatever came on the radio.  This was something entirely different.

Over in the corner, Rachel easily spotted the back of the boy that Sugar had designs on.  He was wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his biceps and tight black denim jeans.  He twirled around and revealed that he was dancing with none other than Marilyn Monroe herself – or the blonde, high cheekboned, cleft-chinned heartbreaker of Ben Israel’s Lodge, anyway.

He had his arm wrapped securely around her waist, doing – goodness, Rachel wasn’t even sure what they were doing, but just looking at it made her sweat.  The whole place was filled to the brim with sweating, gyrating young people, all partnered up like they were engaged in some kind of mating ritual.

Brittany and Santana had already found themselves more than willing dance partners, and Santana in particular was grinding on the man’s slim hips like she was trying to start a fire without a match.  Rachel had never seen anything like it before in her entire life.  Maybe the closest would’ve been in a National Geographic documentary.  The whole thing looked positively feral.

Rachel felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to see the dreamboat blond boy, one of the boys from the welcome show, the same one that had said hello on his way in.  He smiled a charming half-smile when she looked at him.

“You know you shouldn’t be here, right?” He asked, though his whole demeanor was hardly standoffish.  She smiled, but it faltered upon seeing Santana straddle her dance partner’s hips and be dipped all the way down to the floor out of the corner of her eye.

“I – I had just heard–” She shook her head, feeling a blush coming on as she let her eyes fall to the floor.  It was true, she shouldn’t have been there.  It was like she had just stepped into someone else’s wet dream.

“What did you hear?  That the entertainment crew all hump like monkeys out in the woods?”  He chuckled, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops.  He was very boy-next-door attractive, the kind of guy that wouldn’t have even looked sideways at her throughout most of high school – until Finn, of course.

“Here, if you wanna stay, let me help you out.”  He reached down to the hem of Rachel’s shirt.  She flinched, automatically rocking back a step, and the boy’s hands flew up in gentlemanly surrender.

“Whoa, sorry.  You looked like you were worried about–” He nodded over to the mass of people, all glistening skin and tattoos. “Not fitting in.  I was just gonna tie your shirt up for you.  Maybe take a few buttons down from the collar.” 

He gestured towards where she had basically choked herself by fastening her buttons all the way to the top, and she blushed even harder, deciding to take his advice.  She pulled her shirt up, gulping as she bared her navel, and tied the ends in a neat bow at her midriff.

The boy nodded, his lazy smile returning. “I’m Sam, by the way." 

"Rachel." She smiled back, absurdly pressing her fingers into her chest like she was speaking to someone that didn't know English.

"You know you, uh, you can’t tell your folks about this, right?  I mean, every once in awhile we get some straggler guests wandering in here, but… It’s ended badly before.  Puck almost got fired once, but his uncle knows the Ben Israels, I think.”

“Puck?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow as she slowly undid the first four buttons on her shirt.  She hesitated at the fifth, it was just on the cusp of showing her bra, but then decided to just do it, her breath coming out of her mouth in a quick woosh when she was done.

“Yeah, Noah Puckerman, you know, the main man over there.  The one dancing with Quinn.”  Sam nodded over to the painfully attractive couple rolling their hips to the music.

Quinn.  The surly blonde girl’s name was Quinn .  She had never even heard of a name like that before, it was like one of those nicknames that boys gave each other, surely not a real name given name. Rachel felt her stomach do somersaults.

“Oh.  Are they?  They look–”

“Good together, right?  Like a, a work of art or something.”

“So, they’re a couple?” Rachel asked, licking her dry lips, not even sure why she would care about any of these people beyond their vaguely scandalous allure.

“Uh, I dunno.” Sam was making some ambivalent motion with his hands but Rachel wasn’t really looking at him at all, was she?  “I don’t think they’d say that.  Quinn definitely wouldn’t, anyway.  Some history there, though.  Say, you wanna dance?”

Quinn ’s hair was different than it had been that afternoon up by the cabins, the curls had been brushed out and it was clipped back simply just at the temple.  She was wearing tight black pants and a white linen peasant blouse with elastic at the waist that rode up onto her ribs and showed a trim, slick stomach every time she arched her back.  

Her face was flushed and dewy with sweat and she was smiling , not in the way that she had on stage that first night, clipped and fake.  This was wide and unabashed.

“Is she drunk?” Rachel asked, the words coming out of her mouth before her propriety could play catch-up.

“What?  Who? ” Sam asked, circling around until he was in front of Rachel instead of at her side, effectively blocking her view of Quinn being veritably rutted on by that Puck boy.  She half expected him to start shuddering and reaching for a towel. “Cause really, I think everyone in here might be drunk.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “ I’m a little drunk.  You want a drink?”

Not for the first time that night, Rachel’s eyes went wide.  She’d only ever sipped champagne at weddings or for New Years and yes, there was usually half a glass of wine at their Passover seder, but it wasn’t like it was for fun.   She had fully intended to wait until her first semester at Barnard to truly indulge in the dubious wonders of alcohol, but–

“What’s Quinn drinking?”  She couldn’t stop saying the girl’s name like she was scolding a child, or something.  It just felt like she didn’t have the right to have that name, or to make Rachel want to say it until her jaw got sore.

Quinn.

“Quinn?  Uh, probably a Ripple or something.”

“A Ripple ?” Rachel barked out a skeptical laugh, remembering Finn and his friends stealing that stuff from his mom’s basement fridge all throughout junior year until she got sober and started going to church every Sunday.

Sam shrugged, reaching down and plucking her fingers from where they were digging into her own sides.

“You didn’t tell me if you want a drink and you didn’t tell me if you wanna dance.  Should I leave you alone?”  Rachel looked up into his eyes and saw a sweet puppy-dog look, not the lecherous wolf in sheep’s clothing she had imagined.

“No!  No, please.  I’m sorry, this is all just–” She twisted her neck and looked back at Quinn and Puck, she couldn’t help it.  The song was just ending and they were shaking out their shoulders, laughing.  Puck leaned in low for a kiss and Quinn, a practiced dancer to be sure, twirled herself out of his arms like a true professional.

The next song began to play, similar to the first, the kind of thing you might hear cranking through radios abandoned on the steps of apartment buildings in a part of the city that Rachel only ever travelled through.

A man’s voice howled Lucille! as Sam pulled Rachel by the hand out onto the dancefloor amid all of the humping, hip-rolling masses.  She looked up at him, helpless.

“How do they do it?” She asked, trying to shake out her shoulders like she’d seen the others do, but she felt so uncertain, so tight.   Sam ran a pair of strong hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, pulling her arms around his waist before letting her palms settle gently just over the curve of his butt.  Rachel wrinkled her nose.

“Come on!” Sam laughed, his knees bending in the smallest of hip circles. “Just follow my lead, all right?”

He placed his hands on her bare waist – they were clammy and unsure and she thought of Finn, naturally, and shut her eyes tight.

“You gotta open your eyes, Rachel.”  Sam said, his voice unnecessarily soft.  When she finally did, he was still smiling over her, pressing one hand hard into her left hip, then hard into her right.  All she was doing was fumbling with the motion like a ragdoll.

“Uh, here–” He held on tighter, circling her hips for her, even as her knees buckled with the awkwardness of the motion.  “Just, um–” He brought them together, the seam of his jeans hitting below Rachel’s navel.  She felt all the air leave her lungs in surprise. Sam laughed and Rachel just tried to keep from crying out of sheer embarrassment.

“It’s okay, it’s not really about a move so much as–”

“What the hell are you doing, Evans?” A cool, raspy voice like teeth scraping ice sounded in Rachel’s ear.  She bounded back from the boy, though his hands were still tight on her sides. She turned to the source of the ire and found that it was the girl named Quinn , arms crossed, hip cocked, looking displeased.

"Uh, she's, um – she promised not to tell her folks." He said, face blanched, obviously frightened of the girl standing before them.

Rachel's body was telling her she was frightened, too. Her skin felt like it was too tight on her bones and she felt as though her eyes might cross. Quinn was close enough that Rachel could smell her sweat and perfume. It was clean and floral and something about it mixed with the way her chest rose and fell, still breathing hard from her go with Puck –

Rachel looked down at her feet. She had some shameful clodhoppers on, unsuitable for dancing, to be sure. She didn't think she had ever been more embarrassed in her life.

Quinn raised one devastating eyebrow.

"Not that, nimrod. This is how you show someone how to dance? You look like you got shot in the kneecaps."

Sam went about stuttering and trying to make excuses for himself, his hands dropping evenly from Rachel's body. Rachel immediately locked her hands behind her back.

"It's, well, she's kinda short, so–"

Quinn rolled her eyes, scoffed, making every attempt at shaming the boy.

"Fine, here." She spat. Twisting her palm face up, she held it out. 

Rachel looked at it. Then she looked back at Sam. He licked his lips, looking with panic back at Quinn. Rachel heard another exasperated noise come out of Quinn's mouth and then the girl was just touching her, grabbing at her hips and yanking her into position.

Rachel nearly bit her tongue as Quinn's long, sure fingers smoothed down from her waist to her hips. Her breath stopped hard in her throat when she felt her pants being tugged down an inch, maybe more.

Her eyes flew up to Quinn's, but the girl was still looking at Rachel's newly exposed hips, tongue in her cheek.

"W-what are y–"

"Not enough skin. Need something to grab onto." Quinn seemed to explain to herself instead of Rachel. Her thumbs rubbed two half-circles onto Rachel's hip bones as she finally looked up at her.

Quinn's eyelids were drooping, drunk as she must've been, but Rachel could see that her irises were a striking sort of earthy green, like one of those cracked open geodes from Earth Science class.  Rachel had been expecting blue eyes befitting the blondest hair, but this revelation somehow made the girl appear more attractive, much in the same way seeing the tense, lean muscle just underneath her lightly tanned forearms did.

Rachel’s heartbeat seemed to try and keep time with the driving beat of the piano in the song as Quinn leaned in and whispered “ relax. ” Her breath, smelling of Wild Irish Rose and cigarettes, hit Rachel hard.  She wondered if she wasn’t drunk too, just from smelling it.

She wondered lots of things as Quinn’s hands gripped tighter on the flesh of her sides and then did something unexpected and slid a firm thigh deftly between Rachel’s legs, which parted with next to no resistance.

“It’s easier to learn with someone closer in height.” Quinn explained, offering no preamble before her hips rolled into Rachel’s.

Rachel felt like she was in a snowglobe that someone had just tipped upside down.  One of Quinn’s palms slid skillfully to her lower back and then she dipped her, somehow encouraging Rachel’s spine to lengthen and curl back like an unfurling carpet before bringing her back up, thigh to thigh, chest to chest.

One of the girl’s hands was now clutching at her ribs as they bent into another slow hip grind, a swivel – at least, it helped Rachel to think of it that way, to pretend it was a decent and prim dance move, likened to a pirouette and not to the sweaty gyrations found in backseats at the drive-in.

Despite herself, Rachel realized she was falling into some kind of trance-like rhythm.  What not a minute prior had seemed impossible for her body to pull off now felt like second nature, like snapping her fingers or, well…

Kissing.  She wouldn’t say that out loud, even though she was dying to say something, anything to have this strange and beautiful girl look at her in the eye again.  As it was, Quinn’s eyes were nearly closed and she had thrown her head back, exposing her pale throat, dotted by barely-there sunkissed freckles that were only revealed, Rachel thought, because she’d sweated off most of her makeup.

Quinn’s thigh was still between her legs and Rachel had given up on trying to stay on her tiptoes and instead was just riding it like she’d seen the other girls do, canting her hips to the beat, letting the girl carry her weight with deceptively strong hands.

How could such pretty, lithe hands be so strong?

She closed her eyes, attempting to breathe out everything she was sure she couldn’t keep in, and then the music just – stopped.  The piano and the saxophone were all gone and then so was Quinn, leaving Rachel’s body stumbling and cold and confused.  She opened her eyes and looked around; Sam had found himself another girl, easy as anything, and everyone was clapping or taking swigs from bottles of fortified wine.  Rachel tried to look for her through the dense crowd – who wouldn’t? Man or woman or animal or force of nature, who on earth wouldn’t wonder where she’d gone?

But there were too many people, and the music started again.  Rachel didn’t feel like being out on that floor alone, not after that, so she wandered towards the outer edges of the room on jittery legs and feet.

Another song started playing, something slower, maybe even something she had heard before that night, but all she could hear was that song playing in her head, the saxophone moaning in her ear on an endless loop.

Chapter Text

“Rachel, listen, you have to go get a massage the next time those men are out on the veranda.  I heard Moishe had them shipped over from some exotic country.”

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded at her friend, a girl named Rachel Steinbrenner who always looked at Rachel like she was the bargain bin version of her.  Rachel had spent one too many a summer trying to impress “the other Rachel”, so when she looked up to see the whole crew from the night before trudging through the dining hall, all wearing Ben Israel’s Lodge t-shirts and lugging out sets for the magic show, she felt like luck was on her side.

Quinn (yes, she still couldn’t think of that name without giving it an air of conspiracy) dawdled alongside Santana, taking meager bites from a bagel.  She had sunglasses on and looked like any normal, red-blooded hungover person tended to look.  Her hair was styled differently yet again, in a slicked back ponytail that looked nothing more than brushed.

Rachel excused herself from her insufferable lunch and practically skipped, like a complete try-hard, towards the slow moving entertainment staff.

Her new friends!  Except Sam ducked into the stage door before she could say hello, Noah had his head behind the Egyptian pharaoh sarcophagus that he was hoisting over his shoulder with a boy she didn’t recognize, and Rachel knew better than to speak to that Santana girl before it looked like she’d had her Wheaties.

“Hi, good morning! I just – I wanted to thank you, really.” Rachel rocked back on her heels as soon as she made it within four feet of Quinn, who had stopped to direct Noah and the unnamed boy around the corner without knocking the pharaoh’s headdress clean off.

When she heard Rachel’s voice, she turned around, looking at her like Rachel had just insulted her dead grandmother. Her cheeks sucked in.

“Why are you talking to me?”

Rachel felt as though someone had slapped her across the face. She looked back at Rachel Steinbrenner with her coke can curls, sitting there picking romaine lettuce out of her teeth.

"W-well, I thought–"

Santana stepped in front of Quinn, her sunglasses perched in the heavily hairsprayed nest of her hair, leaving her bloodshot eyes painfully visible.

"What? That we're suddenly best pals just because Brit decided to be all charitable and invite you to the party last night?"

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, to say something that would somehow remedy this clear misunderstanding, but then–

"You shouldn't let people see you talking to us." Quinn said, her voice still annoyed, but quieter. She pressed her sunglasses tight against the bridge of her perfect nose. Rachel gulped. "Especially not in front of wait staff. Moishe–"

"I'm not afraid of him. " Rachel explained, not even sure if it was the truth or not.

"Yeah, well, you should be." Santana spat back, grabbing the bagel out of Quinn’s hand and tearing off a piece with her teeth. "Go back to your salmon tartare and leave Q alone, kid."

"I'm a vegetarian!" Rachel contained the urge to stomp, refusing to prove Santana's two-time nickname apt.

"Quinn, you want me to stomp this little shortstack of sausages or what?"

Next to her, Quinn’s sigh was rough, like she was ready to stomp both of them herself.

"San, just… Cool it, please." She placed a hand on one hip, then covered it with the other. She lifted up her sunglasses and Rachel finally saw her eyes, red like Santana's with deep purple lurking underneath, but no less brilliant than the night before.

"Look, we can't be friends. You got the wrong impression."

She replaced her sunglasses, but her lips were still parted, like she wanted to amend what she said, wanted to say more.

"Then you'll have to thank Noah for me, as well." Rachel said, her breath hitched throughout the sentence. She noticed the change in Quinn's face immediately, even with the sunglasses back on.

Santana snorted.

"Don't even bother letting us know what you have to thank him for, I'm sure we can all imagine!"

- - -

The Night Before...

Still reeling, Rachel had found her way onto the porch, all littered with cigarette butts and empty cans of beer.  There was a spot in the corner that looked distinctly like half-dried vomit, but Rachel didn’t want to confirm that suspicion, so she steered clear.

Before long, the boy named Puck, Noah Puckerman as Sam had explained, came strolling out to smoke a cigarette, a large bottle of something mostly gone clutched in his hand.

At first, he didn’t pay her any mind at all, not even a nod or a look her way. He just coughed a little after the first drag of his cancer stick, bending forward over the railing, his elbows pressed hard into the wood.

“So, what’d Quinn say about me?”

It came out of nowhere, truly – Rachel had been trying to remember the lyrics to the song they danced to, but all she could come up with was “ Lucille” and a vague approximation of the chorus’s tune. 

Hmm-hmm-hmm-hm-hm-hm-hmmmmm.

She had been perfectly pleased with not having to speak with the boy, and it could’ve been because he frightened her a bit, or even just bothered her, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.  He was very attractive, the most attractive man at Ben Israel’s if she really thought about it, but he rubbed her the wrong way.

Or rubbed other people the wrong way, perhaps.

Rachel let out a little exasperated huff as her back fell against the wall.

“If you must know, she didn’t talk about you at all.”

She didn’t talk about anything , Rachel nearly said.  She just – moved.  Rachel felt her tongue going numb for a moment before she regained her wits.

“I’m Noah.  Ladies call me Puck.”  He switched his cigarette from his right hand to his left and held the right out to Rachel. She noted the tobacco stains on his fingertips, deciding then and there to leave him hanging.

“Yes, thank you, but I already know your name.  Your reputation precedes you.”

His face lit up in a rakish grin and he took his hand back. “You’re damn right it does.” He brought his cigarette to his lips and sucked in deep, the smile never leaving his eyes.  Rachel looked down at her hands, wringing themselves silly.

"You really shouldn't be here.” Noah said, tapping his ash onto the floor like a hooligan.

"Everyone keeps sayin g that." Rachel said, breathless, silently thinking not everyone, not Quinn .

"Yeah, I mean you're only still here 'cause you're cute. And I can tell there's somethin' else goin' on–" He waved his hands from her feet to her head, blowing smoke in her face. She put a closed fist to her mouth and coughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged.

"Just a feelin' I get. It's like you're trying to hide the fact that you're sexy."

Rachel's mouth fell open. He shrugged again.

"Q's like that too, kinda. Always trying to hide. Maybe that's why she danced with you, you're, uh, kindred spirits or whatever it's called."

"What? She doesn't – that's not normal for her?"

Noah laughed, taking a heavy drag of his rolled cigarette until it burnt right down to his fingers. He shook his head.

"She only ever dances with Santana or Brit. Me if she's drunk enough. There've been a few other fellas, but–"

He looked at Rachel like he was looking at an unfinished crossword puzzle.

"Shit always ends pretty quick. Doesn't trust people, y’know? Her old man messed her up pretty good."

Noah stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out another single rolled cigarette and a shiny brass zippo lighter. Rachel watched him bring the thing to his lips and light it with a practiced quickness.

"She probably just danced with me because she's drunk.  It's not like I'm… Well, Santana and Brittany are both–"

"They're hot, yeah. I know from experience." His face took on a lecherous quality and Rachel felt her cheeks get hot with embarrassment. "But," he paused, taking another unnecessarily long drag of his cigarette.  Rachel was beginning to wonder if it wasn't something other than tobacco, what with all that talk from Mrs. Kellerman. "You're hot, too. They just know they're hot. It's a weapon for chicks like that. You – you're a nice Jewish girl."

" Excuse me?"

Rachel pushed off of the wall, not one to take being insulted without at least a little bit of opposition.  Noah stepped back.

"What? No worries, babe, I'm a Jew, too.  Bar mitzvah'd and everything."

"That still doesn't explain what you meant by that. Jewish girls can be," She stopped, pushing the word out of her mouth “ hot. ”

"Never said they couldn't be. I just meant that you're too nice to flaunt it. Too preppy. Bet you're gonna go to some hoity toity school come fall, huh?"

"You don't even know me.  In fact, I don't even think you know my name."

Noah brought his shoulders back, his chest straining against his tight, tucked in shirt.

"It's Rachel."

She narrowed her eyes and he put up both hands in surrender.

"Hey, hey, Sam told me.  Look, I'll say it again – I was you, I wouldn't hang around if I knew what was good for me. Only thing anybody back there has to lose is their job, and look, any one of us can just run to the next resort with our tail between our legs.  You, on the other hand–"

He pointed his cigarette at her, and Rachel watched it smoke between them.

---

"He was just very nice to me, is all." She smiled so hard that her eyes began to water. "Anyway, I hope you both have a wonderful day."

Quinn turned away before Rachel could, grabbing a loop of rope one of the guys was carrying around his shoulder and half-running towards the stage doors.

When Rachel turned back around, Rachel Steinbrenner was looking at her like she’d sprouted a second head.  Rachel bit back a smile as she walked back to their table and smoothed her skirt down against her knees.

“What was that all about?”

Rachel looked back at the stage, Noah was standing front and center wiping sweat off of his forehead, having dropped the butt-end of the sarcophagus. He looked at her with his brow knit.  Quinn was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, nothing,” Rachel picked up her napkin and set it in her lap, pressing her tongue hard into the roof of her mouth for a second before forcing herself to let it go.  Whatever it was.   “Just clearing something up with the Entertainment staff.”

Chapter Text

The second day after the party, Rachel swore she’d forgotten that song entirely.  It had been stripped down to one word, lodged tightly in the back of her brain, but nothing more.

And it was all for the best, because her daddy was being especially needy after that cook friend of his got transferred to the breakfast shift, a tragedy as her father was not an early riser or a breakfast eater.  He’d expected them to spend the entire day together, but there wasn’t much for father-daughter duos to do at Ben Israel’s, unless her daddy wanted to attend the wig extravaganza (and sometimes, she thought he might, but not where the Kellermans and the Steinfelds and the Baums could see).

“You know, Moishe’s been collecting these books since the depression.” Her daddy explained as he ran his hands along the stacks in the David Ben Israel Memorial Library.

“Daddy, we could go to the pool or something, you know.  Or even swim in the lake?”

“The lake? It’s freezing!”

“It’s nearly June!”

“Yeah, exactly, it’s not even properly summertime yet.  I’ll swim when the sun is hot enough to burn your nose hairs out.”

“Oh, daddy.” Rachel shook her head, grimacing at the decidedly gender-specific spread of literature displayed before her.  There was an entire marked “ladies section” that was all pulp novels and harlequin romances.  A few cookbooks, just for good measure.  On the non-ladies side, there were books on WWI artillery and presidential autobiographies.

“Go ahead, pick something out.  Since you’re so in love with that petri dish they call a pool, we can go read beside it.”

Rachel made a face, but did as her father said, quickly plucking out a thin book called “The Healing Touch” and immediately regretting it.  The woman’s face on the cover, decked out in white nurse’s garb, looked enough like the current blonde thorn in her brain for Rachel to stuff it back without a second thought.

“What, not a fan of nurses?” Her daddy chuckled, standing there with some fighter pilot’s autobiography, the man’s face smiling and dapper in the cockpit of his plane on the back cover.

“I need to talk to someone about the selection in this library.  It’s a travesty!  No Henry Miller?  No Salinger?  Not even a single copy of Doctor Zhivago?”

“I know that big brain of yours is always looking for a challenge, sweetheart, but why not just enjoy some frivolity?”  Hiram reached forward and pulled out one of the bright pink books from the “Ladies” section. “Here ya go, The Taming of Laura – er, wait.”

“See, daddy, this is trash!”

He shuddered before placing the book neatly back in its spot.

“I see what you mean.  Well, how about we go get some virgin pina coladas and hit the pool?  We can talk about all the new outfits I’ll be buying you come fall.”

It was enough to elicit the smallest of half-smiles out of Rachel.

They made it out of the musty library and were halfway to the cabin to put on their swimsuits when a tall (though not as tall as her daddy) black man stepped in front of them.

“Leroy!” Hiram called out, and if Rachel didn’t know any better she would’ve sworn she saw the tips of his ears burn red.  The man smiled wide, but there was a demure quality to it that Rachel also noted, like he was walking around with a secret tucked into his cheek.

Rachel looked between the two of them, waiting.

“Oh, uh, Rachel – this is Leroy, the, um, the cook I told you about.”

Leroy held out his hand and Rachel took it, eyeing him with a healthy amount of daughterly scrutiny.  What was her daddy doing hanging around one of the cooks at Ben Israel’s all day?  Sure, he had a habit of attaching himself to random men and acting like they hung the moon before swiftly moving on and acting like nothing ever happened – that was just her daddy, always had been.  But that was usually wealthy men, top dogs in their respective fields.  Rachel had always assumed it was simple elbow-rubbing behavior and nothing more, but now she had to wonder.

Her daddy always had a hard time making friends, as his personality was fairly abrasive. That was a quality they both shared.  Maybe his laundry list of best friends had all simply been failed attempts?

“Lovely to meet you, Rachel.” Leroy said, giving her hand a gentle little shake before letting it go.  He raked a palm through his tight curls.

“Leroy and I have been having great talks over in the big house parlor, or should I say were –”

Rachel had already heard about his transfer, many times, in fact.  She pursed her lips.

“Oh, well, I would ask you to come join us at the pool, but–”

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? You couldn’t be friends with the staff at Ben Israel’s because the staff couldn’t go where the guests went.  Her daddy had found some clever work-around.  It had ended, of course, but it was possible. Rachel licked her lips.

“Actually, would you excuse me, daddy?  I really think I need to go and give the Ben Israels a piece of my mind about that library of theirs.”

Her daddy’s face darkened in confusion but she just waved him off, going up on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before running off towards the rec center.

– - -

She was formulating a plan.  Was it a bad one?  Oh, without question, but it was taking shape regardless.  She would insist that Jacob let her help the entertainment staff, maybe even do some kind of coordination for the talent show.  She had always been good at that kind of thing.  Whenever they had plays in grade school she’d been the self-appointed director, even if there was already an adult assuming the role.

That way, Quinn and her friends wouldn’t have any excuse to cast her aside.  Quinn couldn’t say we can’t be friends, because it simply just wouldn’t be true any longer.

Rachel leapt up the steps to where she knew Jacob would be, it was the end of the lunch block, time for the pre-dinner staff meeting. Rachel had heard Mr. Ben Israel conduct them over the years, his grating voice booming out onto the lawns.  Jacob had taken over that year, and while he was decidedly more soft-spoken, she could only imagine what horrors he inflicted upon those poor people every afternoon.

She quickly found that the doors were locked, but not the ones to the kitchen, so she walked chest first into the dark, empty galley, only to stop when she spied Jacob’s meeting through the round window in the kitchen door.

Not just the wait staff, but all of the staff were standing there, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn front and center.  They all looked a little green.  Rachel held her breath without even knowing why.

“Now, I hope you chuckleheads had your fun, because funtime is over .  It’s time to take things seriously around here, and that includes our reputation!   If we don’t have our name, we have nothing!  Miss Fabray, you’re done, pack your things.  If you have a problem leaving calmly and quietly, I’ll have Mr. Azimio escort you out.”

Rachel breathed in sharply, somehow having the sense to press herself into the shelving next to the door, and it was a good thing, because the door she had been standing against swung open abruptly, and Quinn was storming off, face hard with anger but her eyes wet with unshed tears.

She walked through the exit, not even bothering to look back, and Rachel heard Jacob warning off all the other kids, as well.  Quinn had been made an example of.  But for what?

There was a long moment of quiet, and then Jacob was pushing his way through the swinging door, but this time Rachel stood her ground.

“Miss Berry!” He squeaked like a mouse in the path of a tomcat.  Rachel crossed her arms.

“T-to what do I owe the pleas–”

“Well, I was looking for you to lodge a very serious complaint about the lack of challenging reading material in the library, and also going to ask about potentially doing some volunteer work to bolster staff support, but – Why on earth did you just fire her?”

Jacob’s shoulders slumped, though his face was still sharp with anxiety.  She scared him.  She could use that.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry you had to see that, Rachel, it’s just a nasty bit of business, nothing that you need to concern yourself with.”

Rachel stepped forward.

“What could she have possibly done wrong?  She’s the entertainment, correct?  Did she not entertain you?”

Jacob hesitated, then put his sweaty paw on her forearm and pulled her further into the empty kitchens.

“If you really need to know, these kids , they throw all sorts of indecent parties at all hours of the night, and sure, you know what?  Even though they’re a bunch of drop-outs and screw-ups, they still deserve a little fun in life at the end of the day. But last night, a few of them were caught canoodling out at Point Pleasant by Mrs. Saperstein.  Miss Fabray was the only one that the old lady could identify, and once they’ve seen a face, well.  You can’t very well leave them on staff, Rachel, it causes an unnecessary uproar.  This came straight from the top.”

“So, your father?”

He nodded.  Rachel could feel her blood boil in her veins.

“You go march right up to the big house and tell your father that he has no right firing a woman for something he might’ve patted a man on the back for!”

Jacob’s face went pale.

“R-rachel, no, you don’t–”

“If you don’t go do it, I’ll do it myself.  Or I’ll have my father do it!  And anyhow , you’re really prepared to trust Mrs. Saperstein?  She's legally blind!   She got caught calling one of the racoons by her cat’s name last year!”

“B-but there were others, more witnesses, she was just the only one that–”

“Jacob,” Rachel began, stepping forward once more, prepared to use her feminine wiles with this oily little scurve just this once, for something that mattered .  She smiled the smile she used to use on Finn to make him turn tail and do whatever she asked, and she could already see Jacob going weak at the knees.  

“You told me to let you know if there was anything you could do for me.”  She brought her hand to his bow tie, flicking the knot as he let out a pathetic whimper.

“What you can do , is go find Quinn, and tell her that it was all some kind of misunderstanding. You can tell her that she’s not fired, and that she’s allowed to do whatever she so pleases in her own spare time, especially if it’s off resort grounds.  Do we understand each other?”

He nodded, his throat bobbing into a deep gulp.  Rachel licked her lips, giving his chest a little pat before turning around and walking away.

“Hey!” Jacob called, after a moment of recovery, “How’d you know her name?”

Chapter Text

One of the conference rooms in the proper rec center had been set aside for talent show practice, an upright piano having been wheeled in by some of the wait staff, and Rachel sat in the row of chairs that had been placed in front of a makeshift stage, her legs swinging.  She was watching Sugar and Susie Pepper go back and forth over who would take what part in “Anything You Can Do”, amazed that she wasn’t even feeling one ounce of jealousy.

Really, all she could think about was that silly blonde haired, green-eyed girl that had managed to worm her way into Rachel’s brain like a catchy tune.  She’d considered going after Quinn the day before, but she didn’t seem like the type that liked perfect strangers seeing them cry, so Rachel practiced some restraint.

She’d gone to dinner and gotten a constipated thumbs up winking face from Jacob, which she assumed meant he’d righted his wrongs.  All was well with the universe, or at least Rachel’s universe, except it didn’t feel that way at all.  It felt like she was standing on the edge of a volcano, looking into its unerupted eye.

“No you can’t!” Sugar groused. “Yes, I caaaaan!” Susie let out an operatic wail that made Rachel scrunch up her nose.

“What do you think, Rach?”  Sugar asked, a hand on her hip.

“I think Susie takes Ethel and Sugar takes Ray.  Then switch in the middle, just to mix it up.  It’ll be funny!”

Sugar huffed at the mere suggestion that she would take the male part at any point in the song.

“But Susie’s taller than me.  And she kind of has an adam’s apple!”  

Susie’s hand flew to her neck, looking horrified.

“Ladies, can I suggest you do the time-honored If I Had a Hammer, instead ?  It sounds great with two voices and I think your, well, opposing vocal ranges would really compliment each other. Peter Paul and Mary are quite cool still, I assure you.”

“Ugh, fine.” Sugar slapped the sheet music she had in her hands down onto the chair next to Rachel. “I hate it when you’re right, it’s annoying.  Susie, do you wanna be Peter, Paul, or Mary?”

Rachel brought her fingers to her temples. “That’s not–”

“I know , I’m just joking.  You wanna go get us the sheet music?  Jacob said they have anything you could ever dream of behind the main stage.  I know you like staring at the piano, too.” Sugar grinned, knowing that Rachel wouldn’t say no to a chance at touching those ivory keys.

She couldn’t play, of course, but just being in its enormous presence…

“It would be my pleasure!” She jumped up, smoothing her skirt down over her bottom and adjusting her headband.  “I’ll be back in a moment.  If my father comes through here, remember the–”

“I know, I know.  You accidentally huffed the glue in the craft room and got lost on the way to the infirmary.”  Sugar rolled her eyes, plopping down in Rachel’s chair and pulling Susie down next to her.

Rachel smiled, making her way through the rec center, side-stepping staff that were getting ready for the cocktail comedy hour.

Not only had she spent all day thinking about what had transpired the night before, but she’d spent all day trying to find Jacob to get him to agree to her “volunteer” plan. Unfortunately he had been annoyingly absent for once in his slimy little life.

Luckily, she knew where the backstage key was hidden (on top of the door frame ledge, which she needed a stool to reach, but what was new?)  

The grand piano was silky black with the whitest, shiniest keys she’d ever seen. It only ever got played when the concert pianist came through for his one-night-a-summer tour, and otherwise it just sat collecting dust and looking fabulous.

Rachel sniffed, glancing around to see if there was anybody loitering, but the backstage area was beautifully empty.

She pressed the middle C and listened to the note ring out. Her throat went tight as she closed her eyes and thought about the first night at the resort, the stage show, Quinn’s tender voice belying her off-putting personality.

“ You should know better …” She began, and imagined the swell of the violins matching the swell of her heart.  She hadn’t been able to sing properly in weeks, what with her daddy only a thin wall away and nearly always around.  She felt goosebumps form all over her body as she continued on.

“ I have a love, and it’s all that I have, right or wrong, what else can I do?”

She paused, thinking of every single time she’d sung this song with Finn’s face in her mind’s eye.  Still no letters from him, though she’d read that they were beginning to ship soldiers off to Vietnam.  The thought of that well-meaning but dopey boy fending off the elements in the jungle was too much for Rachel to think about, so she didn’t.

She had ended it, anyway.  They didn’t make sense, and she told herself over and over that it was because she was doing what her daddy wanted, because that’s all she ever did, but–

Something had changed.  Something in herself.  She wanted more, constantly, and Finn Hudson wasn’t prepared or even built to give it to her.

“ I love him,” She sang, wincing. “ I’m his, and everything he is I am too–”

Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear her voice ringing through the rafters, getting louder.  She should’ve stopped.  She should’ve known better, but it just felt so good to let out whatever had been building up immense pressure in her chest.

A throat was cleared.  Rachel’s lips clamped shut and her fingers clenched around the music desk on the piano.

“Sorry to interrupt, I was… Well, I was looking for you.”

Rachel wanted to turn around, she did, but that voice was so husky that it sounded positively lurid, and she was afraid of what her face might do in response.  Instead, she bit her lip, bowing her head.

“You found me.” Rachel managed to peep out, moving her head a little more to the side, chancing a glance at the blonde but then chickening out.

Sure footsteps could be heard moving towards her, but Rachel just stood there, the piano anchoring her.  Quinn had heard her sing.  Quinn had come to find her and she’d done the job, even though Rachel had been purposely hidden away from the world.

“You saved my job.” Quinn paused.  Rachel could hear her breath coming in quick rotations. She obviously liked to appear composed, even when she so clearly wasn’t.  “Why?”

Rachel turned around, deciding that there was nothing to be ashamed of.  So Quinn had heard her sing.  So she’d responded to it in a voice that sounded like it wanted to take someone to bed.  It was nothing more than a silly thought, anyway, though she’d been having ones like it for a week, now.

There were plenty of things that she hid from people, plenty of things that she hid well .  No one had to know that a girl’s voice affected anything below her waist, because it didn’t matter one bit.  She had her whole life ahead of her, there was simply no time to think about perfectly innocent, perfectly ridiculous things like dumb, schoolgirl flustering.

It was envy, that was all.  Rachel was envious.  Quinn, a beautiful blonde American dream girl got to sing and dance on stage for a living, got to feel that hot spotlight on her face until it stung and she got paid for it.  It was no wonder Rachel was excited by her.

“I–” Rachel attempted to respond.  Did she know why she’d saved Quinn’s job?  Something about fighting for the working woman, feminism, an article by Gloria Steinem that really got her riled up…

Absolutely nothing to do with the now all too vague but nevertheless staggering memory of Quinn’s thumbpads on her hipbones.

“Because it wasn’t necessary, y’know.  I can handle things myself.  I don’t need some uptown daddy’s girl swooping down in her argyle sweaters and saving the day for me.”

Rachel looked down at her sweater, pulling some of the fabric in her fist in offense.

“You know, a simple thank you would suffice.” She pouted, unclenching her fist and allowing her hand to fall back to her side.

Shadows fell over Quinn’s face.

“Is that what you’re after?  You want me to grovel at your feet or something?  Isn’t that what girls like you like?”

Rachel raised her chin.

“As a matter of fact, girls like me do love gratitude, but I can’t for the life of me imagine that you think I am like other girls.”

“Are you serious?  You’re all the same.  You come in here in your Cadillacs and your Studebakers piled high with trunks full of clothes and shoes and you look at us like we’re trash until there’s something you want – a go in the woods with one of the boys, maybe?  Someone to tell you you’re pretty?  That you can sing ?”

The word “sing” hissed out of her lips like a snake.  Rachel nearly jumped back.  Quinn took a deep breath that rose her shoulders and Rachel braced herself.

“You don’t have to be so mean.  I did it because, well, because I saw the way Jacob treated you and I thought it was dreadful .  And you had been so helpful to me at that party, and–”

“You can, by the way.”  Quinn swallowed and Rachel watched it happen with far too much investment.

“I can what? ”

“ Sing .” Quinn clarified, walking a few steps towards the piano, and thus towards Rachel.  She placed her hands on the edge underneath the shining lid.  Rachel saw that her fingernails were neat and painted with a clear gloss, as though she hadn’t done a day of work in her life.

“Yes, I’m aware, but thank you.  I appreciate you saying so.  You yourself have a lovely singing voice, though ours are–”

“You’re better.” Quinn said, sounding as though she regretted it before it even fell from her lips.

“Yes, I suppose I am.  But that doesn’t matter.  You’re the one that does it for a living, and you do it well.  I’m quite envious.”

Rachel felt like the air between them had turned to jelly.  For a time, Quinn said nothing, didn’t move, just stared at the piano where both of their faces were reflected off the glossy finish.

“I’ve been singing and dancing my whole life.  Lessons and ballet and all that.  But it all ended when my folks kicked me out when I was 16, so – no need to be envious.”  

Quinn appeared struck, as if she’d slapped her own cheek. It was a different look for her, neither the girl next door nor the bitter beatnik.  Something like sympathy welled up in Rachel’s chest and then, as was often the case, the string quartet that sat waiting in the back of her mind struck up a chord, and suddenly that name will never be the same to me played from a place that she was glad Quinn couldn’t hear.

Rachel felt a pendulum swing wildly in her heart – she wanted something from this girl, didn’t she?  But she also wanted to shut that piano lid on her hands for being so rude , and for having the audacity to make Rachel feel sick to her stomach at the sight of her pink, shamed cheek.

“Puck – he likes you, you know.  I mean, he likes practically every girl, but especially you.  If you want him, I’m sure he’d be more than willing to oblige.”

It was the last thing that Rachel had imagined Quinn would ever say in that scenario, and especially the way that she did, staring at the hammers inside of the piano, refusing to look anywhere near where Rachel stood.

“I’m not interested in him.”

“But you–”

“I was being honest, I only wanted you to thank him for… Well, for speaking to me at all.”

Quinn’s grip on the edge of the piano tightened like she needed something to hold onto.

“Then what do you want?”  She asked, finally turning her head to look at Rachel, but only for a moment before she looked away again. “Why are you doing this?”

Rachel thought about asking what this was, but she knew that this was her persistence, her insistence , her entire self thrown at a girl that didn’t understand someone like Rachel Berry.

“I – I just want to be your friend.  A-all of you.”

Quinn’s eyebrows furrowed.  She tucked a loose lock of hair behind one perfect, pink ear.

“Why?  You have plenty of friends.  I’ve seen you–”

“You’ve seen me?” Rachel interrupted, abruptly and without considering what it must’ve sounded like, how eager she must have seemed.  Quinn, with her hand still curled behind her ear from where she had been messing with her hair, rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

“You have friends.  You don’t need to be mine.”

“What if I want to be yours?”

Quinn’s shoulders squared abruptly, as if startled. Rachel was curious about it, how bracing herself seemed to be second nature, but she would never ask.

“What kind of game are you playing at?  You know, I… Just because I, I danced with you, it doesn’t mean–”

Oh. The bracing, it wasn’t a flinch waiting for impact, it was, she realized, some kind of natural response to Rachel’s proposed intimacy.  With her heart in her mouth, Rachel asked:

“Doesn’t mean what?”

And it was, regrettably, the wrong thing to do.  Quinn’s face turned deadly.  Rachel didn’t think she’d ever seen another woman look like they could kill a man with their bare hands.

“I don’t know!” Quinn shouted, though the last word tapered off as she looked behind her, afraid of who might hear.  Afraid of who might have an answer.

Rachel’s daddy liked to say that she would pester a hungry lion, and Rachel thought of the saying fondly as she decided then and there not to back down from whatever white hot thing was being electrified between the two of them.

“It wasn’t exactly dancing, was it?”  She asked, licking her lip, uncertain where she was going with this line of questioning, but nevertheless feeling it quicken her pulse to a breakneck speed.  Quinn’s hands left her hair and the piano and she folded her arms hard at her middle.

“It was dancing.” She defended, stepping back.  “That’s what it was.  I’m a dancer.  You obviously had no idea what you were doing, and I helped you out.  You seem to think that means we need to be–”

“Friends?” Rachel supplied, closing the gap between them that Quinn had created.  Quinn shut her eyes briefly as she sucked in another deep, annoyed breath.

“Yes, friends. ”

Rachel decided to give her a little break, and stepped a few paces past Quinn, over where the bookshelves that housed neatly stacked sheet music sat.  She ran her fingernails along the books and it made a sound like a film projector.

“If you’re worried about what it might look like, I already decided I’m going to ask Jacob to let me work with you all, at least during the week.  He’s practically in love with me, so I don’t see him declining my offer, and–”

Quinn scoffed.

“And what, you become one of us?  Daddy watches you pick up trash, or paint butterflies on the kids’ faces, or – what?  What is it?”

Her eyes narrowed, like she was harvesting something deep within Rachel through thought alone.  Rachel held her hand to her own chest, waiting.

“You want to perform with us, don’t you?”

Not very many people were good at sussing Rachel out.  In fact, she had described herself as an enigma on more than one speed-dating card. How was it that Quinn seemed to get those dainty little fingers in so many of her proverbial cuts?

“No!" Rachel lied, immediately feeling silly for it. Her tongue wet her lips as she tried to figure out the best way to explain herself.  "Well, that’s not true, I desperately do, but my father doesn’t approve of that lifestyle, and–”

Quinn shook her head.

“ Lifestyle ?”

“Yes.  The performing arts.  He thinks it’s a fine profession for, you know, others , but he would never accept it for his only daughter.  I, however, sometimes can’t even stop myself from singing.  It’s in my blood, quite literally.  I would be remiss to deny the fact that your – all of your singing and dancing, it entices me.  I’d do just about anything to even be around it.”

Quinn took a step back.

“So take a dance class.”

Rachel took a step forward.

“He’d never allow it.”

Quinn took another step back.

“Do it in secret.”

Rachel Berry, who backed down for no woman, man, or child, took one lunging step forward.

“Relatively easy to do in a city of millions, not so easy to do in the little tell me no secrets village of Ben Israel, if you understand my meaning.  He’d hear of it immediately.”

Rachel supposed that Quinn had been ready and willing to keep stepping back until Rachel gave up entirely, but her back had already come in contact with some of the lighting scaffolding, and she wasn't the kind of girl that let herself appear unnerved.  Instead of stepping to the side, she stood her ground.

Something about it made Rachel's ribs feel like pieces of flint being rubbed together.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. Look, if you want a thank you, here – thank you.  I… I can’t lose this job.  But just because you helped me doesn’t mean that I’m just going to do whatever you want. The staff keeps separate from the guests for a reason.  You think I could ever afford to go on vacation here?  You think any of us could?  Say your father caught wind of you dating Puck.  Hell, even Sam.  You’d probably get taken out of his will.”

Rachel's stomach dropped.

“I told you that's not what I'm interested in.”

Quinn wasn't stupid, Rachel had already determined that she was far more intelligent than she even wanted people to think. So, why did she keep on bringing up the boys? Wasn't it clear what she wanted? Hadn't she already got Rachel's number stuffed firmly in her pocket, so to speak?

Quinn didn't even allow a beat of silence before exclaiming:

“You are so frustrating!”

“So I’ve been told.  My ex-boyfriend once said that I could argue with a totem pole and win.  People actually have a lot of different sayings about how obstinate I am, come to think of it…”

Despite herself, it seemed, Quinn snorted.  She still didn’t look at Rachel.  Her eyes were set somewhere above her head, or next to her cheek.  Why couldn’t she look at her?

Rachel took several steps forward, until she had more or less backed Quinn into a corner.

“I don’t bite, Quinn .”

Quinn pulled both her hands away from the metal at her back and pushed them through her hair, letting her fingers knit and rest at the back of her neck with her elbows sharp and pointing forward.  It was something a boy would do, Rachel thought with no absence of wonder. Quinn, much like her name, did a lot of things like a boy would do them, yet still managed to be as pretty and delicate as a flower.

“Thank you, again.” She said, letting her arms drop at her sides before turning and walking away.

Rachel let her.  She could’ve called to her, begged some more, but there was something in her demeanor that gave Rachel pause, and maybe even a little bit of hope.  It was like she was telling her to do something without having the guts to say it.

Rachel could work with that.

Chapter Text

A week went by without incident, and if you were inside Rachel’s head, you would know that “incident” meant simply and plainly seeing Quinn at all, even from a distance like that first time, when her Ben Israel’s t-shirt had been knotted up above her stomach to keep cool while lugging equipment through the summer sun.

Though, it wasn’t as if she saw her much in the wild, their few meetings had all in some way been orchestrated by one or the other.  The thought that she might just stroll across one of the boardwalks and see Quinn drinking a lemonade with her wayfarers on, much like she might see Sugar or any of the other girls, excited her to a nearly mentally deranged level.

So, when one of her early morning walks turned into a rare Quinn sighting, Rachel wasn’t sure what to do with herself – with her face, or her hands, or her feet.

Something in her mind, something that sounded an awful lot like her father’s voice, told her to quickly and quietly turn around and walk away.

But, insolent as ever, Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and walked towards the bridge that spanned over the river that ran through the outer edge of the resort.

The sun was barely peeking out over the horizon and Quinn was sitting on that bridge, a bridge that Rachel walked over every morning, with her legs and face poking through the slats in the railing.  She was half-heartedly smoking a cigarette.

As Rachel got closer, she noticed that she was wearing the kinds of clothes that some of the other workers wore when they were off the clock, male and female, a black and white striped shirt and tight black pants that ended just above the ankle.  Her hair was straight and all pushed to the side like she’d been hanging her head down.  Even closer, Rachel saw that there were no earrings in her ears and matte red lipstick on her lips that had been rubbed away.

Possibly kissed off, though there was a clear dark rim still lingering.

Quinn seemed to be lost in thought, faced away from the sunrise, so when Rachel cleared her throat, she watched Quinn be shocked upright.  When she saw who it was, after some stunned blinking, her mouth set into a hard line.

Her eyes, though.  Rachel couldn’t ignore them.  They softened.  Out of tiredness, Rachel imagined.  Sheer exhaustion.

"Are you following me?"

Quinn’s voice was hoarse. She’d probably stayed up all night, doing whatever rubbed that pretty lipstick off her mouth.

"No, of course not. I walk this way every morning, if I can help it."

Quinn’s cigarette sat smoking between her fingers as she looked at Rachel like she was insane.  There was a lipstick rim around the white of it, and Rachel recognized that it was rolled, like Puck’s had been that night at the old rec center.  Something about it made her stomach roil.

"Why?" Quinn asked, licking her lips, still no closer to putting that cigarette in her mouth, though she did absently flick the accumulating ash over her shoulder.

"For exercise. It's good for the heart. Unlike that thing." 

Rachel gestured to the cigarette. Quinn looked down at the smoking thing in her hand and finally took a defiant drag of it, eyes heavy on Rachel's face.

"You know, I can honestly say I've never met anyone like you." She said, smoke billowing out from between her lips.

The sun was really beginning to show itself, and it cast a golden glow onto Quinn’s profile and already golden head of hair.  She looked otherworldly.

"What happened to me being just like all the other girls?"

Quinn seemed to consider the question, her tongue peeking out to wet her top lip as she stared again at the cigarette and not at Rachel.  If Rachel didn't know any better (though she most certainly did), she might say that Quinn almost made smoking look attractive, the way it displayed her cheekbones, brought attention to her lips and delicate fingers.

"So, I haven't seen you in staff meetings, yet. You couldn't convince Jacob to give you a chance?"

Rachel leaned against the bridge railing, her stomach pressed into the wood. She looked at Quinn out of the side of her vision, annoyed that her question hadn’t been answered, and further annoyed at the one being posed to her.

"No. So far the answer is a resounding no followed by an I'll tell your father . But it's only been a few days, I can be very persuasive."

The corner of Quinn's mouth pressed into her cheek, revealing a dimple that Rachel had never noticed before. She had probably just never been so close to Quinn while she was doing anything other than scowling, though.

“You couldn’t persuade a dog to a bone.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I was the captain of the debate team at my school, and I led us to three consecutive regional victories, and–”

Quinn was still smiling.  That dimple deepened and its twin appeared on her other cheek like it had been there the whole time.

"You're teasing me." Rachel grumbled, pushing herself back from the railing so she was standing in the middle of the bridge, arms at her sides, feeling an awfully lot like she should retaliate but not knowing how to make fun of someone so, well–

"I would tease you back if you weren't so thoroughly unteaseable."

Quinn let out a quick, uninspired laugh, swinging her feet.

"Oh, I'm plenty teaseable. You just don't know me."

"Some skeletons in your closet?"

Another laugh, though only by half, came up from Quinn's throat.  The whole thing ended in a frown.

"Go on and finish your… walk, or whatever it is you're doing out here at sunrise." Quinn stretched her arm out between the bridge struts and ashed her cigarette into the gently rushing river below.

"I should ask what you 're doing out here at this hour, up so early, but something tells me that you haven’t gone to sleep yet.”

The mussed hair and makeup.  The yellow pallor.  There were other ways to tell, Rachel was sure of it, but she would’ve had to get closer, to smell her, and she couldn’t possibly do a thing like that.

“Very perceptive.” Quinn muttered, not looking at Rachel now, even though Rachel felt like chanting her name like a little whining baby until Quinn did look at her, until she locked their eyes in some complicated puzzle of a gaze.

Rachel considered listening to the version of herself that had existed five minutes earlier, the one that was so sure that turning around and walking away was the wise and fashionable thing to do.

While she considered it, Quinn was smashing her pretty face against the bridge railing hard enough that Rachel winced.

“You know, you could come along with me.  I don’t mind the company.”

She didn’t mind any company, ever, even sometimes Jacob Ben Israel himself, only for the blanket of insulation that other living things afforded her otherwise rapid-fire thoughts.  It was hard having access to her own head sometimes, because everything was always happening so fast.

She was smart, though, so it was mostly fine, but every once in a while it concentrated on one spot like a broken sewing machine, stuffing thread into one hole over and over and over and over.

That thread was currently in the shape of a girl named Quinn anyhow, so why not be immersed in it?  Why not just let herself be a fool out loud?

That’s how she’d become friends with Finn, at first.  He’d been a thought and then he’d been all of her thoughts, like a spider spinning itself into its own web. It had been ridiculous not to approach him, not to let all that silk building up inside of her out for him to see.

But history would show that she’d lost control at some point.  One minute one of the most popular boys in school was innocently helping that annoying Glee Club Girl carry her books, and the next she was going to his football games and letting him touch her bra with his sweaty pigskin hands after.

Oh, this wasn’t that kind of thing, she was sure of it.  She wasn’t going to be making any demands, or braiding anyone friendship bracelets, or making any blood pacts.  This was just – curiosity.  Excitement.  A way to pass the time for the summer before she got on with her life.

Quinn still didn’t look at her.  What kind of a person didn’t look at you when you asked them a question?  Except it hadn’t been a question, had it?  More like a suggestion, one that was going largely ignored.  Rachel made a little sound like a bird in the back of her throat, and Quinn appeared startled.

“Oh, um.  No, thanks.”  Quick. To the point.  Her face was all crumpled in annoyance.  What a moody, moody girl.

Rachel sucked in cool mountain air through her nose until it lifted up her shoulders.

“Fine, suit yourself.”  She wiped her palms along the edge of her blouse and noticed that they were sweaty.  How embarrassing.

She was nearly off the bridge entirely when Quinn coughed, clearing her throat before croaking out:

“Let me know when you convince Jacob, I’ll save you the top bunk!”

Rachel stopped.  It felt like the backs of her knees were burning which meant, she thought, that Quinn must have been staring at her, literally sizing her up.  She huffed.

“Very funny!”

The woods opened up to her as she heard the annoyingly melodic tone of Quinn’s distant laugh echo through the trees.

– - -

As the week went by, it was almost as if her thoughts were suddenly affecting reality, causing Quinn to pop over from the staff quarters to the outside of one of the cabins being renovated, painting sopping brushfuls of whitewash onto the wood siding with her hair tied up like Rosie the Riveter.

Or from the dance studio out to the shore of the lake, demonstrating to a rabble of old women the difference between the breaststroke and the butterfly stroke.

She seemed to be everywhere all at once, in stark contrast to the first part of the summer where she’d been nowhere, like a ghost from Ben Israel’s past.

At dinner one night, when all the entertainment kids would be up at the staff cafeteria, Quinn was suddenly checking guests into their tables wearing the prettiest dress Rachel had ever seen on a normal girl.

Jacob must’ve been making some kind of example of her, and Rachel wasn’t even sure whether Quinn hated it or not, as she seemed to vacillate wildly between being a perfectly sunny socialite and a hard-hearted woman of the evening who smoked rolled cigarettes and wore trousers.

“Berry, party of two.” Her daddy said, drumming his fingers on the edge of the podium Quinn stood behind.  Not knowing one single bit what or who Quinn was, he sucked his teeth at the crowd, not even bothering to look twice at the lovely blonde hostess in front of him. 

Unlike her daddy, Rachel blushed, not knowing whether to acknowledge whatever intimacy lingered on between them or to pretend that they were strangers who were not even worthy of a cursory smile.

Quinn made the decision for them, choosing to look at Rachel like she was two short seconds from ralphing onto her patent leather shoes.  It turned out to be so much worse than a smile, a greater and more terrible acknowledgement of something.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, to somehow prove that she was worth perhaps a little more than a nauseous roll of Quinn’s eyes, but then Sugar was calling to Quinn, not by her name, but with a hey .  When she reached her, Sugar gently placed her hand on Quinn’s shoulder, her obscenely pink nail polish flagrant against the sweet cream color of Quinn’s dress.

“Say, would you mind sitting them with us?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed and Sugar looked at her like she looked at everyone that worked at Ben Israel’s.

“The Mottas?” Sugar said with her eyebrows high, as if to say you idiot.

Rachel recalled Quinn’s joke about her top bunk.  It hadn’t been very funny at the time, either, but now it was downright gallows humor.

Maybe she had deserved that impending vomit look, after all.

It wouldn’t be prudent to look at each other like they knew each other at all, much less like they had some kind of secret between them.

Rachel did her best to smile how she would have at any Ben Israel worker, exactly how she’d smiled at Leroy Platter, her father’s chef friend, which had been hard enough to hurt.

Quinn did her job as well as anyone might’ve done it, practically curtseying after Rachel’s daddy thanked her, making little marks on some unseen paper with a yellow no. 2 pencil that denoted the Berrys would be dining at table 12 with the Mottas.  Sugar replaced Quinn’s shoulder with Rachel’s and that was it; Rachel was being pulled towards a bread basket and away from uncertainty.

After they’d taken their seats and been given their drinks, her daddy spoke up.

“I think that’s the girl that Moishe went on about the other day.”

He said the words without looking at Rachel, not that he would need to, not that he would know that the topic was dreadfully close to her heart at the moment.

“Oh?” Rachel squeaked, pretending to look at the evening’s menu, though she always pretended, she’d be ordering the single vegetarian option regardless.

He nodded, the tip of his fingers scraping down the little bullet points next to each listed dish. The sound of it would normally be one of many innocuous noises, but just then it sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes, something about Jacob begging on his hands and knees for the poor thing’s job.  Must be quite the crush he has. A shame he’s already moved on to some shiksa girl.  A real shame.”  Her daddy murmured about half of the words that came out of his mouth, adjusting his glasses, unwise to the way the hair on Rachel’s arms was standing on end.

If she said what she wanted to say, which was that Jacob had no crush on anyone but her, that there was no crush where Quinn was concerned, that it was just a matter of rebalancing the scales of justice, then she knew her daddy would have more questions.

“Well, I’m sure a girl like that wouldn’t be caught dead with Jacob Ben Israel, but I appreciate his gallantry.”

“A girl like what , exactly?” Her daddy asked, placing his menu on the table.  Most of the time she was sure the man was only half-listening to everything she said, but sometimes he surprised her.

And what a time to surprise her!

Rachel couldn’t do anything but take a deep, heaving breath.  She looked back at Quinn.  It was an awfully daffy thing to do, because it meant that she had to twist her whole head around like a barn owl, but she did it.  

Quinn was looking at her.

Quinn was looking at her.  Rachel quickly, desperately looked away.

“A beautiful girl.” Rachel gulped, her throat like sandpaper.

Her daddy blew a raspberry into his vodka gimlet.

“Oh, pish posh.  You're beautiful, she's–" He sucked his teeth for the second time that evening. "–blonde."

It stood to reason that her daddy had never seen Quinn up close, because if he had, he would know that she had a light dusting of freckles on the tops of her cheeks, dimples, a tidy nose that was full of character, and some of the most strikingly soulful green eyes Rachel had ever encountered.

"Thank you, daddy, I can always count on you to reduce the prettiest girl in the room down to the color of her hair."

Rachel smiled behind her fingers just as their waiter came through to take their orders.

"You're welcome, pumpkin." Her daddy smiled back, already back to not listening to her as he patted Rachel's shoulder before turning to the waiter with a 100-watt smile.

Chapter Text

The Quinn sightings kept on all throughout the week, torturous since Jacob had blacklisted talk of Rachel working for the resort, so their allowed interactions were basically nil.  

Rachel had even tried to join one of Brittany’s dance classes under the gazebo, but every single time she tried to get a word in, ask after Brittany’s enigmatic friend, one of the old men would grab her hand and try something untoward.  

When Mr. Silvers called for the medic after Rachel retaliated with a subtle knee to the groin, she knew she wouldn’t be getting any one-on-one with the leggy blonde.

Instead, Rachel sat next to Jacob at breakfast one morning for an entire eight minutes, just to get insider information about upcoming performances.  There was the usual staff comedian every other night, the jazz quartet doing their show in-between, and then Friday, there was a performance.

According to Jacob it was the standard singing and dancing, she thought he’d even used the phrase “blah blah blah”, followed shortly by “and don’t even think about asking to participate, Miss Berry, as lovely as you are, my father would have both of our heads for it.”

So much for Jacob’s undying devotion – not that she wanted it, anyhow, but it did have its advantages.

And clear disadvantages, especially as she found herself sitting on Sugar’s bed surrounded by friends and acquaintances alike, being razzed within an inch of her life for it.

“I can’t believe your father pushes him on you like that!” Susie scoffed, squeezing one of Sugar’s thousand pillows between her knees and looking at Rachel behind those horrible cat-eye glasses of hers.

“Oh, sure!  She likes it, don’tcha, Berry?” The other Rachel sneered as she pinched her cheeks in Sugar’s vanity mirror.

Rachel crossed her arms and tried to remember that petulant wasn’t a good look on her, especially since she had been trying to shirk her reputation as a whiny, waspish little daddy’s girl that got everything she wanted.

There were plenty of things that she wanted that she knew she’d never get.

“While I will admit that Jacob’s affections do offer a certain cachet at the resort, trust me, ladies, I find him repulsive.”  Rachel scrunched her nose up in distaste and Bethany Blumhoff began pawing at her hair, separating it out into three sections for a plait.

“He’s such a skeev.” She agreed, her fingers brushing against the back of Rachel’s neck as she worked, tickling her. “You don’t think you’ll get back together with Finn, though?  He was so dreamy!”

Rachel jerked her head forward, causing Bethany to drop her half-braided hair.

“I’ve moved on from him.  Finn didn’t even want to go to college, I need someone that can–”

“Heard someone saw you leaving one of those sexy staff parties the other night.” Other Rachel interrupted, standing up abruptly from her spot at Sugar’s vanity.  Over at the head of the bed, propped up like a princess, Sugar let out a squeal of injustice.

“Rachel!  And you didn’t take me?” She pouted, tugging at Rachel’s wrist.

“I was only wandering.” She lied – sort of.  Her wandering had been calculated, if not by her then by a pungent summer tailwind that had beckoned her like two cartoon fingers.  A thought crossed her mind that The Girl Named Quinn had some witchy anglo-saxon powers that had brought Rachel forth straight from her hot and innocent bed like some kind of offering to the Gods of – what, exactly?  Sex?  Did those kinds of Gods ever really exist?

She coughed, causing Bethany to flinch back and away from her like she had the plague.  Sugar still looked gutted, clearly “wandering” hadn’t been a good enough explanation.

“I bet she wandered straight into the cuckoo clock’s groin.”

Rachel Steinbrenner, the beast, she was determined to make this difficult for her.

“His name is Noah, and–”

“He’s J ewish? ” One of the girls, Rachel couldn’t even be certain, asked from somewhere across the room, and she felt her face flush in frustration.  Sugar’s hand let loose the grip on her wrist.

“I can’t believe you, Rachel.  I thought we were friends.  Was he at least a good kisser?”

“I didn’t!” Rachel practically shouted, though what she did and didn’t do was so murky in her brain that she couldn’t properly finish her sentence even if she’d wanted to.

Of course she hadn’t kissed Noah.  She hadn’t kissed anyone!  But had she done something much, much worse?

Was worse even the right way to go thinking about it?

“We just danced.”

“ Just , huh?”  It was Bethany this time, getting her dander up like Rachel wouldn’t reach out and choke her to death if she dared make another suggestion.

Rachel ignored her, though, choosing to look at her friend Sugar with something that at least felt like humility.

“I am truly sorry, Sugar.  I would’ve loved for you to be there, but it all happened so fast .  One second I was twisting and turning in bed, you know how unbearable the heat can sometimes get so close to July, and then I was up walking to try to catch some breeze.  Some of the staff girls saw me, and, and they invited me in.”

“The girls ?” Other Rachel sat primly on the edge of Sugar’s bed.  Sugar, like some of the wealthier girls, had a large primo mattress and a room with an adjoining bath.  Rachel wondered if her father hadn’t hired a few of the cabin boys to fan her to sleep at night when the temperature shot up over 75 degrees after sunset.

All eyes were on her, bottoms on Sugar’s giant mattress or not.  Despite the air of jealousy, they really were all very interested in this conversation, all breathing incredibly hard like little lap dogs waiting for a treat.

Rachel clutched a little at Sugar’s silken bedspread.

“They dance – I can’t even tell you.  The way they dance is like–”

“Like getting pregnant?” Susie giggled, Sugar’s pillow squeezed so tight between her thighs that it looked like they might leave a permanent impression on the poor cushion.

Bethany picked up one of the lighter throw pillows and launched it at Susie’s head, though it missed by a mile.

All she could think about, of course, was the deep and unrelenting thrum of the beat as that song washed over her.  Lucille!

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any rhythm and blues records, Sugar?” Rachel asked, her hands clasped together in front of her.  Sugar’s lips twitched but she didn’t quite smile, her feelings still hurt.  Sugar let go of things easily, it was one of the things Rachel liked about her, so she knew in a minute or two all would be forgotten if something better, something easier to hold onto came along.

After a moment, Sugar was up from her pillows and scrambling over to the pale pink record player sat on the top of a credenza.  It didn’t go with the rustic cabin decor, so it was obvious she’d brought it from home.

She bent down and opened a cabinet and all of the girls gasped at what looked like loot from a Sam Goody heist.

“I’ve got Elvis.” She said, casually, as if she knew the man personally. Her fingers continued to move over the spines of the record sleeves when Rachel didn’t remark.  “Or The Drifters?”

Rachel made a considering hum in the back of her throat.

“No, this is – I don’t think this is the kind of thing that comes on the Hit Parade.  It sounds like–”

“What about this?” Sugar whipped out a record with the word “STAY” splayed out in bright orange letters.  Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs.

Rachel knew the song, she thought maybe everyone did if they listened to the radio as much as she did, and then she tried to picture what she’d done – what she’d done with Quinn , set to the rhythm.  Her throat became a desert.

“Y-yes.  I think that could work.”

Sugar was quick to pop the record out and set the needle down.  Rachel felt her heart thundering in her chest for no reason that she could really gather other than all the eyes on her lying face as the first few notes of the song played.

She stood up.

“I may have to demonstrate.” She thought aloud, a finger tapping next to her chin.  Goodness, she couldn’t really demonstrate , could she?

All she knew was that it would make Sugar get over herself more quickly, not to mention the girls would all forget to ask her who it was she’d danced with.  They all already assumed it was Noah anyway, the cuckoo clock, the Jewish staff boy that looked like he was hiding a coffee thermos in his dungarees.

Rachel wondered which of the girls would be the most unaffected by being pawed at like they were being measured by the most thorough seamstress in the world.

Sugar was usually game for just about anything, until it happened, and then she was scandalized for the rest of her life about it.  That simply wouldn’t do.  The Other Rachel was obviously out, she would probably go and tell every man, woman, and child at Ben Israel’s that Rachel had tried to steal her virtue like some kind of sexual deviant.

That left Susie and Bethany.  Susie would probably just blush and stagger through the whole encounter and never speak about it again, which sounded ideal, so Rachel took two steps towards her but then–

Bethany was grabbing Rachel’s hands.  The girl was in her pajamas, no underthings to speak of, and Rachel tried her god-given hardest not to let the blush in her cheeks catch fire and move anywhere else.

She supposed, then, that Quinn hadn’t been wearing a bra that night, and she’d survived it all the same.  Hadn’t she?

Maybe, in fact, she had not.  Rachel gulped, eyes tight on Bethany’s sunken little blue eyes.

Could she do what Quinn had done to her, situate the girl onto her thigh like she was a pony on a carousel?  Bethany was a plump girl, certainly not svelte and athletic like Quinn, so there would be no comparison there, and anyhow – the roles were reversed.

Rachel was the Quinn.  Rachel didn’t think she could handle the responsibility, but she would have to do her best.

“Now, Bethany, place your hands on my back.”

Bethany did as instructed, but it was much too ceremonious, much too transactional.  Rachel rolled her eyes, bit her lip, and guided the girls arms around her waist, then did a thing she’d been thinking about for over a week now, and clutched at Bethany’s hips, thumbs on the flare of them.

Bethany’s eyes flicked up to Rachel’s like she had just picked her pocket.

Rachel nodded, beginning to move her own hips with the rolling motion of the song.  Not quite Lucille , but Sugar had been miraculously on the nose.

Something happened in that room when she guided her thigh between Bethany Blumhoff’s legs.  Underneath the music and the low hiss of the needle on the record, not a single breath could be heard.

Rachel realized that Bethany’s eyes had closed.  She looked over at Sugar’s bed where all the girls were sitting, wide-eyed and completely incapable of looking away.  The Other Rachel looked like she would drop dead of some wasting disease at any moment.

The song was short, barely a minute, and when it was over Rachel was quick to separate them, to forget that Bethany Blumhoff had felt burning hot on her thigh, even over the fabric of her tights.

“So, anyway, that’s sort of what it was like.  K-kind of.” Rachel stuttered as Bethany cleared her throat, sliding down to the floor at the foot of the bed rather than sitting with the other girls.

Her face had taken on the hue of someone that had just been flashed in Times Square.  Rachel weaved her fingers together.

“Uh, Rachel, I think this might just be a sorry excuse for people to dry hump in public, not an actual dance." Sugar broke the silence, and then every girl in the room, even Bethany, burst forth with full-on belly laughs.

It wasn’t that funny, but Rachel did her part in laughing as well, giggling and situating the waist of her skirt before sitting back down on the bed, albeit a little further away from the other girls.

Chapter Text

“Aw, sweetheart, you look gorgeous.”  Her daddy held up her hand and she spun around to show off her dress, one of the many he’d bought for her before their trip.

They had a “Dancing Under The Stars” night set up on the north lawn, with white tents and fairy lights, and her daddy decided mid-day that he wouldn’t mind going, if Rachel wouldn’t mind being her dear old dad’s date for the evening.

It was better than not hanging out with the girls, who had all formed some kind of unified front against her after Rachel Steinbrenner predictably told half the young adults at Ben Israel’s that Rachel had gone bad and was cavorting with the help and would probably be pregnant by summer’s end.

The worst part was that she wasn’t even getting to do the thing that she’d been blacklisted for, because the Entertainment Staff were all pretending she didn’t exist, Quinn most of all, who had been the stand-in lifeguard that afternoon at the pool without looking once at Rachel sunbathing on the deck.

People could have died!

Quinn looked awfully something in that regimented red swimsuit, though, so picturesque.  She could've been a girl in a Norman Rockwell painting with her creamy skin and sun-pink knees and that blonde hair in a tight ponytail at the back of her head.

The girl's presence made her feel, always, a bit like jumping into the deep end of a pool and letting herself sink to the bottom, so it had been lucky that one was right there, ready and waiting for her.

She'd stayed down a long time, too, since her breath control was nothing short of amazing, but either Quinn hadn't been paying attention or she specifically and deliberately wanted Rachel to drown, so…

She was left going on daddy-daughter dance dates like the social outcast that she’d always been outside of Ben Israel's and now was inside, as well.

No one liked her, and it was fine. She looked pretty in her dress. She still didn't have a letter from Finn, though she'd only checked the front desk once. For all she knew, he could be halfway across the world already, kissing some Vietnamese girl in his little army costume.

She guessed everything sort of felt a little hopeless, and then she and her daddy were stepping up under the tent with I Only Have Eyes For You being played by the house quartet and–

Oh.

Everyone was dressed like they were going to a ball. Everyone, including the Girl Named Quinn, who was in the center, string lights dipping just above her golden head as she danced with some man while wearing a dress that looked like woven starlight.

They were slow dancing. If they had been the same height their hips would've pressed together, but as it stood, the man was nearly a head taller, and Quinn's cheek rested on his chest.

So, so close.

"Well isn't this cute. " Her daddy drawled, grabbing a flute of champagne from the tray being passed around by a waiter. Rachel smacked his arm.

"What?” He pursed his lips, taking a sip as his eyebrows did plenty of talking.

“Be nice, daddy.”

“I’ll be nice when I see you having some fun, young lady.  You’ve been walking around like a kicked puppy for days.  Don’t tell me this is about ol’ what’s his face–”

“It’s not about Finn.” Rachel breathed in the sentence like it was its own form of oxygen, all the while incapable of tearing her eyes away from the scene on the dancefloor.  Quinn was currently being spun and dipped and Rachel was incomprehensibly mad about how easy she made it look to be led around, to be made pliant in someone else’s hands.

She was a dancer, though.  A performer.  That was just the kind of thing girls like her did.  She could make it feel real for anyone, couldn’t she?

A hand low on her back roused her out of her own thoughts and Rachel looked back to see Jacob standing there, adjusting his glasses.

“Would you like to dance, Miss Berry?” He asked, his mouth practically foaming.  Rachel had the horrifying thought that she might have to consider Jacob Ben Israel her only friend at the resort.

“I suppose.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping.  Maybe she felt like she had to dance with Jacob, but she certainly didn’t have to look like she liked it.

Even so, Jacob was a surprisingly passable dancer, at least when it came to the typical swaying from foot to foot.  Finn had been awful, stepping on her toes, unsure of where to place his hands. 

Rachel wondered how Quinn would dance with her under the rows and rows of string lights dangling above their heads, if she would lead, if she would place her hands gently on Rachel’s shoulders and allow herself to be taken along.

In wondering, she began to unabashedly stare.  Quinn’s dancing partner had his back turned, and the only thing Rachel could really see were her fingernails, painted a glossy baby pink, clutching at the tops of the man’s shoulders.

Jacob’s hot breath was filling her nostrils and Rachel thought briefly of closing her eyes and pretending he was anyone else, but then Quinn moved, or there was some reconfiguration of their bodies, and Rachel could see her eyes, peeking over a squared shoulder pad.

Sometimes it felt as though Rachel was practically begging everyone to notice her, to see her, constantly and without reservation, yet it seemed like no one ever did.

And then there was Quinn.

She was looking at Rachel, not unlike that time at dinner, only this time Rachel willed herself to look back.

The music had long since changed from The Flamingos to something Rachel didn’t recognize, but the low hiss of the cymbals felt like it mirrored whatever was simmering in her gut.  Quinn’s grip on her partner’s shoulders tightened for a moment before she was the one that was forced to look away.

“What’s with you and Miss Fabray, anyhow?” Jacob’s voice came like a thunderclap over her head, though he wasn’t much taller than her.

“Who?” She asked, knowing just who he must have meant, that he’d used Quinn’s last name like they were best friends or worst enemies.

“Quinn.  Quinn Fabray.  The delectable little blonde strumpet whose job you saved.”

Rachel almost fell back from his arms like she was wilting, just to make a scene, to have Quinn’s eyes back on her where they belonged.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can’t imagine how you two would’ve even met, to be frank.  Did she give you dance lessons?  It’s not as if you’re in the same social circles.”

Jacob’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, still nervous around her.  Somewhere, the girls were all laughing at his hands on her waist, but all Rachel could think about was the green gaze that might have been resting there.

“And why wouldn’t we be?”

“She’s white trash, Rachel.  Kicked out of the house for some teenage indiscretion.  Probably popped out a little tyke before she even got out of her training bra.”

“You’re – how could you–”

“That’s just the way of it.  She wouldn’t be working here if she’d made better choices, married a nice Irish fellow and popped out a few at the appropriate juncture.  Now she’s here dancing with widowers like Ezra Klein, hoping that stroppy low cut dress’ll get her a few bucks tucked into her bra at the end of the night.”

Rachel pushed off of him like he’d just bitten her, and it would have made a scene, but more dancers had crowded the floor and her stumble back looked like no more than a standard fumble from some clumsy teenager, not worth a second glance.

“Rachel, wait!” Jacob called to her, but she was already weaving her way through all the hugged-close couples, intent on ignoring him.

Once out on the grass, under the real stars, Rachel unclenched her fists, lest she do something like punch the resort owner’s son in the groin.  The little creep would probably like it, anyhow.  He came hurrying out after her, tripping once on a sprinkler head but unfortunately not faceplanting as he deserved.

“You’re despicable.  How could you talk about her like that?”

Jacob stood in front of her, trying desperately to smooth down the sweaty wrinkles on his suit jacket.

“You’re one of those girls that thinks everyone deserves a fair shake, Rachel, I get it.  It’s one of the reasons you’re such a swell person.  But–”

“But nothing.   You know, I’m sorry I danced with you.  You don’t even deserve my pity.”

Just then, on the other side of that interminable tent, Quinn stepped out onto the grass with champagne in her hand and Ezra Klein’s in the other.  He really was a tall man, normally dour faced but looking very ardent in front of Quinn.  All Rachel could do was swallow.

Couldn’t she be her?  Couldn’t she just step inside her skin and breathe her breath and be loved without even trying?

Directly in front of her, Jacob cleared his throat.

“Miss Fabray is her own type of person.  We’re different, Rachel, and what’s wrong with that?  We just – we don’t mix.  Like oil and water.”

– - -

The Berrys has not been invited to dine with the Mottas all week.  Rachel’s daddy took the whole thing in stride, as much as a fussy man like him was capable, choosing to insert them at the Kleins’ table.

The Kleins were not a nuclear family, but rather a random assortment of cousins and great aunts and nephews and nieces that seemed to have no more than a loose association, though Rachel couldn’t help but recognize one of the eldest Kleins, second only to Eleanor Klein who sat presiding over them all with a curly nest of white hair and a scowl.

It was Ezra, the man Quinn had been dancing with the night of the dance.  He’d been absent from their table for most of the week, his cousin Dinah claimed he had an ulcer or something befitting a man in his forties, and Rachel had been glad that he was missing.

Though she did question his whereabouts, if he was somehow breaking all the rules and dining with the staff up in the woods.

But it was Friday, now, and he was sitting next to Rachel, their elbows bumping now and again as a natural effect of eating and chatting and trying to appear normal.

All of Rachel’s questions about his whereabouts, about what he was doing with Quinn, what she was doing with him , they all came to a head when she realized that it was the night of the performance, and he was likely sitting there with bells on to see a certain stunning blonde.

Needless to say, her daddy had questioned her no more than five times on her still-full plate and her queasy expression.  Quinn didn’t need to be hanging around a man like that!  For one, he was too old, and for two, he had – freakishly long arms!  And every time he turned to Rachel, apologizing for knocking elbows, he smiled like some sort of–

Ugh.  He was fine.   A moderately handsome, well-dressed Jewish man with a nice haircut and clean hands.  She didn’t know him, of course, but word had traveled about his wife’s passing, as these things did.  Cancer, was it?  Either way, it was awful, and Quinn was a beautiful young woman that had probably just been offering the man a little bit of kindness for a night.

The thought made Rachel like her even more than she already did, which somehow made her feel and probably look even queasier.

Dinner plates were cleared away and the lights were dimmed.  The stage curtain opened up to the band playing the first few notes of the Ballad of Davy Crocket, and then all the boys, Noah and Sam and some of the others that she’d never met, all came out in costume with coonskin caps and muskets, singing about Tennessee and hunting.

She knew it was all meant for a laugh, but it was ridiculous how sloppy their costumes were, how the only dancing was some stumbling two-step nonsense that every boy up there was grossly overqualified for.

It seemed like it went on forever, Noah crowing on about being King of the Wild Frontier with a dumb grin on his face, but with a cymbal crash it was finally over, and the boys made way for flowing skirts and high heels.  Rachel righted herself carefully – she couldn’t have her daddy looking at her like he’d done that first night – and waited for Quinn.

Santana was first on stage, swishing her crinoline and flipping her long, loose hair over her shoulder, followed shortly by Brittany and a mousy brunette that she’d seen wallflowering out at the abandoned rec center.

No Quinn.  Rachel practically stood up to get a better look at the girls on stage.

No Quinn?

She looked to her left at Ezra Klein, as if he had some kind of intelligence on the matter, though he just looked bored, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, glancing around the room with an expression you could just slap.

What good was he?  Where the hell was Quinn?

The band began playing and the girls began to dance something that looked like a solo merengue, and then some of the boys filtered out and everyone partnered up.

Maybe that was it, maybe it was simply a numbers game, and Quinn came up odd woman out. She was probably standing backstage, wringing her hands, waiting for some more dignified number.

Rachel coughed down the worry tickling her throat and waited – she waited until the dance number ended, and she waited while Santana and Noah sang “Lipstick on your Collar” and pretended to like each other.  She waited while the mousy one (who was decided less mousy on her own, not standing next to the other girls) stood in the middle of the stage in her own undeserved spotlight and delivered a flat rendition of Anita Bryant’s “My Little Corner of the World”. She clapped along with everyone else as the whole group came out and did another Bye Bye Birdie number in blue jeans and t-shirts.

No Quinn.  They were about half-way through The Telephone Hour when Rachel quickly and quietly excused herself from the table, dropping ladies’ room next to her daddy’s ear without any further explanation as she slinked towards the exit.

– - -

She was unfortunately wearing less than sensible shoes that evening, mostly because she had grand plans to catch Quinn backstage and ask her, point blank, why they couldn’t just be friends when it was clear they both wanted something from each other, and why not that?  Why else would she have looked at her the way she did over that perfectly boring man’s shoulder?

She had dressed well.  She had worn two inch heels so that they would be, she hoped, nearly eye-level.

Now, all they were doing was getting stuck in the spidery oak tree roots that lined the path to staff quarters.

After a certain point, a fork in the road, the paths were no longer lit.  Rachel imagined all of the staff like birds of prey, making their way back to their cabins in the pitch black with a practiced precision.

It was true that she had no earthly idea what cabin was Quinn’s.  It was true, she realized in a rush of something akin to horror, that she didn’t know much of anything at all about Quinn, other than things she’d simply inferred from observation.

They had engaged in exactly two conversations, and only one of them had been even remotely pleasant.

People liked to say that she always wanted things she couldn’t have.  Always having to take the long way, that Rachel, the road less traveled by.  At some point in her life she had made the decision to take it all as a compliment.  It felt better when you earned things, didn’t it?  Even someone’s time and attention.

If Rachel could make Quinn her friend, then she was worth something, wasn’t she?  She could feel the back of her neck tingling at the prospect.

She had officially passed the “No Guests Allowed” sign stuck into the ground just before Cabin A when someone with a familiar gait crossed the path in front of her.

She might’ve said a familiar face, but it was really rather dark, and the tall man seemed intent on blending in with the shadows as he sipped from a bottle of orange Nehi.

Rachel stopped, held her breath.  There were plenty of things she could say to Leroy Platter, she was sure of it, but none of them were coming to mind at that moment.  The only thing truly coming to mind was Quinn – where was she, was she okay, was she stuck somewhere?  Did she go to their bridge and fall off the side?

Well, not their bridge.  You didn’t own a place with someone after being there together once, for a few minutes.  That wasn’t how this kind of thing worked, was it?  She scowled.

“Oh!  Uh, Rachel?”

Apparently her scowl was particularly loud.  She licked her lips and tried to keep her breathing from getting out of control.

“Yes, hello, Mr. Platter–”

“Oh, Leroy, please.” He hesitated, his mouth open, tongue poised to speak, only instead he just looked at Rachel like she was holding her own head.

“What brings you up here, Rachel?”

Something about his kind voice, how deeply unassuming he looked in his striped pullover and his chinos, Rachel felt an explanation hurtling out of her mouth before she could think about the potential consequences.

“Oh, I hate to ask, truly, but do you happen to know Quinn, um, Fa– Fab-something? I just came from the stage show and she wasn’t there even though she was supposed to be in the show and I don’t know what cabin she’s in or where I can even find her, really at any time of the day but especially right now, when she is not where she’s supposed to be, and–”

Leroy passed his soda pop bottle from one hand to the other, curious, before placing the empty hand on Rachel’s shoulder.

“Deep breaths, yeah?” He smiled softly, his hand giving her one considerate pat before he took it away again. “Quinn Fabray.  She’s a sweet girl–”

“She is ?” Rachel interrupted, feeling herself take Leroy’s breathing advice a little too seriously.  He pressed the glass bottle against his chest with both hands.  Was everyone nervous around her?

“I, I mean – I don’t have an awful lot of experience with her, but we’re in staff meetings together every week.  Little bit of a spitfire, but that’s not so bad.  Say, your dad says the same thing about you.” Leroy grinned at his own mention of her father, and Rachel sucked the inside of her cheek to keep from asking so, so many questions other than the most important one.

“Do you know where she’s staying, Mr. Pl– um, Leroy?”

Leroy’s neck twisted around towards the cabin alley.

“The girls are in the back, cabin J and on.  I expect it’s one of those.  Is there–” He rolled his shoulders like he was unsure whether to question Rachel further. “Anything I can help with?  You’re all right, aren’t you, Rachel?”

She nodded quickly, desperate to side-step him and start the work of finding Quinn, but he was still just standing there, looking expectant.

“You can – well, you can not tell my father about this, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Leroy blinked a few times, but then he was smiling and zippering his mouth shut with his fingers. Rachel took that moment to scurry along with only a lipless smile to bid him goodbye.

Chapter Text

Cabin J had been a bust.  Cabin K as well, though she could hear people inside shrieking at each other in what sounded like Spanish.  Cabin L housed the staff nurse, who had been sleeping off what smelled like a whiskey bender and came to the door with visions of homicide in her eyes.

Cabin M, though, was promising.  There were clothes hanging out on a line at the side of the cabin, and some of them looked like they could’ve easily been Quinn’s.  Like some sort of creep, Rachel walked up to the clothesline and touched a linen peasant blouse blowing in the warm June breeze.  There was red stitching at the neckline with a baby blue silk ribbon, and though Rachel had never once seen Quinn wearing it, she decided that it smelled like her, or at least how she imagined that she would smell, if she could even remember.

Rachel walked up the porch steps and rapped her knuckles against the door exactly three times.  The only thing she could hear was the wind through the pines.  She looked back over at the clothes swaying on the line and audibly gulped before trying the door handle.

It was open.  All the cabins, even the guest accommodations, weren’t on level ground, and so the doors creaked open and the shutters swung in place like the whole resort was haunted.  Cabin M’s door fell open easily with the evening breeze and revealed the strangest thing.

At least, that’s the only thing Rachel’s unprepared mind could think to call the image of a blonde girl shuddering in a fetal position on the bare cabin floor.

She hadn’t known what she was expecting.  Sure, her mind had conjured every possible worst case scenario imaginable, but Rachel was also a confoundingly staunch optimist, and a great part of her imagined Quinn sitting at the head of her bed, nursing a cold with a tissue in her hand.

This was not what she had been expecting.

Rachel didn’t bother calling to her, or to anyone else – the staff nurse had already told her to go F-word herself, so she knew that woman wouldn’t be of any help.

She didn’t know where to stand or put her hands, which was always the case when she was near Quinn, but now it felt like an incredibly maladaptive personality trait. She needed to take charge!  She needed to, what, pretend like she was a navy nurse and start assessing the girl for mortal wounds?

Rachel bent down and patted at her back, and then her shoulder.  She was only wearing a linen night slip, and Rachel couldn’t help but think that it made her seem all but five years old lying there, her back arched like a cat’s.

Quinn only groaned at the feel of Rachel’s hands.

“San, stop, told you to leave me alone.” She grumbled, her voice full of snot and tears and most importantly, most obviously an incredible amount of physical anguish.  Rachel didn’t know if she should even speak.  Perhaps it was best for Quinn to go on thinking that she was Santana?  If she thought it was Rachel, she might be more interested in getting her out of her personal space than spilling the beans on why she was rolling on the ground in pain.

Momentarily, she considered doing her best Santana impression. She’d only heard the girl talk a single handful of times, but she thought she could probably pull off a decent approximation.

But then, Quinn blew the whole thing and peered up at her.  The resulting groan sounded like someone being drawn and quartered.

“Quinn, I’m – I’m sorry that I’m not who you thought I would be, but it certainly seems like you need help.  Do you need to go to a hospital?  Because–”

“No. Hospital.” Quinn spat out, letting her chin fall back down to her chest as she clutched desperately at her stomach.  Rachel felt her heartbeat reach catastrophic levels as she watched Quinn’s back erratically rise and fall with her breathing.

“But something is clearly wrong!  W-would you like me to go get Santana?  Or Brittany?”

Quinn violently shook her head.

“Noah?” Rachel asked, barely a squeak, but it managed to produce another low, preternatural moan out of Quinn’s mouth.

“Just get out of here, pl–” Before she could even finish her plea, what looked like a week’s worth of meals came spewing out of Quinn’s mouth.  Rachel jumped back, hissing as her knees hit the footboard of Quinn’s bed.

She didn’t like blood and she did not care for vomit.  And here her father was, still intent on her being the next Dr. Berry.

“Y-you need to go to a hospital!”

Quinn, the poor thing, tried her hardest to yell “no”, but it was drowned out by another formidable stream of sick.

Rachel shut her eyes as tightly as she possibly could, just trying to think.  What felt like a split second earlier, she had been thinking about the way the clothes on the line smelled like lemon, and now there was acrid-smelling vomit soaking into her heels.

She quickly stepped around Quinn in search of something, a bucket, some kind of receptacle.  She found a small trash can half-full in the bathroom and dumped it out onto the floor of the shower with no lack of remorse, then grabbed one of the towels hanging on the back of the door.  It was still damp.

“Quinn, can you move towards the bed so I can, just, place this–” She gestured towards the giant puddle of bodily fluids with the towel.  Quinn only grunted, and Rachel sighed, dropping the trash can and the towel and placing her hands on either side of the girl’s hips.

It was almost like dancing, in a way. Rachel tried to dash the thought aside.

“If you’ll let me help you–” She implored, tugging at the girl, who was surprisingly and also unsurprisingly light.  One of Quinn’s hands came around and cuffed Rachel’s wrist, squeezing.  She couldn’t tell if it was a request for her to stop or permission to continue, so she assumed the former and used all of her upper body strength to drag Quinn’s prone frame further towards the bed.

“Come on, now,” Rachel whispered, doing her best to get her arms in a solid loop around Quinn’s waist before hauling her up into a half-crouching, half-standing position.  The girl made a few sounds of weak protest, but it wasn’t of any consequence, because before she knew it, Rachel had her practically tossed onto the bed, sideways and limbs all rubbery, but at least she was off the floor.

The sobbing started up again.  Rachel sucked in a shuddering breath and picked up the trash can, placing it gently next to Quinn’s head.  She didn’t move.  There wasn’t a light on in the room, but from where Quinn was now sprawled on her bed, the moonlight came clear through the shutters and cast an eerie spotlight on her face.

She looked ghastly.  There wasn’t a single ounce of pink to her face, even her lips.  Rachel thought of her daddy back at the dining hall, wondering where she’d gone.

“Quinn? I – I’ll be right back.  I’m getting you help.”

Rachel didn’t hesitate, because she knew if she had, she’d be further implored to leave her alone, to leave it be – and how could she?  Rachel had never seen a dying person, to be sure, but Quinn looked like she was halfway there.

The trek back to the dining hall felt endless as she tried to avoid roots and holes and not topple headfirst down the boardwalk steps.  By the time she got there, there were only a few stragglers nursing their drinks.  Rachel noted with only mild interest that Ezra Klein had not stuck around, just her father, sitting at the now empty table with a tight posture.

“Daddy, I need–”

He turned around and fixed her with a look that practically sewed her lips together.

“Where have you been?  You look like you’ve been assaulted!”

“Daddy, please, it’s an emergency.  Can you come with me?  Someone is… I’m not sure, really, but she’s vomiting and, and hyperventilating, and–”

Her daddy was often surly, but he had a soft heart, especially where Rachel was concerned.  She knew that this time she wouldn’t even have to put on a wide-eyed pout, because she was terrified, possibly even crying, though she hadn’t had time to make a proper assessment.

He set his drink down and stood up.

“All right, just calm down, sweetheart.”

Rachel had not been calm once her entire life, and she certainly wasn’t going to start trying now.

“Daddy, please!”

“Just who is it that’s in trouble?  One second you were sitting beside me at dinner, the next–”

“I – There’s not enough time to explain.”  Rachel grabbed his hand, squeezing in lieu of begging one more time.  When he let it rest in her grip instead of pulling it back, she knew he would follow her.

– - -

No one said a word.  Rachel stood with her back against the solid wood door of Cabin M and squinted against the porch light and all of the moths, too many of them, flying around trying to steal its warmth.

Next to her, Noah Puckerman grunted.  It was for nothing, as there had been no word from her daddy, no sound at all since he walked into that cabin with his black leather medical kit and forced Rachel to keep outside.

Shortly after, Noah and Santana showed up, having rushed from the show and still in their ridiculous costumes.

Santana had yelled something at her in Spanish, Noah just looked at her like she was the worst news in the world, the headline for a nuclear disaster.  That wasn’t exactly new to her, so she could handle it.  She could handle all of it, if it meant that the girl inside was okay.

“She’ll be fine.” Rachel assured out of nowhere, as if either of them had asked.  Sadly, it wasn’t even something she could fully believe, but it felt like the right thing to say. “Probably just a, a bug or something.”

Santana’s scowl hadn’t left her face, but Rachel noticed that she looked at her out of the corner of her eye in a way that made Rachel feel strangely exposed.

“Yeah, I bet, now that daddy’s swooped in and saved the day. Moishe already has it in for her, this’ll be the last straw.” Santana spat, literally spat right on the porch floor, and Rachel watched the glob of saliva soak into the wood in something akin to horror.

“I’ll have you know that my father is a wonderful man and a brilliant physician.  I’m confident that he–”

Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out from inside the cabin.  Both Noah and Santana spun around, looking ready to kick down the door with Rachel still plastered to it.  Regardless, she held her ground, curling her fingers around the door frame and holding back her shoulders.

“My father asked that we stay outside!”

“No, he asked that you stay outside. This is my cabin, Quinn is my friend, and you’re in my way. ” Santana punctuated her last three words with the heel of her palm against the door – only a few inches from Rachel’s face.  She gulped.

“I think we all just need to take a deep breath.” Rachel offered, to which Santana stepped back and began hurling more Spanish phrases at her.  Noah reached down and pulled out a metal cigarette case and popped the thing open when there was only a foot of space between them.

“Look, kid, you gotta let us in there.  I’m sure your pops is a real good doctor, but that’s our–”  He placed a cigarette between his lips, as if to silence himself.  The sickly sweet tobacco smell went straight up Rachel's nose.  “That’s our girl in there, okay?”

Rachel liked to think of herself as a student of the human condition, and a quiet one at that, by virtue of the fact that she’d had to hide her deep and abiding love for the theater for most of her young life.

Something in Noah’s eyes – it wasn’t right.  He knew something that she didn’t.

Without thinking, Rachel plucked the cigarette case from his hand and pressed it to her chest, as if holding it ransom.

“Do you – do you know why she’s sick, Noah?”  Rachel asked, trying to keep her voice pure of any accusation, though it was hard.

Noah stepped back, lighting his cigarette, balancing on the heels of his tap shoes for a moment.

“I got my suspicions.” He mumbled, fidgeting with the hair at the base of his skull with his free hand.  Rachel didn’t see Santana come to some kind of realization, but suddenly she was in Noah’s face, slapping both palms hard over his chest.  He stumbled back just the littlest bit.

“Your suspicions ?”

Noah squared his jaw, looking just about as mean as he liked to pretend he was.

“Oh, you’re not gonna talk now, tough guy?  What if she dies?”  The last word croaked out of Santana’s mouth, not even really a word at all.  She had her hands balled into fists on Noah’s chest, digging the knuckles in.

“Fine!  She might’a mentioned something about seeing a doctor.”

“A doctor?  For what, you good-for-nothing ingrate?”

Noah went a little limp against the porch railing.  Rachel felt like she would hold her breath until the end of time if that was long enough to get the boy to fess up.

“Y’know,” he coughed. “A lady doctor.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Rachel feel all the color drain from her face.  She immediately thought of Jacob’s comment from the night of the dance, how sure of himself he’d looked.

There had been girls at Rachel’s school that showed up with a little barely-there bump, and then didn’t come back at all.  Some perfectly nice girls, and some not-so-nice.

Which one did she think Quinn was?

Santana’s hands slid down and off Noah’s chest.  She stalked the porch, rubbing hard at the backs of her arms like it was cold out when it was quite possibly the warmest night of the summer so far.

“Can’t believe you, Puckerman, you know what she’s been through, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hey, you know what my man Louis said, It Takes Two To Tango.” He muttered. Rachel had to place both hands over her eyes and mouth to keep whatever face she was making from the two people in front of her.

She had no right to feel so angry, and she wasn’t even sure at who .  The girl in question was some such feet behind them going through God knows what, and Rachel suddenly felt as though she knew none of them, not even one single bit.  It seemed as though she had corralled a bunch of strangers off the street to act in a bad play.

They had been telling her, hadn’t they?  Warning her this whole time that she was in over her head, that she didn’t know these people and moreover that she didn’t want to know them.  But Rachel was willful to a fault, and when she wanted something, whatever that may be, she seldom backed down until she had gotten at least an approximation of it.

Right now it felt like she was getting the opposite of what she’d wanted, or rather like something was being taken away from her, some preposterous dream in which she was a part of something that mattered.

After a long bout of silence, with Rachel regretting various and sundry life choices behind the veil of her palms, she heard her daddy’s voice.

He’d been mostly quiet up until then, save a few mumblings and grumblings and questions to Quinn that were too low to really hear.

“You rest, okay?  I’ll let the little row of ducklings out here know you’re okay.”

Rachel turned and pressed her ear to the door, hard, just in time to hear Quinn say thank you with a voice that sounded like her throat had been cut with a rusty knife.  She winced, stepping to make way for her father.

When the door opened, both Santana and Noah stood at attention like a pair of soldiers, their shoulders squared and faces solemn.  Her daddy took one look at them, then at Rachel, and shook his head as he shut the door good and tight behind him.

“If she’s telling the truth, she’ll be fine.  I just hope for her sake she’s telling the truth.”  And that was all he said, which was absurd for a man as verbose as her daddy, a man that could talk the ear off of one of those mute Buddhist monks.

He was angry, that much was clear.  Rachel had spent most of her life trying to prevent her father from being disappointed in her, and one false step, one dither over towards something that had felt inescapable and intoxicating was now giving Rachel her first real dose of Hiram Berry’s scorn.

He snapped his bag closed and walked down the steps, never once looking back at any of them, much less Rachel herself.

She felt a sob bubble up in her throat, and then Santana’s eyes snapped to her.

“Outta my way.” She shoved Rachel aside, only to find that the door had been locked.

“Hey!  I live here too!” She shouted, though Rachel could tell she was holding a lot back.

“Santana–” Rachel started, hoping to try and appeal to whatever down deep sense of propriety the girl had, at least for Quinn’s sake, but she just shot her a look like she would snap her neck clean in two if she said another word.

Rachel stepped aside.

“Q, come on!”  Her appeal was weaker that time.  If there was a sob stuck in Rachel’s throat then there was a pathetic whine stuck in Santana’s.  Rachel wondered how close the two girls really were, if they had known each other their whole lives or just for a short period of time.  She imagined that Quinn could easily engender a fast, intense loyalty.  She was just that kind of person.

“Come on, San, let’s find Brit, I’m sure you can stay with her and Georgia for the night.  If Q doesn’t want us here, she doesn’t want us here.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the one that made this happen!” Santana, obviously lacking entirely a sense of propriety, all but screamed into the night.

What exactly had Noah made happen?  Rachel wanted to stand between them and demand an explanation.  If Quinn was pregnant, well–

“I don’t understand what happened.” Rachel whispered, but Santana was so riled that the small sound still caught her ear.

“You don’t understand? ” She sneered, taking several long steps that brought her nearly chest to chest with Rachel. “Are you braindead?   Shit-for-brains over there knocked her up and now–”

“Pennyroyal.”  The voice came from the side of the cabin, distinctly her father’s.  It was something he did when he was angry – he would run off to recoup and then return, a much stronger force of nature.  You generally did not want to be in the vicinity when he returned, which Rachel knew, but so many things were happening, and she couldn’t keep track of all the people she was supposed to be anymore.

They all went quiet, again.  Santana and Noah were startlingly obedient in his presence, like they couldn’t decide which one of them had gotten Quinn in a family way, who was to blame.  Rachel almost laughed out loud at the thought before her daddy stepped up into the porchlight and she saw his face.

She folded her hands in front of her, choosing instead to stare at the ground, appropriately penitent.

“You kids wouldn’t know where she would’ve gotten something like that, would ya?” He asked.  Rachel watched his loafers clicking against the porch floor until he was closer to Noah than he was to anyone else.

“What about you, son?”  

Rachel briefly looked up to see Noah looking positively seasick.  Her daddy had nearly a whole head on the boy, and he was doing his best to look imposing.

“Uh, no sir.  Not so sure what that is.”

Behind them, Santana cleared her throat.

“It’s, uh, it’s something some of the girls pass around.  For taking care of… situations.”

Rachel’s pulse quickened in her veins.

“Pregnancy.” Her daddy offered, eyes never leaving Noah’s terrified face. “Women use it to induce miscarriage. If you take enough of it, and it seems like your friend in there did, it can induce a powerful nausea.  Cramping, pain, stomach bleeds.  Now, she said she had the tea.  I know some young gals end up taking the oil–” His head jerked around to regard Santana, and Rachel quickly looked back down at the ground, lest he try and regard her as well.

“It wasn’t the oil, was it?  She said it wasn’t, and all I can do is believe the girl, but if it was – let’s just say, pregnancy would be the least of her worries.”

“N-no, it’s – it’s a powder.  Nurse Julia even keeps it stashed in the clinic.  Shit, Q must’ve gone in there when she was off drinking herself silly.”

Rachel's daddy sucked a breath in deep through his nose and crossed his arms at his waist.

“She took too much of it.  All you girls need to be more careful, you hear me?  Now, she’ll be fine, like I said, but–”

Then, Rachel could just tell that he was looking at her, whether he could see her or not.  It was like the summer air went frigid.

“Tell her to cut it out.   All you girls, you understand?  It doesn’t even work, anyhow, it’ll kill you before it kills any unborn baby.  Now, Rachel, you’re coming with me."

For a moment, Rachel thought about lifting her head up, looking into her daddy’s eyes, and telling him no.

But when had she ever had the heart to do that?  And who or what would she even be doing it for?

Without looking up, she nodded, taking once last downcast glance towards where Quinn was hopefully sleeping before picking up her feet and walking down the porch steps.

Chapter Text

The walk back to their cabin was like walking to the gallows.  Rachel felt like she had somehow been exposed, had all of her skin peeled off to reveal that she was another person underneath, one that her daddy rightfully hated.

It was a silent walk, too, which was worse than any amount of chewing out when it came to her father, up until they hit the threshold of the front door.

He stopped in it, as if denying her entry.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing with those people, Rachel?  Have you – have you lost your mind?”

She had been asking herself the very same question, yet couldn’t seem to come up with an appropriate response.

"Now, I know all that business with that Hudson boy really messed with your head, but – you're not to be around or speak to any of those people ever again, do you understand?"

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, though she hadn't the first idea what she was going to say. It didn't much matter, as her daddy wasn't interested in hearing anything from her, anyway.

"No excuses, no buts. I know you, Rachel, you're a meddler. But these kinds of people–" He pinched the bridge of his nose, still looming in the doorway, unmoving. "Those kinds of people will only drag you down with them. You have a promising future ahead of you, and you'd be wise to keep your eyes on the prize and away from…"

He trailed off, the tension ebbing in his voice as a pair of newlyweds walked by hand in hand, the Wajowskis, probably enjoying an evening stroll before bed.

Normal people. Wealthy people. Rachel remembered Quinn talking about her life before her parents kicked her to the curb, her dance lessons and her normal existence.

One little mistake could turn you into the kind of person that her daddy didn't lower his voice for.

She had always thought hiding herself from him was to spare him pain, but she realized in that moment that it was to spare herself.

He was, afterall, the only person in the world that cared anything about her. Without him, what else would even be left?

"I'm sorry, daddy. They just seemed so glamorous, y'know?"

He finally turned around and walked into the cabin, allowing Rachel to follow before shutting the door behind her.

"You think girls going out and getting themselves in trouble like that is glamorous?" He asked, and inside in the lamp light she could see the sweat all along his brow and his neck.  He pulled hard at his tie to loosen the collar.

"She didn't – I didn't know. She didn't seem like she–"

Like she what ? Rachel didn't know. Many conflicting feelings swirled through the cavity of her chest, but shame was high up on the list.

Rachel flopped down onto the sofa instead of storming off into her room like she wanted. It would've been easy to just crawl under her covers and forget the whole night ever happened.

So her daddy never wanted her to see or talk to the entertainment staff again? It's not like it wouldn't be easy, it's not like it wouldn't make their day!

Then she thought of Quinn's eyes above Ezra Klein's shoulder, watching her.

"Will she really be okay?" Rachel asked, breathless with the memory of it all.

Her daddy carefully sat himself beside her. He smelled like pipe tobacco and Old Spice aftershave, same as he'd smelled her whole life. She wished she could just hug him and have him tell her that everything would be fine, tell her that she could talk to Quinn, that she could be around her or touch her or whatever it was that she felt like she wanted to do.

"I think she will. I gave her some medicine to help with the nausea. She knows to keep sipping fluids. It's just something she'll just have to work through. I'll call my colleague out in Schenectady first thing tomorrow and make her an appointment."

Rachel let her body sink into the cushions of the sofa.

"The gynecologist?"

He nodded.

"If she's pregnant, she needs to get a test. Based on what she said, though… I think she might just be scared. It's too soon to really tell these things. But you know how girls like that are, who can really say when the trouble began?”

Reflexively, Rachel tensed, ready to defend a girl she didn’t know at all.  But just as soon as the urge came, it fell away, and Rachel was left with a fatigue that she felt in abnormal places – her jaw, her calves, some small spot at the back of her skull.

"I think I’ll go to bed, Daddy.” She sighed, standing up and re-situating her disheveled clothes.

“One more thing, sweetheart.”

Oh, it wasn’t a casual call, not at all.  It was a warning.  She could hear the gravity in his voice.  Rachel stood perfectly still, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she waited.

He hesitated, deliberating.  He wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.

“You haven’t–” His lips pressed together.  He reached up and twisted his thumb and forefinger around the rim of his glasses like he did when he was doing his taxes or playing pool.  “You haven’t put yourself in, ah, that kind of situation, have you?  The girl out waiting with you said that stuff is passed around, and–”

“Daddy, you know I’m saving myself for my future husband.” She lied, one of many.  It was more than a little troubling how easily they came out of her mouth.  Finn had made her first time as romantic as possible, rose petals and sparkling cider and all that, but it had been in one of those motels just over the George Washington bridge, and the few times thereafter had been quick and stolen on Finn’s bunk that he shared with his step-brother just before his mom came home after school.

Needless to say, none of it was worth changing the way her father looked at her.

A deep, relieved sigh whistled out of her daddy’s mouth.

“All right, then.  We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”  Rachel nodded, careful not to catch his eye as she turned to walk with her tail between her legs towards her room.  

“Listen, sweetie–” Another pause.  Rachel turned and smiled so sweet that she thought her teeth might’ve been aching. “I may go out and have a drink and a smoke with some of the fellas tonight.  Moishe invited me up to the Big House.  You’ll be all right alone for a few hours, won’t you?”

A million different scenarios played in Rachel’s head in the span of a second, mostly involving going back to Quinn’s cabin under the cover of night and breaking in somehow.  Surely Jacob knew where a crowbar would be hidden.

“Of course, Daddy.”

He twisted his mouth to the side before pulling Rachel into a quick hug, complete with a firm kiss to the top of her head.  

– - -

Rachel did not go back to Quinn’s cabin.  Once her father left, the notion that he might pop up at any moment and check in on her sleeping frame (which he would, he always did) was too much for her heart to take.

And he’d said Quinn would be fine, hadn’t he? Even so, the night of sleep had been fitful and full of half-awake nightmares involving her mother, for some reason.  She’d come back to be with them, to end everyone’s suffering, but Rachel had been off getting felt up by Noah in the woods just outside of the abandoned rec center.

When Rachel woke up for good, it was barely light out, but she could hear her daddy rummaging around, trying to make coffee with the little electric percolator that only worked half the time.

Rachel threw on her robe, tucked her sheets under her pillow in a half-hearted attempt to make the bed, and went to face her father.

He was unshaven and a little wild-eyed as she stepped out onto the porch where he was drinking a steaming cup of what was probably more water than coffee.

“This is terrible.” He said, holding the cup up, and Rachel just sighed and came to sit on the long porch swing next to him.

“You should’ve asked me to make it, you know you’re no good with appliances.”

He grumbled, but didn’t disagree, and for a second Rachel felt reasonably confident that the night before hadn’t happened at all, and that Quinn was off scrubbing the work trucks or weeding garden beds or whatever Moishe was having her do to prove herself.

“I’ve already made an appointment for that young lady to get a pregnancy test, two fridays from today, and it was quite the ordeal, let me tell you, so she’d better show up.”

“Oh, daddy, it’s awfully kind of you, but I don’t think she can afford it–”

“That’s been taken care of.  All she has to do is show up.  I imagine she’s still sleeping, but I’ll go up in a few hours and let her know.”

Rachel swallowed, taking her father’s much larger hand in both of her smaller ones.

“You don’t want to have to do that, do you, daddy?  I could go for you. I mean, I do know her, or at the very least I know her name , and–”

“What did I say about those people, Rachel?  You’re to have nothing more to do with them.”

He coughed, taking another wincing sip of his coffee.  Rachel didn’t let go of his hand.

“Yes, I understand, but surely relaying this vital information could be an exception to the rule?  And I’m already going up that way this morning, regardless.  Jacob is doing his morning meeting out in the staff courtyard and I wanted to catch him, so–”

Lies, lies, lies.  She wondered what Quinn would say, or even Santana, to know how good of an actress she was.

“You would tell me if this has something to do with that boy, right?  He hasn’t dropped that poor girl and moved onto my daughter, has he?”

Rachel tried her hardest not to laugh in his face.  Her previous night’s dream did help her tamp down her mirth, anyway. The thought of kissing Noah, especially after last night, not just the dream but everything else, made her feel like she had bugs crawling under her skin.

“Daddy, please.” She huffed, placing his hand back on his own lap like it was something of hers she was giving to him. “While Noah is certainly attractive, he’s…”

“An idiot?” Her daddy offered, and Rachel smiled, remembering Santana’s insults.

“I don’t know him very well at all, but I would say that’s reasonably accurate.  I prefer highly intelligent people.”

“Especially after that Finn–” 

Rachel smacked her daddy’s shoulder, standing up and tightening the tie around her robe.

“I’m going to go take a shower and freshen up, then I will let Quinn – that’s her name, daddy – know that she has an appointment in two weeks.  I won’t be gone long.”  She bent down and kissed his cheek, noticing the twitch of his lip, positive that he wanted to say something, maybe even stop her, but in the end she went inside and he stayed silent.

– - -

Yes, she would eventually get around to telling Quinn about her appointment, but she more pointedly was going to find Noah Puckerman to have a very stern talk with him.

Hadn’t he told her that Quinn barely even danced with him?  Hadn’t he said that she had been dealt a lousy hand?  Rachel knew it wasn’t her place, none of this was, but if not her, then who else would be defending Quinn’s honor?  It seemed like all Santana wanted to do was get into a physical altercation, and obviously that wasn’t going to solve anything.

The door to the old rec center was propped open with one of those crystal ashtrays her daddy loved so much.  When Rachel pushed it open the rest of the way, she spied Noah sitting on one of the old moth-eaten chaise lounges, smoking a cigarette, per usual.

“I thought you might be here.”

He looked over at her and she realized that he likely had not slept the night before, not even a fitful, nightmarish sleep like hers.

“Cool, ‘cept I’m always here.” His voice was flat, monotone, nothing like it was any other time she’d heard him speak.

“You don’t have some sort of day job at the resort?” Rachel asked, stepping fully into the room. It was different in there in the light of day, without all the smoldering bodies and mingling cigarette smoke it looked almost desolate.

“Nah, Moishe’s my uncle’s best friend, they go way back.  He lets me pretty much do whatever I want.  So, I do a little song and dance for the people, and that’s good enough for him.  Fletcher’s pays much better, anyhow.”

Rachel licked her lips, toeing a randomly discarded undershirt on the ground.  The armpits were stained yellow.

“The resort over?  You work for them, too?”

“Some nights, yeah.  We all do.  Freelance gigs.”

Rachel hummed, walking until she was only a few feet from where Noah sat.  He was still in his suit and bowtie from The Telephone Hour.  She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the memory of him singing “This is Harvey Johnson, can I speak to Mary Sue?” with his voice cracking for the bit.

As if reading her mind, he looked up at her and said, with no indicated irony, “so, what’s the story, morning glory?”

Rachel was taken aback.  She thought he would know, was sure he had done what she couldn’t do and gone back to Quinn’s cabin that night with a purpose and a crowbar.

“I thought–”

“Q knows what she wants.  She dragged herself outta that bed and locked the door for a reason.”

“But you’re not worried?”

“Your pops said she’d be fine, right?  Whatever happened to him being a brilliant physician ?”

“He is!” Rachel exclaimed, raising her voice well above the volume required to get her point across.  She dug her fingernails into her palms while Noah shrugged.

“See, this is what I came here to discuss with you, mister.  I don’t really know the first thing about you, but it seems to me that you should be the one taking care of Quinn, and it’s clear that you are not.”  

Noah pressed the butt of his cigarette into the upholstery of the chaise lounge and popped up to his full height, as if he could scare Rachel in that glittery bowtie of his.

“Oh, yeah?  Seems like you wanna be the one to take care of Quinn.  Lucky for you, I hear she likes–”

It turned out that Noah, in fact, should have been the one afraid of Rachel.  He hadn’t expected the slap.  Heck, she hadn’t expected it, either, but her hand acted like it had a mind of its own.  

Noah’s palm flew to his cheek like he’d been suckerpunched.

“Listen here,” He spat. “Q is a free agent, always has been. And you can trust me on that, pipsqueak, because there ain’t been a single time since I’ve known her that I didn’t want her to be mine.  This is what she does, all right?  She goes a little nuts every once in a while, sad-like, see?  And she gets wasted and does dumb things, and I just so happen to be one of those dumb things.”

He puffed his chest up, but it looked ridiculous while he was still holding his cheek where she’d slapped him.  She wondered if it was red, kind of hoped that it was.

“Anyway,” He winced, taking a few steps back from her, for safety no doubt. “Why do you care?  Does she even know your name?”

Out of all the supremely nauseating things that had taken place in the last 24 hours, Rachel had not been prepared for how bad that question would make her feel.

Her desperate mental search within the two whole whopping times that she’d had a conversation with Quinn was coming up very short of her own name, though it ended with the abrupt sound of the screen door slamming.  Rachel turned around to see Santana and Brittany, both hands linked, Santana walking backwards like she was leading the girl somewhere.

Noah had the wherewithal to give a little cough.

“Oh!” Brittany yelped, causing Santana to stumble backwards and let go of her hands.  When she turned around, Rachel wished she was invisible, that she could somehow sink into the floorboards and leave undetected.

Quinn didn’t even know her name . If she had, maybe whatever hot garbage her friend was about to spew in Rachel’s face would’ve been worth sticking around for.

But nothing came, not at first.  All Rachel saw was the red hot burn on Santana’s cheeks.

Then:

“How the hell are you everywhere?  It’s like I turn around, doesn’t matter where, and there’s this short chick with eyes like a calf about to be slaughtered staring me down.”

Rachel scrunched up her face.  Of all the insults that had ever been hurled her way–

“I was just having a chat with Mr. Puckerman.” She said, chin held high, arms crossed in front of her.  Santana glanced back at Brittany once and then laughed.

“Girly, if you’re trying to convince Puck to be your arm candy, forget about it, he ain’t domesticated.”

Rachel scoffed, looking to the boy for some kind of backup, though a part of her knew that she was unlikely to get it.  He rolled his eyes.

“She’s not here for that , she’s here to bust my chops about Q.”

“What?” Santana huffed, rivaling Rachel’s scoff in indignity if not volume. “You’re joking, right?  Q doesn’t even know your name, kid.”

“For the hundredth time, I am not a kid, we are clearly the same age, and Quinn might very well know–”

“Rachel.”

All eyes in the room shifted to the door like God himself (or herself, who was Rachel to say?) had just walked in.

The Quinn in question stood there, looking only a little worse for wear, denim shorts and boring old Ben Israel’s staff t-shirt on.  Her hair was brushed straight with her bangs pushed to the side like she couldn’t be bothered with them, and Rachel supposed that she could not, given her state the night before.  

She felt like someone had come by and snatched her tongue out of her mouth.

Quinn did know her name.  She wanted to run and hug her, to buy her things, to tell her that she would never, ever let another bad thing happened to her–

“You lived.” Brittany said, robotically voicing what everyone else would never dare say.  Rachel’s heart was beating a mile a minute, so fast and loud that she was afraid that if Quinn were to do it again, say her name in that way, that she wouldn’t even be able to hear it.

Quinn nodded slowly before kicking off from the doorjamb and walking towards Rachel.  Well, walking towards all of them, really, but Rachel liked to think that she was coming for her specifically.

As she got closer, Rachel’s wishful thinking appeared to be bordering on not-so-wishful after all. Quinn’s eyes were heavy on her face, searching and searching, but for what?  Regardless, breaking their shared gaze was unthinkable.

“You found me.” She said carefully, eerily mirroring their first conversation, though the look on her face was baffling to Rachel, like an ocean with two separate tides.

“I – It wasn’t–”  It wasn’t what, exactly?  It wasn’t me hopelessly longing to see your face?  It wasn’t the fact that I think about you constantly, like some kind of mental patient?  What could Rachel even say to excuse herself?

“I noticed that you were missing.” She said finally and completely, pressing her lips together firmly lest she say anything more, give anything else away.

Quinn held her gaze for a moment longer before dragging her eyes off towards Noah.  She really was a bit scary, wasn’t she?  Like some kind of wild animal that had been trapped in a cage.

The words that came out of her mouth next were barbed but low, like there was someone in the room that wasn’t meant to hear them.

“Whatever you heard last night, whatever you saw, we will not be talking about it.  Do you understand me?”

Noah swallowed and nodded, never even bothering to protest.

“And you.” She turned to Santana, who was once again holding hands with Brittany, though it looked comforting more than anything else.  For such a boorish young woman, she certainly was affectionate with at least one person.

“Hey, don't look at me.”

“Same rules apply.  I don’t know anything, and neither do any of you. Dr. Berry said–” Quinn's eyes quickly fluttered to Rachel, then back to Santana, as if she could pretend it hadn’t happened.  The timbre of her voice sunk even lower. “He said it’s too soon to know anything.”

“So why the hell did you stuff yourself chalk full of that crap, Q?  You shoulda come to me, I would’ve, I don’t know, helped you out–”

“That’s enough.” Quinn said, her voice straining against the gravel that seemed to make up the lining of her throat.  Her voice was always the littlest bit raspy, but now it was downright guttural.

She turned back to Rachel with her confusing, swimming look replaced by a hard, resolved one.

“You have no business being here, you need to go.”

Rachel looked back at Noah for the second time that afternoon like he would be on her side, though she knew he would not.  He looked at Quinn like he wanted to hoist her over his shoulder and marry her, any loyalties he had to anyone in the room were for her and her alone.

“But I–”

Quinn sputtered a bit, annoyed that Rachel wasn’t immediately acquiescing to her demands.  It was clear now that she was used to being revered, to having that look on her face be met with fear and cowering.  Rachel, of course, cowered to almost no one, especially to someone that she felt was clearly just a wounded young girl underneath whatever armor she had acquired over the years.

Didn’t the others see that, behind her eyes?  In the way she held her arms at her sides, the set of her jaw?  It seemed so obvious to Rachel.

“Just – why are you here ?  You’re everywhere!”

“See, that’s what I said!” Santana threw up her hands, and Rachel looked between the two of them like they had merged into one adversary, trying not to let her feelings be hurt.

Behind her, Noah sighed.

“Yeah, doll, no offense but that’s enough with the nosin’ around.  I can handle this.”

“You can what now?” Quinn shot back, her chest heaving with each annoyed breath.

“I said I can handle –” Noah began, but he wasn’t allowed to finish, because Quinn had moved forward and shoved him so hard that he stumbled back into the chaise lounge he’d been lazing about in.

“Are you deaf? I said we’re not talking about this, and we’re not.  There’s nothing to do, okay?  Life goes on!”

“There is, actually.” Rachel interjected, suddenly remembering Quinn’s hard-fought doctor’s appointment.  It wasn’t really the time, she realized, but she was also afraid that one or all of the parties currently in the room would throw her out and lock the door behind them.

All eyes were on her.  Quinn’s face, which had been quite pale upon entry, was now flushed pink in anger.

“Well, you see, my father took it upon himself to schedule an appointment with a–” Rachel’s eyes flicked to Noah, and she brought her voice down to a low hiss. “A lady doctor .  To, ah, confirm or deny your situation.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

“I can’t afford that.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.  You just need to show up.  It’s in Schenectady two Fridays from today, after hours since the doctor had to fit you into his schedule.” She smiled, sure that such a selfless act by her father would no doubt be met with a flurry of thanks and perhaps even a hug from every person in the room if she was lucky.

“Nope, not gonna happen.” Noah spoke up, coming to stand next to Quinn with his shoulders all angular, like he had any right.

"What? I don't believe you have any say in her medical care.” Rachel tried not to sneer, because he hadn’t been all bad, just a dolt without a proper moral compass, but then Quinn was nodding in agreement.

“We have plans.” She said, revealing nothing.  Noah’s jaw cinched.  They looked like two club bouncers refusing to let her past the velvet rope.

“Oh, you mean Fletcher’s?” Brittany asked, oblivious to whatever withholding game they were trying to play.  Quinn deflated a little bit, her eyes casting down to the floor.

“Yes.  Fletcher’s.”

“Oh?” Rachel asked, picking up on the little tidbits of conversation she’d had with Noah before everyone else decided to show up. “You’re performing, then?  At another resort?”

Quinn looked at her like she’d just read her mind, and Rachel wanted her to keep thinking it, so she didn’t offer a single correction.

“Yeah, Q and Puck go there at least once a month.  The Fletchers pay loads more for evening work than Moishe.” Brittany explained.

Rachel didn’t like the sound of evening work , though she held her tongue.

“We dance there some Fridays, just the two of us.  Classy resort like that, the guests like it.” Noah shrugged, choosing to look somewhere north of Rachel’s eyes, though she didn’t think he was lying, probably just frightened to death that Quinn would castrate him for airing any more of her personal business.

The more she learned about these people, the less she understood.  Quinn’s life seemed unnecessarily slippery, like something you could never quite get a hold of no matter how hard you held on.

Was she Sandra Dee in sundresses and flipped hair? Was she a bookish, denim-wearing beatnik like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face?  Or was she a prurient, tragic figure like Marilyn Monroe after all?

“You’ll skip it, then.” Rachel nodded, resolute, certain Quinn wouldn’t respond to an ounce of timidity. She wanted to feel beset, Rachel could tell.  She didn’t know how , but she could.

Quinn took a very disagreeable step forward, but it was Noah that was quickest to respond.

“Like hell we will, I send that money to my mom every month, she can’t make rent without it.”

Instead of laying in to Rachel, Quinn licked her lips, turning her head to look at Noah.  Rachel watched her jaw tighten.

“I didn’t know–” She said, her voice gentler than Rachel had ever imagined it could be.  She felt her chest tighten like she’d just tripped and fallen.

“No reason for you to.” Noah sniffed, crossing his arms under his chest.  The veins in his hands were all bulging from how he’d been holding them so tightly.  It seemed as though everyone in the room held their breath.

“Brittany, what if–” Quinn gulped. “What if you went in my place?  Just for that one night.”

“Sorry, Quinn, but me and Sam booked The Pines that night.”

“You couldn’t skip out just this once?  I can–”

“Hey, what did she just say, Q?  Forget about it!” Santana stepped in front of Brittany, matching Quinn in her Ben Israel’s garb, but no less intimidating. 

Quinn quirked an eyebrow.

“What about you, then?”

Santana barked out a laugh that echoed in the empty space around them.

“You joking?  You know if Moishe catches me he'll kick me to the curb with pleasure.  And you know I need this job.”  Something unspoken but deeply felt passed between Santana and Quinn, and if Rachel had no tact to speak of, she might’ve asked, but as it was, she had enough sense to avoid getting her face punched in by girls like Santana.

“What about Rachel?” Brittany asked, hooking her thumb towards Rachel like she was a fork in a road and not a person.

Rachel was certain that all of the blood in her body stopped moving at once.  A heady highlights reel of that roughly two minute dance with Quinn, now a lifetime ago, played in her mind, unbidden.  Then, the nightmare with Noah.  Her mother.  Being in the wrong place at the wrong time for the rest of her cursed life.

She opened her mouth to give a proper protest, but Quinn beat her to it.

“Absolutely not.  She can’t–”

“Really, I can’t.” Rachel agreed, nodding so hard she felt like her head would break off of her neck.

“But Quinn,” Brittany started.  “She’s totally teachable.  You said yourself that she–”

“Brittany!” Quinn screeched, probably more like an authoritative shout had she not spent the night spewing her guts out, but as it were, the girl’s name came out of Quinn’s mouth like a cat in heat.

“Brittany, I appreciate your consideration, but really, I can’t even do the merengue!”

All at once, Brittany was grabbing one hand, then the other, and Rachel found herself being pulled into the girl’s body.

“Follow my lead.” Brittany said, barely above a whisper, as she guided Rachel’s hand up and level with their heads.

“It’s like you’re trying to stop someone from hugging you.” She explained, murmuring a few more simple directions until they were just moving and Brittany was counting down steps with a gentle click of her tongue and Rachel, well, she was following along.

“Steps should be soft and short, like you.” Brittany grinned, her thighs colliding with Rachel’s, shins brushing shins.  The merengue was a close dance, and the room was so silent that all you could hear was the shuffling of their limbs against each other.

“See, you’re dancing the merengue.” Brittany said, interrupting her counting, and interrupting Rachel’s overwhelmed thoughts.  She was blushing, she knew it, the tips of her ears felt like they could’ve started a pilot light.

All of a sudden, two voices rang out in unison: 

“Ok, that’s enough!”

Santana was pulling at Brittany’s forearm and Quinn, oh God , she was replacing Brittany’s whole body with her own like it was her God given right.

“We don’t dance the merengue, we dance the mambo.” Quinn said, nodding just once, her tone severe like a teacher’s should be as she picked up Rachel’s dropped hands.

Rachel noted, silently, that this was the second time in so many weeks that Quinn had demanded she cut in on a dance with her.  A bit of a martinet, Rachel thought, a girl that couldn’t stand seeing things being done the wrong way.  Regardless, Rachel felt it was an admirable quality, one that they shared.

Without any of them noticing, Noah had gone off to the record player and popped on some record full of brass instruments and brushed snare drums, the stuff of modern Cuban music.  It wasn’t as if Rachel was going to start dancing the mambo fresh out of the gate, but something about Quinn’s hand in hers, the closeness of their hips, the music – she imagined that she could.

Quinn forced her into closed position, their thighs grazing, Rachel just off to the side.  Up close, Quinn looked so, so tired, with bloodshot eyes and a yellow pallor. 

Quinn stepped back, and Rachel stepped forward. She followed her like she followed Brittany, with an even more fervent desperation.

This was not the mambo, not quite, and Rachel knew it, but she didn’t say it aloud.  Whatever this was, it was too slow, but it was good.

“You should really be resting.” Rachel said, the first word between them in several humid minutes.

Quinn swallowed, picking up their pace.

“You count fours, one step back, twist, one step forward, twist.” Quinn directed her as she spoke, and without even looking away from Quinn’s face, Rachel wasn’t sure that she was doing anything right at all.

There was a soft glow of sweat along Quinn’s hairline and just above her lip before the song had even finished, and Rachel decided to drive her point home.

“I mean, you really shouldn’t be engaging in any physical activity.  If – if you really want me to help, Noah can teach me.”

Quinn looked completely offended by the notion, halfway sick at the idea if Rachel had to say so.  She just wasn’t sure which part.

“I’m fine.” She finally said, her lips moving over her counts, teeth scraping along her lip each time she came to four.

“So, you’ll go, then?  My father is a bit of a despot when it comes to doing things his way.  He’ll probably have us both tarred and feathered if you don’t show up.”

It was meant to be a joke, sort of, but Quinn’s face dimmed with the knowledge.

“He was so kind to me.” She whispered, and given their off-kilter positions, it hit the side of Rachel’s neck.  “I wouldn’t – It wouldn’t be right to refuse.”

There her voice went again, softening like butter on toast.  Rachel felt the need to take a deep breath.

“So, it’s settled, then. If I can be taught in less than two weeks, I’ll perform with Noah at Fletcher’s in your place, and you’ll go to your appointment.  Now– ” Rachel pulled back completely from Quinn, noticing a vague resistance where their hands were clasped.

As if she had known, which she really had not, the song came to its end, and the record just hissed and hissed as Quinn watched her, steely-eyed.

“You need to go and rest.  I’ll be here first thing in the morning if you will.  If you’re still feeling poorly, then Noah can just–”

“No.” Quinn interrupted, shaking her head.  Over by the record player, Noah hummed a little bit in what must have been amusement. 

“I’m not a good teacher, am I, Q?”

The look she shot the boy might’ve killed him if he’d taken it at all seriously.

“I’ll be here at 9am, Moishe has me on breakfast setup tomorrow.  Wear something–” Quinn paused, taking in Rachel’s dress shirt tucked into a pleated, argyle skirt. “Else.” She finished, turning around and gesturing to Brittany and Santana, who followed her out the door like two well-trained puppies.

Chapter Text

“What are you wearing?”  Was the first thing that came out of Quinn’s mouth upon seeing Rachel prancing through the door of the old rec center.  She was early, though clearly Quinn had been the earliest.

Rachel stopped in her tracks, looking down at her attire.  She didn’t exactly come on summer vacation with athletic wear, so she had to improvise in the form of a one-piece bathing suit and heels.  

Quinn was wearing a long-sleeved black leotard with a short dusky pink wrap skirt on the bottom, looking all the world like a prima ballerina.  Even her hair was up tight, knotted at the back of her head.  This was a new Quinn, she thought, one of many.  She looked severe – all angles.

“You simply told me to wear something else.” Rachel shrugged, setting down a bag full of a change of clothes should she run across her daddy when all was said and done.

“Yes, but you’re wearing heels and a bathing suit .”

“What?  Don’t women wear heels while dancing the mambo?”

Quinn couldn’t argue with that, though Rachel supposed she might try, and the thought made her strangely giddy.

All the girl did was grumble and walk over to the record player. She only had to bend down and place the needle on, and Rachel realized then that she’d come early to set up, to prepare for her.  She had picked the exact record she wanted to be playing while she taught Rachel how to do her dance.

Quinn stood back up to her full height, dusting her hands, one eyebrow raised high.

“How tall are you?” She asked.  Rachel could see her eyes darting to different parts of her body.  A hip, a knee, the jut of her elbow.  She was being very business-like, a curious departure from any previous demeanor Rachel had experienced of hers.

“I’m five foot two inches.  Two and a half if I’m feeling very regal that day.”

Quinn snorted, walking towards Rachel slowly, still in full assessment-mode.  At least, that’s what Rachel imagined having a woman’s eyes all over her body must be.  Quinn’s eyes, in particular.  If she was looking just to look, Rachel imagined she would’ve hid it well, from one or both of them.

“How tall are you ?” Rachel asked, as if they were simply making conversation, though Quinn just looked at her, her face this time, with her lips parted.

“That doesn’t matter.” Quinn said after a moment, taking Rachel’s hands and bringing them back into the same position they’d been the afternoon before. “I’ll take lead, obviously.  We don’t have much time, so I’m going to need you to pay attention.  Can you do that?”

There was that eyebrow again, dominant, its own little question mark.  Rachel nodded, the adrenaline swelling in her body.

“I’m a quick learner, always have been, daddy once told me that I learned Twinkle Twinkle Little Star after only hearing it twice as a baby.”

Quinn ignored her, seeming to consider something.  She dropped Rachel’s hands, tutting at nothing before turning to face out towards the windows where the morning sun was shining onto the sullied floor.

“Come on, do as I do.” She said, and Rachel scurried to stand beside her.

“Like this?” Rachel asked, toe pointed and poised in front of her, trying to mimic Quinn’s position.  Quinn looked down, dragging teeth over her lower lip before looking back up into Rachel’s eyes.

“Yes, actually.” She said, her face a mixture of surprise and something else – Rachel liked to think she was impressed.

Oh, she hoped that she was.  She probably would’ve sold her soul to any number of unsavory characters to have Quinn be impressed by her.

They went quickly and efficiently through the steps with Quinn’s low and rhythmic four-time count.  The first half minute was solo, facing the audience, all arms like some kind of Indian goddess, and then they were expected to turn to each other, snapping into place.

Rachel found she liked the snapping, pictured them like two magnets being placed, finally, in each others’ space.

By the time the record needed to be turned over, Rachel was sweating out of every pore in her body and she felt like her calves were on fire.

“Here.” Quinn handed her a glass Coke bottle full of crystal clear water, the same one she’d just been drinking from.  Rachel hesitated, inspecting the smooth rim for the exact spot that Quinn had placed her lips so that she could avoid it, for propriety’s sake.

“Something wrong?” Quinn asked, stretching her arms over her head, not looking at Rachel head-on but still looking at her.

“Oh, oh no.” Rachel smiled politely, craning her neck back as she took a greatly needed sip of water, a sip that turned into a chug as she realized just how parched she was.  When she was done, she wiped her mouth, holding the bottle back out to Quinn.

“This is hard work.”

“Harder in heels.” Quinn conceded, taking the bottle, their knuckles brushing.  She was still breathing hard, though not as hard as Rachel, and little bits of her bangs had fallen out of her hair-sprayed bun.

“Yes, well, I’ll be more prepared next time.”

“I’ll see if Santana will come off a leotard.  You’re about her size.”

Rachel couldn’t imagine being Santana’s size, whose presence was massive in addition to her always wearing heels that looked like they belonged in a museum.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.  I can have my father take me into town to get something.”

Verbal silence followed.  Quinn hummed, and Rachel couldn’t tell if it was pleasant or mocking, or an intoxicating mixture of both.

“Will you thank your father for me?”  Quinn asked, as if they’d been talking about everything , which they pointedly had not.  She took another swig of water, and Rachel imagined that there was no way that their lip-marks hadn’t commingled at that point.

“Of course, but hadn’t you already?  I thought–”

Quinn shook her head. “I did, of course, yes.  I meant for the appointment.  I can’t – I don’t exactly have the cash flow for doctors appointments.”

Rachel nodded, because of course, working in the Borscht Belt over the summer didn’t exactly afford anyone a liveable salary, much less for unexpected medical expenses.

“We’re happy to help.” She said, wiping her sweating hands on her thighs before realizing that they were perhaps even sweatier.

“We?” Quinn asked, picking up a towel that had been draped over one of the chairs in the corner and wiping at the back of her neck.

“Um, he.  My father.  He likes things to be a certain way, but he can’t abide suffering. I suppose that’s why he became a doctor.”

“And what about you?” Quinn asked, but it was long after, so long that the question was confusing after Rachel had gone to her bag and pulled out her own towel and checked her face, just for fun, in her compact mirror.

“What… about… me?” Rachel asked, holding her bag in the crook of her elbow, trying to decide if there was even a proper place for her to change.

“Are you happy to help?” Quinn asked, her voice unusually mousy.  Rachel looked up at her and smiled, though it was tempered – she could’ve gone bigger.  She could’ve smiled so hard that her face hurt from it.

“Yes.” She said, plain, without pretense.  “I don’t even know why you’d ask a thing like that, given that you already know my proclivities towards… Well, all this.”

Quinn’s resulting smile was downcast and self-effacing, like watching a puppy trip over a toy, and Rachel thought it was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.

“Just because you like this kind of thing doesn’t mean…” Quinn sighed, her eyes pointing skyward like she was trying to ask the heavens for something – patience, maybe.

“Oh, I know.  I’m happy. Trust me.” Rachel said, and if she had looked away like her sudden confusing embarrassment demanded, she might not have seen Quinn look at her like she couldn’t quite breathe.

But she saw it.  She didn’t know what on earth it meant, but she saw it.

The moment was shattered, as it often was, by the screen door slamming shut.  Noah sauntered in looking a whole lot less put-upon than he had the day before.  He had shirked his usual tucked in black t-shirt for a too-tight Ben Israel’s staff shirt, and was remarkably not smoking.

“Here to while the dull hours away?” Rachel asked drolly, referencing what he’d shared about his “role” at Ben Israel’s.  He waggled his eyebrows, looking to Quinn.

“I’m here, princess, at your beck and call.  She break an ankle, yet?”

Oh.  So Quinn had known he would show up.  She had asked him.  Rachel supposed it made sense, given that he would be her dance partner.  It was no good simply learning how to dance their specific brand of the mambo with Quinn alone, who would be off in Schenectady when they were strutting on stage.

The realization of it made Rachel feel like a dark cloud had descended over their bright and sunny lesson.

“No.” Quinn answered, her face bordering on constipated as Noah circled them like a shark. “She’s… holding her own.”

Rachel beamed.  She would take whatever compliments, however adulterated they may have been, that Quinn would give her.

Noah clapped his hands together.

“All right, babydoll, let’s see your moves.  Brittany seems to think you’re gonna knock this outta the park, so.” His eyes were wide and expectant.  Rachel couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or not.  She looked to Quinn, who softly nodded.

“Show him.” She encouraged, her voice dark but otherwise even.

Rachel sighed, taking Noah’s hands with a smile.  Quinn went over and turned the record back to its A side and that familiar music filled her ears again.  Without any preamble, Noah began moving, and it was fast, faster than Quinn had been teaching her.  She struggled to catch up, but Rachel didn’t knuckle under anyone, much less this particular someone, and soon enough she was matching him move for move.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Quinn staring, and it was like throwing a match on kerosene.  Rachel’s hips moved like they were being pulled by strings and she breathed hard into the beat.  Quinn’s eyebrows rose.

She was impressed.  Rachel knew it.  She almost pumped her fist into the air in triumph as the song ended and Noah let go of her hand, laughing like a school boy.

“Hot damn, Rachel, Brit was right!” He said gleefully, like he’d been expecting nothing less than a complete disaster to unfold before him.

“She’s sloppy.” Quinn interjected, her voice back to being sharp and pedantic.  Her arms were folded tight underneath her chest as she stepped towards them. Rachel let out a high, indignant huff. Quinn pointedly did not look her way.  “But we have 12 days, give or take.  I think we can make it work.”

Noah’s exuberance faded into a cool, calm affect at Quinn’s sudden reticence.  Rachel thought that if she could see the girl smile, full-on, all teeth and no reservations, she might die of happiness.

“Quinn’s a wonderful teacher.” Rachel said, beaming once again at the girl, not even wondering or caring what kind of reaction she would get.

“Yeah, I bet she is.” Noah chuckled, flinching as Quinn slapped the side of his head hard enough to make an audible thwack.  

“I’ve gotta get going, I’m helping Brit with the kids and then hostessing dinner yet again.” Quinn sounded less than thrilled as she slung her towel over her shoulder.  Rachel looked at her with wide eyes, as if she’d been expecting them to be joined at the hip until sunset, at least.  She wouldn’t say that, though. From the very beginning, she’d thought of the whole thing in five minute intervals, renewing her good faith everytime Quinn didn’t just stand up and walk away from her.

“Aw, good girl.” Noah simpered, giving her a five-fingered wave that she only rolled her eyes at.

“Quinn, I’m – It was my understanding that–” Rachel started, her feet pitter-pattering after Quinn’s retreating frame much like Brittany and Santana had done the day before.  She inspired pursuit, Quinn did, like royalty.  And to feel that way after seeing the girl vomit all over her shoes!

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” Quinn said, casually looking Rachel smack dab in the eye, as if the action wasn’t capable of leaving her veritably stunned. “You have to practice with him, too.  He’s the one that matters.”

Rachel shrunk back.  Oh yes, the dark cloud currently looming over her head, threatening all kinds of bad weather.  Quinn shot Noah one last keen look before making her exit.

“So, babe, seems like you’re up to speed for today, any chance you wanna hit the north shore and make the little birdies blush?”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open, scandalized.  She had half a mind to go running after Quinn and demand a greater explanation for being dropped like a hot stone into this brute’s lap.

“Noah!”

He shrugged, tucking in the back of his t-shirt where it had come loose.

“Your loss.  So, wanna run through again?  She show you the lift?”

Rachel shook her head, imagining herself bounding into Quinn’s arms with a mixture of confusion and amusement.  Quinn was so tiny , Rachel’s arms were likely bigger around.

“She’s stronger than she looks, trust me.  Those ballet chicks lift each other up all the time, and you’re a little twerp, no offense, she could probably bench press two of you.”

“So, she’s a… a ballet chick , then?”

Noah snorted, walking over to the turntable and making a face at whatever record Quinn had chosen for them.

“Used to be.” He said, shuffling through a stack of LPs before coming to something that made his lip curl.  He replaced the old record with the new, turning back to look at Rachel as something markedly slower started playing through the speaker.  A saxophone sounded out.  Noah looked at her like he probably looked at every girl he’d taken to bed two seconds before it happened.

“Do we gotta talk about Q this whole time?  Here we are, two sexy people, getting ready to do one of the sexiest dances known to man–”

“Can you stop hitting on me?  I’m not… You know I’m not doing this for you, right?”

Santana’s words from the day before filtered back into her mind, something about Noah being undomesticated, as if she planned to parade him around Ben Israel’s in a polo shirt and khakis.

“Yeah, okay, sure.  Look, I see the way you’re always hangin’ around, and it’s not so you can french braid Brittany’s hair.  What’s your angle, kid?  You go to Quinn’s cabin that night to try and get on my good side?  Not gonna lie, it sorta worked–”

“Oh my– Noah.  Listen to me.  I don’t mean any offense, truly, but I am here to learn .  That’s the long and short of it.”

Noah’s eyebrows rose as he closed in on her, hips swaying like he was starting up the dance.  Rachel stepped back, horrified.

Quinn knew.  She knew that he would do this.  This was why she insisted that she be the one to teach her, because she hadn’t trusted him to do anything but try his hardest to–

She was so mad she felt like picking up the nearest projectile and throwing it through one of the already broken windows. But Rachel Berry didn’t let her anger get the better of her.  She preferred to channel it elsewhere.

Rachel licked her lips, and not in a nervous way, either.  

If she could do it to Finn, if she could do it to Jacob , well. At least Noah was attractive.  She raised her chin, pressing her palms into one of the counters that lined the kitchenette.  The effect was that her chest was pushed out, the insides of her arms bared.

Noah made no secret of ogling her.  She was standing there in a bathing suit, leaving very little to the imagination.  Her entire body was practically ripe for the taking, and she intended to use that fact to her full advantage.

“Come on, no point in denying it.  Not like I don’t see you and all your little friends winking at me over your shades.”

All the girls looked at Noah, it was true.  He was one of the only interesting things to talk about at Ben Israel’s besides the watered down drinks and the sexy books in the library.  Rachel imagined that it would be easy to want him how he so clearly wanted her, and as he got close enough to touch her waist, as he did it , she thought that it might be just fine to kiss him if that’s what he wanted, if it would show him–

He didn’t ask.  Finn, the only other boy that had ever kissed her, he’d always ask, even if their lips had been half a second from touching anyhow.

Noah’s hand pressed hard into her side as his lips bruised hers, then his other hand came around and the both of them were nearly encircling her waist, kneading into the flesh, thumbs circling up towards the top of her ribs to his greater goal.

Rachel tore her mouth away.

“Do you wanna know something, Noah?” She asked, her voice made to sound cloyingly innocent, just a pretty little thing that didn’t know what had come over her.

He nodded, his breath blasting hot against her mouth.  The tip of one of his thumbs brushed the underside of her breast and she leaned back further, teasing.  He chased her lips, but she turned her head just an inch.

“I will never, ever have sex with you.  But I must say, you’ve made a commendable effort.”

His face went through quite the journey, from pleased to furious and right back around until it settled on disappointed.  His hands dropped.

Rachel patted his shoulder.

“Can we get back to my lesson?  Something tells me that you were warned about this behavior, and I’d hate to run and tell Quinn what a bad boy you’ve been.”

Rachel slipped out from the space between Noah and the counters, walking towards the turntable and stopping whatever his idea of sexy music had been.  Something about rockets and zipping and dipping, she hadn’t really been paying attention.  She picked back up the record that Quinn had been playing and dropped the needle on it.

“Now,” She said, raising her voice over the sound of the trumpets.  “Let’s talk about this lift.”

– - -

Rachel woke up that morning like a shot, foregoing her usual eggs and 6am walk for a discarded apple and a few sips of orange juice.  She was eager to get to the old rec center and see how early Quinn had been, how equally eager she was to start their day together, when her daddy came up behind her with a hand on her shoulder and a kiss to the top of her head.

“Morning, sweetheart.  Off to the pool so soon?” 

The sun was just barely painting the sky, and it was always slightly cool in the Catskills before it was properly day, even in the summertime.

“Yes, and then the library, you know.” She said, her usual peppy smile on full display.  She had told him she offered to reorganize books in the library based on interest rather than gender, and he’d acted proud enough of his enterprising young daughter.

Any excuse was a good excuse for him – he didn’t pry, as a rule, and so Rachel was able to get away with all sorts of things her whole life.  If he knew, he had never once let on.

Today, though, there was a grim look in his eye.  Rachel let out a shallow breath and begged herself to appear less determined to get away from him.

“I thought we could have breakfast together.  I don’t like the way things ended, night before last.  I–”

“Daddy, it’s fine.”  She didn’t know if that was true, because she was 18 years old, and her father’s feelings were not at the apex of her thoughts on any given day.  He was her best friend, certainly, but there was a girl a quarter of a mile across the resort that had woken up at daylight to teach her to dance.  There was no comparison.

He looked at her like he didn’t know her at all.  She felt her hair stand on end.

“Surely you need to eat more than a measly apple, right?  Leroy gave me that the other day, it’s probably bad by now.”

“Apples don’t go bad that quickly.” Rachel smiled, pitifully, and then took her father’s hands in her own.

“Okay, let’s go to breakfast.” She felt her heart practically sag in her chest. “You can tell me all about why Mr. Platter is giving you apples.”

– - -

By the time her daddy had regaled her with tales of Leroy Platter dancing the watusi for a few of the boys up at the Big House and he’d allowed her one of those glasses of orange juice spiked with a thimble of champagne, it was nearly 9am.

“Daddy, I really have to go, Mirah up at the library’s waiting for me.”

He gave a little pout, but just patted her hand, signaling for their waiter to bring his check.

“All right, then, Miss Busypants.  You give those books a stern talking to.”

Rachel grinned, standing up and barely giving a standard goodbye before she was out the door.  At first, she figured that a fast-paced walk would suffice, but soon she found her legs lunging forward, her breath wheezing out of her mouth as she quite literally sprinted towards the abandoned rec center.

She didn’t even make it to the door before she saw Quinn from several yards away, leaving.

Leaving.

“Quinn!” Rachel yelped, jumping over some paltry obstacle, feeling like an olympic runner as she finally made it to the foot of the stairs, blocking Quinn’s exit.

She squinted at Rachel like she was some kind of bug she was trying to figure out how to squash.

“Out of my way.”

“B-but I’m here!  I’m sorry, I just–”

“It’s obvious that you aren’t serious about this, and that’s fine.”  Quinn hoisted a bag over her shoulder, new from yesterday, and Rachel wondered what was inside of it like she wondered what was inside of Quinn’s head.  What would it take to make her stay?

“No – I really am!  I want to help!”

Quinn looked at her in a familiar way, that same way that she’d looked at her that morning after they’d danced together.  Like she was desperate to give Rachel every awful thing she felt.

"Well, you’re a lousy dancer, anyway, so. I'll just tell Puck I owe him.”

Quinn made like she was fully prepared to plow Rachel down to get past her.

"No, absolutely not." She grabbed Quinn's elbow in a panic, knowing that taking her hand would’ve been a step too far.  Regardless, Quinn jerked back like she’d been burned.

“Will you let go of me?  I don’t actually need your help, okay?  It – I don’t need anything from you!”

Quinn’s voice was back to its normal caliber, a sweet and smokey alto that she was either born with or had acquired from cigarettes, who could say?  Either way, it was a voice that Rachel wouldn’t mind listening to as it pointed out silly billboard slogans on the highway, or even as it read the dictionary.  Even angry, like this, hard and meant to disenchant, she wanted to hear it.

“I was up before the sun today.  I – I had an apple in my hand, and I thought, this might not be enough for how hard I’ll need to work to prove to Quinn I can do this, and then my father came in and guilted me into going to breakfast with him.  Quinn, the man is a talker, and I’m a talker, and when you get two talkers together, well.  A few hours can go by like that.”  She snapped her fingers between their faces for full effect.  Quinn flinched.

“Anyhow, I promise it won’t happen again.  He was feeling justifiably terrible at how poorly he treated me the night of your, well, incident, and–”

“What?” Quinn asked, taking a step back onto the higher stair behind her, creating space between them. “Why would he?”

Rachel licked her lips, sighing.  How to explain her daddy?  So completely and utterly entrenched in decorum, sometimes to the point of self-contradiction.

“Can we please just go inside, the both of us?  I’m sorry that I’m late.  Can I make it up to you?”

Quinn’s eyes immediately fell to her own hands, which were tugging gently at each other.

“This is a lot of work.  I don’t want to – I can’t waste my time if you’re not committed.”

Rachel’s breath caught as Quinn’s eyes came back up to meet hers.  She was asking her something, more than one thing, Rachel was sure of it.

“You can trust me, Quinn, I swear it.”

And so, Quinn turned on her heel, and she walked back up the steps, and Rachel was helpless to do anything but follow her.

Chapter Text

“I never knew I could sweat so much, and I’ve–” Rachel gulped in air, pushing strings of damp hair off of her forehead and cheeks. “I’ve been sunbathing at Coney Island in July when they banned swimming and the ice cream stand was closed.”

Quinn didn’t laugh with her.  At least, she hadn’t since that time at the bridge when she’d cackled at Rachel’s expense, but she was absolutely desperate for her to, clawing for it like some kind of rodent.

This time, all she was met with was a short puff of breath, light, feminine, perhaps a laugh in some very proper circles in the 1800s, but as far as Rachel was concerned, it didn’t qualify for an 18 year old girl in 1963.

Quinn was down on the ground, stretching out her legs by bending over and pulling at her feet.  Today, Rachel was proud to say, she was equally as sweaty.

“Do you really think I’ll be able to convince the people at Fletcher’s that I’m a professional, like you?  You don’t think they’ll know?”  Rachel asked, and Quinn paused for a moment, her spine uncurling itself.

Instead of speaking, she shrugged.  Their entire lesson had been that way, with Rachel talking a mile a minute, as she did, and Quinn responding in no more than grunts and barely whispered directives.

“Because I think I’m doing very well, or it seems that way.  I know you said I was a lousy dancer, but I think I’m learning quickly, and I think you’ll find that I’m very single-minded in pursuit of things that I want, so–”

Quinn bestowed upon Rachel her first real smile of the day, stopping Rachel’s words up in her throat.  It was lopsided, really barely there.  She started back up her stretching.

“Yeah, I gathered.”  Was all she said, but Rachel was over the moon at even the smallest bit of conversation.

“Yes, I know, people say that I’m too much, but I just think that everyone always settles for less, you know?  They’re not used to someone like me, who never settles.  I refuse to.  That’s why I graduated with a 5.0 weighted GPA and that’s why I’m going to Barnard in the fall.”

“You are an incredibly strange girl.”

Rachel whipped her head around to see Quinn without having to look at her sideways.  Her heart started up beating like she had just been given a compliment, though her brain very much felt insulted.  She didn’t know how to take it.

“I’m going to assume you mean no ill will, considering I’m helping you and your, your boyfriend–”

“Rachel.”

Rachel felt the word – her name – like a punch to the center of her belly.  To think, she’d longed for Quinn to know her name.

“What?” She asked, standing up to gain height on the girl next to her.

“Puck is not my boyfriend, you know that.  At least, I would hope you know that, considering you kissed him yesterday.”

Rachel’s eyes and mouth flew open.  She suddenly wished she wasn’t dressed in nothing more than a bathing suit and tennis shoes, some kind of extra layer between herself and Quinn felt appropriate in the moment.

“I–”

“It’s fine.” Quinn said, in a way that sounded both like the truth and a lie.  It was fine, but did she want it to be?

“Yes, but he– I know that you–”

“What happens between Puck and me… It’s rare and it’s brief and it’s monumentally stupid.  It’s not a relationship.  I don’t even like him.”

Rachel knew that wasn’t true.  She’d seen how Quinn looked at him when he’d mentioned his mom.  She just wasn’t sure it was any of her business, an excuse she told herself for feeling a low-grade nausea at the idea of it.

“But you did, at some point, didn’t you? Jacob said–”

“ Jacob?  Jacob doesn’t know anything about me.  Whatever he told you that day when you got him to give me my job back?  He doesn’t know the whole story.  He doesn’t even know half of it.”  Quinn shook her head, retying her shoelaces before standing up and quickly gathering her things.

Rachel had assumed, yet again, that they would be practicing well into the evening.  She’d imagined them foregoing dinner to work themselves ragged.  She shivered.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Rachel said quietly, wondering how they seemed to end up this way, like those chemicals that were completely benign when separate, but mixed up together could level a whole city block.

It was a terrible amount of pressure that existed between them, was all. If only there was some way to relieve it, a valve they could pull that would allow them to giggle and trade clothes, talk about how nice Noah looked in his jeans without it having to mean anything.

Rachel played out the scenario in her head – pointing out the curve of Noah's butt in his pants to Quinn – and it curiously made her feel like she was sandpapering her own nose off.  She shook her head.

Quinn was two steps from the door.

"Haven't you ever just wanted to prove your worth to someone? To prove that you're more than they think you are, that they don't have all the power?"

Rachel held her breath as she watched the dip of Quinn's spine, her shoulder blades peeking out along the dark hem of her leotard.

She turned around.  She had tied her hair up into a tight bun just like the day before, but it had fallen throughout the course of the afternoon over her ears and down the back of her neck.  Rachel thought that it must be hard, in a way, to be so beautiful.

"Contrary to my regrettable actions yesterday, I told you that I have no interest in Noah, and I meant it. I would hate for something like this to come between us, Quinn, because I really value your–"

"My what? My friendship? How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to be your friend before you get it through that tiny little brain of yours?”

Rachel breathed in deeply through her nose because it was just what she did when she was trying to keep herself from crying.

And why would she cry, anyhow? Every time she thought she had something she was eventually reminded that she, in fact, did not.  Why should Quinn's friendship be any different?

Two days dancing together, Quinn's hands touching her in more places than anyone's ever had, did not mean they were friends.

"Forget it, then." Rachel said, taking her things, determined to be the one to leave this time around.

"Hey, wait."

She wouldn't stop. Rachel stuffed her towel and the little stainless steel coffee mug she'd packed to get water straight from the tap instead of sharing with Quinn all into her bag.  She would not, under any circumstances, stop.

Yes, she wanted all of this so much that it felt like it was a bit she was chomping on, but she could only take so much scorn.

As she pulled open the door, Quinn's fingers grazed the back of her arm, pressing at her elbow. Rachel closed her eyes, attempting to strengthen her resolve through sheer force of will.

"You're still covering for me, right? Next Friday?"

Rachel slowly turned around, completely stunned.

"You know what, Quinn? Fuck you ."

– - -

When 24 hours passed without any indication that Quinn was alive, much less sorry for her behavior, Rachel decided a few things.

For one, she decided to have a cocktail for dinner that evening.  Her daddy was normally less than impressed with the notion of his perfect baby girl consuming alcohol, but he must have caught on to the look in her eye, because he stayed blissfully silent as she ordered a seabreeze.

It sounded nice. A gentle, nautical wind, salty ocean spray.  She imagined how it must've tasted, took a sip, and was sorely disappointed.

Still, she had finished her drink, even when half-way through she was already ranting to anyone that would listen about integrity and the ways in which she was an asset to any friendship.

For two, she decided that she hated Quinn. She hated Noah. She hated Santana and Brittany, too, even that Sam boy, who were all guilty by association as far as she was concerned.

Quinn had not been the hostess that evening, but if she had been, Rachel probably would have gotten The Berrys banned from Ben Israel's until the year 2000.

Her daddy, not the least bit amused by her belligerence, practically dragged her back to the cabin by her neck when dinner was properly over.

She laid in bed that night, watching the ceiling spin, wondering when a perfectly normal summer in the Catskills had turned into high school all over again.

No one wanted to be her friend. She felt pathetic even thinking the words to herself. She was smart, and whatever she might have lacked in the looks department she more than made up for in talent alone.

She thought of Finn fondly for the first time in weeks.  What a fool she'd been, a complete imbecile to let someone like that go. He'd been simple, no doubt, but he'd loved her. He'd wanted to marry her.  

In a fit, she went poking through the drawers of the little study desk in the corner of her room and found Ben Israel’s stationery and a No. 2 pencil.

Dear Finn ,

She watched her hand scrawl out the greeting, turned the pencil over, and immediately erased it, brushing off the little rubber shavings with the back of her hand.

Dearest Finn,

I am afraid that I’ve made a horrible mistake.  Life is nearly unbearable without you.  I see now that we were a perfect match, but my ambition blinded me.  I hope you haven’t been shipped out to basic training yet, I would love to formally discuss our starting a life together.

Yours,

Rachel

She was only slightly aware that it sounded more like a business memo than a love letter, but she wasn’t feeling very flowery at the moment.  When she’d broken up with him, he’d begged her to reconsider.  When had anyone ever begged Rachel for anything?

That settled it in her head, anyway.  They would get back together.  Finn would end this military charade of his and he would move out of his mother’s house and into some respectable Upper Westside apartment.  

They would get married, naturally, and most importantly, someone would be there waiting for her besides her own father.  Someone would use the last dime in their pocket to call her.

Rachel folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope already addressed – she knew it by heart, same as her own.  She’d have to go bring some change up to the front office for a stamp in the morning.  Though, there was a fleeting thought that she had to be somewhere at that time.  The old rec center, perhaps.  Because maybe Quinn would be there waiting for her if she were to show up.

She shook her head, licking the envelope to seal it and pressing it onto the top of her bedside table like it would float out the window if she didn’t weigh it down.

A knock came from somewhere.  Rachel was jolted upright, immediately imagining her daddy on the other side of the door, grumbling about her staying up so late.

The truth was that she was still drunk, so he’d probably be grumbling about that as well.

The knock came again.  Really, more of a plink , like something hard against the side of the cabin.  Against the side of her window .

Rachel got up, her legs like two loose rubber bands as she tried to wrestle her knees through her long night gown.  She pulled open the shutters but was met with only the gray grid of the window screen and a dull outline of something, man or animal, barely illuminated by the porch light.

She squinted, pressing her face up against the glass.  The figure got closer, and closer still, and then they were pressing their face up against the glass, and Rachel could say with nearly 100% certainty that Quinn Fabray had been throwing rocks at her window.

Her throat went dry as she reached down and pulled open the sash.  Quinn blinked at her, quite still, like a rabbit in a vegetable patch.

Her eyes were red and her cheeks were red and her mouth cracked and dry.  Rachel could smell the alcohol on her breath through the mesh screen.

“Let me in.” She said, a gruff demand, and then as if she had heard how she sounded and wanted to offer a correction, she followed it up with – “Let me in?” This time a friendly question.  Rachel scoffed.

“I don’t think I should.” She said, standing back and crossing her arms in front of her.  Even with the new space between them, she could still smell the alcohol.  Rachel supposed that it might’ve been the same in reverse if she asked Quinn, which she would absolutely not do.

“Rachel.” Quinn said, her tongue tripping over the name. “Raaaachel.” It was probably a whine, Rachel thought, but it sounded like a song.  Rachel licked her lips, eyes cast quickly over to where her daddy was sleeping in his room on the other side of the cabin.

“Just how drunk are you, missy?” Rachel asked, lips pursed and face trained purposefully donnish.

"M’not." Quinn lied, pressing her palm over the screen until it bowed in. “Once I’m inside, I’ll be so quiet.” She whispered, putting a slight bend in her knees until she was eye level with Rachel. “I can be very quiet.”

Rachel nearly pressed her face into her hands, but thought better of it.  Quinn needn’t know how hard it was to say no, or to say yes, or to even speak to her at all.

“Fine, okay, fine.   But you’ll have to come through the window.”

Quinn smiled.  She smiled the smile that Rachel had been waiting for all this time, one with teeth and the pinkest gums that pressed deep, deep dimples into her cheeks.  She felt cheated, knowing that it was just the alcohol and nothing more.

“I’ll leave it to you to figure out–”  Rachel started, but Quinn had already prized the screen from the window with the tips of her fingers – practiced, no doubt.

Just whose window was she sneaking into at night?  Rachel saw Noah’s wanton face in her mind’s eye and had to forcibly ignore the anger that welled up inside of her.

With one ill-conceived hop, Quinn was pulling herself through the window, headfirst. Practiced hadn’t quite been the right idea.  Her palms hit the ground and she was drunkenly slithering down onto the floor, her hips and legs shimmying in an altogether uncoordinated display.

Rachel went to help, deciding that she didn’t quite hate Quinn enough to see her bisect herself on a window sill, but by the time she went for it, Quinn was already face flat on the ground, her shoulders heaving with the effort, her feet dangling in the air.

“Quinn–”

“Gimme sec.” She said, muffled by the floorboards.  After a moment she flopped herself over, and Rachel was able to get a better look at the girl.  She was wearing a headband that was halfway out of her hair, and a white button up with a sweet little breast pocket tucked into a black skirt.

It almost looked like something Rachel herself would wear, though she decided not to dwell too long on that thought.

Quinn watched her.  It had been over 24 hours since they’d seen each other, and Rachel couldn’t help but bask in the warm glow of Quinn’s stare.

“You look like a ghost.” Quinn mused, rubbing at her already ruddy nose, still lying on the ground like a child.  She’d placed her hands one over the other atop her stomach.

Rachel plucked at her nightgown, the same one she’d worn since she was 12 years old, suddenly feeling a tinge of embarrassment try to nose its way through her seabreeze-induced haze.

“Quinn, w-what are you doing here?  I made it very clear that–”

“You told me to fuck off .” Quinn said, her mouth exceptionally soft on the f-word, like there was someone around that would scold her for saying it.  Her drunken voice was unbearably sweet-sounding, like she’d forgotten that she was supposed to be tough.  

Rachel sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed just to the right of where Quinn lay on the floor.  She made to respond, though she wasn’t clear with what, but Quinn’s silence turned out only to be a beat in her announcement. “And it hurt my feelings.”

Well, there weren’t enough seabreezes in the world–

“Your feelings ? So you have them, do you?”

Rachel gasped as she felt a hand wrap loosely around her ankle.

“You know I do.” Quinn whispered, only after a time.  Rachel was so distracted by Quinn’s unsolicited touch that she hadn’t even noticed the lull.  “Sometimes I think you know all sorts of things about me, and I don’t even know how.”

Rachel closed her eyes and breathed through the hot fire in her face.  She felt the same, of course.  She couldn’t tell Quinn.

“You know, I, too, imbibed this evening.”

Below her, Quinn giggled.  Rachel felt miserable – a smile and a giggle?  All in one night, one measly conversation?

“You talk like an old man.”

She pulled herself further down the bed, away from Quinn, taking her ankle with her.

“If you insist on continuing to insult me, you can just leave.”

“What?” Quinn continued to giggle, all through her nose. “I like it.”

“Oh, stop it!  You don’t like anything about me, and you know it.  You think I’m just some prissy daddy’s girl that wants to jump the tracks for the summer.  You think I’m annoying at best.”

Quinn didn’t respond, so Rachel had to take it as an admission. How else could she?  

Somewhere, some nocturnal bird was chattering off in the trees, but it was otherwise eerily quiet.  Rachel couldn’t quite believe that The Girl Named Quinn was lying on her bedroom floor, drunk as a skunk, being so affable that she seemed like another person entirely.

“I used to be a prissy daddy’s girl.” Quinn said, breaking the silence with another slurred confession.

Rachel blew out a breath hard through her nose.

“I find that rather impossible to believe.”  Though, truthfully, she didn’t.  She imagined Quinn, before the thing that tore her family apart, as the perfect daughter.  Intelligent and beautiful and maybe even kind.  The kind of child you would feel proud to call yours.

“I used to be a lot of things, Rachel. But I don’t think you care about any of that.”

Rachel brought her knees up to her chest, removing the possibility of another ankle grab.  It felt like they were having an important conversation, somehow, though both were varying levels of inebriated.  She wondered if Quinn would remember any of it at all come morning.

“How would you know?” Rachel asked, humoring Quinn, humoring the whole situation.

“Because I know things about you.”

Quinn’s voice was suddenly even-keeled and critically sober, like she’d had a cup of coffee and a stern talking to. Rachel swallowed, imagining the underhanded insult that was to come and still taking the bait.

“Like what?”

Quinn cleared her throat.  Rachel heard and felt rustling underneath her, and then the top of Quinn’s blonde head popped over the edge of the mattress.  Despite the change in her voice, she was still struggling to pull herself up.  Rachel weakly held out her hand, but Quinn didn’t take it, anyway, just went hand over hand over elbow until she was lying flat across Rachel’s bed instead of flat on the floor.

Her hair splayed out around her face like a cartoon sun.  Rachel forgot to brace herself.

“I know that you like it when I say your name.  Your – your eyelids droop.” Quinn said, hers doing the very same in a living example.  Her mouth rose into a dopey smile, revealing once again the stark white of her teeth.

“My eyelids droop when I’m bored, Quinn, so I think you’ve got it all wrong.”  She hadn’t, though.  She could never. Rachel knew it then like she knew her own name.  She also knew that she wanted more than anything for this girl who had so thoroughly dismantled the neat machine in her brain to just leave, to just go so that she could rebuild the whole thing anew.

She glanced over at the letter on her bedside table. Quinn caught her.

It was fine, Rachel thought, drunk people were notoriously lumbering and slow, Quinn wouldn’t–

She was up and fingering the thing before Rachel could even convince herself it wasn’t possible.

Rachel tried to grab for it, but Quinn only had to turn in her wrist to keep it from her.

“ Mister Finn Hudson.” She read, squinting at Rachel’s script. “Your boyfriend.” She announced, so sure of it, like she was reading from a history book.

“Former.” Rachel corrected, though she wasn’t sure why.  She’d just made a whole thing about wanting him back.  It said it all in the stupid, stupid letter.

Quinn tapped the envelope against her palm like it would reveal something to her if she did it enough times.

“Your first, though.” Quinn said, even more sure than she was before.  Rachel hugged her knees tighter to her chest, watching Quinn out of the corner of her eye.  If the girl had the audacity to open the thing up, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”  Rachel mumbled into her kneecaps, feeling the alcohol pulling the weight of her body into the mattress.  She wanted to lie down, but she couldn’t, not with Quinn just there.

Quinn placed the letter down on the bed and looked to Rachel with a wry flash of her teeth.

“You’ve seen me spewing my guts out.  You’ve seen me so drunk I did something I might regret for the rest of my life. I think you owe me some of your business.”

Rachel could hear her pulse in her ears, beating a rhythm that sounded an awfully lot like the tune of a certain song by Mr. Otis Redding.

Lucille!

“Yes, he was my first boyfriend.  We broke up when we graduated. He–”

“Wasn’t good enough for you.  A buffoon.  A slobbering layabout that didn’t know how to touch you right–”

It seemed that Quinn could’ve gone on forever with her assumptions, but Rachel stopped her with the truth.

“I’d fallen out of love with him.”

It was Quinn’s turn to take a deep, resounding breath.  Rachel had not a thing to follow it up with.

After a moment, Quinn let herself fall back flat onto Rachel’s bed like she had been before.

“I’ve never been in love, I don’t think.  Sounds awful.” 

Rachel began a rousing debate with herself over the merits of lying down next to Quinn versus going and lying on the couch and letting the girl languish on her own until she fell asleep.  There was one that she wanted, and the other she needed, and she knew, in the end, how all of those debates were concluded.

The ceiling looked different as she imagined how it must’ve looked to Quinn.  The guest cabins had white plastered ceilings with scallops and scrapes that were perfect for watching when one couldn’t fall asleep.  Now, Rachel knew, the staff cabin ceilings were simple wood boards so loose that you could see up into the roof rafters.

Quinn’s hair tickled just below Rachel’s ear, she may have even been lying on some of it, though Quinn didn’t complain.

“It kind of is a little bit awful.” She agreed, mirroring the way Quinn’s hands splayed over her stomach, fingers laced together.

“How did you know?” Quinn asked, her breathing even and slowing by the second.  She would be asleep soon.  On Rachel’s bed, sideways, her feet hanging off the side.

“How did I know what?” Rachel asked, turned to rest her cheek on her knuckles, hovering above and beside Quinn.

“That you were in love.  How do you know?”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut until she could see shapes from the moonlight spilling through the open window behind her eyelids.  She thought of Finn’s goofy smile, how he reached for her hand in front of all those people that hated her.

“It’s just a feeling, like anything else, happy, or sad.  I think it might be that simple.”

Next to her, Quinn frowned.

“You’re wrong.” She said, readjusting herself, pulling until her hair was no longer pinned under Rachel’s shoulder.

She probably was wrong. All she knew was that she’d loved him in an instant, and hadn’t in another, and that everything in between had been a blur.

“But you said you’d never been in love.” Rachel groused, pulling her arms in to satisfy Quinn’s clear desire to be further from her.  Quinn closed her eyes, looking thoughtful.

“I’ve felt things like love, I think. Droopy eyelids.”

Rachel’s heart seized in her chest.  She no longer felt that moving a single muscle in her body was appropriate, closer or further or whatever it may have been.

“With Noah.” Rachel assured, another history book fact.  Quinn’s eyes flew open.

“I never loved Noah.” It was funny, almost, to hear Quinn say the boy’s given name.  Rachel still did not move.

“Not like that, anyway.  I don’t even… He’s only a friend.  But I have to love him a little bit, I think, because of Beth.”

Rachel imagined a girl named Beth, one of Noah’s conquests, perhaps, or some mutual teacher whose class had brought them closer.

“W-who's Beth?”  She stuttered, not knowing whether Quinn would even answer.

As it stood, it was a long time before she said anything at all.

“Beth,” Quinn began, her mouth so round over the B, “is the reason I don’t have a family anymore.”

Rachel saw the tears flood Quinn’s eyes in real time, though none spilled over.  She grabbed at Quinn’s hand, squeezing the knuckles, desperate to say something , but what could she?

“Puck’s mom saved up all kinds of money to have him go to private school in Westchester – my school.  He took, I think, two trains and three buses to get there from Queens every morning.  We were friends, I guess.” Her voice strained with every attempt to keep from crying.

“Quinn, you don’t need to–”

“No, it’s fine .” She said quickly, almost violently, and Rachel took her hands away again.  A tear slipped out of Quinn’s eye, trailing slowly down and onto Rachel’s blankets.

“He was always after me, y’know, just like all the other girls.  But one night I got too sad and too drunk and he was there .  I’d never even had a boyfriend, and suddenly I was pregnant and I couldn’t hide it from my parents.  My father sent me off to a Girl’s home, all pregnant teenagers like me, and I had Beth, and they took her away, and that was that.”

Quinn’s face crumpled.  Rachel pushed herself up into a sitting position and placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on one of Quinn’s shoulders.  It was safer, that way, to keep their hands apart.  She didn’t know why, but it was.

“I lost everyone – my family, my friends.  So, it’s hard for me, ok?  To accept… you.”

Rachel leaned down and pulled Quinn’s shaking shoulders into her arms just like her daddy had done her whole life when she cried.  It wasn’t safe, certainly not any safer than taking Quinn’s hand, but there was nothing else she could think to do.

She expected, at any moment, to be pushed away. But instead, Quinn's chin hooked over Rachel's shoulder and her arms came up to encircle Rachel's ribs. At some point Rachel found that she had collapsed into her, their bodies colliding together in a way that they hadn't before.

This was without purpose, nothing like a dance.  A dance was meant to represent an emotion, but this was just two bodies, breathing in time with each other.

– - -

Knock knock knock.

Rachel groaned into her own shoulder, only vaguely curious about the strange position she found herself sleeping in, but not enough to open her eyes. Not yet, anyway.

Knock knock knock.

"Daddy, hush, it's too early to hang pictures!" She squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to let a single ounce of light in, though surely there would be none, surely it was as early as it felt, 5am, far before any rooster would crow.

"Rachel, I gave you a few extra hours on account of your new and exciting foray into drinking liquor, but this is a tad ridiculous! You completely missed breakfast!"

Next to her, someone groaned. The previous night flooded her memory like an epic and fantastical dream.

Quinn had thrown rocks at her window.  Quinn had come through her window, like some kind of mythical creature, and she’d told Rachel things, and she’d cried, and they had fallen asleep very much entangled in each other.

Now Rachel could feel the tips of fingers brushing against her neck and a knee pressed hard into the small of her back.  It was a strange feeling, but not a bad one.

No, she rather liked it, if she was being honest. Was she really so lonely?

"Daddy, don't come in here, I'm indisposed! I'll be out in a moment!"

She was still curled up sideways on her bed, and from her vantage point and Quinn's knees all tangled in bedsheets, she couldn't see the clock on her bedside table even when she stretched her neck as far as it would go.

She could, undoubtedly, see Quinn. She wasn't asleep anymore, Rachel could tell, but something told her that Quinn had partaken in a truly disgusting amount of drinking the night before, and if Rachel was feeling like her brain was a fried egg after a few seabreezes, well, Quinn was probably half-dead.

"Quinn." Rachel whispered, hesitating before shaking the girl's shoulder. Her eyes opened almost immediately, her face pinched in irritation even as she looked slightly mummified when she realized that large portions of her body were touching Rachel’s.

“Quinn, you’re in my cabin, in – in my bed.  My father is about two seconds from barging in here, so–”

Quinn let her head fall back onto her own outstretched arm, though she had retracted the fingers that had been grazing Rachel’s neck.

“I know .” She said, exasperated, looking at Rachel like she’d just explained that they were on planet Earth.

“Oh.” Rachel let out a shaky little breath. “Well, then, I know that you’re probably not feeling particularly tip-top this morning and would prefer to stay in bed, so what I can offer is rolling you up in my blankets like a little blintz while I go and attempt to release myself from any further obligation for the day.  If he comes in, you’ll just have to lie very, very still–”

“What’s a blintz?” Quinn groaned, missing the point entirely.

“It’s like a pancake wrapped around a sweet filling.  They have them at breakfast nearly every day–”

“We get oatmeal and powdered eggs.” Quinn interrupted, rubbing her dry lips together.  It looked as though she was attempting to move, but was failing spectacularly.  Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from doing something as egregious as smiling.

“Anyway, the blanket would be the pancake and you would be the… sweet filling.” Her last words slowed as Quinn looked her in the eye for the first time that morning.  

She couldn’t think about the night before, even though her brain was trying to dredge each individual memory of it up like pieces of gold from a river bed.  Rachel reached up without thinking and touched her own cheek, worried she’d find evidence of a smile despite her efforts.

“I’ll just leave.” Quinn said, looking away, trying again with great pains to lift herself into a sitting position.  Rachel’s hands reached out and hovered around her, wanting to help but not actually helping.

“You really don’t have to.” Rachel said, aggravated at how it sounded like a plea instead of a casual aside.

A low, dry sound came out of the back of Quinn’s throat as she finally hoisted herself up on her palms. 

“I really do.” She assured, blinking a few times before staring at the still open window. “God, it must be noon.”

Now that Quinn had moved, Rachel had an unobstructed view of the time, and it was indeed just a quarter shy of 12 o’clock.  She hurried up off the bed, going to the closet and picking out the first thing she saw to throw on for her father’s sake.  If she came out in her night clothes he would properly lose his mind.

Rachel walked behind the dressing divider and divested herself of her gown, pulling it over her head in a flurry.

“Now, I imagine you don’t want to discuss whatever took place last night, the drunkenness and the coming to my window and all that.” Rachel tugged the seersucker dress she’d gotten from the closet over her head, smoothing down any wrinkles with her hands.  “I just want you to know that I forgive you, and if you’d like to continue working with me, I would be perfectly fine with starting up our lessons again, though we have lost a significant chunk of time to all that messiness.”

When she stepped out from behind the divider, Quinn was looking at her strangely.

She was no longer wrinkled and red-faced from sleep and had managed to stand up from the bed, though her posture did leave something to be desired.

“What?” Rachel asked, staring down at her dress, then back up at Quinn when she found nothing out of the ordinary.

“You shouldn’t help me.” Quinn said, her look darkening.  She turned her head to stare once again out the window, probably thinking about how best to escape.

“But–”

“You were right to tell me off.  I was a jerk.  I am a jerk.  And look, I would appreciate it if you didn’t–” Quinn stopped, pressing the heel of her palm hard into the space between her eyebrows. “If you didn’t talk to anyone about what I told you last night.  Or even about how I told you.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the crying, Quinn, I cry all the time.  Sometimes I even try to make myself in the mirror, just for practice, should I ever need to employ that kind of trick.”

Quinn’s hand dropped from her forehead.  If she had been looking at Rachel strangely before, now she was looking at her like – Rachel couldn’t think it, could she?  One corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched.

“You’re ridiculous.” She smiled.  Rachel felt as though she was losing her mind. She smiled back, feeling a little like she might faint.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in becoming a blintz?  I would say you could hide in the closet, but as you can see, it’s rather chalk full at the moment.”

Quinn looked over to where Rachel’s temporary closet was bursting forth with hat boxes and piles of shoes.  She shook her head.

“I’m going to go back to my cabin and let Santana know I’m not dead, though she would barely extend the same courtesy.” Quinn cocked her hip to the side, her hand clutching it. “Maybe drink a gallon or so of water.  But I’ll be at the rec center in an hour.”  Her brow fell, lips pursing.  Why did she keep looking at Rachel like that? “Maybe sooner.”

And then, much like she’d come in, Quinn fumbled her way out of Rachel’s window.

Chapter Text

Rachel decided that Quinn was a bit of a sadist.  Or a masochist, or maybe both at the same time. How could a girl that woke up at noon barely able to move pull off such calculated and intense movements, and without stopping?

The music was the same as ever, but somehow Rachel felt as though it had been sped up as Quinn worked her through one of the more difficult steps for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sweat was pouring off of Quinn’s face, literally dripping from the tip of her nose, covering her entire body in one shiny slick.  More than once, when they went to join hands their palms would slip and cause Rachel to spin out wrong, or bend her knee, but all Quinn said was:

“Go again.”  And they did.  They went again, and again, and again.  Rachel was beginning to think that it was all some kind of punishment for what had happened the night before, though she wasn’t sure which one of them was being punished.

“Let’s run through the lead up to the underarm turn again,” Quinn shook her wrists out, bending her back in a quick stretch. “I keep on getting too loose with the quarter turn and you’re there and I’m not yet, and–”

“Aren’t I the one that’s supposed to be practicing, Quinn?” Rachel asked, batting her eyelashes.

Quinn took a step back, running her hand through the bangs that had slipped from the bobby pin in her hair.

“I – I shouldn’t be goofing like this, I should know better.”

Rachel understood, then, just who was being disciplined.

“Hey,” She began, stepping forward, taking Quinn’s hands because it was perfectly safe to do so in this room, in this context. “It’s past dinner.  We can stop. Quinn, we’ve barely stopped.”

They had twice, both times just for water, and Quinn hadn’t even bothered to fill up a cup, had just stuck her head underneath the faucet and let it run into her mouth.

“We lost a day and a half of work because, because–”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t even know!” Quinn took her hands back, rubbing them hard against her thighs.  “Because we don’t know how to speak to each other like normal people?”

“Yes, I think we both might be a bit hotheaded.”

Quinn walked towards one of the chairs that they’d pushed out to the edge of the room and collapsed into it.  Rachel dragged one of the others next to her and sat down, as well.

“Why haven’t you shown me the lift?” She innocently asked, though she didn’t look at Quinn when she asked it.

“I want you to get the basics down, first.” Quinn assured, a very diplomatic answer.

“If it’s because you’re afraid you can’t lift me, you can just say so.”

“What?  You’re tiny –”

“You’re not exactly Paul Bunyan.”

“I’m a dancer.  I was a cheerleader, too, before… Everything.  Lifting you isn’t a problem.”

“Then what is it?” Rachel asked, craning her neck back to peer at Quinn, who was staring straight forward, still looking like she wanted to teach herself a lesson she’d never forget.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Rachel.”

It was the first time Quinn had said her name since the night before.  Something, something drooping eyelids.   Rachel tried to make herself look like one of those lizards that doesn’t blink

“I won’t.” She said, so sure of it, as sure as Quinn was at her ability to hold Rachel up.

“You don’t know that.  You’ll just have to practice it with Puck.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You don’t have any other option .” Quinn crossed her arms, then uncrossed them.  She had changed into the black leotard from their first day of practice, but this time there was no skirt.  She looked a bit like a living shadow.

Rachel pouted, standing up and walking to the sink to get a drink of water.  Quinn sat for a second longer and then got up like she’d been pushed, pacing back and forth as Rachel filled her cup.

“I’ll… Figure something out.  Might be able to steal some gym mats from the aerobics instructors or something.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Quinn.”

“I won’t.” She said, her eyebrows knit in silent calculation. “Dinner’s over at 9, right?  What time is it?”

Rachel looked over at the clock on the wall, one of those yellow-faced ancient things that they had in every school classroom.

“Assuming that thing has been wound recently, it’s 8:45.”

Quinn’s calculating face turned devious.

“Wanna annoy the crap out of Jacob?”

– - -

Little did Rachel know, there was a back-back stage to the auditorium, a closet full of decades old cleaning supplies and dusty boxes.  Presently, Quinn was pushing those boxes aside, mumbling things under her breath.

Rachel picked up a broom to move it, only to have the handle break right off the bristles.

“There used to be mats in here, I swear it.  At the start of the summer, Jacob had us stuff a bunch of our things in this room so that guests could use the backstage for God knows what.”

They had snuck in through the back service door, slinking past the cooks still wiping down the prep counters, preparing for breakfast the following morning.  At Quinn’s surprising insistence, Rachel had thrown her change of clothes, a Ben Israel’s shirt and cotton shorts, on over her bathing suit to appear slightly less conspicuous, even with Quinn still dressed like a dancing cat burglar.

She was more graceful than Rachel, though, and could easily slip herself into spaces that Rachel merely stumbled through.

“A-ha!” Quinn lifted up a folded, torn looking rubber mat from behind a stack of what looked like old Good Housekeeping issues and presented it to Rachel with a self-satisfied smirk.

“I might die of some mysterious disease if I fall on that thing, Quinn.”

Quinn looked back at it, hitting it a few times to rid it of one of the hundred layers of dust it was covered in.

“It’s fine.  You’re telling me you’re scared of some dust?”  Quinn’s eyebrow rose, the one that had on more than once occasion made Rachel blush.

“No, I’m just a very cleanly person, and don’t forget that I’ve been in your cabin so I know for a fact that you’re very much the same.”

The acknowledgement had obviously taken Quinn by surprise, because she frowned, letting her arms and the rubber mat dangle at her sides.  It had become apparent that Quinn wasn’t fond of people knowing things about her, even small things, and Rachel very much did.

She knew so many things that she felt like she was bursting at the seams with them.

Rachel bent down and took the offending mat out of Quinn’s hands and clutched it to her stomach.

“This is lovely, Quinn, thank you.  Practicing with Noah is just… It’s simply…”

She didn’t have an excuse.  She hadn’t thought of them in days, but suddenly she was pathetically considering what Sugar or Susie or Rachel Steinbrenner would say about the fact that she had no interest in dancing with one of the most attractive boys at Ben Israel’s, staff or otherwise.

It wasn’t that he was a bad teacher, or even that he was a shameless flirt.  And it wasn’t like she couldn’t see and even feel the appeal of his body against hers, it was just–

“It feels like a betrayal.”

Oh, no, she’d said it aloud.  Quinn visibly balked.  Without saying another word, she side-stepped Rachel and was walking out the door and into the well-lit backstage area.  Rachel knew she was supposed to follow, that she wanted to continue practicing until Quinn was done with her, but she couldn’t quite make her feet move.

“Miss Fabray!”

Jacob.  Rachel dropped the mat and buried her face in her hands.

“Hello, Jacob.” Quinn said, her voice cool, though if there was a hint of resentment, she couldn’t say from behind the wall.

“Can I ask what you’re doing back here at this hour?  Looking so–”

“I’m giving an evening lesson, and I was just looking for some dance records.”

It was a decent save, Rachel thought.  Though, if Jacob thought to walk back into the storage area, their cover would be entirely blown.

“I see.  Say, you haven’t seen Rachel Berry around, have you?  One of the cooks said they might’ve seen her, and her father is looking for her.”

Rachel felt the skin on her arms prickle.

“Who again?” Quinn asked, her voice revealing nothing, per usual.  Rachel supposed being a droll eye-roller might be a decent enough tactic to lie your way through any conversation.

“Rachel. About yay high, long, dark hair, legs for days.”

Rachel could only imagine the face that Quinn must’ve been giving the creep, and she hated that Quinn was being put in such a compromising position because of her, so she picked up the infernal mat, and she waltzed out into the light.

“You rang?” She asked, smiling. She refused to be intimidated by the barely human equivalent of Pepe Le Pew.

Quinn looked like she was going to kill them both, stepping away, her hands folding behind her back.

“Uh, uh, Rachel–” He stammered, looking between her and Quinn like he had just caught them stealing the hope diamond.

“Quinn is giving me dance lessons, Jacob. We were just looking for records and supplies and that kind of thing.” She lifted up the folded mat. “And I picked this up so I could complete my rigorous stretching routine on something more comfortable than the cold, hard ground.  Listen,” she said, trying as hard as she could to make her face look the picture of virtue. “These lessons are a secret, I was hoping to surprise my daddy at the end of the summer with my new skill.  You won’t tell him, will you?”

Head tilt, check.  Fluttering eyelashes, check.  Just a small lick of the lips?  Check.  Jacob looked like he would bowl over.

“I - I won’t, you have my word.” He turned slowly to Quinn, who was standing against the wall, looking like she was towing the line between bored and homicidal. “Miss Fabray, I trust that you’ll be giving Miss Berry her money’s worth?  She’s a very important guest here at Ben Israel’s, and you’re to treat her with the utmost professionalism.”

Quinn blinked, Rachel just knew she wanted to fix her with some kind of look , but she only nodded, giving Jacob the smallest of appeasing smiles.

“Of course.  Anything for such an important guest .” She said, the words important guest spared no syllable.  Rachel’s cheeks burned.

“A-all right then, I’ll tell Hiram I saw you in passing, if he asks.”  Jacob said, though Rachel knew that he wouldn’t. She was almost certain that her father hadn’t asked after her at all, because she had in no uncertain terms told him that she would be spending the evening in town with some of the girls, careful not to name which ones.

When Jacob had finally left, Rachel let herself catch Quinn’s eye, and the look she saw was confounding.

“What?” Rachel asked, hugging the mat tighter to herself.  She was vaguely aware that there was a goofy, flustered smile on her own face, and soon Quinn’s face seemed like it was going to follow, but at the last moment she pursed her lips.

“Important guest, huh?” She glanced at Rachel out of the corner of her eye as she carefully walked towards the door.

“I don’t know what that was all about, he’s ridiculous.  He’s been trying to get into my knickers since I was in junior high.”

Quinn’s hand was on the door handle, slowly turning it until it softly clicked.

“You ought to stop encouraging him with all that flirting, then.” She said, her voice low enough that it might as well have been a whisper as she opened the door.

“I do not flirt with him!”  Rachel hissed as they both hustled towards their exit.  When they were safely in the quiet, dark corridor between the stage and the kitchen, Quinn dramatically pressed her back against the wall, her hand splaying out over her chest.

“Oh, Jacob , you won’t tell my daddy, will you??? ” She lifted her chin, emphatically batting her eyelashes, turning her voice all high and breathy.

“That is not how I sound! Or look!”

Quinn’s shoulders dropped and her eyebrow rose.  Rachel glanced over to the door at the end of the hallway.

“Are you going to make fun of me for getting us out of a sticky situation all night or are we going to make our daring escape?”

Quinn shrugged, pushing off the wall and starting up towards the exit.

“I don’t know why we’re going back this way, anyway, Jacob already saw us.” Quinn mused. “The only people we’d be hiding from are–” She stopped, seeming to consider something, and then never started back up again.

Rachel swallowed, feeling the air change between them as it so often did at the drop of a hat with Quinn.  She pushed the door open to the kitchens with a little more heft than was necessary, and they were plunged into total darkness as Rachel realized that the cleanup crew was done for the night.

Without thinking (and gosh, when did she ever?) she grabbed for Quinn’s hand.  The strangest and most wonderful part was that Quinn did not pull away.

“If you’re wondering, yes, my father has forbidden me from seeing you.  Any and all of you, really, but I don’t care.  Obviously I don’t care.”

“I don’t care, either.” Quinn said with a pointedly disinterested tone, pulling Rachel around like she knew her way through the dark, and maybe she did.

"I just want you to know that I'm not ashamed of you. I think you're–"

"Just stop, please." Quinn whispered harshly, though it was unnecessary in the cool, dark, and empty kitchen.

"But–"

"Rachel."

Quinn said her name like it was precious, some sacred phrase uttered with one's eyes shut tight.  It was no wonder that it made her look a little drunk to hear it.

When Quinn pushed open the back exit to the kitchens, the moon was bright, almost full save one last sliver.

She dropped Rachel's hand.

"Here." Quinn took the mat that Rachel had been barely hanging onto with one arm.

Rachel cleared her throat, controlling her urge to comment on Quinn's chivalry as she took the lead back to the old rec center.

Chapter Text

It was nearly 10pm, and Rachel considered that she should've been hungry hours ago as Quinn stood in front of her, arms outstretched, demonstrating the form necessary to execute a lift without one or both parties injuring themselves.

It was hard to focus on one's physical needs when watching Quinn move. Rachel didn't think she'd ever met someone more graceful in her whole life. She thought she could watch Quinn so much as read the Sunday paper with awe.

"Okay, are you ready to try?"

They'd set the rubber mat down on the ground, and Quinn was currently standing dead center on it, shoeless.

"Just remember, you're not jumping on me, you're jumping up , and then I'll catch you."

Rachel nodded, her face set hard in determination. Quinn counted down and Rachel ran like she was about to do a swan dive off of a diving board. In front of her, Quinn's arms were open, her wrists straight and hands poised, ready to receive her.

But at the last moment, just when she was supposed to bound into the air like she was Peter Pan, she got spooked.

She couldn't say if it was nerves, or fear, or simply the way Quinn's face looked so wonderfully earnest as she waited, but she stumbled back.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't–"

"It's fine," Quinn sighed, though it was more patient than Rachel expected it would be. "Just try again."

Rachel nodded, shaking out her shoulders and unclenching her fists. She could do this. Couldn't she?

She stood at the edge of the room, giving herself a longer runway and watched Quinn, ever the professional, standing with her back straight and her knees slightly bent. Rachel watched the lean muscle along her biceps and forearms tighten as she readied herself.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, and–

Just as she came up on Quinn, her heart pounding, body so ready to leap into the air that she felt as though her legs were springs, her mind went to the night before.

Stupid, stupid brain. 

She had spent an entire day after their argument convincing herself that she wanted nothing more to do with this girl, that she was bad news, just a distraction from Rachel's heartache over Finn or her anxieties about leaving home and being out on her own.

She had decided that she hated her!

So, why had she been there for more than half the day, touching and holding and being grabbed and spun and twisted about by her? Rachel was starving, she hadn't eaten more than a banana on her way out of the cabin, and why not? Really, honestly, why?

Hadn't she come to the conclusion that none of this was worth her time, that it wouldn't go the way she'd planned?

Only, she no longer knew what way that was.  No one in her life had ever made her feel like giving up large pieces of herself for a chance to simply stand next to them. Especially no one she had really only just met.

Before, it had been a fascination, but now, dancing with her, experiencing the gentle determination and thoughtfulness she afforded things she cared about…

"I don't know what's come over me." Rachel said, striding over to the sink and pouring herself a glass of water. She gulped the whole thing down until she nearly choked.

"One more time, and we can call it quits for the night. It's late, anyway." Quinn said, lacing her fingers and stretching her arms in an arc over her head. Rachel watched her ribs rise and fall.

She nodded vigorously, setting down her water cup with an unintentional bang.

"Yes, okay, I'm determined. I simply keep… psyching myself out, it's really rather unlike me.”

"You just have to trust me." Quinn said plainly, like it was just that simple. Rachel opened her mouth to say that she did, that it wasn't the problem, but she snapped it shut when she realized that it was.

Something was happening inside of her, something that had been stirred up the night of the party and Lucille and Quinn touching her hips like she'd touched another woman's that way before, or had at least given a great deal of thought to the notion.

Acknowledging it, whatever it was, only made the prospect of trust more impossible, more utterly unreachable.

But Rachel wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Far from it!

"I'll get it right this time, I swear it." She promised, and Quinn gave her a wary look, but she got into position all the same.

"Okay." Rachel said to herself, sucking in a hard breath. She was sweating over already dried sweat, her arms were itchy with it and her stomach was twisting itself into knots, whether from lack of dinner or something else, she didn't know.

She ran forward, long, even strides like a dancer, like Quinn, and when she came to her, instead of shoving down that terrifying, swirling mass of emotion in her chest, she let it take her over, and she jumped.

Unfortunately, she jumped into Quinn.

To her credit, she had grabbed Rachel's hips and splayed her palms along the span of them, but the balance was all off, and they both went down like a pair of bowling pins, one on top of the other.

The back of Quinn's skull hit the wood floor with a sharp, echoing thud. She winced, her face wrinkled in pain, and Rachel, very much on top of the girl, reached out as any good Samaritan should, cradling Quinn's head.

"Oh! Oh, Quinn, I'm so sorry!"

Quinn took in a deep breath through her nose, her hands still in some ways on Rachel's hips, her neck taut as she tried to blink away what must've been stars.

"Ouch." She said, her eyelashes finally done fluttering and her vision steady on Rachel's face.

Rachel felt her eyes cross a little.  She could feel Quinn's body from her toes all the way to her chest and then Quinn was re-situating her hands but not moving them away, when she really should have, shouldn't she?

And Rachel was still cradling the back of her head like she was holding her.

Quinn's hips rolled in an attempt, possibly, to get the 100 pound sack of dead weight off of her body, but Rachel felt like she was the one with the head injury.

"Are you all right? Did I give you a concussion?" She asked, thumbs smoothing down Quinn's hair where it was all wild and fallen from its tie. She watched Quinn's throat bob as she swallowed.  She shook her head.

Her hips rocked up, again. This time, Rachel took the hint and scrambled off of her, so fast that she awkwardly fell back onto her butt.

Quinn just lay there for a moment, her chest rising and falling hard with each breath.

"That – is what happens when you jump at instead of up .” She grumbled, and then looked to Rachel like she’d forgotten herself. “Are you okay?"

Rachel crawled back on her hands and knees, looming over Quinn because she had not gotten up from the ground, and usually that meant that someone was not okay , that they were hurt or needed help, or–

"Don't ask if I'm okay, my fall was very much softened by you! Not a limb hit the floor, Quinn! You're the one that banged your head!" Instinctually, Rachel's hands reached out again, but Quinn took that moment to roll to the side and push herself up onto her feet.

She rubbed at the back of her head.

"It's fine, I think the bun might've taken most of the impact. This is why I wanted a stupid mat." She kicked the dusty old thing they'd lugged back from the auditorium.

"I suppose I did, well, launch myself at you, and that likely pushed you back a few feet. I really am sorry. We'll practice it all day tomorrow! I can be here before sunrise!"

Quinn walked over to her bag and pulled out a wristwatch, slim blue suede, and made a face at the time.

"Let's say 6am." She murmured, stuffing the thing back in her bag.

"And we'll stay all day. Until dark! I can bring a picnic!" Rachel smiled, thinking of going into town and shopping the little grocery store for cold cuts and fresh bread to make sandwiches, some fresh fruit, maybe a couple of Coca Colas.

Quinn's lips twitched.

"Um, I do have to work at some point tomorrow, but–"

The screen door screeched as it was pushed open. Rachel's eyes shot to a statuesque blonde walking through in blue checkered capris and a tucked in sleeveless blouse.  Brittany was holding what looked like a rapidly melting ice cream sundae.

Just behind her was Santana, looking annoyed, but that wasn't exactly a surprise.

"Here!" Brittany cheered, offering up the ice cream to Quinn, and then Rachel, like she couldn't decide who deserved it most.

"Saint Brittany decided you needed some grub when she didn't see you at dinner, Q." Santana explained, all the while shooting Rachel a dirty look.

"I was serving at the kids’ ice cream social, and I snuck this out when I finished. There's rainbow jimmies!"

She thrust it towards Quinn again, and this time she gingerly took the cup, staring down in it with a confused look.

"Gummy bears, too." Brittany supplied, and Quinn slowly nodded her understanding of the goop in front of her.

"You want some?" Quinn looked up, regarding Rachel with her eyebrows raised, and it was almost shy the way she said it, not brusque as she would have expected.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. Brittany brought it for you, Quinn. Plus, I'm not too fond of rainbow jimmies."

" What? " Santana balked, her dirty look growing into a flabbergasted one. "Everyone likes rainbow jimmies. Quinn does."

"Well, Santana, I think you'll find that not everyone likes exactly what Quinn likes."

Santana rolled her eyes as Quinn closed the few feet between them, side-stepping their guests.

"Come on, Rachel, I know you're hungry." She was back to sounding vaguely roguish, or at least teasing. Rachel crossed her arms.

"And just how would you know that?"

"Because I've been listening to your stomach growl for the last two hours. Now, here–"

Quinn held out a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, swimming in swirls of chocolate sauce and melting jimmies. She was hungry, yes, and Quinn was offering her something, when did she offer her anything?

Except the mat, maybe. And her time. And her really very stalwart patience.

Rachel leaned in and closed her mouth over the spoon.

Somewhere, just a yard to the side of her, Santana was making a small, strangled sound in the back of her throat.

Had she closed her eyes? Had she made some kind of ridiculous, embarrassing face as Quinn fed her?

Just then, Sam walked through the screen door, holding what looked like a crate full of records.  Quinn dropped the spoon and it clattered to the ground.

"Whoa, looks like a pretty lady convention in here." Sam smiled, gripping the bottom of the crate he held hard.

"Yeah, sorry, your invitation must've got lost in the mail." Santana joked, digging her fist into his shoulder as he skipped to try and escape her, nearly upending what was in his arms.

"Old Mr. Friedman gave all these to me and Mike, said his son moved out and left a bunch of stuff behind.  Some pretty cool records in here.”

Just behind him, the boy that Rachel assumed must be Mike kicked the screen door open, holding another crate full of records.  Both boys dumped them on the ground and Sam plucked out one that he’d clearly had his eye on.

“Hank Williams.” He smiled, and Santana audibly groaned, trying to make a grab for it as Sam hustled over to the turntable.

“You really gonna make us listen to this country western crap? I already have to deal with Quinn spinning Ethel Waters all hours of the day like she’s someone’s grandma.”

“Come on, Santana, it’s fun!” Mike took her hand and pulled her into a quick underarm spin like they’d been doing them in their sleep.  She rolled her eyes but played along as Hank Williams began singing hey good lookin’, what’cha got cookin'?

Rachel giggled as they started dancing a choppy jitterbug, and then Brittany was up and dancing by herself around them.  Quinn had gone over to the kitchenette to set the mostly-melted ice cream into the sink.  The soft way she looked at the scene in front of her made Rachel’s heart ache for some reason.

Sam crossed the room, a man on a mission, and held out his hand for Quinn like a proper gentleman.  She cocked her head to the side and shook it, but he just stood there, waiting, one knee slightly bent.

After a beat and a deep sigh, she smacked her hand into his. “Oh, fine.” She said, her smile tempered as she shimmied her shoulders a little bit to the beat.

Rachel let her back rest against the wall, suddenly feeling sheepish, like she had infiltrated a space that she wasn’t meant to be in.

Quinn was full on laughing now as Mike let go of Santana and pulled at Quinn’s hands, giving her a questioning look before she shrugged and he dipped her like she was a rag doll.

They were all dancing with each other, no set partners to be seen, and then Noah walked in, scratching at the back of his neck, looking at all of them for a moment like they’d gone off their rocker.

He didn’t even look at Rachel.  It did feel as if she wasn’t really there at all anymore, just a passive, invisible observer.  She liked to tell herself she didn’t mind, because they really all looked so happy, so carefree, but she ached to be a part of it.

Noah did a little soft shoe over to the group and Brittany pulled him in with both arms.  She watched Quinn eye him curiously, her face pinched, but in another instant all was well and she was being spun in a circle by Santana like they were two school girls.

The song ended and quickly moved into another with the same sluggish tempo. Sam finally caught her eye, doing some kind of twist all the way to her corner of the room.

“Come on! No sense in wasting a good time, right?” He held out his hand much in the same way that he’d done to Quinn.  Rachel glanced up, seeing that Mike was still monopolizing Quinn, and who could blame him?  Brittany, Santana, and Noah were all dancing around each other, unpartnered, showing off silly moves they made up to match the dopey country music.

Rachel smiled sweetly, taking Sam’s hand and allowing herself to be led into the throng of people.  She just stood there for a moment, trying to take everything in now that she was in the thick of it and not on the sidelines.  Santana’s face was flushed a pretty red, Brittany was purposely dancing badly to make her laugh.  Noah seemed to be free of the normal pretense he put on and was simply grinning.

“Don’t worry, we’re all just goofin’ around. Just pretend you’re dancing all alone in your room!” Sam assured, closing his eyes and demonstrating one of the most ridiculous renditions of the Chicken Dance she’d ever seen.  A laugh bubbled out of Rachel’s mouth, but she didn’t quite move, so Sam came up behind her and grabbed her elbows, flapping her arms for her.

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t know the chicken dance.” He laughed in her ear, and finally Rachel acquiesced, turning around to show him the little flaps and claps to prove that she was indeed at the very least proficient in one of the most ridiculous dances of all time.

She scrunched her nose up as she moved into the mashed potato, a dance she’d done in front of the mirror in her room while listening to Lesley Gore.  Sam threw his head back laughing.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do the mashed potato to country western music!”

Rachel gave him a wry smile. “I’m a trailblazer, what can I say?”

A sudden ripping sound indicated the needle had been forcibly lifted from the record, and everyone looked over to see Santana switching it out with a shrug.

“Sorry, lady lips, I need somethin’ I can actually dance to.”

A cheer erupted throughout the room as Sam Cooke started to sing, and Santana pulled Brittany into her arms like she was meant to be there, mouthing the words to the song.

Everyone started back up dancing like it wasn’t at least one of the stranger things they’d seen, Rachel following suit.  She and Sam danced the twist, and then Brittany grabbed her and they just jumped around like children, or maybe it was just that they were children, and this is what they were supposed to be doing.

It being a Sam Cooke record, the party didn’t last for long, and when the song changed it was slow and crooning.  Sam took Rachel’s hands and raised his eyebrows, and she nodded and then he was whisking her around the floor like it was a ballroom.

She smiled, unable to help how wide it spread across her cheeks.  She had never wanted anything more than this, blithely dancing with friends in the middle of the night, not caring about how you looked or whether your father would come in and, naturally upon seeing you, never speak to you again.

She hadn’t wanted anything more for the longest time, could have sworn that she still did not, but there was undoubtedly something missing. There was a twinge in her belly. A smarting in her head and her chest.

She looked out over the room to see that Santana had taken a seat and that Brittany and Noah had paired up along with Quinn and Mike.

Mike was whispering something to Quinn, something that made one corner of her lip turn up. As slow dancing tended to go, they were sorely close.  She hadn’t looked at Rachel since the ice cream, and Rachel wondered if she’d done something wrong, if it had been some kind of test that she’d failed.

All she wanted was for Quinn to look at her, and if she never looked away, well, Rachel doesn't think she would mind.

“Yeah, I know, Mike’s a better dancer than me.” Sam said after watching Rachel track the two of them spinning around the floor.

“Oh, no, I – I don’t think so.  He’s very precise, though, isn’t he?”

Sam shrugged. “So’s Quinn.  It’s weird, she’s usually the one being a wallflower.  Can’t believe she’s letting Mike dance with her, she must be in a good mood.”

Rachel felt her whole body prickle like a porcupine, as if someone had poured a glass of ice water directly into her bloodstream.  She looked back at Quinn, who was still not looking at her.

“Sam, if you’ll excuse me.”  She let her hands fall and stepped back, walking like a woman possessed towards where Mike and Quinn were dancing.  She tapped the boy’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I hate to be so – We don’t know each other, but would you mind if I cut in?”

Quinn had done it to her twice already, hadn’t she?  But this time there was no excuse, no pretense of instruction.  Only that Rachel wanted to dance with Quinn.

Mike looked dazed for a moment, but he recovered quickly enough, looking to Quinn briefly before nodding and walking towards Santana.  He would get her up dancing, surely, and then Sam would be left on the benches, but Rachel wasn’t worried about that. Quinn looked at her like she was trying her hardest not to smile.

“I wanted to show you that I’m a passable dancer, casually. Or that I know how to dance in my own room, by myself, but that I’ve worked on it for years, and I was even in the Glee Club, which, granted, didn’t involve too terribly much dancing, but certainly swaying in time to the beat, and–”

“So show me.” Quinn interrupted, flapping her hand, expecting Rachel to finally, finally take it. When she did, Quinn’s hand felt different than it had the entire time she’d been teaching her.  Dry. Warm with someone else’s touch.  Rachel adjusted herself until they were remarkably close.  Sam Cooke sang about summertime and Rachel suddenly wondered if Santana hadn’t put this record on so that she could actually slow dance with Brittany.

She pushed the thought aside.  Quinn’s bottom lip was bitten red.  Her makeup had properly sweated off and Rachel could see the light spray of freckles on her cheeks.  The sleeves of her leotard scratched against Rachel’s forearms as they toddled from foot to foot, barely dancing at all.  What was Rachel even proving?

“This is a beautiful song.” Rachel said, breaking the monotony of her heart pounding in her ears.

Quinn nodded, her smile so slight that it barely qualified as one. She ducked her head, her eyes somewhere on the floor.

“Do you often ask girls to dance?” She asked, looking up all at once, and Rachel swore it was behind her eyelashes, but if you’d asked her a second later, she would’ve said otherwise.  She would’ve said it was just how Quinn looked at anyone and everyone.

“It would seem that this summer I’m making it a habit.” Rachel said, tongue pressed into her cheek. Quinn watched the motion, too, there was no use doubting it.  Her eyes then moved, it seemed, to other parts of Rachel’s face before settling somewhere near the curve of her neck.

She remembered her thought at seeing Quinn’s frustrated movements, being pinned in place back behind the stage with the grand piano, how unlike any other girl she’d seemed then.

She felt the same way now, looking at her.  And maybe it was because Rachel had never slow danced with anyone but a boy, she simply had no proper frame of reference.  But that couldn’t be it, could it?  It was something in the set of her jaw, how she held her mouth.  Where she decided to look and when.

It was one of the many things that made Quinn so interesting.  Here was the prettiest girl she had ever seen, yet sometimes she did things that Rachel was sure any normal girl would all but swoon over.

“I shouldn’t have said you were a lousy dancer.” Quinn said, still looking just below her chin and not a smidge higher.  She wondered if Quinn felt as she felt, like eye contact between them was too much, like having someone’s hand plunged into your chest and placed over your beating heart.

“It’s okay, Quinn, I have more than enough confidence, compliments aren’t necessary.”

Quinn shook her head, her eye tooth catching quickly at the corner of her bottom lip before disappearing. “But they should be.  You’re – you’re doing really well.  Terrifically well.  And I really am grateful to you for helping me.  You didn’t have to.  That’s what I came to say last night, but–”

“But you were so drunk that you couldn’t even stand up properly?” Rachel supplied, trying to crane her neck down to catch Quinn’s eye, but she was stubbornly evading it.  Quinn breathed in slowly but deeply, letting it out even slower.

“Something like that.”

Her hands were on Rachel’s waist and Rachel’s hands were on Quinn’s hips, their arms all crisscrossed and wrong.  No one was leading, and it didn’t matter.  There was a kind of deliverance in it, in a way.

The song ended all too soon, and then Havin' A Party came on and as such, the party resumed. Brittany launched herself at Quinn like she was about to save her from drowning, inadvertently pushing Rachel to the side in the process.

Someone, probably Santana, had produced a bottle of liquor, and the boys were all passing it around as they moved to the music.

Eventually, the bottle made its way to Rachel, and she looked at it like someone had just dropped her a lifeline when she would rather just drift at sea.

She was tired. Beyond, actually, so fatigued that she was beginning to think and do all sorts of funny things. She had slow danced with Quinn, she had done it in front of her friends, and if they had looked at them like a pair of inverts, Rachel wouldn't have even known, her eyes being on one thing and one thing only.

She respectfully declined the bottle, passing it off to Brittany, still very much between her and Quinn.

Once Brittany had taken a swig that dribbled down her chin, she passed it to Quinn, who immediately and without pause begged off from it entirely.

"Suit yourself." Brittany shrugged, taking another hefty drink before passing back to Santana.

"Not gonna drink, Q? You still think you're gonna pop out another Puck Jr. or what?"

For someone that was supposed to be Quinn's friend, Santana really could be cruel sometimes. Quinn looked taken aback, as though she'd just dodged a sucker punch.

"What?" Santana continued, doubling down, knocking back the bottle like she was itching for a fight. "Do we all just gotta pretend like that's not what's going on?"

Brittany's hand was on Santana's wrist, a silent plea, but she shook it off.

"It's none of your business, Santana." Quinn said, all the light and joy gone from her face. Rachel missed it immediately, felt like she wanted to rip Santana's stupid, mean tongue right out of her mouth–

"Oh, I think it is, Princess. You basically tried to fuckin' kill yourself last Friday, and maybe you would have if your little girlfriend hadn't shown up!"

Rachel wasn’t sure what happened, but much in the same way that she had been swept up in emotion when she’d slapped Noah across the face, she stepped solidly in front of Quinn.

“Why don’t you just leave her alone?  Everyone was having a wonderful time, and you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”

All movement in the room stopped. If they had been in a movie, Rachel mused, the record would’ve abruptly stopped spinning.  Instead, it played and played as she huffed and stood her ground in front of Santana, who had pressed the liquor bottle into Brittany's chest and was quite literally cracking her neck.

“Oh, you wanna take this outside, dwarf? ‘Cause you don’t even belong here, anyway.  Much rather rip your hair out on your own turf.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open as Santana violently shoved one of her shoulders.  Luckily, she had a quite low center of gravity, and it was very difficult to knock her down.

“Santana!” Quinn yelped, but Rachel turned around and gave her what she hoped was a disarming smile.

“It’s fine, Quinn, Santana doesn’t scare me.  I’ve been dealing with girls like her my whole life.”

Bullies, really. Rachel had never been very popular in school, normal people simply didn’t understand her level of ambition.  She tried, constantly, and people like Santana, who were too afraid to try for anything, made it their business to bring her down.

Well, she’d never let it happen before, and she wouldn’t now.

“You think I’m just like some gringa that put a kick me sign on your back in grade school, huh?  I will erase you from the face of this earth, bitch–”

Suddenly, Rachel felt a tugging on her hand, and she looked over to see that it was Quinn.  Quinn, who had never taken Rachel’s hand, who had always expected Rachel to take hers during their lessons.

“Let’s go, Rachel, let Santana drink herself to death.” Quinn muttered, tugging again, and without even taking one last look at Santana, she was letting herself be led out the door.

Chapter Text

“Are you hungry?” Quinn asked, her voice warbly with how hard she took each step, almost like she was stomping.  Rachel was still holding her hand, a little desperately if she was being honest, and it seemed like Quinn had a destination in mind, though Rachel wasn’t sure where.

“Yes, but can we slow down a smidge?  I’m having a hard time keeping up with–”

“Ugh!” Quinn growled, throwing her arm down, and since their hands were still joined, Rachel’s arm was snapped down as well.  Still, she didn’t let go.

“Sorry, we can walk as fast as you want, let me just get my bearings.” Rachel tried to square her shoulders, but Quinn squeezed her hand and her bearings were all but lost again.

“I’m sorry.  Look, you can’t goad Santana like that, okay?  She was right, she’ll do a lot more than tie your shoelaces together.”

Rachel wanted to say that she could handle it, that she would’ve taken a punch if it meant standing up for Quinn, but she only exhaled the breath she’d been holding.  Quinn turned around and continued walking.

Before long, Rachel realized that they were nearing the main hall, the same place they’d left not long ago.

“Planning to get more mats so I don’t concuss you next time?”

“I’m hungry.  I thought we could pilfer something from the walk-in.” Quinn explained, pulling what looked like a skeleton key out of her bag as they came upon the back door that they’d slid out of earlier in the night.  Rachel didn’t ask – there were all sorts of things she didn’t know about Quinn, and this would just have to be one of them.

The kitchens were just as they’d left them an hour before, pitch dark, each footstep echoing off the stainless steel countertops.  Quinn reached over and flicked a light switch on, bathing the whole place in an eerie fluorescent glow.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Rachel thought she could see every pore on Quinn’s face.  She was scared to even think about what she must’ve looked like, so she ducked her head, and let go of Quinn’s hand.

Quinn went to the giant refrigerator as Rachel ran her hands along the gleaming metal surfaces, wondering how she could miss a touch so badly, when it was her that had broken herself off from it.

“Anything you’re in the mood for?” Quinn called from what sounded like deep inside the refrigerator. Rachel craned her neck from where she stood in the middle of the kitchen to see if she could see her, but no luck.

“Surprise me!” She called back, enjoying the idea that Quinn might pick something while considering her, Rachel, as a person with likes and dislikes.  Something just for her. “Oh, but I don’t eat meat!” She added, slowly walking towards the door where vapor was pouring out from the cold.

She peered in to see Quinn knelt down with a look of intense concentration.  It was almost too adorable for Rachel to keep quiet about, though she did somehow.

“That sort of puts a damper on my roast beef sandwich plans.” She murmured, unaware that Rachel was close enough to hear.  Rachel cleared her throat and Quinn looked up at her, holding out a block of cheese and a loaf of bread.

“Grilled cheese?”

– - -

Rachel’s stomach growled as the kitchen filled with the smell of browning butter and melting, bubbly cheese.  Quinn stood in front of one of the many burners, looking positively discordant in her black leotard as she cooked their sandwiches. Rachel leaned on the opposite end of the range, elbows on the counter, head in her hands.

“I’m an abysmal cook,” She confessed.  “My father doesn’t even know how to make coffee, so I didn’t get much instruction in that regard at home.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, quickly glancing at Rachel before she looked back down at the task at hand.

“What, you never took home ec?”

Rachel laughed, and immediately became embarrassed at how high and mincing it sounded.  She removed her elbows from the counter and stood up straight, trying to regain a normal posture and not one that might as well have been accompanied by little cartoon hearts and stars around her head.

“Oh, no, I was much too busy covertly leading the Glee Club to three state victories behind my father’s back.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open a little, but she only nodded slowly, flipping the grilled cheese with a satisfying sizzle.

“Well,” Quinn began, her lips twisting to one side before she continued. “I was sent to charm school when I was 14. They teach young ladies how to cook, you know, beef stroganoff for their husbands.”  Quinn’s eyes never left the pan as she spoke.

“I wonder what they’d say about me, now – an unwed mother, basically penniless, making grilled cheese at midnight for another girl.”

Quinn picked up the pan and shuffled the sandwiches onto a waxed paper plate she’d pulled from some shelf in the corner. Rachel watched it all like she was in the kitchen of a five star restaurant, rapt.

“I don’t know what they’d say, but I happen to think you’re incredibly charming.”

Quinn bit her lip, ignoring Rachel as she looked over to the door they came through.

“Let’s get out of here.  I know a place we can go.”

– - -

Quinn had unwittingly one-upped Rachel’s picnic aspirations, having rummaged through the fridge for some loose fruit and matzo crackers.

Quinn didn’t take her hand again, but Rachel thought about taking hers all the way down to the gazebo, which was almost always lit and strange to see completely doused in darkness.

They sat crisscross apple sauce in the center, facing each other so that their knees almost touched.  A cloud had slid over the moon and it was dark, so dark that Rachel could barely see anything other than the white of Quinn’s teeth as she bit into her sandwich.  It was good to sit so close, Rachel thought, because she was a little bit afraid of the dark and she supposed maybe Quinn was, as well.

“This is wonderful.” Rachel said, raising her grilled cheese before taking another delicate bite. It was okay, it being cheese and bread and butter and nothing else, but the fact that Quinn had taken such care in making it for her made it infinitely better.

Quinn snorted, plucking a grape off its little vine and popping it into her mouth.  She chewed, seemed to question whether she should speak with her mouth full, and then did it anyway.

“It’s just grilled cheese.” She said, the words all garbled, her palm demurely placed in front of her mouth.

“Still, I think it’s without a doubt the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.” Rachel placed the sandwich down on their shared plate and dusted the crumbs off her fingers.  “Quinn, I’d like to apologize on behalf of Santana.  I know that isn’t my right or my privilege, but what she said to you–”

Quinn leaned her head back and sighed loudly through her nose, swallowing what was in her mouth before she spoke again.

“She’s just trying to look out for me in that backwards, wounded way of hers.  It’s how she is.  Sometimes I forget and I take things personally, but at the end of the day…” Quinn trailed off, her eyes glassy in what little light was available for Rachel to see them.

“I don’t think you should allow anyone to speak to you that way, Quinn, you don’t deserve it.”

Quinn’s hands rubbed at the fabric over her hips.  They curled into fists, and Rachel imagined she would’ve been gripping a dress or pants, but her leotard didn’t offer her the chance.

“You have no idea what I deserve or don’t deserve.” She bit out, causing Rachel’s stomach to clench so tight that she felt sick from it.

They were far too close.  Despite the dark, despite the need to huddle together, Rachel pressed her hands against the floor and pushed herself an inch or so back.

“I know that I don’t know you , Quinn, not really.  It seems like no one could ever fully know you, but you said yourself, there are things I do know, and–”

“I was drunk when I…you can’t take anything I said last night seriously.  I’m a complete moron when I’ve been drinking, as you know.  I say and do things that I don’t mean.”

Rachel remembered Quinn’s warm palm wrapped around her ankle.  She didn’t want to feel so hurt by this, by Quinn, but she did.  Her shoulders dropped in what felt like defeat.

“How is it that we can’t seem to just be around each other?  It always seems like we’re – we’re doing so well, and then something like this happens.  I say the wrong thing or you say the wrong thing, and suddenly I feel like you hate me. I'm beginning to think that being a hot head isn't a proper explanation."

Rachel was suddenly glad that it was so dark.  She would have hated for Quinn to be able to see, unimpeded, the distraught look on her face.

“Why do you care?” Quinn asked, finally, but instead of being combative it was nothing more than pitiful.  “Everyone gave up on me a long time ago, Rachel.  You don’t have to… do any of this.  I can take care of myself.”

Rachel shook her head.

“But you shouldn’t have to. And I’d appreciate it if you just took my kindness at face value. If you’d like me to go about listing all the reasons I think you’re a swell person, well–”

This time, Quinn was the one to scoot herself back.  She grabbed her sandwich and took a comically large bite, chewing with a sour face like a little girl.

“You keep on asking what I want, Quinn, like my friendship has some kind of rider on it.  All I want is to exist peaceably with you.  If you’ll just accept my–” 

She almost said the word affections, had it sitting on the tip of her tongue like the spark from a very high flame.  “My good intentions, then we wouldn’t be at each other like this.”

Quinn chewed, and chewed, her brow still downturned.  When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.

“We’re just too different.” She said, and Rachel leaned in to hear it.  Quinn’s chin was tucked into her neck and she’d crossed her arms around herself in a kind of hug.

“See, I think that’s where you’re wrong.  I think we might be too much alike.” Rachel scooted forward, and then their knees were touching, by her design. Quinn looked out on the lake instead of at Rachel.  The cloud had moved enough that a small slice of the moon was shining on the water.

“I know things about you, Quinn, and it’s okay.  I know them and I think you’re just… Well, you’re just–”

Quinn looked at her with her lips pursed, like she would never even begin to believe anything Rachel had to say about her.

Rachel sucked in a ragged breath. Since when had she cared so much about appearing vulnerable?  She longed for the stage. Yet, something about the possibility of spewing out all of her feelings and having Quinn look at her with anything worse than a calm curiosity made her feel, as ever, like letting all the air out of her lungs and sinking to the bottom of the lake.

“I think you’re terrific.” She said, chickening out, because what else could she say?  I feel like I’ve known you my whole life?  If souls are real and split before birth, you carry half of mine?

The terror in her heart at even thinking it sent her hurtling towards safety. She looked down at her food, the sandwich that Quinn had made.  She couldn’t eat it, now.  What was something untouched by her, not so infused with the oils from the palms of her hands?  She looked over to an orange, but Quinn had dug her thumb into the top in an attempt to peel it.  The strawberries, she’d held them as she cut off the green tops.

Was there anything at all that hadn’t been affected by her?

Rachel smiled to hide whatever else it was that she was sure was painted all over her face.

“I’ll accept no less than two compliments in return.” She raised her chin, going for levity, hoping upon hope that Quinn would just take the bait and end her suffering.

She snorted, smiled back, even.  Rachel felt her body relax.  She could live to fight another day.

“You’re a decent singer.” Quinn said, popping another grape in her mouth.  Rachel scoffed, pressing her knuckles into her waist, her elbows out.

“Only decent? ” 

Quinn laughed a little, shrugging and wiggling, her knees all the while rubbing against Rachel’s.

“Okay, fine.  Accomplished.” She placed a finger on her chin, licking her lips. “And you have an…extensive vocabulary.”

Rachel reached out and gingerly shoved Quinn’s shoulder, like friends did.  She’d done things like that to Sugar countless times, hadn’t she? It did feel different, though.  Everything with Quinn did.

“That’s not a compliment, that’s just a fact!”

“I bet you’d say that about your lovely singing voice, as well.”  Quinn retorted, twisting a strawberry in between her thumb and forefinger, leaning back on one arm.  Rachel gulped.

“Lovely, now?  I went from proficient to lovely?”

Quinn bit into the strawberry.  Rachel had never paid such close attention to another person’s mouth.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You called me frustrating that day backstage, so I am decidedly unsurprised that you feel that way.”

Quinn straightened herself up, wiping her hands on the linen napkin she’d thoughtfully wrapped their food in.

“Have you ever been to the Big House?” Quinn asked, looking like she was up to something.  Rachel thought that she might’ve been inside once or twice as a young girl with her father, but she didn’t remember much.  She only knew that it was where the Ben Israels lived all year and that it had parlors and a ballroom and a second indoor swimming pool with a waterfall, if you could believe the gossip.

“Daddy goes daily, I think, since he’s in Mr. Ben Israel’s little inner circle, but I haven’t been since I was small.”

Quinn nodded slowly, one corner of her mouth turning up into a crooked smile.

“Most people don’t know, but Moishe and Edith and Jacob, they all sleep in the carriage house at night.  The Big House is really for show, Moishe doesn’t like to have it looking lived in. ”

Rachel raised an eyebrow.  There was something about Quinn’s demeanor, her high shoulders and her little mischievous smile.  Rachel wasn’t the kind of person that liked to break rules, except for when those rules stood in the way of something she desperately wanted.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Quinn?”

Quinn shrugged, looking out in the direction of the Big House.  You could just see its steep roof over the pines.

“You like the grand piano, right?”

Rachel squirmed, looking down at her half-eaten sandwich, resigned to the fact that it would probably never be finished.

“How’d you know that?”

She supposed Quinn could’ve asked people about her, people she knew, or they could’ve easily offered up the information on their own.  Gossip did run rampant at Ben Israel’s, after all.  Quinn only shrugged a shoulder.

“Because I saw how you looked at it that day.  Kind of like–”

"Quinn, if you say another thing about the movement of my eyelids, I might have to do something drastic."

Quinn's mouth dropped open, shocked, but it didn’t last for long.

"Like I said, I wouldn’t take anything I said when I was drunk too seriously–"

"No, you were right." Rachel announced, her voice bouncing off the water.  She was surprised at her own candor even more than it appeared Quinn was.

"I…was?"

Rachel took note of the fact that their knees were still, indeed, touching.  Digging into each other, really, at that point.  Bone on severe bone. She bit her tongue and looked out to the water like Quinn had done, avoiding what the moon’s reappearance would’ve made strikingly well-lit eye contact.

"I do like it… when you say my name, Quinn."

Despite not seeing it happen, she could hear Quinn’s breath catch.  Rachel had officially gone too far, she’d revealed too much, and Quinn would turn into one of those girls at school that had thought her lower than a cockroach, easily stomped over and on.

But the most extraordinary thing happened, instead.

"I actually kind of like the way you say mine, too." She watched Quinn’s throat bob with a deep, nervous swallow.  It was practically absurd to see Quinn nervous at all. “It’s like… I don’t know, like it’s important, or something.”  Quinn looked down at her fingers, shaking her head. “No one’s ever said my name like that.”

Rachel grabbed Quinn’s hand, pulling it away from where it was picking at her cuticles.  Without asking, without knowing that it would happen, Quinn took a breath and laced their fingers together.

Rachel grinned, nodding back towards the Big House.

“Come on.”

Chapter Text

They ran, hand in hand, at some godawful hour on a balmy night in June until they were standing on the massive stoop of the Big House, its fat Georgian columns dwarfing them both.

“Don’t tell me that key of yours opens this place, too.” Rachel said, not believing it for a second.

“Nope.” Quinn hopped down from the landing behind a series of bushes.  When she was firmly on the ground, she reached up and held her hand out to Rachel.

Rachel looked down, an awfully long way down, really, Quinn had been brave to just leap into some dark and damp corner like that.

“Don’t be scared.” Quinn encouraged, though her voice did hold an air of teasing on the last word.  Rachel squared her jaw.

“I am no such thing.” She ignored Quinn’s waiting hand and jumped unabetted, her shoes immediately sucking deep into the mud. Quinn winced as Rachel teetered and tottered, trying to catch her balance, which she finally found by grabbing onto one of the boxwoods for dear life.

Quinn raised that infernal eyebrow of hers. “Smooth.”

Rachel grumbled, letting go of her grip on the shrubbery.

“According to Puck, there’s basement access somewhere around here.”

“That sounds wonderfully delinquent, Quinn, but is there a point to this?”

Quinn skipped over a sprinkler and Rachel mimicked her like they were back at the old rec center, monkey-see, monkey-do.

“The piano in the auditorium is a baby grand. There’s a real grand in the ballroom – other instruments, too.  Wait ‘til you see it.”

Quinn picked up speed, her hand running along the stone exterior of the house until they came around to the side and were met with a cellar door encased in cement in the ground.

“If we get caught, you can tell them I forced you, or something.”

Rachel balked, stepping in front of Quinn and tugging at the doors.  They opened much easier than she’d imagined they would, and she nearly tumbled back into the bushes if it hadn’t been for Quinn’s hands, steady and true on her back.

“ If we get caught,” Rachel said, glancing over her shoulder at Quinn, “we’ll say I was the one that forced you.”

A small laugh puffed out of Quinn’s mouth.

“Rachel Berry, my hero.”

– - -

The ballroom was simply divine, there was no other word to describe it.  The walls were plated gold and there were instruments set up perfectly, as if lying in wait to be played.

And, oh, the piano.

If she’d thought the piano in the auditorium was something to marvel at – this one was ivory with gold scrollwork that lined the edges.  It looked like something Liberace would’ve owned.

“I had no idea Mr. Ben Israel was so–”

“Foppish?” Quinn bit her lip to keep her smile from getting any bigger.  Rachel walked around the piano, running her fingertips along the outside of it.

“I was going to say extravagant.”

“I think this was for his first wife, the one that died.  That’s what everyone says, anyway.”  Quinn came and stood in front of the bench, bending forward and pulling open the key cover.

“I assume you know how to play?” She asked Rachel, both hands neatly held at her lower back.

“Oh, no, how could I?”

Quinn’s face changed, as if remembering everything Rachel had shared with her, and then she pulled out the bench and sat down.

“I’d love to learn, though.  It’s such a beautiful instrument, and most singers do, but–”

Rachel’s mouth was stunned closed as Quinn began to play something, she wasn’t all together familiar with classical music but she loved the drama of it nevertheless.  Quinn’s fingers flew steady and sure over the keyboard and the sound of it filled the ballroom like they were in a cathedral.

Rachel walked closer, and then Quinn’s fingers stumbled and she tried to correct herself for a moment, but settled finally with a defeated key smash and a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I’m a little rusty.  Living in a two bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen with five other girls doesn’t really leave much room for a piano, so–” Rachel placed her hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

“It was – oh, Quinn, it was beautiful. ”

Quinn looked down at her hands, still on the keys.

“It was Chopin.”

“Well, it’s settled, you’ll just have to teach me.”

Quinn swiveled around and Rachel dropped her hand as a result.

“Aren’t I already teaching you enough?” She asked, leaning forward, and if Rachel didn’t know any better she would say that it was an invitation for her to place her hand in the spot it had vacated.  

Whether she would have or not, it didn’t matter, because a strange sound rang out somewhere deeper within the house.  Quinn looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“Shh!” She placed her pointer finger to her lips, standing up quickly and waving Rachel over to one of the doors, her back flat against it.  They waited there for what seemed like forever, Rachel trying her hardest not to even breathe, and finally Quinn let out a shallow breath.

“I think it must’ve just been the house settling.  If it was anyone, we’d hear their footsteps.  This place creaks like the devil.”  Quinn took one last moment with her ear against the door before she opened it.

“Come on, we’ll go a different way, just in case.  There's an actual lounge in here, if you can believe it.  Supposedly they used to run a speakeasy out of it during prohibition.” 

Rachel glanced at the pictures on the walls as they hurried through the hallway – generations of portraits, dogs, landscapes. She then thought of Quinn’s admission, the two bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen.  She made up in her head what it must have looked like; small but tidy, at least Quinn’s portion, with little Degas prints on the walls above her bed.

That was what she had in her cabin, anyhow – just a postcard with ballerinas in sprays of white tulle, taped up above the headboard.  The blanket on Quinn’s bed had been different, too, not the Ben Israel’s regimented white quilt. This had been baby blue and so soft-looking, immaculately folded and tucked underneath the mattress.

Had she learned that in charm school?  What else would Quinn reveal to her, offhand like that, before the night was over?

They quietly padded down a staircase and Quinn stopped at the bottom, silently questioning herself before turning a sharp left and opening one of the more unassuming doors in the house slowly.

The first thing Rachel heard, not the aggravating creak of the unoiled hinge or Quinn’s quick, nervous breath, was singing.

She immediately grabbed at the back of Quinn’s leotard, her fingernails digging in so hard that it must’ve hurt.  She’d have to apologize later, though.  

There was someone in that room.  Rachel had the thought that it was somehow still a speakeasy, maybe an illegal gambling parlor, and that Mr. Ben Israel would see them and off them both for the knowledge.

But as she let her eyes settle on the sight before her, she realized that was not it at all.

It was her daddy.

The room was set up like this: A long, full-walled bar to the left, with a dancefloor and then several rows of seating. The stage took up the whole right half of the room, complete with a velvet curtain and a microphone stand.

Hiram Berry was sitting front and center, slumped forward with a drink in his hand. Up on stage, Leroy Platter was singing into an unplugged microphone, his voice projecting out to one person and one person only.

Each night before you go to bed, my baby, say a little prayer for me, my baby, and tell all the stars above–

Rachel felt like her tongue had swollen to the size and shape of her windpipe.  She stumbled back and Quinn turned around, aghast.

“Rachel–”

“I need to go, I need to… I can’t–”  

Quinn blinked back her confusion and nodded, no further explanation necessary.  Instead of grabbing Rachel’s hand she hooked her arm around her waist, guiding her quickly and quietly back the way they came.

This time, Rachel didn’t peruse the furniture, didn’t wonder about Quinn or have any thoughts other than white, hot embarrassment.  And for who, even?  For herself?  For her daddy, sitting in that chair, a hand placed demurely on his cheek?

Quinn pushed open the cellar doors and Rachel sucked in a deep, hyperventilating breath as she stepped out onto solid ground.  Quinn stopped, as if to check on her, but Rachel only shook her head and dropped to her knees, crawling like some kind of animal through the shrubs until she was on the other side.

“That was your–” Quinn started, picking a boxwood leaf out of her hair.  She stopped, no doubt seeing Rachel’s face.

Embarrassment had inexplicably turned to an anger that she felt burning all the way in her fingernail beds.

“Don’t.” She begged, turning around to look at the neat row of cabins, off on the far side of the lawn.  The tenth one in was hers, and it was late, far too late.  “I need to go.  Thank you, Quinn, for everything.”

Quinn wasn’t like Rachel, who would’ve practically wheedled down on her knees for Quinn to stay if the situation had been reversed.  She would’ve promised that it was fine, that she understood, that she didn’t need to feel so ashamed of something that simply wasn’t in her control, but–

Quinn was Quinn, and she only nodded.  It was a sweet one, though, her eyes full of a trembling understanding.

The night had turned bad twice, and good just as many times, but when Rachel had heard Quinn play that piano she had been sure that something monumental was about to happen, that her heart was just going to grow wings and burst out of her chest, and then it was all ruined.

And it wasn’t her, and it wasn’t Quinn, not this time.

She turned around and walked away, only thinking of her daddy back in that secret lounge, being serenaded, being sung a love song by a man Rachel barely knew at all.

To a man that Rachel feared she barely knew at all.

– - -

When Rachel stepped into the old rec center the next morning, Quinn was up and on her feet like a flash, her arms folded and her head lowered, lip gently bit.  She was worried.  Rachel imagined that she would have been, too.

“There’s no reason to look at me like that, everything’s fine.” She said, her voice altogether lacking any of its usual luster. She hadn’t slept.

She absolutely, without question, had not even shut her eyes to do more than blink.  She’d changed and brushed her teeth and lay in bed for who even knows how long before her father rolled in, stumbling around drunk.  She’d heard the faucet and some ridiculous, amorous humming, and then his door was shut and she’d been left with her thoughts.

Eventually, the sun came up.  Eventually, the sprinklers came on outside and Rachel listened as the water hit the side of the cabin, thwap, thwap, thwap .  Right at sunrise, Rachel decided that she would not be sleeping, so she threw on some manner of clothing, sure Quinn would probably balk at her choices but not particularly caring.

The walk alone had been brutal.  Her limbs felt like they were lined with lead.  She did not want to be pitied, or be given any precious looks.  She felt that she needed that particular brand of sharp pedantry that Quinn had proven time and again she could dish out.

She needed that angry, determined girl that she’d started with, not the soft-eyed milksop that stood before her.

Funny, really, when all she’d wanted since the first time she laid eyes on her was for Quinn to look at her in the way that she currently was. 

“You look like you haven’t slept.” Quinn said slowly, and if it was a question, she ought to have asked more plainly, because Rachel only stared, arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently in front of her.

“We can just do something low key for the day–”

“Out of the question!  We only have so many days left, Quinn, we can’t just take it easy because I didn’t sleep. Come on–”

She strode over to the record player and put the needle on, cranking the volume up as high as it could go.  The music blasted through the room, grating to her ears but more importantly, distracting.

She began going through the first series of moves, stopping at the rock step and starting over again and again, all while Quinn just stood there, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Well?  Aren’t you going to come help me?  I’m sure I’m doing something wrong, right?  Lousy dancer that I am.”

“I suppose doing an angry mambo is one way to go about it.” Quinn mused, rounding on Rachel until she had stopped in front of her, grabbing at her hands.  Rachel resisted at first, only at the abruptness, but one only vaguely cutting look from Quinn had her yielding.

“You don’t need to go so hard on this bit, Rachel, you’ve got it down.  It’s the solo kicks that you need to work on, and obviously the lift.”

“I can do the kicks just fine!” Rachel groused, following Quinn with a fury as she pulled them into one of the difficult spins that required their arms to cross over and their hands to rejoin. Rachel had always thought that it was one of the most satisfying parts of the dance, a leaving and then a reunion.  If not timed properly, if not in perfect sync with your partner, it might never work properly.  

She and Quinn certainly hadn’t been able to get much right personally, but on the dance floor, there was little that they couldn’t achieve.  

Rachel attempted to shake her head of any further schmaltz, forcing Quinn into a quicker tempo despite not being the lead.

“You need to keep tempo, the faster you go the more likely you are to mess up.” Quinn admonished, her voice low and cool, barely audible over the deafening music.  Rachel ignored her.  If she couldn’t do it fast then she couldn’t do it at all, could she?

She quickly spun out, skipping over to the middle of the dance which was just a series of dizzying spins, made dizzier the faster you went.  She counted them off as she always did in her head, one, and two, and three, and – Quinn grabbed Rachel’s hand this time in a gridlock grip, refusing to let her move into the final spin.

“Quinn, let go of me. ” She spat out, feeling all the heat from everywhere in her body siphon into her face.  If she had thought she was hot-headed before…

Quinn only looked at her like she’d gone crazy, still holding fast, even as Rachel struggled.

“Hey–” Quinn’s face softened.  Rachel hated it, didn’t Quinn know that’s not what she wanted?  Couldn’t Quinn just throw her to the ground and tell her to get out of her way, that they could never be friends, that they were too different ?

Rachel made a very concerted effort to jerk herself out of Quinn’s hold, and when it didn’t work, she hefted what little weight she had forward and shoved the girl with her whole body.

It worked. Quinn stumbled backwards, letting go of Rachel’s hands.  If it had been Rachel, she probably would have fallen on her butt, but it being Quinn, she gained her composure easily enough, standing there looking like Rachel had just given her an irreparable insult.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to stop me from practicing, but–”

“ Stop you from practicing?  I’m trying to keep you from twisting an ankle or something! You wanna be a professional? Act like one!”

“Oh, like you’re so professional? Just yesterday you were working us both half to death just to punish yourself for being vulnerable for once in your life!”

“I was working , I wasn’t changing the dance and shoving people like a maniac!”

Rachel clasped her hands behind her back, looking down at her feet to keep the anger from boiling over again.

It wasn’t like she was angry with Quinn, anyway.  Quinn was just doing her job, and up until that moment, being remarkably calm about Rachel’s hysterics for a girl that had a notoriously erratic temper.

Rachel blew out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“I’m sorry, it’s – it’s personal.”

Quinn’s shoulders fell.  She walked over to the kitchenette and poured water into Rachel’s little cup, left on the counter now right next to Quinn’s glass bottle, like they lived there, like they both knew they’d come back for them.

“Here.” Quinn handed her the cup, her arm extended all the way like she was trying to keep as far back as possible.  Rachel just stared at the water, at Quinn’s soft, smooth hand and its peace offering, and took the cup.

Their fingers grazed, of course.  Rachel clenched her teeth.

“I was there last night, remember?  I saw–”

Rachel looked up, finally, aware that her eyes were probably bloodshot, her face gaunt and pale.

“Quinn, please–”

And then Quinn was hugging her.  She wrapped both arms around Rachel’s shoulders, the water cup pressed between them, Quinn’s chin against Rachel’s ear.

“I won’t talk about what we saw.” She promised, barely a whisper. “But… You should know that I don’t care, okay?  You don’t have to worry about–”

"Sometimes I think I don't know him at all." Rachel said, the words bursting out of her mouth, interrupting Quinn’s assurances.

She could hear a clicking in the back of Quinn’s throat, her attempt to work up to saying something, but nothing ever came.  She moved the hand that rested firmly between Rachel’s shoulder blades an inch up or down, but otherwise the hug was strangely formal, and then it was nothing at all as Quinn let her go.

Rachel nearly chased her arms, ridiculous considering that she had only a moment ago been so intent on getting some monstrous version of Quinn, one she wasn’t even sure had ever actually existed.

Oh, she didn’t know what she wanted. She brought the water to her lips and took a tentative sip.

“Like I said, we can go slow today.  You’re basically ready and we still have half a week, everything now is just gaining muscle memory.”

“Do you think anyone is who they say they are?” Rachel asked, thinking of moments with her daddy like she was going through a photo album – birthdays, trips to Niagara Falls. 

Quinn raised her arms, stalking the floor.

“I dunno. I mean, probably not–” She winced at her own candor, taking her hands and folding them in front of her like it would help her circumvent the truth.  “Didn't you say you basically lead a double life with him? Maybe you're just…more alike than you think?"

The notion was startling to Rachel.  She continued searching her memories for something that would explain everything away, but only came up with Quinn’s face from the night before, blushing as they slow danced.

"He thinks we share everything, Quinn. He thinks there couldn't possibly ever be any secrets between us."

Quinn licked her lips, a considering look on her face. Her posture slouched as she fell back into one of the chairs.

“You should probably figure out what exactly it is that you’re upset about.”  She looked down at where she fiddled with her fingers, something Rachel had noticed only once or twice, Quinn being such a purposeful person, her every movement so full of intent.

“Because if you can let it go… You should.  Take it from someone that doesn’t have parents.”

Rachel recoiled, suddenly ashamed of the way that she was conducting herself in front of Quinn, a girl that had lost everything and was still sitting there in front of Rachel, trying to help.

Rachel sat carefully down in the chair next to Quinn, though its leg was crooked and it wobbled at the slightest movement. She looked at where Quinn was still weaving her fingers together.

“You know, my mother left me, as well.”

Quinn’s eyebrows knit and she looked at Rachel, sympathy not softening her face, but hardening it, instead.  They were both that way, Rachel supposed, fierce loyalists.  To think that Quinn felt even an iota of protectiveness towards her was almost too much to bear.

“I, I assumed she’d died, or–”

“I’m afraid not.  She left when I was a baby to pursue a career in the performing arts.  My daddy seems to think she’s changed her name and is some big time broadway star, but really, I don’t think she ever made anything of herself. All that for nothing.”

“Rachel, I–”

“I don’t need any sympathy, Quinn.  Just know that I’ve obeyed my father’s every command my whole life in fear that he’d follow suit.”

Rachel looked down at her own hands, now, which were trembling with the truth of what had just come out of her mouth.

“T-thank you for putting up with me today. I don’t think I even have the heart, much less the physical strength to practice, so I should probably just go back and try to sleep.”

Quinn made a low hum in the back of her throat, Rachel wasn’t sure, but it sounded almost like a noise of protest.  Quinn’s head swiveled towards the mat from the night before, then back towards the kitchenette.

She stood up, silently walking over to what Rachel realized, after all this time, was an old closet full of dusty, unused things.  Quinn came out clutching what looked like a folded tablecloth.  She held it up to Rachel.

“I, um, I could close the shutters, and you could sleep here.  If – if you don’t want to go back to your cabin.”  She beat out the table cloth and then thoughtfully placed it over the old rubber mat.

“It’s not much, but…” She trailed off, a hand on the back of her neck.  Rachel wondered, briefly, why Quinn didn’t invite Rachel back to her cabin, but then she remembered the rules, and more importantly, that Santana lived there, as well.  If there were other reasons, it didn’t matter, because Quinn was here, knowing exactly what she needed.

“Will you stay with me?  I… I won’t sleep for long, I know it. As I’m sure you can probably imagine, I’m not much of a napper.”

Quinn cocked her head to the side, looking to the makeshift bed as Rachel slowly laid herself down on it.

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll… I’ll stay. Just for a bit.” She crossed her ankles and sat down on the corner of the mat, still leaving Rachel plenty of room.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Rachel had closed her eyes, but shortly after she opened just one to peer over at Quinn. She was hugging her legs to her chest, running her closed lips absently over the bend of one of her knees.

“Why don’t you lie down?” She asked, quickly touching the tips of her fingers to Quinn’s side – just a tap. “I feel like your brain is giving off a low hum, like when lightbulbs start going bad.” Rachel smiled, curling tighter into herself to provide Quinn with more room.  She looked back at Rachel over her shoulder, hesitated, and then undid her ponytail.

When Quinn laid down, Rachel’s heart stuttered at the feel of Quinn’s loose hair tickling her shoulder.  That’s how close they were.

Quinn sucked in a breath so deep that the whole top half of her body rose off the floor.

“I’m sorry, Rachel, about your mother. I know you said you didn’t want–”

“It’s fine . I don’t even remember a thing about her. And anyway, I’m thriving without her. I’m going to Barnard, and I’ll be a doctor, and I’ll meet some nice boy that my daddy approves of and we’ll get married and have children and they won’t have a grandmother, at least not on my side, but that kind of thing happens more often than you’d imagine.”

Rachel had just begun to notice that the entire length of her arm was pressed against Quinn’s, which was warm and smooth and so still.  She closed her mouth and closed her eyes.  In the silence, Quinn’s knuckles glanced over Rachel’s once, twice, as if asking for something.  Rachel, letting her heart decide entirely, took Quinn’s hand.

“Can we just lay here like this until the end of the summer? Or longer than that, even, say forever?  I promise I’ll be interesting company, at least.” 

Rachel opened her eyes to find that Quinn was smiling like there was a bird in her mouth, eyes rolled to the ceiling.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” She said, licking her pink lips.  S he turned on her side towards Rachel.  She could feel Quinn's breath on her neck, but almost more importantly, she could feel her eyes on her face like a low, quiet burning.  Rachel turned, too, until they were facing each other and close enough to see delicate, small features that one just didn’t see every day.  One of Quinn’s nostrils was deviated.  Her eyes had little braided threads of gold in the irises.  There was a small, dark freckle on her forehead, just at the hairline.

This was what having a best friend was like, Rachel thought, certain of it.  Someone you could tell your secrets to.

She thought of her daddy sitting slumped in that chair, tie loosened, a private audience of one. Rachel had never seen the look on his face in her life before.

“My daddy is in love with Leroy Platter, isn’t he?” Rachel asked, though she knew Quinn couldn’t answer.  It was a question for the cosmos if anything at all.

Quinn’s lips parted.  Her eyes moved from Rachel’s chin to her mouth to her nose, flicking back and forth like she was trying to make some kind of decision.

But then, she cleared her throat, and pressed herself up to sitting with her hands.

“That’s… I don’t think you need to concern yourself with that.”

“I suppose you’re right.  It’s his life, though honestly, the more that I really think about it, it would make a lot of sense. It’s not like I haven’t wondered, you know?”  Rachel held up her hand, beginning to count on each finger.  “One, he’s never had a girlfriend.  He has these… these intense, emotional friendships with men that always crash and burn.  He loves fancy things–”

Quinn’s hand closed firmly over Rachel’s offending fingers.

“You can’t just make assumptions about someone based on things like that.”

Rachel’s brow furrowed as Quinn dropped her hand.

“Oh, I know.  It’s hardly fair. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better, less blindsided. But if it’s all the same to anyone–”

Suddenly, Quinn was up on her feet like she’d never even been lying beside Rachel at all.  Quinn’s low brain hum was back, so loud that Rachel felt like plugging her ears with her fingers.

“I should go, actually.  I’ve been getting crummy sleep and then work is unbearable the next day.”

Rachel’s hand brushed against the bed Quinn had so affectionately made for her, trying to think of what she could say to get Quinn to stay.  Sometimes she felt as though that was all she thought about on any given day.

“Besides, you should eat a real meal for once.  Instead of eating bad grilled cheese at 1am with me.”

Quinn quickly gathered her things.  Rachel was still on the ground, trying to right herself, looking at Quinn like something important had just taken place that she hadn’t been party to.

“But, but I like eating grilled cheese at 1am with you!  Quinn–”

Quinn’s eyes closed and her palm went to her forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?  But…later.  1:30?”

“1:30?  The day is practically over by then!  Does Mr. Ben Israel have you washing cars, again, because–”

“Rachel, you don’t need to go all Superwoman on me, okay? What’s a few hours, anyway?”

Rachel huffed.  Nothing ever worked, did it?  We’re the same, Quinn, I think you’re terrific .  Don’t fight me, don’t fight this. 

“I just!  I just… I would like to spend as much time with you as possible.  Is there something wrong with that?”

It was a loaded question if there ever was one.  

“Practicing, I mean.” Rachel struggled to correct herself.  “I want to be perfect for you.  F-for everyone.  For Noah and everyone.  There’s so little time. ”

Quinn’s cheeks sucked in and she looked all over the place, everywhere but Rachel.

“Noon, then.”

“Okay, noon.  Fine, noon is fine.  I accept your proposal.”  

A proper smile curved Quinn’s lips, and she even pitied Rachel with a little nasally puff of breath, barely a laugh but at least it was something.  She hoisted her bag over her shoulder.

“Good bye, Rachel.”

Something stuck in Rachel’s throat, a dryness that wouldn’t leave.  She had started out pushing Quinn away, and now she could’ve kicked herself for it.  It was goodbye, not good night, not see you tomorrow.  Rachel got the distinct and horrifying impression that Quinn wouldn’t be coming back.

Chapter Text

The same Cuban music Rachel had heard day in and day out for nearly two weeks blasted in her ear as she went through all the steps to the dance, the beginning all the way to the end, for the third time.

Quinn was late.  Rachel had gone home the evening before and claimed lady troubles to her confused daddy, immediately tucking herself into bed and hoping for a quick and dreamless sleep.  The first hour, instead, was plagued by thoughts of Quinn’s face, so unmistakably sweet, as it said goodbye.

It was true that Quinn seemed to clam up tight when her own dirty laundry was aired, but Rachel couldn’t imagine that the same would happen when Rachel deigned to make herself vulnerable.

Quinn had surprised her by being so, well, so lovely about it all – at first, anyway.

It was far too much to keep torturing herself with thoughts of it, so Rachel had gone to sleep hungry that night, and she’d dreamt about her mother, again, played by Judy Garland this time.  She told her she’d made it big and that everyone would know it, soon.  Rachel didn’t know what else to do but congratulate her.

She woke up starving.   Her daddy insisted they eat breakfast together, that he felt like he hadn’t seen her at all, though Rachel wanted to say that she sure had seen him.   She thought that she’d held it together rather well, if she did say so herself, and she wanted, needed to tell Quinn about it.

It had taken just about everything within her not to haughtily pass that “no guests allowed” sign and waltz her way up to Quinn’s cabin and demand that they go back to being friends, as if Quinn had ever implied that they were or were not.

Best friends , ha!  She had thought it, hadn’t she?  What else could that feeling have been?  Rachel picked up the tablecloth, still placed neatly over the mat, and threw it against the wall.  It offered little to no respite from her worries.

Her worries that, now, it rounding on fifteen minutes past one, Quinn’s goodbye from the night before had been final.

Rachel had come to the conclusion in that hour fifteen that it was most clearly something to do with her daddy.  How flippant she’d been towards the end there about his, well, proclivities.  S he hadn’t meant for it to sound like she was judging anyone, or anything, any which way.

If her father was simply more of a man’s man than she’d ever imagined, then she would just have to handle it on her own time, in her own way.  Quinn had been right , after all, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t keeping things, monumental things from him.

They didn’t know each other.  But knowing that, nothing had really changed at all.

Quinn must’ve been cross about how quick Rachel had been so quick to cast blame on him, to be such a hypocrite to boot!  It didn’t look very good, but was probably made worse by the fact that Quinn considered herself a sinner of the highest order.  A person to be judged.

Though, Rachel would never…

Just as she was nearing the end of her third solo run-through, she heard the screen door creak behind her.  Rachel spun around almost too fast, her pulse racing at a galloping pace, and there Quinn was, nearly two hours late, looking appropriately contrite.

“Sorry, I got caught up with lunch cleanup.”

Rachel wanted to insist that she hadn’t seen Quinn there with the lunch crew, and she’d looked – she always looked.  Anytime that they were apart from each other, really, Rachel looked for her like other people looked for signs from God.

Quinn smiled, quick and curt, and placed her bag down, immediately going into her normal pre-dance stretch routine without saying another word.  Rachel eyed her curiously.  There was no apparent malice, but something was different.  The intimacy from the previous day, whatever had allowed Quinn to lie with her face so close to Rachel – it was gone, replaced with the cool affability of a stranger.

Rachel wanted it back.  She thought she might do unspeakable things, immoral acts to reverse time and return them to whatever point they’d arrived at.

“Did you have a good evening?” Rachel asked, keeping her voice purposefully airy as she went into her own stretching routine, one that was entirely stolen from Quinn, but still.  She arched her elbow behind her head, pressing down with her other hand, waiting.

Quinn nodded, bending easily to touch her toes. 

“I helped the lifeguard, Nancy, with the night swimming class and then I just… did some reading.”

Quinn softly grunted at the deep stretch as she hugged her calves.  Rachel moved into the same, gritting her teeth at how it stung the backs of her knees.  She wondered how long Quinn could stay that way, her body practically folded in half.

“You’ll be glad to know that I got quite a lot of sleep. Over ten hours, to be exact, and let me tell you, I feel very refreshed.  I know nothing can excuse the way I acted yesterday, but...”

Quinn stood up, bouncing on her tiptoes for a moment before extending her arms out to Rachel.

“Let’s start, right?  I already wasted enough of your time already.”

Rachel nodded, taking Quinn’s hands with zero hesitation.  The music was low, perhaps even too low, but neither girl made any moves to rectify the problem.

“Okay, one, two, three, four–” Quinn began, and they moved seamlessly into the first cross-body lead like there had never been anything wrong at all.  Rachel felt today, for some reason more than any other day before, that she was on proving ground.  She held her chin high and showed Quinn what she’d learned, determined to finish without any flub or mis-step.

By the time they were nearing the end of the dance, the dreaded lift, Rachel’s heart was pumping and she felt encouraged by how they worked so well together.  When the cue came and Rachel was meant to take her place to execute the lift, she tried her hardest to let that encouragement see her through to the end.

They hadn’t actually done the lift properly, not yet, but Rachel ran at Quinn like they’d been doing this their whole lives, and Quinn looked hopeful, and wasn’t that all that really mattered?

But she jumped, and it turned out that hope was not all that mattered.  Luckily, Quinn caught her balance, but Rachel hadn’t quite figured out hers.  Instead of a plank, she floundered in the air, her limbs flailing for a moment before Quinn mercifully released her, letting Rachel’s body slowly slide down the front of Quinn’s until her feet hit the floor.

“That was the best one yet, I think.” Quinn said, her tone perfectly okay.  Only, Rachel didn’t want perfectly okay, she wanted explosive, she wanted Quinn to look at her and, and–

“Shall we start from the top, or do you think we should hone in on anything?  I really tried to go for it with my shoulder work this time, I hope you noticed–”

Quinn’s mouth twisted.  She was trying not to smile!  Rachel wanted to shove her again for it, damn her violent streak!

“I did notice.  You’re doing really well.  Let’s go again from the top.”

So they did.  Rachel felt like it was the best that she’d ever danced, the most precise, the most vivacious.  She felt like she was giving everything to Quinn, letting it pour out of her in hopes that it was the thing that could pull her back in.

Quinn even smiled a few times, with teeth and everything.  Rachel thought that once, when they took a little break for water, she even made the girl laugh at some self-effacing comment about her tiny feet.

But it was like there was a new wall there, not even the same one as before, which had been stone and gnarly with vines.  This one was like the walls of a padded cell, no matter how many times Rachel threw herself against them, she just bounced back softly, neither worse for wear.

Just as the sun was shining through the westward windows and they were taking another quick water break, Rachel got an idea.  She quietly shuffled over to where Sam and Mike had left their record crates stacked by the turntable.  Rachel leafed through them, all mostly country western with a smattering of Paul Anka’s baby face.  

Then, further towards the back, she found what she was looking for. Soul records.  Billie Holiday was much too dreary, but there was Solomon Burke – she only knew one or two of his songs but they were fun, enough like Otis Redding to harken back to nearly a month ago, now.

That’s what Quinn needed, Rachel had decided.  A reminder.

She put the record on the turntable and carefully placed the needle, only looking back when she noticed the room was eerily quiet.

Quinn stood in the center of the room, sweating glass cola bottle in her hand, staring at Rachel.

A chorus of soft yeah, yeah, yeahs played through the speakers, and Rachel walked towards Quinn with great intent.  She took the bottle from her hand, bending down and placing it on the floor.  When she came back up, face to face with Quinn, the look she was being given was almost reproachful.  Maybe even warning, but Rachel ignored it, taking both of her hands tight in her own, just like she’d seen Santana do with Brittany.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, and Rachel thought she might have detected a strangled sort of fear in her voice, but there was something else, too.  Whatever it was, it kept her going. 

“I thought maybe we could have some fun.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted as much practice time as you could get?” Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow.  Rachel pulled Quinn’s hands until they were resting on her shoulders, just as they’d done two nights ago, before everything with her daddy and all the things after.

“Just a minute won’t hurt.  Come on.”

Rachel placed her hands on Quinn’s waist.  There was some resistance, at first, but Quinn eventually slumped into the touch, her hands relaxing on Rachel’s shoulders.

Rachel cocked her head to the side.  “Can I lead?”

She could have studied the look on Quinn’s face for a century and still not understood it.  They began to move.  The rolling beat of the drums and the piano seemed to magnetize their hips.  Rachel took a brief, shining moment to congratulate herself on wheedling her way through Quinn’s padded wall.

Solomon Burke sweetly crooned like honey is good for a bee, you’re good for me.  This wasn’t like dancing in front of Quinn’s friends, not the cute little promenade hop to Sam Cooke.  The brass was heavy and the piano was light and Rachel was taken, completely and utterly, back to the night in that very same room, when a strange girl named Quinn had danced with her like they were lovers.

It was hard to ignore how labored Quinn’s breathing was, but then again, Rachel knew hers was as well.  It was just what this kind of music did – it was called soul, after all.  It dug in deep and didn’t let go.

Rachel swallowed hard and moved her thigh between Quinn’s legs, but it only lasted for a second before Quinn’s hands were moving down off Rachel’s shoulders and capturing her hips, squeezing hard enough to spin her around so that they were both facing out.

Rachel could feel Quinn’s chest against her shoulder blades. She didn’t know what to do with her arms, left dangling out in front of her, but then Quinn reached forward and pulled them up over her head.

It was a move from their dance.  Rachel was meant to raise her arms over her head in fifth position, and the lead, Quinn or Noah or whoever, would trail their hand quickly down the inside of her left arm.

In practice, it was so quick that Rachel didn’t have time to react.  Now, with the music like a boat on a calm ocean, Rachel was faced with the sheer carnality of the move.  Quinn’s hand moved so slow that she was still only just past her elbow.  Rachel shuddered. 

She closed her eyes, swaying her hips in time with Quinn’s.  In the real dance, their bottom halves were explicitly still, lying in wait for a flurry of kicking and twisting.

Finally, Quinn’s hand met the end of its trajectory, and Rachel realized that she hadn’t thought of where it would go when it was finished.  In practice, she would take Rachel’s hand, placed primly at her hip, and they would begin the difficult portion of the dance.

But now, Quinn’s hands found her hips again.  Her face brushed the back of Rachel’s head, her hot breath tickling Rachel’s ear.  Rachel reached back, not even knowing for what, just that she had to seek purchase wherever she could, or she would surely float away.

Her hands landed somewhere along Quinn’s thighs, feeling all at once the firm muscle just underneath soft, forgiving flesh.  Quinn’s hips rocked forward.  Rachel dug her fingertips into the skin underneath them and prayed to someone or something, just the word please over and over and over.

Her eyes abruptly flew open as she heard the familiar sound of the screen door opening.  Quinn’s hands dropped and she pulled Rachel very swiftly and professionally into a proper closed position.  

Trembling, Rachel watched the way Quinn’s mouth did the same – her hands, too.

“Ahh, I see the lessons are still going strong.”

Jacob waltzed into the room like he owned the place, and Rachel supposed that he really did.  She felt inexplicably like crying.  She glanced over at him, trying so hard to fake a smile, but it felt as though her mouth would tremble right off her face.

“Yes, sir.” Quinn said, her voice ominously calm despite the tightness in her body.

“A little foxtrot, huh?” Jacob circled them, his hand on his hip. “I thought you’d have known that one, Rachel?”

She caught Quinn’s eye, just for a moment, but Quinn did not hold it.  She wondered if she ever would again.

“Yes, well, one can always stand to practice.  We just finished with the mambo, so–”

“Oohh, the mambo.  Spicy little Cuban dance.  Say, Miss Fabray, didn’t I hear you and my pal Noah were working on the mambo?”

If it was even feasible, Quinn’s body went so stiff that it was nearly impossible to pretend to dance with her.  Rachel felt as though she was dragging a mannequin around.

“Yes.  He and I practice for fun.  You know, I used to dance back in school. It’s always been a hobby of mine.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened as she spoke, and Rachel spun them around, trying to keep the poor girl’s bloodless face from Jacob’s prying eyes.

He walked to the record player and plucked the needle off like he was delousing the thing.  Quinn’s feet stopped as soon as the music did, her hands dropping back from Rachel’s body.

“Not really the right kind of music for a foxtrot, though I guess the timing is similar in some ways.  Miss Fabray, a word, please?”

Quinn still would not look at her, though Rachel was trying her hardest to communicate some desperate message with her eyes.  They were saying Don’t leave, Don’t let him scare you, stay, stay, stay.

Quinn nodded solemnly, walking towards Jacob like he was an executioner with a black bag to go over her head.

They spoke off in the corner in whispers.  Rachel chose to go about pretending to gather her things, because it was too early, there was no way they were done, no way she could just leave and go back to her cabin and have dinner with her daddy like everything was just normal

Finally, when he finished, Jacob raised his voice, sure to let Rachel hear.

“Some of our young guests are very impressionable, Miss Fabray, they haven’t been exposed to the seedy underbelly of the world yet, not like you and me. You’d be wise to remember that.”

Quinn couldn’t hide her frown.  She nodded quickly, almost submissively, and Jacob cast Rachel one last wary look before he was out the door.

Both girls waited several beats, making sure he wasn’t lingering on the stairs.  When Rachel was satisfied he was truly gone, she let out a pitiful whimper.

“Quinn, all you all right?”

Quinn cracked her knuckles, cracked her neck.  She nodded, walking to her bag.  This was it, Rachel thought.  She was going to tell her they couldn’t do this, just when Rachel was beginning to truly question what exactly this was.

Quinn walked to the bathroom with her bag, shutting the door behind her with a solid click.

Rachel worried her lips with her teeth.  She briefly considered the idea of just leaving, if only to avoid her inevitable and devastating rejection, but then in no time at all Quinn was out of the bathroom, wearing jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt that was for all intents and purposes Noah's or maybe Sam’s, but definitely not A Girl Named Quinn’s. 

She jerked the tie out of her hair and it fell in an irresistibly soft blonde wave down the back of her neck.

Rachel tried to think of what she could say or do to change what had just happened, to try and make it okay.  She didn’t even know what was wrong with it, not on paper, just that it felt like they had been violated beyond measure.

Quinn walked a few steps forward and held out her hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

They were on the bridge in less than five minutes, that’s how fast Quinn was whisking her off.

Quinn had told her, unprompted, that she was taking her into the woods, and she said it like it was the most logical conclusion to whatever had just happened to them. 

They would escape.  They would go where Jacob would never think to follow.  They would go where no one else would ever go.

“Can I ask if we have a, well, specific destination? Some kind of landmark?  Or is it just – the woods?”

Quinn glanced back at her, eyebrows furrowed, though her face wasn’t nearly as mean as Rachel had seen it before.

“About half a mile past the bridge, the river whips around and there’s a spot.  I’m surprised you haven’t seen it, all the walking around you do.”

“Well, I may have.  I just don’t know what it is.”

“Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

And Rachel did.  It was like the woods suddenly opened up, the canopy of trees dripping with vines parted to let the sunshine down on the felled log of an ancient, massive tree. It made a bridge from one side to the next.

Rachel looked to Quinn, wanting to know that it wasn’t just her, that it looked the same to them both, like some kind of fairyland.

Quinn’s smile was sweet and all Rachel’s as she slowed her pace. 

“We sometimes come out here to practice, just for something different.” Quinn announced, like she was a tour guide and there was a gaggle of people standing behind Rachel.  Quinn was nervous.

Quinn had been nervous before Jacob, and now she seemed to be vibrating on another wavelength, might possibly disappear, she was shaking so hard.

“I want to ask what he said to you, but–”

“I don’t wanna talk about that.” Quinn’s face fell as she pulled at the hem of her t-shirt, grabbing the excess and tying it into a knot at the waist of her shorts.

She looked like a Hanes ad in a men’s magazine boasting and your gal will love it, too!

Rachel thought maybe she should try to fill her head with nonsense like that – it was what she did best, anyway, coming up with fantastical scenarios to avoid the mounting pressure of the real world and how it could very often be crushing.

She had danced with Quinn like that first night, and Quinn had let it happen, and Rachel didn’t know what it meant and could ignore the fact that she didn’t want to know what it meant in favor of just being sublimely thrilled that it had happened at all.

Quinn placed a hand on the edge of the tree-bridge and then heaved up one of her legs. Rachel held her breath, because it looked like she was doing something that wasn’t supposed to be done, but then again, how else should one use a bridge?

Rachel had wondered if Quinn had ever been on the other side of the river, or if she just sat on the man made bridge a mile north and smoked cigarettes, refusing to venture out. Now she knew.

“That looks dangerous.” She said, arrogant as ever, but Quinn just walked slowly, step by step, out into the middle of the log.

“If I fall, I fall.” Quinn shrugged, glancing at the rushing water below.  Rushing, Rachel decided, wasn’t really an accurate representation of the river that ran through Ben Israel’s.  It slowed to a near trickle in some parts, and right there it was more of a spirited ramble.  If Quinn fell, she’d get wet, but probably nothing more.  Rachel felt her heart pick up in speed as she walked towards where Quinn had pulled herself up.

If Quinn could do it, then she could do it, couldn’t she?  Though, she wasn’t even certain what Quinn could do, how far she would take it, if she would deign to go all the way to the other side where the trunk was more rotted, soft and treacherous looking.

How could she follow this girl if she didn’t even know where she was going?

Just as Rachel began a tentative crawl, Quinn’s outstretched hand appeared in front of her.  It was still shaking and pink from being wrung out by Rachel’s hand on their way out to the woods. She didn’t think she had ever seen something so lovely as that hand in that exact position, thought that if she had a camera she would ask Quinn to hold perfectly still, just to get a shot of the fading afternoon light over the smooth planes of it.

Her heart beat harder, still.  She had a fairly general idea of how fast and hard the thing could go, her first time kissing Finn it had felt like she was going to die, and then when she’d told him they couldn’t be together, when he’d looked at her like he was going to die, but in a different way, her heart had pounded slow and hard like a bass drum heralding war.

With Quinn – around her, the thought of her, even just looking at her hand – Rachel felt that her heart wasn’t her own, that it beat a rhythm so unusual that she didn’t think she knew it at all.

But she wasn’t supposed to think about that.  She had spent far too long thinking, and all it did was get them into fights and get her into trouble.

She took Quinn’s hand.  It shook, still. Rachel decided that it probably would never stop shaking, that Quinn would be left in a state of complete unrest for the remainder of her life. Or until she left that Summer, back to her busy apartment in Hell’s Kitchen where she probably shared a bed with another girl, just to save space.

Rachel blushed.  She had to stop thinking .

“This is beautiful, Quinn.” Their hands dropped as Quinn tip-toed out further.  Rachel walked slow, her arms out like she was on a balance beam.  Her father let her take one gymnastics class at the public school when she was eight, but there had been some dance class going on in the corner of the same room, just babies doing plies, but it had been enough to scare him off.  

She loved dancing, but she did not have the best balance.

Quinn, of course, was naturally statuesque, perfectly poised at all times.

“I thought we could practice up here.  Work on your balance.”

Rachel winced. “Is it that noticeable?”

Quinn’s smile was slow, languid.  Rachel all of a sudden didn’t feel that she deserved it, but there it was.  So beautiful that it seemed she’d been stunned blind for a moment.

“No. I just notice things, that’s all.”  She didn’t say “about you”, she didn’t have to, it was all in that face.  Had Quinn taken them out there because of the dance?  Had Quinn thought–

What had Quinn thought?  She shook her head, walking back a few steps.

“But what if I fall?”

“I won’t let you fall.” Quinn said, and Rachel had the distinct thought that she had opened up some kind of Pandora’s box, the contents of which would only multiply and grow once let loose in the world.

Quinn took her waist, really, she took it how someone would take an apple from a tree.  Rachel felt boneless for a moment, but then Quinn was moving them into a sequence of steps from their dance (it was theirs, now, not anyone else’s) and Rachel was following along, as she did.

Quinn’s eyes never left her face.  This was a girl that had at one time spent nearly every waking moment around Rachel seeming to pretend that she was something not worth looking directly at.

Rachel imagined Quinn as she was before, some cheerleader, some perfect blonde ballerina that made people cower in her presence.  Was that what she was trying to do to Rachel, just then?  Make her quiver under her gaze?

But she had to know by then that it simply wasn’t in Rachel’s nature to cower, even when she ought to.

She swallowed, tilting her chin higher.

“Jacob was wrong, you know.  I can handle lots of things.”

Quinn’s eyes clouded almost immediately.  She slowed her movements.

Still shaking, Rachel observed and also felt as Quinn’s hot hands clasped her own.  Quinn spun them, Rachel’s heart leaping into her throat as she felt like she would be hurled out over the log and into the water, but everything was just as it should be when she and Quinn both landed solidly back on their feet.

Rachel stepped closer, because a raised chin simply wasn’t going to work any longer.

“You’re still shivering.” She said, wanting Quinn to acknowledge something , anything at all.

“Takes one to know one.” Quinn said back, and Rachel looked down at her own hands like they were someone else’s, and realized that it was true.

“I–”  She began, trying to explain it away without having a single excuse.

“You can get off, Rachel, it’s fine.  Look, I just wanted to–” Quinn closed her eyes, no more than an extended blink, before she opened them again.  They were so close that Rachel could smell her breath, damp and sour from hunger.  Had both of them just stopped eating entirely? “I just wanted to get away from that place–”

“So, you’re shaking because of him?  Not because of, of the dance?  Because–”

Quinn placed her hands atop Rachel’s shoulders, giving her a gentle push.

“Go on.  We can stay here for as long as you want, or leave, or do… We can do whatever you want, okay?  I’m just tired of feeling like everyone is watching me.”

Rachel nodded, feeling as though more than just her body was being redirected.  She turned and carefully puttered her way off of the log, her breath catching at the feel of Quinn’s hands on her hips just as she was about to go and leap off.

“Don’t jump.” She warned, her voice close and clear in Rachel’s ear.  “Can’t chance you hurting yourself.  Climb down.”

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded again, each small step she took threatening the notion of Quinn’s fingers no longer resting on her body.

– - -

“What do you do, Quinn, during the year?  For work, I mean?”  Rachel crossed one leg over the other, leaning on a nearby tree as Quinn strided along the old log, lazily bending and swaying into ballet positions that looked increasingly ambitious.  

They had taken to talking about nothing; a comment about the mild weather had turned into a funny story about the old ladies in the sunset swimming class.  Rachel learned that Quinn had her lifeguard certification from being a church camp counselor when she was sixteen, before her entire life had changed, though that went without saying.

At hearing Rachel’s question, Quinn slowed her movements, though she never quite stopped.

“Different things.” She blinked, bending down until she was straddling the log, faced towards Rachel.  The light always seemed drawn to Quinn, always framing her body like a Renaissance painting.  Rachel imagined them stuck in this place, two sleeping beauties cursed to stay in the woods, not sleeping but instead staring at each other, red-cheeked, forever.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” She asked, her toe tracing shapes in the dirt below her.

“I worked at a deli for a bit.  Then I worked at a laundromat all year until Puck brought me along here and convinced Moishe to hire me.”

“Oh, I’m sure that didn’t take much convincing.” Rachel sucked at her cheek as Quinn leaned backwards, her hands gripping the sides of the log while she stretched her spine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because that man only hires pretty girls, and you might be the prettiest.”

Quinn sniffed, not rolling her eyes – how could she?  She probably saw herself in the mirror at least once a day – but looked bashful all the same.

“I would say you haven’t seen me first thing in the morning, but that’s not even true.”

Rachel giggled, and then Quinn went on to talk about some other job she’d had at a dog groomer’s in Midtown, shaving the butts of poodles for a dollar an hour.  As they talked, Quinn had begun slowly lowering herself, and by the time the conversation had naturally moved into a quiet lull, she was lying fully on her back on the log, her arms stretched out long behind her.

Rachel began to hum fill the void, mostly because thoughts of why they were out there started to creep back into her consciousness.  She went for You Belong To Me by Jo Stafford, one of those songs that she belted out in her bedroom whenever it came on the radio, provided her daddy was still at work.

“You really are a show off, aren’t you?” Quinn asked, the question breaking up Rachel’s hum.  When she looked over at Quinn, she was surprised to find that the girl had pushed herself back up to sitting, and looked facetious rather than peeved.  Rachel didn’t respond, her mouth just slightly dropping without the offense that would have been behind it.

Quinn carefully stood up and walked back down to the end of the log, neatly jumping off like she had warned Rachel against.

“I think you might be, too.” Rachel said, pushing off the tree, her feet winding over themselves to move towards Quinn.

Quinn’s eyebrow rose as her tongue quickly wet her bottom lip.

“Let’s practice the lift.”

Rachel had not been expecting it.

“Ohhh… Oh, no.  I don’t think that’s a good idea, Quinn.  On a log?  I can barely–”

Quinn reached out to take her hand, or at least that’s what Rachel thought happened.  Quinn’s fingers brushed against hers, seeking purchase, and when they found none they fluttered and then fell back.

Was Quinn afraid to touch her outside of instruction, now, outside of leading her to and fro?  But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about those things, wasn’t supposed to be parsing out pieces of the great Quinn Fabray puzzle.  She had a sneaking suspicion that her efforts of evasion were going to be all for naught, but she still had to try, didn’t she?

“Not on the log.  Out there–” Quinn gestured towards the general area of the lake with her chin. Night was beginning to tease itself, with shadows from the trees stretching on forever as the sun sank lower.

It would just be setting over the horizon as they made it to the shore.

“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed, knowing that she had sounded much too breathless for her own good.  Quinn noticed all sorts of things with a keen, calculating eye, but thank God she hadn’t noticed that.

Or, if she had, her face didn’t let on one bit.

“I, I mean, that certainly makes the most sense.  Weightlessness would be helpful for your arms.”

Quinn's mouth turned down.

“I can do it on dry land just fine.  It’s you that can’t.”

Rachel breathed in a quick, startled breath, already lunging towards the path that would lead them back down to the lake.  She couldn’t hear Quinn following, but she knew she would.

“You know, Miss Fabray, I find that you too frequently underestimate my abilities!” She called, her breath still caught halfway in her throat at the sight of the sunlight peaking in bright shards through the skinny tree trunks that lined the trail. Not after long, she heard Quinn’s footsteps, and then she was passing her, her gait light, like she was performing a dance for Rachel and the wilderness.

Quinn didn’t respond, just hustled like a ballerina crossing a stage while Rachel’s shorter legs tried and failed to catch up.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

Quinn looked up from unlacing her saddle shoes, her question painfully droll.

Rachel had already shucked off her shoes and was half way to shimmying out of her shorts as she looked up to see Quinn’s cheeks bright red.  She sighed, continuing on with her mission.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but I happened to purchase this entire outfit just before leaving to go on vacation, it’s practically brand new!  I have no intention of letting these clothes be dyed a murky brown for the sake of modesty!  Besides, we’re on the north shore, no one can see me but you and the birds.”

She said it to mimic Noah’s silly comment from that first day of practice, only realizing after the fact what exactly she was mimicking. 

“So now I’m as good as the birds?” Quinn asked, hesitating before bending back down and divesting herself of her shoes.

Reaching for the bottom of her blouse, Rachel shrugged, though Quinn couldn’t see it, because she was pointedly back to looking everywhere else but at Rachel.

“I didn’t really mean it like that , Quinn, and besides – you’ve seen me in my bathing suit, at this point I think we can agree that regarding me in my brassiere and panties isn’t exactly giving you carnal knowledge .”

Rachel pulled her blouse over her head, setting it down in a neat pile with her shorts and shoes.  

“And double besides,” Rachel began, stepping forward. “It’s not like you’ve never seen your dearest girlfriends in their underwear, surely?  I think I’ve even seen Sugar naked more times than I’ve seen just about anyone, and we’re only around each other in the summer!”

At that point, Quinn had nothing left that she was willing to take off, and was standing there, arms crossed, leaning back on her heels in the sand.

She took a gander at Rachel, but it was a mean one, maybe even purposefully so.  Rachel nearly laughed at how un-intimidating it truly was, now that she knew Quinn, now that she had seen the way her eyes lit up when she was telling a funny story or the way she bit her lip when she was trying to mince her words.

“I don’t make a habit of looking at people when they’re unclothed.”

The naturally contentious side of Rachel wanted so badly to question Quinn’s statement, being that she knew frankly too much about her sexual activity.  Unless Quinn’s partners were simply slipping it through the hole in their trousers, then she certainly had some such habit.  Rachel just pursed her lips, instead.  No sense arguing with that face.

“Fair enough, Quinn.”  Rachel closed her mouth, looking at the stark white t-shirt Quinn had tied in a knot at her waist, the jean shorts that she’d rolled up that afternoon while they stood chatting in the woods. “Although I feel it would be remiss to not point out that you have some perfectly fine clothes on, and I’d hate to see them ruined.”

“Can you stop, please?” Quinn’s sigh meant business, but Rachel was feeling light – a little bit spritely, like she’d had a few sips of a strong drink.  But these were the feelings and thoughts that she was supposed to be actively ignoring, weren’t they?  Just there in a different form, like a child in a Halloween costume.

If she paid attention to what she wanted, ceased ignoring the contents of the unclosable box, she might say something she shouldn’t say.  She might encourage something she wasn’t sure she wanted to encourage.

“Let’s just get in the water.” Quinn suggested, ignoring what must have been a lopsided expression on Rachel’s face.  

Rachel turned it into a normal, friendly smile and took in a little shallow breath, dipping a toe in one of the waves lapping at the shore.

“Golly, it’s chilly.”

“You get used to it.” Quinn began wading into the water, but slowly – in ten seconds time she was still in only just above her ankles.  Rachel followed after, but even slower.  Quinn began shivering soon after, her shoulder blades shaking underneath her t-shirt.

“I know you might not think so, Quinn, but wearing inappropriate clothing in water only makes one colder, that t-shirt is about to become a freezing second skin.  I’ve seen you in a leotard, it’s ridiculous to–”

Suddenly, a loud groan rang out over the water, and Quinn started rather furiously tearing at the top of her shorts like they were leeches sucked to her skin.  She bent down quickly, pulling them down and awkwardly hopping out of them.  Once she was standing there, bare legs prickling from the cold water, she threw the shorts off towards the damp shore.

“There, are you happy?” She asked, hands out as if to showcase what she’d just revealed.

“Well, I wouldn’t say happy , those jeans would probably do just fine in this lake water, but that shirt is bone white – ”

“Rachel, I don’t have anything on under this, okay?” She shouted, almost whined, gesturing to the upper half of her.

Rachel’s brow knit.

“You don’t ever wear brassieres?”

Quinn’s jaw fell, and a bright red color burst like a firecracker all over her cheeks.

“Look, I almost didn’t come to practice this afternoon, okay? I was in a hurry and I forgot to pack one.  I was–”

The day before had been too much, Rachel imagined.  Quinn had left so abruptly, and all night Rachel turned her own actions over and over again in her mind, looking for where it went wrong, but she couldn’t find the sore spot.  Usually, there was some explosive question or niggling statement, an insult, perhaps.  She had concluded that maybe she was just reading into the whole thing, and that Quinn had been telling the truth.  They had been working themselves to the bone, afterall, and Quinn wasn’t a machine.

Of course, that conclusion had been blown out of the water that afternoon.  Now all of Rachel’s conclusions were gone, leaving her head a jumbled mess of emotions and zero logic.  She thought of her hands on Quinn’s thighs.  What had she been doing?  What had she wanted?  And perhaps just as importantly, what had Quinn wanted, taking her like that, pulling Rachel into her body?

“You were busy?” Rachel asked, innocently enough, willing to play along with Quinn if that’s what she wanted.  God, willing to do whatever she wanted, whenever . 

Quinn nodded quickly, pressing her thighs together.  Rachel didn’t even want a soul to know that she’d seen it happen, but it was hard not to look, really.  Quinn’s legs were creamy and pale like frozen custard, like you could just take a spoon and eat them up that way.

She wondered if Quinn had snuck a look at her legs while she was changing out of her things, or maybe her bottom, or the little dimples just above it at the small of her back.  She liked to look at them in the mirror, anyway.

Where was the girl that had pulled Rachel’s pants halfway down her hips the first time they met?  A small voice in the back of Rachel’s mind was calling to that girl, had been calling to her since then, and Rachel knew in that moment that her pleas to God had not been to God at all.

“Yeah.  I was busy.” Quinn repeated Rachel’s given excuse with only mild commitment, but that was fine.  It was just an understanding.  This thing, you didn’t talk about it, did you?  You touched each other but you didn’t talk about how it made you feel like you were made of tiny points of exploding light.

Quinn’s meager steps turned long and purposeful, and before long she was standing waist-deep in the water, trying to pretend like she wasn’t shivering so hard it must’ve been painful.

Rachel followed, willing as ever, even if it hurt.

– - -

Quinn had been right to suggest the water.  Their first attempt, with Quinn’s face impassive and Rachel hoping hers was as good as a mirror image, ended with Rachel in a perfect plank position, Quinn’s strong arms holding her in place for exactly one second before she plunged back into the lake head first.

It was a start.  She came up half-laughing and half-cheering, trying to breathe through the arctic chill currently stinging her nasal passages.

“I can’t believe it worked!  For a second, sure, but it worked!” Rachel slapped at the water in delight and Quinn nodded, a proud smile on her face.

“It’s because it’s all in your head, right?  You’re not worried about falling in the water.  You can just… Do it.” She shrugged, swimming back, motioning with her hands for Rachel to take her position once more.

“Okay, want me to count you in?”  Quinn asked, her face bright and welcoming –  a cheerleader’s face.  Rachel took a deep breath at the thought of Quinn in the place of one of those girls waving pom-poms at high school football games.  She wasn’t quite sure if she could picture it fully, Quinn was almost austere at times.  At least, bubbly had never been an adjective she would’ve used to describe the girl.

Rachel nodded, listening hard to Quinn’s one, two, three as she prepared to leap out of the water.  She was confident that this was going to be the one, the perfect lift, and then Quinn’s hands slipped and jammed up into her ribs, causing them both to plunge into the lake.

When she came up cackling, Quinn was already sputtering and wiping her hair out of her eyes.

“See, it’s not always me!” Rachel smiled, shoving lightly at Quinn’s shoulder.  Quinn rolled her eyes, nodding away her shame.

“Okay, you got me, I have flaws–”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Rachel laughed, pulling her wet hair around to one side of her neck.  Quinn stood up to her full height, no longer crouched for the lift, and Rachel felt a panic rise, acute and near painful, in her chest.

Quinn’s blonde hair was hanging in dark, wet ringlets against her cheeks and over her shoulders and that ridiculous men’s undershirt of hers was sucked tight against her torso.  The pale pink outline of her breasts was just barely visible, but visible all the same.  Rachel didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more erotic in her whole life.  No wonder Noah was so hard up for her, no wonder all of the boys looked at her like they would faint.

Rachel blushed, suddenly nervous that she might have looked at her in the same way, that it had been so clear for all the world to see.  She looked down at herself, the way her silk bra and panties similarly clung to all her private bits. What had she been thinking? She was just as exposed, moreso, even.  She held her breath and quickly dunked her head.

Underneath the water, it was much too murky to see anything, but she stayed down there, she stayed just under the surface until her lungs felt like they would turn to dust, and then Quinn was pulling at her, frantic, and somehow Rachel ended up with her legs half-wrapped around the girl’s waist in all the commotion.

She pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, trying to gain her footing, but Quinn’s arms were tight around her waist, hugging like she’d drop back down into the lakebed like an anchor if she let go.

“What happened?” Quinn asked, her voice impossibly sincere.  All Rachel could think about was the fact that their chests were touching, that Quinn’s breasts were currently pressed nearly flat against her own.

“I’m fine!” Rachel assured, leaning back to gain some distance, but Quinn just held on for her dear life. “I can hold my breath for nearly three minutes if I really push myself, and–”

Quinn’s face broke out in an incredulous smile.  She laughed, hard and loud in Rachel’s face.

“My God, I thought–” She swallowed down another peel of laughter, shaking her head, pulling Rachel in tighter until they were properly hugging.  “I thought you were drowning.” She breathed the words into Rachel’s ear, less laughter and more heartfelt concern.  Rachel felt her insides melt, and it wasn’t just their overwhelming proximity.

Quinn’s body relaxed into hers, their hug turning into nothing other than an embrace.  Rachel closed her eyes as she felt Quinn’s breath exhale each time she inhaled, like their dance, like they really were that in sync if they allowed themselves to be.

“Rachel–” Quinn spoke her name after a moment, and for the first time Rachel was fully aware of the way that her eyelids drooped and her lips parted.  She felt as though she wanted to draw her name out of Quinn’s mouth over and over and over–

She pulled her head back and Quinn did the same.

They were alone out there, not a soul in sight.  Rachel’s tongue came out and licked some of the lake water off of her lips and she watched as Quinn pursued the motion with her eyes.  She’d done it before.  Rachel couldn’t discount that fact for a second, nor could she discount the fact that she’d done the same.

Rachel brought her palms to the sides of Quinn’s head, bracketing it just behind her ears.  There were beads of water dripping off of her earlobes and Rachel wanted to suck them off like she was dying of thirst.

It was the thought that brought her back to reality.

She began to struggle.  Quinn’s grip was still acute, her fingers digging into Rachel’s ribs.

“Can you - can you let me–” She pleaded, and then Quinn was rapidly blinking and setting her down like she was some precious thing.  Rachel knew she would cry, she knew the signs, it was well past the point of no return, so she began swimming as hard as she possibly could towards the shore.

“Hey!” Quinn called, following after her, her arms slapping hard against the water.  Rachel had the strange thought that Quinn would best her, that she would gain on her and pull her back in and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Still, she swam, and by the time she reached the shore she was panting, gasping for breath.  She scrambled up towards her clothes and began frantically pulling them on over her wet underthings.

She had to get dressed.  She couldn’t stand there for a second longer like this in front of Quinn.

Lake water was still dripping from her hair and into her eyes, but Rachel didn’t wipe it away or wring it out or do anything she was supposed to do until she was fully and completely clothed.

Quinn, who had made it to shore not long after her, was moving at a much slower pace, pulling on her shorts with a few easy jerks of her wrists, squeezing the water out of her shirt.

When they were both done, shoes on and barely any light left in the sky, Quinn looked at Rachel.  Rachel wrapped her arms around herself, pretending to be cold as Quinn walked towards her until they were close, closer than Rachel wanted, though she didn’t back away.

“You don’t think I’m scared, too?” Quinn asked, her voice laced with a tenderness that Rachel had never heard come out of her mouth before.  Tears stung the backs of Rachel’s eyes.

“I – I like you, Rachel.”

Rachel reached up and quickly wiped at the tear tickling her cheek.  She had the absurdly stupid thought that Quinn might not have seen it, that she might have been quicker than the speed of light in her deception.

“W-well, that’s good, because I had rather been worried that you hated me. It’s good for us to like each other, isn’t it?  Good for practice.”  Whether Quinn had seen the tear or not, it was nearly impossible to disguise her voice, all nasally and wet.  

Rachel wanted to run as fast and as hard as she could back to her cabin, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to make it back without Quinn.

“No, that’s… That’s not what I mean.” Quinn said, attempting to moderate her exasperation, though some of it was still there in her tone.  It wasn’t like Rachel hadn’t been asking for it, with the ghastly display she was currently putting on.

But what else could she do?  She felt as though someone had just hit her over the head with a blunt object and then expected her to know exactly how many fingers they were holding up.

She held her hands out, not for Quinn to take but to stop her from coming any closer.

“Quinn, I – I don’t – I think Jacob was right.” 

She was pathetic.  An absolute coward, but she was frightened out of her mind, she couldn’t stop shaking and it wasn’t the cold water, it wasn’t any other flimsy, ridiculous excuse she could think to conjure up.

“I know I said otherwise, but – I, I don’t know anything, okay?  I pretend like I do but I can be so, so stupid, and I think that I’ve been letting myself because I–” Tears were streaming down her face, hot and salty and mixed with the earthy taste of lake water.  She couldn’t see Quinn’s face very well through the blur of tears, but she could tell it wasn’t a happy one.

Rachel sobbed, the sound of it going on forever over the water.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I don’t even know what I didn’t mean to do! Everything! I can’t– I’m sorry, but I just can’t, okay?”

She could see Quinn nodding, the kind of nod that she gave Jacob when he was ordering her around – resolute, incapable of being harmed.

“ Fine .  If that’s–”

Rachel wiped at her eyes, hoping to get some clarity on Quinn’s sudden pause.  The girl’s jaw was so tight that Rachel thought she could hear her teeth grinding in the back of her mouth.  She watched her hard swallow.

“Let’s just go back.”

Chapter Text

Rachel cried herself to sleep.  It wasn’t the first time she’d done it in her life, but it strangely felt as though it was, like every other time had been some kind of dress rehearsal and this was the real thing.

It hurt.  Her face and her head and her eyes and her throat, who would have thought that your throat could hurt so badly when you weren’t even sick?

It was impossible to keep it down, and so her daddy naturally inquired, though she knew better than to give him any intelligence on the matter.  Still, he held her head in his lap for at least an hour as she cried, and all the while she was thinking about what cowards the two of them were, a tie beyond blood.

The next day, Rachel woke up no less miserable, and she drank a cup of miserable coffee and sat listening to the miserable birds (only because they seemed wholly unmiserable, chirping away, oblivious to her desolation).

“I swear, if it’s that Finn, again.” Her daddy said, coming to sit beside her on the porch swing.  She just stared ahead, numb after the night she’d had.  It had been unbearable, like just before a fever breaks, some horrifying part of her rattling it's cage over and over, begging to be released so that it could run to the staff cabins and eat Quinn whole, bones and hair and all.

And she could ask her daddy if it felt that way for him too, or if it was just as easy as watching someone else adore you, but she would not.

She had convinced herself that she was afraid of nothing, when in fact she was afraid of so many things, and so easily frightened by them, as well.  How could she be so spooked by a beautiful girl?  She’d been watching them her whole life, wondering about them, and now one was wondering about her back, and she realized the risk in that for the very first time.

There had been zero risk in going it alone all this time.  Less than zero risk in swooning over the strong jaws and the broad shoulders of the boys at school, knowing the least it could do would be to grant her a kind look from another girl, an understanding.  Rachel had garnered very little understanding from her female peers over her school years, so she relished those moments when they came.

Even just to covet a boy that another girl had.  It felt like sharing something, didn’t it?  Finn had been someone else’s at first, Connie Mayfair, the student government treasurer and a sweetheart, really, when it all started.  She’d keyed Rachel’s locker just before graduation, if that told you anything.

Rachel didn’t respond to her daddy.  He could think it was about Finn if he liked, though something in her did want to just say it, just scream Quinn’s name as long and as hard as she could and let him figure out the rest.

Their walk back to the resort the night before had been nothing short of funereal, with Quinn taking the helm and Rachel hanging back, shoulders hunched, trying to shrink herself down so small that if Quinn were to look back, she might not even see her.

She did not look back, though, not once.  Rachel supposed that she was done with her for good this time, wouldn’t even mind one bit if she’d dropped off over some imposing root and was left broken-legged and helpless for dead.

Quinn went her own way entirely when the white eaves of the big house came into view, not even bothering to drop Rachel off at the cabins.

Truthfully, she didn’t think she’d have wanted a full escort, even if Quinn had somehow, out of some sense of gallantry, insisted.  She didn’t know what she deserved, but it wasn’t that.

It was, she guessed, showing up to the old rec center and seeing Noah bent over the record player.

She didn’t know why she’d even come, but there was something in her that felt beholden to Quinn more than ever.  She knew she shouldn’t see her, that what she’d done had broken in pieces the unspoken, enormous thing always wedged between the two of them.

But Quinn hadn’t asked anything of her, at least not with her words, and Rachel couldn’t very well say the girl’s earlobes were being indelicate, could she?

She wanted to insist that she just keep on admiring Quinn from afar, behind doors, in the safety of her own ridiculous mind.  It just wouldn’t do to feel so funny about another girl, really, the inconvenience of it alone.

She had all sorts of plans and in some cases they were very thoroughly detailed in actual calendars, marked with stickers and special pens.  She would abstain from any serious dating for all four years of undergraduate school, though she did pencil in the opportunity for a torrid summer love affair that would fizzle out when the leaves turned, leaving her sufficiently heartbroken but refreshed for the coming four more years of medical school.

She would meet a boy at that point, someone reasonably handsome that (more importantly) her daddy approved of beyond a reasonable doubt, and they would get married but practice rigorous family planning until she had passed her boards and gotten her medical degree.

She would have children, one boy and one girl.  She would name them solid Jewish names and she would send them to boarding school as soon as they were out of diapers, as Rachel didn’t care much for children, truth be told.

She had not set aside even a month or two for happiness, or sloppiness, or trips to exotic places.  There wasn’t a single day in which she would allow herself the sublime opportunity to sing in front of other people.  All that, and it was reasonable to conclude that she simply had no room in her schedule for these feelings.

They made her dizzy.  They made her uncertain about her entire life up until and beyond that point.  What else had she missed about herself?

Oh, it was all so confusing.   And being around Quinn only made it worse, because when she was around Quinn, all she wanted to do in the whole wide world was touch the girl, and not even to be touched in turn, but–

Just for the sheer pleasure of the motion, the sharing of space. When she was around Quinn it felt in a way that she could consume her, take in pieces of her, breathe Quinn into her lungs.

With Finn it had been – different.  She couldn’t even dredge up the feeling anymore, could she?  Her heart was now the specific breadth of Quinn Fabray, her name or her body or her essence. It was as if she had never met anyone else before in her whole life.

And Quinn felt it, too, which was the worst thing of all.  Maybe if it had been one of those things, a strange and secret pining that simply consumed itself, then it would have been fine.  Rachel could have gone the rest of her life with it like some kind of benign cyst.

But to acknowledge it the way Quinn had done?  To look Rachel in the eye and tell her?

Maybe she was angry!  You didn’t just pull someone apart and show them their insides without their consent!  She ought to have known better.

She had looked so lovely, though, saying it.  So beautiful. I like you, Rachel , her chin quivering, face pink with anticipated shame.  That hadn’t been a girl that was set out to hurt her, to show her a thing or two–

“Where’s Quinn?” She asked, knowing the answer but just wanting to have someone else hear her say the girl’s name, like a song, or a prayer.

Noah turned around, his lip curled.

“Says you two are done, it being so close.  Time for you to show me what you can do.  I heard the lift still ain’t right.”

Rachel dropped her bag to the floor, not even caring about the smack of it, and neither did Noah.  He put the needle on the record and sauntered towards her.

“Hi, guys!” Brittany’s perpetually even-keeled voice rang out over the sound of trumpets and drums as she walked into the room.  While Rachel had been expecting Noah, she had not been expecting this.  The girl was dressed in a leotard, her hair pulled into a bun instead of her standard ponytail, making her look decidedly unlike herself.

She looked a little bit like Quinn, actually, if you squinted so hard you gave yourself a headache.

“Brit’s gonna help, ‘cept I don’t think you really need it, but you know how Q is–”

Did she know how Quinn was?  God, yes, she did – Quinn was like Rachel herself, never letting a single thing escape her purview, always controlling events from the sidelines whether you liked it or not.  In another life, they could’ve been an unstoppable duo, like Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, and honestly, really– It was a breathtakingly attractive trait.

She could admit that now.  She supposed she could admit a lot of things to herself if she just stopped fighting it so much.

They took off practicing like a well-oiled machine, another surprise to Rachel, who had been expecting a bunch of slacking off and cigarette smoking from Noah and other such silliness from Brittany.

They were both fairly tenacious, though, and Rachel found herself comparing Brittany’s style of instruction to Quinn’s, the ways that Brittany held her body to direct her, the commanding press of her fingers.

Quinn might have been that way at first, but as time went on, a simple hand-hold became so tender that you could almost cry from it.  It was clear now that she shouldn’t have been the one to teach Rachel at all, that where a push would’ve been appropriate, Quinn was only gently guiding her away.

This was better, then. They had let the thing between them get in the way of business for too long, and now Rachel could reach her full potential without simply wanting to fall into the sweet, waiting bosom of her teacher.

Another notable difference was that Noah and Brittany took their breaks.  They didn’t wait until they could barely stand it any longer to get a drink of water, and come noon, they were wordlessly packing it in for lunch.

“But – Quinn and I usually go on well into the evening–” Rachel protested, using her towel to wipe the sweat from her brow as she looked between the two of them.  Noah pressed his hands to the small of his back and stretched out his shoulders, looking back at her out of the side of his eye.

“Hey, I’m starved, and it’s bologna sandwich day.”

“Puck loves bologna sandwich day.” Brittany said, like she was explaining the laws of physics to a five year old.

“Damn right. You can come with us if you want, but I’m sure you’d rather have a wedge salad by the pool with your little girlfriends–”

“I don’t have any little girlfriends!” Rachel protested, stomping over to the record player and turning the record to its B side.

“I’ll just keep at it alone, then.”

“Suit yourself.” Noah shrugged, tugging his shirt over his head and briefly sniffing the armpit before balling it up into his hands.

Brittany’s hand was suddenly on Rachel’s back in gentle concern.

“You should eat, Rachel. If not you’ll get all dizzy and then Quinn will get mad at us, and no one likes it when Quinn’s mad at them. It makes your tummy hurt.”

Rachel felt her heart flutter at the mention of Quinn, even though she’d been thinking about her non-stop since practice began, it was a bit of a boon to know that she was on someone else’s mind as well.

“It does, doesn’t it.” She grumbled, shouldering her bag.  Brittany gave her a little pat and then she was off, but Noah lingered, using his discarded shirt to wipe at the sweat on his neck.

“Look, I dunno what the hell you said to her yesterday, but… She’s actually been all loopy-happy the last week, even with all the…” He patted at his own belly, and Rachel winced. “Now if you hear Santana tell it, she’s sitting in her cabin reading goddamn poems and sulking.  That girl can sulk , y’know? It gets ugly. So, whatever you did, you gotta fix it.”  He pulled a cigarette out of the metal case stuck deep into one of his back pockets.

“Why are you so certain I did anything at all?”

He raised an eyebrow at her as his zippo lighter was flicked to life.

“She likes you.” He grimaced, though Rachel could tell he didn’t mean it in the same way that Quinn had the night before at the lake. 

“She likes maybe three people, four tops. I know me and her are solid right now, Brit says they’re good, and we’d all know if she and Santana had beef.  That just leaves you.”  He pointed the cigarette at her.  Rachel hugged her arms around her middle.

“So, what’d you do?  Call her a slut?  Wait – you’re not that mean, you probably offered to adopt the baby or some shit. Word to the wise, Q hates pity.  She’d probably rather you call her a floozy and be done with it.”

“I did none of those things, and really, it’s hardly any of your business.”

Noah looked at her like he was sizing her up.  Rachel squeezed her arms tighter around herself, though she didn’t look away. She had no intention of showing her cards to anyone, much less him.   It wasn’t as if she didn’t like Noah, or anything, but it was apparent now that whatever bond he shared with Quinn was invulnerable, and Rachel was… Well, she was jealous. And she had been all this time.

“You like her, too.” He said, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.  She’d cleaned the girl’s vomit off of her shoes after having only two solid conversations with her!  She raised one shoulder, not so you’d really even notice if you weren’t paying attention.

“Girls get like that with her, y’know. Follow her around. She used to have a gaggle of them trailing behind her all through school.”

Now that she’d named her jealousy, it was as though it was ready to take on a life of its own.  Rachel was jealous, of anything and everything associated with Quinn.  She was jealous of Noah and she was jealous of Santana for getting to see her first thing in the morning every day and she was now jealous of some silly girls that she’d never met.

“They sorta fell by the wayside when she…” He hesitated. He didn’t know that Rachel knew, and suddenly she wanted to make it very apparent, make it impossible for him to deny that Rachel was somehow important in Quinn’s life.

“When she got pregnant.” She finished for him. Noah looked like Rachel had pulled out a very big, very sharp knife.

“It’s fine, Noah, she told me. That’s why she’s so scared, now.”

He swallowed, stepping back slowly, t-shirt tucked underneath his arm.

“You know, I think it’s just one of those things where…” He scrubbed at the back of his neck, looking pained to be speaking about any of it at all. “Not to get into the sleazy details or anything, but… There’s basically no way she’s pregnant this time around. I barely got it in and I definitely didn’t, y’know–”

Rachel felt her face burn and she turned away, pretending to tidy up the records that sat stacked next to the record player.

“You’re right, I absolutely do not need the details, Noah.”

Speaking of jealousy.  The thought of Quinn doing anything like that, with anyone , made her feel like strangling the nearest living thing.  The recognition was a relief, in a way.  That feeling that she’d gotten when Jacob had told her why Quinn was being fired, that confusing, hot all over every inch of her skin feeling, she hadn’t known what it was.

She hadn’t wanted to know, and now she did, and at least she knew that she wasn’t going mad. 

She was simply…

No, it wasn’t the least bit simple.  She wanted to be Quinn’s friend, that much had never not been true, but she also wanted so many other, greater things.  Whatever she wanted with Quinn was like one of those colors that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, completely incomprehensible.

“I’m only sayin’. Anyhow, tell her you’re sorry, and–”

“I don’t think that Quinn and I will ever be talking again, Noah, so I wouldn’t worry about that.  You can tell her I’m sorry that I’ve upset her.”

Rachel felt her throat constrict and her thoughts suddenly became wild , not structured and careful like she’d managed to keep them all morning.

Would she truly never speak to Quinn again?  What kind of miserable world did she live in that she might never hear words coming out of Quinn’s mouth, see her lips move against her teeth? And how could it be that the last thing she’d said to her was something so completely and utterly untrue?  I’m sorry, but I can’t?

Couldn’t she? What the hell was stopping her?  Her daddy? Noah? The godforsaken president of the United States?

She squeezed her hands into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white.  

“Damn, that’s how it is?” He reached over and pressed his cigarette butt into the side of one of the old chairs littering the room.  She wanted to scream at him, not because it was him or even that he was smoking, but because she just wanted to scream.

She didn’t respond, just shook her head and side-stepped his imposing frame as she walked swiftly out the door.

Chapter Text

Rachel spent the rest of the day, all evening, and all morning as she prepared her coffee and dodged her daddy, sending wishes out into the universe.

If she wished hard enough, she would walk into that abandoned rec center, and Quinn would be standing there, and she could…

She could apologize. She could beg, down on her hands and knees, for forgiveness.

If only her wishes would come true.

It was an arrogant hope, like asking for a pony for your birthday when you lived in a rowhouse on the Upper West Side.

When Rachel turned up to see Noah and Santana this time, she felt that her wishes had not only not come true, but completely backfired.

At least Brittany was sweet and helpful and didn’t call her names at every available opportunity.  She openly frowned as she placed her bag on one of the counters.

“What’re you so grouchy for, shortstack, too many shirley temples last night?” Santana snorted, stretching her hamstrings while Noah messed around with the music.

“I would appreciate it if we could just get to work and keep the witty repartee to a minimum, please?”

Santana cocked her head, and Rachel became aware that she had just poked a busy beehive.

“I can do a lot worse than that, so you better watch your mouth or you might not like what comes out of mine, next.  Brit’s otherwise engaged this morning, so here I am, showing up for your sorry ass because Fertile Myrtle begged on her knobby little knees.  Never let it be said that I’m not a nice fucking person .”

Rachel huffed, walking over to Noah and tapping his wrist.

“Do you think I need someone here to help me, Noah?  I think I’m perfectly capable at this point–”

He turned around, looking puffy with guilt.  Rachel stepped back, and Santana cackled.

“In case you haven’t figured it out, college girl, I’m here as a chaperone.   Your girlfriend doesn’t want you to have to be alone with this peckerhead over here, even though she should be throwing you to the wolves after–”

“You don’t know the first thing!” Rachel shouted, knowing and not even caring that it was the equivalent of whacking that bee hive she’d just poked with a baseball bat.  Quinn wasn’t there to save her, sure, but she didn’t need saving, anyway.  If Santana wanted to rough her up, well, then she’d better do it fast.

Instead of going for the jugular, Santana only smiled.  It was a smile that started out slight and then widened and widened until Rachel was genuinely afraid of what might come next.  She’d have preferred violence.

“I told her you weren’t worth the trouble, and she still showed up.  Girls like you just want attention, doesn’t matter where from, and then suddenly you’re all why, I never! I don’t know what the hell she ever saw in you to want to stick around in the first place, but listen here – you come around her again? We’ll have more than words, me and you. You can count on that.”

“All right, ladies, let’s just do what we gotta do, yeah?  We’ve only got a few more days and we gotta work on the lift.”  Noah sighed, narrowing his eyes at Santana for a minute like he was wondering whether it was worth it to say anything else.

“Santana, go or stay, but shut the hell up, will ya?  The pipsqueak is right – less talk, more dancing.”

Rachel gave Santana a biting smile, starting up the record and taking Noah’s hands to illustrate his point.

Santana shook her head, hopping up on one of the countertops.

“I promised Q I’d stick around.  Didn’t say anything about helping.”

– - -

Despite her vow to sit and do nothing all afternoon, Santana’s naturally contentious nature couldn’t stand the idea of keeping her criticisms to herself, and after a short while she was up and circling them as they danced, pointing out flubs, instructing Rachel to keep her chin up again and again.

It was sort of nice, Rachel had to admit.  She felt like she had earned some kind of begrudging respect from Santana, who had not yet seen her progress.  In Santana’s eyes, Rachel could see that she wasn’t just adequate, she was good.   She would make Quinn proud, even if she hated Rachel while she was doing it.

By the time lunch rolled around, Santana was actually the one to insist they push forward, coming back with turkey sandwiches and pretzels from the staff cafeteria. Rachel couldn’t eat the sandwich, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

“When he lifts, you have to arch your back a little.” Santana brought both arms up over her head, demonstrating. “If your back goes too flat you’ll always end up jack-knifing.”

Rachel nodded, licking her lips in determination as she stared at Noah standing with his arms out at the end of the mat.

Santana bit at her thumbnail as she counted Rachel back in, and Rachel ran and jumped and for the first time, they pulled off a perfect lift.  Noah picked her up and swung her around in victory, and Santana just nodded, teeth still resting against her thumbnail, eyeing Rachel studiously rather than resentfully.

It was a nice change.  She wished Quinn could’ve been there to see it, but as she’d discovered, her wishes were pretty much useless.

“I think we got it for today.” Noah announced, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “I got a date tonight, gotta eat and shower–”

“You shower?” Santana quipped, cutting off the record and putting it back in its sleeve.

“Ha-ha, very funny.  Only for the hottest chicks, San, that’s why you can still remember my manly stench after all this time.”

Santana rolled her eyes, and Rachel had to admit that she was slightly taken aback by that revelation.

“Yeah, right, Puckerman, I’m the hottest girl you’ve ever gotten your gooey paws on and you know it.”

Rachel had to disagree on principle, since he had most definitely gotten those gooey paws on Quinn, but she wouldn’t deign to say as much out loud, especially when it seemed that she and Santana had fallen into some kind of strange, affable state of existence for the time being.

“You wish.” He smiled, twiddling his fingers in a little wave before he was out the door, leaving Rachel and Santana quite alone.

There was a long moment of pure, dreadful silence, and then Santana was speaking in a low, barely-there murmur.

“You’re actually not terrible.”

Rachel didn’t know if she was referring to her dancing or to her general state of being, but it was nice to hear all the same.  She smiled, disarmed and ready to sigh out all of her insecurities, but then Santana was stepping up deeply into her personal space, and Rachel lost the ability to breathe.

“What’s your problem, anyway?  Why’d you do that to her?”

It was a moment of vulnerability for the girl, despite the fact that she was currently within easy strangling distance of Rachel.

“I didn’t–” Rachel started, ready to defend herself without even really knowing why.  The thought that Quinn had told Santana what happened, had confided in her, maybe even cried to her…

Rachel couldn’t bear any of it.  Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to come up with the best way to say what she herself didn’t even truly know.

“Because I’m selfish. And I’m a coward. And I’m… I really don’t know myself at all. I’m sorry for what I did.  I’m, I’m sorry for what I didn’t do, too. And you can tell her that, if you like.”

Santana’s pointer finger came up and pressed roughly into the center of Rachel’s chest.

“Tell her yourself.”

“But I thought you said that I shouldn’t go near her, I thought–”

“Changed my mind.” Santana made a great point of shrugging her shoulders, and she walked back slowly from where Rachel stood, not bothering to say goodbye.

– - -

It was late afternoon and the mosquitos were buzzing around Rachel’s head much like her thoughts as she barreled towards the staff cabins, cabin M, where Santana had seemed reasonably sure that Quinn would be holed up for the evening.

Only, when Rachel got there, sweat dripping down her back and slick behind her knees, Quinn was nowhere to be found.  She knocked and she knocked – she even went behind and peered through the frosted glass window at the back, just to see if Quinn’s shadow was hovering in the bathroom.

But no – she wasn’t there, and Rachel sat on the porch and let all of her urgent plans settle in her mind.

She would tell Quinn that she wanted to be her friend.  She would tell her that she was flattered, and that her heart felt sick about the whole thing, and that in the most perfect world, things could be different.  She would say that Quinn was beautiful and that anyone would be so lucky, that Rachel felt so lucky that she could just burst into song about it–

It was important that Quinn knew how she felt.  That it wasn’t as though she didn’t feel the same, it was just that she wasn’t that type of girl, and that Quinn didn’t have to be, either, if she didn’t want.

Now, sitting on her porch, watching what was surely the most gorgeous smelling laundry on earth drying on Quinn’s line, Rachel felt wrong about the whole thing.

Why had Santana changed her mind?  What had she seen that Rachel couldn’t see?

She felt tears tickling her cheeks before she could go through all the normal motions of stopping them.  Aside from all of the million questions and subsequent lack of answers beating at her brow, she also just missed Quinn terribly.  They’d been so close for weeks, and Rachel hungered for her smile and her seldom-earned laugh, the smell of her, God, it nearly had Rachel walking up to the laundry and taking a big, unabashed whiff.

What type of girl was she, again?  Did she really even know?

She tried her best to wipe at her face and make herself some semblance of presentable as she heard the jovial voices of a group of men, kitchen staff, all walking down the alley towards the rec center.

In among them was none other than Leroy Platter, looking handsome and vibrant as ever, chatting it up with his co-workers and friends, patting a younger fellow on the back after he made some pronouncement that Rachel couldn’t hear.  As they passed where Rachel sat with her head in her hands, she tried to make herself inconspicuous, but she supposed she was just too large for life, because Leroy caught her eye like it was nothing.

His happy-go-lucky face immediately turned down upon seeing what must’ve looked like a pitiful sight, and he quietly told his friends he’d forgotten something, and that they’d better go on without him.

Rachel only stared as he walked up to the steps, standing with his hands folded in front of him.

“Rachel – are you okay?”  She only cried harder at his earnestness, and through the film of tears she could see that he was staring, helpless, his palms out and beseeching.

“I’m fine.” Rachel assured, though it was one of those phrases that often and in this case very clearly meant the opposite.  A word trick – you could ignore it, if you wanted, and no one would think badly of you.  She was giving him an out, this man that she hardly knew, but who knew her very well, if she had to guess.

“I hate to state the obvious, my dear, but I think that is…very unlikely.  Here–”

He produced a clean and sweet-smelling handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and Rachel only took it because it was the kind of thing she was taught to do.  She stared at the pattern, a paisley blue and purple, but didn’t bring it to her face.

“Mr. Platter, where are you from?”

Leroy cleared his throat. A few more staff members walked down the path, and a few even did a double-take, but none bothered enough to stop.

"Um, I was born and raised in Brooklyn. Bed-Stuy. But now I stay in Queens when I'm not up here for the summer."

Leroy came to gingerly sit beside her on the steps, his hands on his knees. Rachel sniffled, squeezing her shoulders in.

"Well, I was raised in the Upper West Side."

“I’m aware, yes.”

“I suppose you probably know lots of things about me.”

Leroy looked around, surveying the area before he turned back to her and slowly nodded.

“Mr. Platter–”

“Please, I’m begging you, call me Leroy.”

“Sorry. Leroy – we're both from New York, and our city must be by and large the most progressive place in the country, if not the world.  It’s where the NAACP was founded and where many of the strongest voices in women’s liberation are popping up and I just think that, that if there’s a place for people to feel like they can be themselves at all, then it has to be in New York City, doesn’t it? Of course, I’ve been to Christopher Street.  We’ve all heard the talk.  But do you think there really is a place for people like… like that?"

Her tears were still wet on her face, but a grim determination had taken shape inside of her, and she was no longer crying. She turned to Leroy, hoping he could see her as an adult, and not a pathetic child whining for all the wrong reasons.

He looked frightened half to death.

“Rachel, I… I think this is something you should discuss with your father.”

Rachel shook her head, looking wistfully off to where the wind blew threw one of Quinn's skirts out hanging on the clothesline.

“If I don’t immediately meet some rich Jewish boy majoring in finance at Columbia and marry him come fall, it is possible that my father might disown me.”

“Oh, come now, that’s–”

“Well, maybe disown is a strong word.  But he couldn’t handle this, and I’ve just recently been made aware that it may be for more complex reasons than I ever could have imagined.”

She let that intimate knowledge sit between them, and though the breeze was formidable that afternoon, that knowledge remained there, thick and stifling.

Leroy turned to her and his face looked so instantly forgiving that Rachel thought she might start up crying again.

“I think he may surprise you, Rachel.  It would be good for you to talk to him. Better, I think.  You’re a lovely young lady, but we really don’t know each other, do we?”

She laughed bitterly, and it still sounded wet coming out of the back of her throat. 

“Leroy, don’t you think it could be possible that I’m talking to you about this precisely because I don’t know you?”

His smile was grim, and Rachel hated to see how it cut so hard into his previously gentle look. If her daddy was in love with this man, she thought, then good for him. He was kind and warm and there was a constant glitter in his eye, even when there ought not to be.

Many awful things must've touched that man's life, yet he remained the picture of calm humility, a great contrast to her daddy's penchant for anxious hysteria in the face of minimal adversity.

Rachel pressed her palms to her cheeks before looking back at the cabin, as if Quinn might've come home and slipped past her without being seen.

“She’s quite the looker." Leroy said, breaking the deepening silence between the two of them. He said it carefully, as if worried that he might have got it all wrong.  "Trust me, falling for the beautiful ones…It happens, when you’re young.  But it’ll pass.”

Would it pass? In that moment she found herself scared to death by the prospect, more scared than she'd been of Quinn's pretty, pleading face down by the lake.

“She… Well, she rather implied that she had fallen for me . And we’ve been dancing with each other and it really does bring two people awfully close, not just physically.  I haven’t seen her in two days and I already feel like it’s a lifetime, Leroy, like one of those old women in a nursing home lamenting their long lost love. I'm such a fool!”

She wouldn't tell him what she'd done, how she'd allowed the girl in question to confess her deepest desires and then had left her hanging there on the ledge of those feelings, holding on for dear life.

It was shameful what she'd done, and to a girl like Quinn, already so closed off, so convinced that no one was ever on her side.

But how could she make it right? Her old plans were rubbish, she knew that, now. Any plan that didn't end with Quinn in her life didn't seem worth the effort.

"You have to be careful, you know." Leroy said, a comforting hand landing on the point of her shoulder blade.  Rachel gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I just mean… the world isn’t a kind place, and when you’re in love you feel so, well… invincible. It can be dangerous.”

His hand dropped, and his eyes did, too. Rachel stood up, smoothing out her dress, feeling where her swimsuit still bunched underneath it.

"Thank you, Leroy. I–" She wanted to say more, and all of it was just there buzzing like a swarm of bees on the tip of her tongue. She could tell him she approved, tell him that she'd only ever wanted her daddy to be happy. Leroy smiled sweetly in the face of her silence.

“Just so you know, Moishe grabbed a bunch of the staff to go into town and pick up a grocery shipment.  She’ll probably be back before sunset.”

– - -

The truck depot was out near the service road, another place with all sorts of signs warning against resort guests, though Rachel couldn’t imagine why – it was a dirt road surrounded in brambles and sumac, shaded by thick clumps of overgrown foliage and trees.  It wasn’t as if anyone would willingly walk into it.

Anyone but Rachel, just desperate enough to catch a glimpse of a girl that could very well act as if she was a ghost and walk right past her.

She didn’t really have the first idea about what she would even say if Quinn were to give her the time of day, the whole thing had been more of a reflex of the heart than a logical action borne of sound judgment.  When it was about Quinn, whatever it may be, sound judgment simply wasn’t a factor for Rachel any longer.  She didn’t know if it ever had been.

One of the trucks rambled down the road just as Rachel was beginning to resign herself to the fact that standing in the woods by herself for hours on end waiting for something that may never happen wasn’t going to fix her summer and certainly not her life.

It was an open-back truck with wood slats on the side, and Rachel could see the top of that pretty blonde head like she could pick it out of a lineup from 100 yards away.  It was Quinn and a few of the other kids, Mike and some other dusty-haired boys she’d never met before.  When the truck stopped, they all hopped out and started unloading crates of oranges, even Quinn, standing there in her clam-diggers and a scarf tied in her hair, looking all the world like a normal summertime girl, heart fully intact.

She raised up her arms, revealing the lily white underside of them as one of the boys gently handed her one of the less-full crates with a wink. Quinn smiled neatly, of course she did, and pressed the crate into her chest with that look she got when she was trying to prove she could do something right, her lips pursed in quiet concentration.

There was some commotion as several of the kitchen staff walked up past Rachel, all business as they grabbed crates and bowing sacks of flour and what looked like cartons of milk or cream or something that had been too heavy for Quinn.

If she went to her now, she’d be helpless, in a way, caught off-guard enough that she might not run.  Rachel winced.  Was that what she wanted?  To trap Quinn so that she could stand there and think of what to say later, after she’d basked in the warm glow of her presence?

Could she say I’ve missed you?  Could she say I keep crying myself to sleep like the worst kind of teenager?

Quinn turned and handed her crate off to one of the men that Leroy had been walking with, and then Mike was saying something to her, and they were walking the opposite way, towards the staff cabins with their elbows touching.

Rachel nearly raised her hand like she was hailing a taxi as she watched them leave, but a slight pressure on her shoulder stopped her.

She turned around to see Sugar standing there, perfectly pink dress and lipstick and bow in her hair.  It looked like she was going to a birthday party, or high tea, and there Rachel was, barely decent.  She bit the inside of her cheek, but Sugar just smiled.

“I, um, haven’t seen you around, Rachel.”  She fluttered her eyelashes, her hands tugging at the skinny white belt tied at her waist.  Rachel let out a loud sigh.

“Yes, that would be because you and every other girl at Ben Israel's have decided that I’m the scum of the earth.”

The kitchen staff all walked back at once, surrounding them like a herd, goods towering in their arms.  Sugar wrapped her arms around herself while Rachel just stared at her, wondering why she’d come all the way up to the service road just to speak to her.

She supposed it was a quiet, empty place to go – empty of any of the other girls, particularly.

“No!  No, I just… Well, you know how Rachel S. is.” Sugar frowned, though she relaxed when they were finally left alone.

“Yes, a hopeless gossip-monger that delights in the misery of others?”

She was probably down at the pool at that very moment, telling all of the girls that Sugar had defected and was now lost to the hopeless dregs of society along with poor Rachel Berry, and what a waste, too!  But Sugar was shaking her head, grabbing at Rachel’s hands like she hadn’t been aggressively avoiding her for weeks

“Everyone’s moved on, Rach.  Eileen Becker got caught giving Jacob a hand in exchange for a better spot in the Talent Show and now it’s all anyone can ever talk about–”

“What? No!”

“It’s true.  No one cares that you’re hanging around the staff anymore.  I never cared, anyhow.  You have to tell me how the Cuckoo Clock is in bed, though, I can’t stand the suspense any longer.”

Sugar turned and began walking back down towards the rec center, with Rachel following along, but not without one last sorrowful look over her shoulder.  Quinn wasn’t coming back, the idea in her head that they might share some sacred moment on that dusty old road in the shade of the trees lost to what felt like her old life, Sugar and pretty pink dresses and gossip about The Cuckoo Clock, as if she didn’t know his name.

“His name is Noah, and I really wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, stop.  I can keep a secret!”

Rachel swallowed.

“I’m just being given dance lessons, that’s all.  And not by Noah, by… Well, one of the girls.  She used to be a ballet dancer and she’s really very good.”

Was being given dance lessons.  Now, Rachel was just practicing the same steps over and over until she felt like she may go crazy from it.

Sugar made a face.

“One of the girls?   Bo-ring.  You should’ve just lied and told me that you and Noah had been doing that nasty dancing all week.  I need something new to imagine while I’m getting a pedicure.”

“It’s all very boring, indeed.” Rachel sighed, glancing back just once more for the heck of it, like her brain had been tapping her on the shoulder insistently, urgently. Just to see.   

There was nothing there at all anymore, not even the truck, just the late afternoon sun dappling the underbrush.

Chapter Text

A proper summer swelter had come through, and the days passed in physical and mental misery.  Every morning that Rachel walked into the old rec center to find Noah and no Quinn was a day worse than the last.

She had been tentatively allowed back into the “Daughters’ Club” at Ben Israel’s, or really Sugar had held her foot in the door and allowed Rachel to slink through the crack.  By the end of the week, she was being invited to eat lunch with Bethany and some of the younger girls, as if it was some high honor and not a thing she would’ve easily passed on at the beginning of the summer.

Rachel pushed the food around her plate – beef stroganoff minus the beef, which turned out to just be noodles in a funny cream sauce and some limp carrots.

“You know, if you really don’t like him, what’s all the fuss about?”  One of the girls, Elizabeth something or other, had been lamenting to the group since the beginning of lunch about her boy troubles, which for a 15 year old amounted to nothing more than is he really all that cute, girls?

Rachel hadn’t even seen the boy in question, but more than once in the conversation she felt like interjecting with no, he isn’t, now go on and read a book, or fly a kite, or something!

Bethany nudged her elbow against Rachel’s, and she had been nothing but gracious, so Rachel afforded her with the smallest of smiles.

“What do you think, Rachel?  Liz is torn to shreds about Rafi.”  Bethany looked at her like a little kitten asking for a saucer of milk, and as she looked out at the other girls, most of them were doing the same.  Had she garnered some kind of reputation since her brief excommunication?  She had always been known as a talker, the kind of girl that had an opinion for you whether you liked it or not, but to have them practically begging for it was another thing entirely.

Rachel shifted in her seat, setting her fork down on her plate.

“Shouldn’t she just kick him to the curb, Rachel?” Another girl asked, one whose name she couldn’t recall. “He’s a little bit of a dweeb, shouldn’t she find someone exciting , like one of those staff boys?”

So, her reputation had changed.  She was now the resident bad girl , too enticing, too salacious to outcast.  If only they knew just what kind of bad she was, they might not be so keen on asking her for advice at all, but especially not about boys.

“I don’t quite understand what’s so off about this boy, anyhow?  Do you like him, or not?” Rachel asked, failing to keep the ire out of her voice.  Little Liz pouted, her shoulders turning in.

“Well, I–”

“How does he make you feel?  Do you feel light when you’re around him, do you feel like you’ll die if you don’t touch him?  Do you feel like you’re dying right now, wasting away without his hands on you at this very moment?”

The girl’s pupils were blown as wide as her irises.  Next to her, Bethany gave a little nervous cough.

“Um, he’s really nice?  He always lets me win at checkers.”

Rachel took a deep breath that felt as though it was rattling her bones.  She had to dial down the intensity, or she would even be outcast by the high schoolers.  She shrugged, picking her fork back up and resuming her revolting lunch.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

Some of the girls began to whisper as Rachel just stared at the cold noodles on her plate, wondering when she would ever have the courage to be as bold-faced and unapologetic as she pretended she was.

The whispering continued, and Rachel realized that it wasn’t at her at all, but at a procession of staff members walking through the dining hall.  Jacob was at the helm, then there was Sam just behind him, dutifully wearing a Ben Israel’s t-shirt and carrying a pile of what looked like costumes.  Behind him were a few of the stagehand boys, and Santana, and then there was none other than Quinn herself.

It had only been four days, but it felt immeasurably longer.  Rachel’s heart felt like it was crumbling to pieces inside of her chest.

“I heard the blonde one’s pregnant.” Someone said, Rachel couldn’t even be sure who, but nevertheless, she slapped her hand down so hard on the table that every girl around it was jolted stock-still.

“You shouldn’t talk about people that way, that’s none of your business!”

A few of the girls were pressing their lips together to keep their snotty little smiles from getting too wide.

Rachel looked back to Quinn, who was not dressed in the normal Ben Israel’s garb, but rather in a conservative wool dress with her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.  She rather looked like a nun in training, and then Rachel remembered that she must have been dressed for her appointment, which was only hours away.

She stood up, bumping Bethany and practically toppling over her chair in an effort to follow the queue of them as they disappeared through the stage door.

Fast as she tried to be, by the time she burst through the door, all that was there was a dark, empty corridor.  In the distance, she could hear Sam doing some kind of funny voice, and Santana chuckling at him, doors opening and closing.  Rachel rushed down the hall and up into the bowels of the backstage area, and like one of her many, pathetic wishes had somehow been heard and granted after all, there stood Quinn.

She looked sallow, like a slip of herself.  Rachel was sure that Quinn must’ve been nervous, all doctor’s appointments made her nervous, even if she was just there for a routine checkup and not to be told whether or not her life would be completely upended for the second time.

There was only one light on backstage, a spotlight that beamed over one side of Quinn’s face as she stood, waiting, though Rachel couldn’t say for what.

Just looking at her made parts of her body ache, parts that Rachel didn’t even think she’d properly felt before.  She was content to stay hidden, to just stare in the darkness like some kind of ghoul, but one wayward, too-hard breath had Quinn gasping, stepping back.

“ Rachel ?” Quinn asked, a trove of so many different emotions evident in the saying of her name, too many for Rachel to identify.

She tried to swallow in order to moisten her throat, but there was nothing there, just the hot, dry backstage air.  She took a small step forward.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked, her brow turned down and her frown painfully deep.

“I–” Rachel opened her mouth, her heart beating hard enough to make her toes feel like they weren’t on solid ground.  In the relative dark, Rachel could imagine every manner of thing that she wouldn’t let herself imagine in the light of day.  Going to Quinn, holding her, pressing her lips to the dip at the base of her throat.  The brazenness, even in her own head, made her face feel like it was on fire.

“If you’re here to gawk at me–”

“I would never!” Rachel insisted, her voice nothing more than a harsh whisper. It felt like you couldn’t speak normally in the space they were in, some pocket between the curtain and the back wall.

Quinn’s frown deepened, if it was even possible, and she stepped back.  It seemed like she was just a mirage, some phantom that would disappear if touched. Still, Rachel chased her, stepping forward, hands itching to reach out.

“Then what do you want? ”  Quinn was whispering now, too.

“I just wanted to–” To be near to you, Rachel thought. Always. Without question, constantly.  Just like those girls in school, the ones Noah had told her about.  Just wanting to exist somewhere in Quinn’s shadow.

“You wanted to what?” Quinn asked, but it wasn’t mean, or haughty, it was really almost desperate, the way she said it, like she was seconds from crying.

“Oh, won’t you come back, Quinn? Won’t you–”

“It’s too, late, Rachel.”

“It’s never too late!”

“Fletcher’s is tonight, there’s no more practice, nothing left to do.”

Oh.  Rachel knew it, of course, she had a date with Brittany to be dressed and have her makeup done for the performance in a few hours time. She nodded, finally finding enough saliva to properly swallow.

“I wish you could be there.” She whispered, her arms tight at her sides, having given up on the notion that they might, perchance, just touch fingers, just to feel that current flowing through them like a livewire.

“If I could be there, then none of this would have ever happened. If I could be there, ” Quinn said, her voice taking on an almost sarcastic quality. “Then everything would be different.”

Quinn turned around, walking towards the back door, the one that the others had gone out of.  They were probably all outside, milling about, waiting for her.  Rachel couldn’t bear the thought of letting her just leave when she had dreamt of a moment like this for days now.

“Just because I don’t know what I want doesn’t mean that we can’t be around each other!” Rachel yelped, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as the words left it.  Quinn didn’t turn around, though she did stop.  The ghostly backstage light hung over her head like the moon.

“I’m sorry, Rachel, but just because you can be around me doesn’t–” She stopped. Rachel thought she could hear the girl’s heartbeat if she concentrated hard enough. “I can’t be around you , okay? I don’t want to be.”

And then she was gone, out the door and into the bright afternoon light, and Rachel was shattered.

– - -

“You look really pretty.” Brittany assured her, holding up a small mirror so that Rachel could see how she’d pinned her hair in the back.  She smiled, but there was nothing real behind it.  

Quinn hated her, and the worst and most confusing thing of all was that the knowledge only made Rachel feel more for her, only allowed her feelings permission to spread and take root.

Now there was a garden full of sprouting flowers and fruits all ripe and ready and only for Quinn, just sitting there in her chest.

“Did… I suppose she left, didn’t she?” Rachel asked, quiet-like.  Once so eager to say her name, now it felt like she would just break apart if she even uttered one syllable of it.  

They were in Brittany’s cabin, and her roommate, Georgia, sat behind them on her bed, kissing and spraying with perfume a letter that she’d written to her boyfriend in the service.  It was like they existed in two different worlds, separated in a line down the middle of their two beds.

Brittany nodded, bending down to carefully brush some more rouge over Rachel’s cheeks.

“Yeah, Mike let her take his car.”

She couldn’t think too much about Quinn going all the way to Schenectady alone, walking into that doctor’s office alone.  Whether the news was good or bad, she wouldn’t be able to share it with a single soul.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” She said, looking at herself in the vanity mirror in front of her.

Brittany’s eyes came to rest on Rachel’s and in that moment she realized that the girl knew far more than she ever would have given her credit for.

“Quinn’s strong, Rachel. She’s been through a bunch.”

“Just because a person is strong doesn’t mean that they deserve to be alone.” Rachel said, gulping, her chin up as Brittany passed the makeup brush over her nose and chin.  She sighed and the heat of it made Rachel shut her eyes.

“She’s good at being alone, too. Real good. I could never do it like she does. Even back at home, even when she’s with other people, Quinn’s always alone.”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

“Here, rub your lips together.” Brittany instructed, giving Rachel’s chin a little tap with her thumb.  When Rachel opened her eyes, Brittany was smiling appreciatively at her. 

“They’re gonna eat you up.”

Chapter Text

“Now, don’t go bein’ all nervous, bein’ nervous is stupid.” Noah grumbled, his face strangely impassive as they drove around some truly harrowing turns to get to Fletcher’s resort.  Rachel sat in the passenger seat, wringing her hands.

As a rule Rachel was not a nervous person, she was very well put-together, very practiced. Legend had it that she’d won the school spelling bee in fifth grade through stage presence alone, and yet here she was, sitting in some old Desoto that Noah probably stole off the street, sweating through her nylons.

It was only that she didn’t know what to expect, even if she’d made Noah go through each and every step, complete with photo-realistic descriptions of the room and the usual patrons, more times than she could count.

“I’m not nervous, I’m perfectly fine.” Rachel lied, forcing her hands down at her sides.  The dress she was wearing was one of Brittany’s that they’d hemmed up and in several inches, and she felt pretty enough, but it also just didn’t quite feel like her.

None of it did, she supposed.  Rachel wasn’t meant to follow some dashing lead on stage, to be picked up and thrown around like a doll. She was meant to be up on that stage alone.

Preferably wearing something that didn’t showcase so much of her worldly goods at the decolletage. 

The ride was short, shorter than Rachel had expected, and in no time at all they were being ushered backstage by some gruff and unapologetic browbeater and told they’d be on in five.

Five whole minutes.  Rachel felt heat crawl from the center of her chest all throughout her body, like a colony of ants.  Noah turned to her with a look that she had never seen on his face.

“So, uh–” He gulped. “Look. I know you probably didn’t really wanna do any of this, but you’re savin’ my ass.  Even if we blow the big one out there, they still gotta pay me, and ‘sides. You’re good, Rachel. Really good. Might even be better than Q, but don’t even think about tellin’ anyone I said that.”

Rachel felt a watery smile coming on, and whether it was stage fright or the past week of pathetic yearning catching up with her, she didn’t know.

“Aw, come on, don’t do that shit. I need you lookin’ sexy, not all blubbery.” He tapped the underside of her chin with two fingers like he did when they were practicing, and Rachel rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath and pushing her shoulders back, ready for their cue.

It came quick.  The curtains opened in a flash and a voice announced them – Noah and Lucy, of all names – like they were some class act travelling the country and not just a pair of stupid kids making a buck on the weekends.  As soon as the music began to play and Noah took her hand, something primal within Rachel took over, and all she could hear was the deep and resounding beat of her heart as she worked her way through the first steps of the dance.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four – they were already half-way to the end by the time her mind caught up with the movement of her body, and then she was suddenly aware of everything, the hot lights on her face, the smell of whatever dinner was being served to the guests at Fletcher’s, all of their ruddy, shining faces, the tinkling of silverware and the din of one hundred people, at least, all staring at her.

She slipped up, her toe catching on a rockstep, and she felt the mistake burning in her cheeks but Noah just pulled her along, oblivious, and she guessed that everyone else was, too.

They were just there to be entertained, to see two people, two professionals dance in front of them to music that they didn’t hear on the radio every day of their lives.

She regained her composure and was aware, very acutely, that they were about four bars away from the lift, and just as her heart leapt into her throat at the thought, she looked out into the crowd and swore she saw a familiar blonde head of hair.

She wasn’t even sure of what she’d seen, but it was enough to nearly knock her over.  If Quinn was there, in the crowd, watching –

Rachel had attempted to account for everything, but she had not once entertained the notion.  Just like Quinn had said, if she was able to be there, then none of this would have happened.  She wouldn’t be up on stage, she wouldn’t be contorting her body in ways she never thought possible, she wouldn’t be so gobsmacked and crazy over a girl.

Noah was holding his arms out, eyebrow raised.  She missed the cue, but still went in guns blazing, imagining that Quinn was in the audience, that she could perform this one infernal part of their dance with ease. 

She reached him and she jumped.  He caught her perfectly and she rose up above the stage, back curved, toes pointed, heart out towards the crowd as it beat practically out of her chest.  She blinked and blinked through the bright lights and still, she swore she saw that familiar head of hair again.  It couldn’t be her – but it had to be. Rachel’s back went straight and suddenly she was collapsing onto Noah.

Luckily, he could think on his feet, and managed to spin her around like they were doing a modified jitterbug.  She knew it probably looked ridiculous, but the important thing, what Quinn had always told her, was to never stop moving.

You just had to keep on until the music stopped – and Rachel did, she caught Noah’s body-cross cue and they were back in step for the final, abrupt dip, her heel trailing up Noah’s pant leg.

When the music stopped, she was breathing so hard, harder than she ever had in practice, that she thought she must look like the amateur she really was.

Even so, the crowd clapped wildly.  Noah bowed and in the haze of her racing pulse and the lights and the hissing sound of the applause, Rachel followed him instead of bowing in tandem.

He quickly pulled her off stage as the intro music cued up for the next act, the same old traveling pianist.

“D-did you see Quinn?” It was the first thing she asked, as if it was the most important, but it felt that way, like she had to prove that she wasn’t crazy more than anything else, that whatever had happened with the girl wasn’t turning her into a madwoman. Noah just blinked at her like she was speaking another language.  He shook his head.

“Hey, that was–”

“It was sloppy, I know.  I can just hear all of the horrible things Santana would say about me if she’d been here to see it–”

“No, it was – damn, Rachel! Shit!”

Rachel let out an incredulous laugh, smiling, though she really wasn’t sure whether she should’ve been or not.  She touched Noah’s shoulder as he placed his hand on his forehead.  He looked at her, again, his face almost bashful.

“That was so good, so good!”  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a quick, tight embrace.

“But the lift!” She protested, her voice muffled from the way her face was pressed hard into his chest.  He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

“Fuck the lift, we did it! You did it!  We just made five hundred dollars, Rach!  Shit, I was sure this whole time you were gonna chicken out, thought I’d have to call Old Man Fletcher and tell him I was sick or some shit, pray he didn’t blackball me for life.”  He let her go, but not before giving her a very firm, very sportsmanlike pat on the back.

“You deserve a drink after that, whew! Go change, the ladies’ room is around the corner.  We gotta get everyone together and go out tonight!”

Noah was already walking into the dark corridor off the side of the stage and Rachel just stood there, still breathing too hard for her comfort, trying to revel in a job well done on her own.

It was a lonely feeling, but it didn’t last long, because instead of going to change she turned on her heel and made her way back out into the lounge to find that mysteriously Quinn-like blonde head.

Fletcher’s was obviously a popular resort, and the lounge was packed to the brim with people, though dinner had just ended and most of the patrons were piling out and into the breezeway.  Just as she was rounding the bar, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Rachel, that was unreal!”

She turned around to find Sam, all done up with a coat and hat and everything.  He gave her a sweet, surprised smile, and Rachel knew it was because he hadn’t seen her practice, hadn’t known how good she would be.

“Thank you, but – you didn’t see Quinn, did you?  Just there towards the end?”

Sam’s expression was nearly identical to Noah’s – momentarily bewildered. He turned around, looking out over the crowd.

“Quinn? She, uh – I heard she was in Schenectady, right? I mean, that’s why–”

Rachel nodded roughly, trying to avoid making Sam tumble his way through an explanation for Quinn’s absence, as if she didn’t already intimately know the reasons for it.

“Yes, yes, of course, but I could’ve sworn that I–”

“Sammy boy, fancy meetin’ you here!” Noah came up to her side, grabbing her elbow like they knew each other in a certain way, like he was showing her off.  Sam looked down at the gesture and just smiled like it made all the sense in the world. 

“Hey, man, just here to see you two in action. Plus–” He nodded over towards the end of the bar, where Marley, the girl that had taken Quinn’s place on stage that one fateful night, stood ordering a drink.

“Nice, nice.” Noah leered for a moment, as he was wont to do, and then turned back to Sam.  “She’s cute.  Shy little thing, though.”

“Okay, Noah–” Rachel interrupted his lecherous tone of voice for the good of the group. “I think you’re scaring Sam, here.”

But Noah just blew a raspberry at the notion, patting Sam on the shoulder before going into a tirade about how everyone thinks he’s just out to steal their girl , and Rachel would have protested, but the thing was – something caught her eye, again.

Blonde hair, curled perfectly, pouting rosy lips, a wide-brimmed commuter hat that said “don’t even think about talking to me” – all just around the corner and through the breezeway.

Oh, it could’ve been anyone, it could’ve been any number of the visitors, because Rachel had gone mad, hadn’t she?  Quinn Fabray had, possibly, ruined her life in some irreparable way, and she still wanted to kiss her for it.

Without excusing herself, Rachel walked quickly and quietly towards where she’d seen her, whoever she was, and as she got closer she got a clear glimpse of the figure from behind.

It was unmistakably Quinn. Or, rather, if it wasn’t Quinn, it was her doppelganger, come to do some evil deed. 

“Quinn!” Rachel called out, her voice strangled with too many unnamed emotions. The girl turned around, clutching her purse to her side, looking for all the world like she wanted to be someone else, but it was her.

Rachel’s eyes went wide.

“Quinn!” She called again, weaving through the throngs of people to reach her, her voice clearer this time, more purposeful.

Quinn had stopped.  Rachel called her name, and whether she didn’t want to see her face ever again up close, she stopped in the middle of that crowded thoroughfare and she waited for Rachel to find her way to her.

When they were finally within just-barely-touching distance, time stood completely still.

Or maybe it sped up, she couldn’t be sure.  All she could be sure of was that Quinn had seen at least some of their dance.

“You were wonderful.” Quinn said, surprising Rachel by speaking at all.  Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken all day.  Or worse, like she’d done nothing but cry.

As for Rachel, she didn’t want to cry, she couldn’t cry.  Not in front of Quinn, not anymore. She just wanted to, she wanted to–

She took a step forward, but a man walked between them, knocking her off kilter.  Quinn’s face was inscrutable for the most part, though her eyes… Rachel had never stood a chance with those eyes.

“Thank you.” She said, breathless, her body teeming with the need to simply grab the girl in front of her and kiss the life out of her.

Yes, kiss her.  She never would, though, not in front of all of these people, public displays like that were illegal in most places. But God, did she want to.  She had seldom wanted something with so little reservation.

“Did you – your appointment?” Rachel asked, not knowing how else to phrase a question that could have easily been comprised of ten or more.

A couple walked between them, chatting and smiling at each other, dressed to the nines.  When they finally passed, Quinn had a smile on her face, though it did not inspire sunshine and summertime sonnets. It was deeply sad.

“I’m – I’m good. A false alarm.”  Rachel watched Quinn’s chest rise high and fall hard from under her outfit, a tartan overall dress that made her look for all the world like a young girl, her life only just beginning.

“Oh, Quinn. ” Rachel did cry, then, the emotion far too great to easily keep bottled inside.  Her eyes filled with tears and she reached out, only to have another man walk between them, knocking her hand off course. “That’s just the best news.”

There were many things that she wanted to say, so many things that her heart felt like it would grow a mouth and say them instead.  I like you, I care for you, I need you, I haven’t felt your touch in days and I don’t even know who I am anymore without it.

She opened her mouth to say one or all of those things, but then Sam was stepping between them, one of many men already.

“Hot damn, Rachel, you were right!  Quinn!”  He grabbed the girl and brought her in for a friendly one-armed hug.  Quinn looked up at him with a swimming, strange face.  It almost looked like she loved him, the way she smiled at him, though Rachel was now sure she knew nothing about love at all.  It was like this great new mystery unraveling in front of her in real time.

“I decided to come here straight from – just to see if I could catch anything.  Just barely caught the end, but–”

“They were out of this world, right?  Professionals.”

Quinn licked her lips, nodding, her eyes glancing behind Sam and Rachel as Noah’s voice could be heard off in the short distance, thanking some man for complimenting their skill.

When he reached them, his head hung low as he approached Quinn.

“Uh, so… How’d it go?”

“I’m not.” She said, plainly, not willing to go into further detail in such a public setting, no doubt.  Puck nodded solemnly at first, then a grin split his face so big that Rachel couldn’t help but smile back, despite the tears still trembling in her eyes.

“We gotta celebrate, kids!  Let’s go grab the crew and go out to Poughkeepsie or something, right?”  He looked to all of them, but Rachel was the first to agree.

Chapter Text

Rachel, for some reason unbeknownst to her, had been stuffed into the middle seat in the back of the “boys” car.  She suspected it was Santana’s doing, as she’d whispered something to Sam and then suddenly he was asking her what her favorite musicals were, and since it was a topic she could go on about for hours on end, it had distracted her.  Before she knew it, she was sitting in the back of a Cadillac being whipped around mountain corners in the dark.

“Say, Noah, how long is the drive to–” She paused, not sure where exactly they were going beyond the promise of a “swinging club” in Poughkeepsie.  The road noise was unbearably loud, made worse by the fact that Noah insisted every window be rolled down to fend off the heatwave currently roaring through the Catskills, and Rachel had to raise her voice considerably to be heard.

“Where is it that we’re going again?” She asked, as if she was speaking to old half-deaf Mrs. Scheinman at breakfast.  Next to her, Sam bumped his shoulder into hers.

“We’re going to a place called The Brass Anchor. Just a little place to dance and have a few drinks, nothing fancy.”

“A meat market, I presume?” Rachel asked, wondering if the girls had ever been there, specifically wondering if Quinn had ever.  She seemed to rarely leave the resort, but it wasn’t like Rachel had eyes on her 24-7, whether she wanted to or not.  There were plenty of times that Quinn could’ve slipped off to Poughkeepsie with Noah, and–

She grit her teeth. Sam chuckled at her.

“Sometimes, maybe. Depends.  A night like this, though? Friday, hot as all get-out? These kinds of nights, people need the release more than others.” He shrugged, his shoulder hitting hers again as they sped over a sizable pothole.  She could see Noah wince in the rearview mirror, but he made no move to slow down.

She pictured Quinn on the dance floor, the large, imposing hand of some random boy at the small of her back.  Rachel felt like jumping out of the open window and standing in front of Santana’s car, letting herself be catapulted into the forest with the force of the blow.

She had always been an emotional person, it was one of the things that she found set her apart when she was performing.  Being an emotional person often went hand in hand with being a jealous person, maybe even a possessive person, but Rachel had never really felt it this way before.

Oh, she’d gone out of her mind a time or two when Finn would look at other girls.  She wasn’t a stranger to the green-eyed monster, but the aims were wholly different.

Quinn felt as though she could never be another person’s, like some wild and rare creature of myth, a unicorn .  Rachel had been offered a unicorn and, being a complete and utter nincompoop, had sent it off to go live back in its enchanted forest instead of putting her saddle and bridle on the damn thing.

Now her unicorn was just wandering around, out in the open, and at any moment someone might brush its coat and call it beautiful, and–

Okay, she didn’t know much about horses, large animals unsettled her almost as much as children did, so the metaphor could only go so far.  The point was that her regrets had married with her practically radioactive jealousy, and the result was never not hearing her pulse pounding in her ears.

Maybe for the rest of her life.  

Rachel clutched at Sam’s knee.  Sam, who had no idea about any of this, just some silly boy that had tried and failed to do what Quinn had done so well.

“Does Quinn go to these places often?”  She asked, her grip tightening as they went over another deep dip in the road.

She inexplicably thought of the intoxicating outline of Quinn’s breasts through her wet undershirt.  Rachel had looked at other girls’ bottoms with appreciation more than a time or two, their legs, their necks, even their collar bones.  She had never, though, allowed herself the pleasure of carnally perceiving another girl’s chest.

Perfectly tiny pink nipples, pert like they were begging. Rachel imagined all of the things they might be begging for and squeezed her thighs together.  Her thoughts were bordering on obscene, and it was certainly new, because she’d never so much as had a racy thought about Finn’s you know what.

In that situation, of course, she had been the object of desire, the one to be lusted after, the one to receive that attention.  Now it was like she both wanted it and wanted to give it in turn, and it was like nothing she had ever felt before.  It felt like more pure wanting than any human being ever had the right to.

She wondered if other funny girls felt that way, too, like it was all too much.  She wondered if Quinn felt that way.

“Quinn? Nah, she’s a homebody. Or, a cabin-body you might say. The only time she ever acts up is when we party at the old rec.”

Rachel felt the tension leave her shoulders like helium being let out of a balloon.

“She’s just coming tonight to celebrate all the good news, I reckon.”

She nodded a little too vigorously, fussing with the hem of the dress she’d changed into, a casual white cotton a-line, sleeveless because Finn once said he liked her shoulders and they’d gotten a nice golden tan over the last few weeks.

From what little Rachel had seen of Quinn before she ducked into the girls’ car, she had changed out of her conservative frock and was sporting a peter pan collared shirt tucked into a pleated baby blue skirt.  It was the kind of thing that Rachel would’ve worn around the house, not to a nightclub, but Quinn made just about anything look elegant – elevated in a way that no other girl could.

Rachel would’ve been lying if she said that she hadn’t been dressing for Quinn, but the knowledge also gave her a queasy feeling.  There Quinn was, dressed for no one, while Rachel had spent the rushed ten minutes Noah had allotted her primping and pressing and desperate for the perfect outfit.

It turned out that not a single thing she owned was worthy of Quinn – being around her, telling her everything had changed for no reason at all, or that she had changed, Rachel had.  As if the perfect clothes alone could somehow transport her back to that night on the north shore?  They couldn’t, nothing could, so she’d have to do something drastic.

She, very much the queen of something drastic , was at a loss.

Given that all she could find to wear was an old dress from two years prior, one she’d brought to the resort as a “just in case I spill grape juice on something nicer” outfit – her hopes were horribly low.  What ensemble said, succinctly:

“I want to feel our hips pressed together” ?

What said, completely:

“I could bottle your scent and drink it all day” ?

She felt silly, but she always felt silly when she had a crush, her whole life.  When she was nine and Judah Friedman made her stub her toe on the playground, Rachel went around rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror for weeks.

These kinds of feelings enveloped her, utterly, and now that she was being one hundred percent honest with herself, it felt like she was drowning in thoughts of Quinn.  Everything she could possibly think of related to the girl.  Eating a grapefruit at breakfast had her pondering the cold-dimpled skin of Quinn’s thighs as she walked into the lake, hearing one of the girls practice a song for the talent show, her voice ever-so-sharp, she imagined Quinn’s cool, sweet voice, instead.

There were other things.  Other girls’ bodies were suddenly of keen interest to her. The little plump fold of skin at the crux of their armpits. And freckles, light ones brought out from the sun or dark marks on forearms there from birth.  And, oh, the swell of their breasts underneath their bra, their knees, even.  Each glance brought her mind closer to the thought of Quinn, to a total picture of her, smooth and white, slender ankles, impossibly tiny waist.

Rachel had never wanted to possess something so much.  She had been right, she thought, to be frightened of this thing. It felt especially monstrous as she sat there amongst the boys, all probably thinking about the same thing as her, she realized.

She felt sorry for men, briefly, now knowing that they must be contending with thoughts like this all the time. All-consuming, aching, a wholly unscratchable itch.

Well, maybe not wholly.

Quinn liked her.  She’d said it in that needy, husky tone of voice that made Rachel want to die when she let herself think about it for longer than a second.  If she liked her, that meant she felt like this, too, didn’t it?

The notion alone was making her sweat profusely, so much that she felt it dripping down her back, and it wasn’t just the summer heat.

“To answer your question,” Noah shouted over the sound of the wind, “it’s an hour drive! We’ve got 30 minutes left, so settle in!”

Rachel frowned, looking out the window at the headlights shining on the passing pine trees.  In the rearview mirror she could just make out the car behind them, with Santana at the wheel and Brittany in the passenger’s seat.  Quinn and Marley were in the back and hidden from sight.

Were they talking?  Were they talking about her ?  How she was the lone girl in the boys car, practically a boy for it, really?  Perhaps their shoulders were touching like Rachel’s shoulder was touching Sam’s.  Though, Rachel was currently squeezed into the back with Mike and Sam, the front seat of Noah’s ride taken by some kind of unidentified greasy car part. Quinn and Marley had no reason to be touching, so if they were…

Golly, what if Quinn was some kind of playboy.  Playgirl?  Did girls like her have a name for girls like that?  Don Juanitas?

Rachel tried to imagine the person she knew, with her precise movements and stern jaw and her shy, lip-licking smiles courting women in the way of Noah Puckerman.  Quinn had spent the last few weeks touching Rachel like her life depended on it. If she had been off with other girls that whole time, Rachel felt like she would’ve known.  She would’ve sensed it.

And hadn’t Quinn said she was scared?  And now Rachel wondered what of, if not her, and everything she signified.

– - -

The air in The Brass Anchor was so burdened with cigarette smoke that it looked like Rachel was half-way in a dream as she walked through the door.  They all made a perfect line like a bunch of kindergarteners as they entered, with Rachel at the helm as if she knew the place at all.

Noah was just behind her, a little too close behind if she had to say, and she glanced back to show him her thoroughly unimpressed face.  He gave her a droll look before glancing around – the place was bustling with young people dancing and laughing and pressing in close.  She noted that no one was dancing like the staff did back at the resort, but there was a dangerousness present, all those sweaty chests and exposed garters.

Rachel breathed in deeply, hating that it made her cough a second later.  She had never truly been to a place like this, but she had imagined that she would frequent them once she got to Barnard.  She had even entertained a stolen back alley liaison with some lucky boy a time or two.

Things had certainly changed.

When Rachel seemed to be mortared in place at the front of the bar, Santana scoffed, taking the lead and bringing them all to the only open seating, a long booth with the leather torn and sticky in spots.  Rachel made a face as she was shoved into one side by Brittany, Quinn quietly scooting in on the other.

When all was said and done, they were directly in front of each other.  Rachel’s immediate thought went to their knees, how close they must’ve been with only a narrow bar table between their bodies.  She was sure that she could feel the heat of them bounding off her own.  Quinn had her hands tucked underneath her thighs and was very pointedly not looking at Rachel, but rather at everything else in the bar like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

There was a random smattering of sailing paraphernalia tacked to the walls, rope and glass buoys and that kind of thing, and Quinn stared at it like she was at a Picasso exhibit.

“Someone stick around to save our seats.” Noah commanded as he and some of the boys stood up to go to the bar.

“Save your own seats, jackass.” Santana stood up as well, Brittany’s arms circling her neck as they, very much in their own little world, dawdled onto the dance floor.

“You want a drink, Rachel?” Mike asked, it being one of the very few times he had actually addressed her at all.  Taken by surprise, she just stared for a moment, long enough that the boy looked at her like she was Rosemary Kennedy.

“Oh, um, sure?  I’ll have what you’re having!” She chirped back, still only allocating any significant amount of brain power to thinking about how if she just moved a foot forward, it might touch Quinn’s, and to the fact that Quinn had made no move to go get a drink or go on the dance floor.  She was perfectly still.

“You want a Pabst?” Mike asked, wary, glancing back at Sam and Marley and Noah, who were all already attempting to hail down the bartender.  Rachel just shrugged, her smile a little dumb as she stared up at him. He looked to Quinn.

“You good, Quinn?”

It was interesting, hearing one of her friends call her by her name and not the first letter of it.  She wondered just how well Mike knew Quinn.  Rachel had, of course, seen them half-canoodling over by the service road, and they’d danced in the old rec center that one night.

“Puck’s getting me something.” Quinn smiled so, so prettily that it made Rachel feel like her eyes might roll into the back of her head from lack of oxygen.  Mike, seemingly unmoved by the girl’s most perfect and lovely face, simply nodded and turned around, leaving Rachel and Quinn quite alone.

If two people could even be alone in a swirling mass of cigarette smoke and bad lighting and bodies, bodies, bodies.

Rachel had so much to say, she did, but as her lips rubbed against each other to work up the courage to speak, it all amounted to nothing more than slightly parted lips.  Quinn inspected her nailbeds.  Rachel wanted to bite the girl’s fingers off at the knuckle.

If this was sexual frustration, she had certainly never actually been sexually frustrated before. 

A part of her wished that she could just stare into Quinn’s eyes and that she would know , and really, that same part thought that it just might work if she could only get Quinn to look at her.

Just as Rachel had worked up the courage or the fortitude or whatever it was taking not to just blab out all of her ugly, complicated desires to Quinn but instead say something plain and innocuous - nice weather we’re having, for instance – the boys came back with their drinks and everyone squeezed back into the booth.

Rachel was given her foul-smelling beer and Quinn was handed what looked like a tumbler of whiskey with ice, though it could’ve been anything, a sidecar or a manhattan or whatever it was that sophisticated, worldly women drank.

“To shit working out for once!” Puck cheered, his beer raised high in the air.  Quinn’s smile was lopsided and faint, but she raised her glass and let it clink into everyone else’s. Everyone, save Rachel.  When Rachel brought her hopeful little brown beer bottle near Quinn’s multi-faceted glass, she brought it down to take a hefty sip, instead.

Oh, right.  Quinn hated her.  Quinn didn’t want to be around her, she didn’t want to see her face, she wouldn’t care if Rachel went blue in the face right there and fell down dead.  Rachel brought her beer to her lips and grimaced through her first sip.

“See, I knew you wouldn’t like it.” Mike said sympathetically, leaning his elbows into the tabletop.  Rachel breathed in quickly through her nose, training her face into a pretty and affable one.

“Oh, no, this is fine, Mike.  Thank you–”

On the inside of the booth, flanked by Sam and Noah, Mike stood up abruptly.

“No, no, I feel bad!  W-what do you want, instead?  Something uh, cute and girly right, like you?”  He brushed a hand through his cropped, dark hair.

Rachel blushed, and in doing so her eyes immediately went to Quinn, who for the first time since Fletcher’s was looking more or less her way.  Her blush deepened.  She even bit her bottom lip like some kind of hussy.

“If you don’t mind?” She asked, her face contrite, but it was all mostly an act.  She didn’t begrudge anyone the desire to do things for her, after all.  She just wished it was Quinn asking.  She imagined that Quinn’s one, split-second look was indication that she did, too.  That she would have, if Rachel hadn’t done what she’d done.

Could she merely grab Quinn by the stupid peter pan collar of her shirt and demand that she like her again?  That she forget everything she said?

“Yeah, no problem, Rachel.” Mike nodded like the good guy he so clearly was, and then Sam and Noah were rolling their eyes as he nudged them out of their seats once again.

“You gals sure are needy.” Noah grumbled, making a cranking motion with his hand at Mike to show he needed to hurry up and let them sit back down already.  Rachel mouthed a breathy, near-silent thank you at the boy, licking her lips before sneaking a peak back at Quinn.  She moved her foot just a toe’s breadth forward, just to see.  Either it wasn’t enough, or Quinn was purposely holding her feet back hard against her seat.

“So, Rachel, have you danced your whole life?” Marley asked, and Rachel really looked at the girl for the first time.  She had big starry blue eyes and was staring at Rachel like she had done something extraordinary and not just something for a girl that made her insides squirm.

Rachel shook her head. 

“Not really.  I dance at home, alone, but I’ve never had lessons.”

“She’s a natural.” Quinn offered, quite out of nowhere, her voice pulled tight like a violin string.  Marley looked to Quinn and blushed when their eyes caught – who wouldn’t?  Rachel felt like she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I, on the other hand, am not.  It took me years to get where she got in a few weeks.  It’s remarkable, really.”  

Rachel clenched her teeth together.  Quinn, who currently hated her by all accounts, was praising her in front of everyone.  She was doing it like a teacher would a student, and not like Rachel would’ve praised Quinn, practically salivating all the while, but she was still doing it.

Her face, however, took on the expression of someone that was staving off a river of tears, an expression she was far too pretty for.

Quinn took a sip of her drink, effectively hiding her face for long enough that it changed into a mask of quiet indifference.  Mike came back soon after, holding the pinkest and prettiest drink Rachel thought she’d ever seen.  It even had an umbrella in it.

“Ooohh!” She cooed, taking it in both hands, immediately bringing it to her lips.  Mike smiled and the boys all just scooted in for him, not wanting to file back out and in.

“Good?” He asked, his face so hopeful.

Rachel nodded enthusiastically. 

“Oh yes, it tastes – well, it tastes like pink.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel watched one side of Quinn’s mouth tick up in the smallest of smiles.  She immediately felt warm right down to her toes.

She drank her drink with a quickness that might have been inappropriate for a friendly outing, and while Noah was telling Marley about how he beat every kid up that made fun of him for dancing ballet in grade school, Mike was wordlessly popping out to refill her drink as soon as she was down to the ice.

Brittany and Santana were still on the dance floor, had never left, in fact, not even for drinks. The music had changed a time or two from a bopping beat to slow and crooning, but the girls stayed locked together like they were permanently attached in some crucial places on their bodies. Rachel found herself looking out at them after every few sips of her drink, like they were the evening's entertainment and not just two girls that liked each other very much.

After her second pretty pink drink was drained and Mike was eyeing her, trying to decide whether she needed another or not without explicitly asking, Rachel realized what exactly liking each other very much meant.

These were Quinn's friends. Birds of a feather, and all that. Instead of feeling anxious, as she'd expect, Rachel suddenly felt an overwhelming love and kinship for the girls on the dance floor. She had been holding her breath for awhile, and only realized it when she felt a kick at her shoes. Startled, her neck snapped around, eyes heavy on Quinn's face.

Quinn took a sip of the same thing she'd been nursing, the first whiskey drink that was now almost higher from her ice melting. Rachel watched her throat bob in a deep swallow.

It must've been the two drinks, because without considering it much at all, Rachel kicked back. Quinn's eyebrows immediately knit, that cute indignant puffy-cheeked look of hers on full display. Rachel smiled demurely.

Quinn's jaw clenched and she rolled her eyes towards where Sam was taking Marley's hand and leading her out onto the dance floor.

Noah cleared his throat.

"Can't have Evans one uppin' me like this." He grumbled, standing up and quickly sucking his beer dry before slamming it down on the table and rubbing his hands together.

"Don't be jealous, ladies, you're both all well and good and shit, but – out with the old and in with the new, right?" He shrugged, not bothering to look at either of them as his eyes tracked a blonde over by the bar. Rachel rolled her eyes, only to catch Quinn doing the same in a near perfect mirror image.

"D'ya wanna dance, Rachel?" Mike asked, casually, like he had it in the bag. It was only one of the reasons she felt bad about shaking her head no.

Seeing Brittany and Santana dancing together like it didn't make any nevermind to anyone made Rachel balk at the idea of dancing with any of the boys. When she was feeling like this, like her blood had a tide and Quinn was the moon? Even dancing by herself felt like a betrayal.

"Sorry, Mike, maybe in a bit?" She decided to give him hope, if only for the two drinks, and he was a perfect gentleman about it anyway, smiling and twisting around to find someone else like it was nothing.

They were alone, again. Rachel looked out at the dance floor. A slow Otis Redding song was playing. If she asked Quinn to dance with her, would she do it?

Oh, of course she wouldn't. Rachel couldn't risk scaring her off when they were in this carefully manufactured proximity. If she hadn't done a good job that night, if Noah hadn't begged them all to go out and celebrate all of their individual victories, then Rachel and Quinn would still just be two girls that weren't meant to be in the same room together.

As Rachel pondered their dizzying situation, a man appeared quite out of nowhere, tall and sweating down his jarhead haircut. His smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes and he was a nice enough looking man, a boy really if you wanted to get specific. He was looking at Quinn as if she was the only girl sitting at the table.

Quinn had her palm on her chin with her fingers curled attractively at her cheekbone, and the way that her neck slowly twisted when she finally realized the man was standing there for her made Rachel think of some rare and beautiful bird.

"Care for a dance?" He asked, wringing his fingers. What Quinn did to people was no joke, like one of those airborne toxins that they released in war. Rachel’s throat felt ragged, like she’d been screaming, but she had been uncharacteristically taciturn all night.

Quinn’s smile was really more of a vague upturn of the corners of her mouth, and the hand that had been propping her chin up came out to wave her dismissal.

“Oh, I’m fine here, thank you.” She said, and then her eyes were immediately off him, and out onto the dance floor.  Rachel watched the blue and red lights shining in her eyes for a moment before looking to the man. He was still standing there, mouth open.

Should she tell him to leave?  Should she show Quinn that she wanted her in the way that someone only wants one thing?

But pretty soon he was moving along, looking crushed, and as ever, who wouldn’t be?  Rachel knew that look, had felt it the second Quinn let go of her hips that first night at the old rec center.

Shortly after, seconds honestly, another man came and asked Quinn to dance, his hat still on his head.  While the other man was a bit of a green bean situation, the next man was unflinchingly attractive, with a strong jaw, a clean-shaven face and bright blue eyes.  He’d come into that bar and he’d seen Quinn and it wasn’t five seconds before he was approaching their table.

Quinn turned him down, as well.  This time, she seemed even more bothered by the intrusion, her tongue tucked hard into her cheek before she looked up at him and shook her head, barely a smile to be seen.

“Not much for dancing tonight, hmm?” Rachel asked, like they were strangers sitting across from each other on the train and not whatever it was that you might call them.  Two ships passing in the night, one of them slowly sinking.

Quinn shrugged and hummed, she wouldn’t be giving Rachel anything so easily. However, the alcohol that Rachel had consumed was currently soaking into her brain and making it quite impossible to shut up.

“I for one am worn ragged after tonight.  I know it’s only a 10 minute dance, but when I’m on stage I commit, I give it my all , and afterwards all I really want to do is lie around and have my ankles rubbed, though I don’t really have anyone to rub my ankles–”

Rachel stopped, swallowing, remembering a moment in one of their lessons, one of the first few days in which Rachel had complained of a sore calf and Quinn had bent down on her knees like some kind of supplicant and used her strong, slender fingers to massage it.

That better? She’d asked, looking up at Rachel with those impossibly big, hazel green eyes that promised wonders untold.  Quinn had liked her from the beginning, and if Rachel really had to be honest with herself, she had liked Quinn for longer.  She’d liked her from the moment she saw her, in a silly, romantic, first-sight kind of way that Rachel had long convinced herself was a fairytale and nothing more.

And now, here she was, sitting opposite the girl in a bar, having to pretend like she didn’t want to sniff her neck.

It was torture.  Rachel wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that allowed herself to be tortured if she could help it.

“Anyway,” She sighed, barreling through Quinn’s pointed silence. “I’m sure they’re working you ragged at the resort, per usual.  It’s a shame that they don’t much utilize you for dance lessons, even with the kids like Brittany. You’re just wonderful, you’re so patient, but adamant.  Have you ever thought about teaching as a career? I think that–”

“Evening, ladies.”

Rachel nearly bit her tongue as another man shouldered his way in front of their table.  He placed both palms on the tabletop and smiled wide.  He was the most brazen one, yet, but the least handsome by far.  Quinn looked up at him with her eyebrows raised.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her voice sounding as tired as Rachel felt.

“Lotta folks on the dance floor tonight. I bet you wanna get out there, huh?” Somehow his smile got even bigger, and he held one of his hands out to Quinn as if she had no choice but to take it.  Rachel didn’t know why his confidence in particular was so grating, but she felt like her veins were filled with hot sauce.

“Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m perfectly fine right here.” Quinn lifted up her glass and took a dainty sip, her lips pursed.  The man let out a barking laugh.

“Seriously? You just gonna sit here all night and stare at your pal, here?  You could go to the damn library for that, darlin’, you’re out on the town!  Come on, now–”

Rachel dug the heel of her palm into the table and tipped her chin up to the man.

“I believe she said she was perfectly fine right here, sir.  Now, are you hard of hearing in some way?  Mentally deficient, perhaps? Do we need to call someone to come and get you?” Her smile was so tight that she felt her lips had simply disappeared as she batted her lashes, waiting for him to go.

The man looked at her like she’d just clobbered him over the head with something heavy.

“You don’t see that she’s turning every man in here down?  If she wants to sit here and stare at me, then you’d better let her!” Rachel cocked her head, knowing that she looked particularly menacing without having to see it happen in a mirror.  The man looked to Quinn. Quinn swallowed, her face pinched and strange, and then she did the most awful thing.

“Actually, you know what?  I think I will have that dance.” She said, setting her drink down and gracefully scooting out of the booth.  The man didn’t even entertain Rachel with a triumphant look, because as soon as he had Quinn’s attention, it was all that mattered.

Quinn took his hand and was led out onto the dance floor.

Rachel fumed.

She had to change up her tactic.  Simply talking to Quinn, who had been ashamed and embarrassed by her, wasn’t going to suddenly make her see that Rachel was ready to, well, lick her perfect white teeth among other things.  Standing up for her, making it clear that Rachel would be the owner of Quinn’s time for the evening, had backfired.

The song playing ended and while Quinn and the others stayed on the dancefloor with their partners, Noah pulled the girl he’d managed to bag along towards their table like she was some kind of kill that had been skinned and dressed.

“All alone?” He asked, eyebrows knit, hand still firmly in the redhead’s who was flushed and grinning like a fool.

“All my life.” Rachel replied, drunk as anything, her eyelids refusing to stay completely open. Noah blanched a bit, tapping on the table next to Rachel’s empty drink.

“Rachel, this is Alma. Rachel’s my sister.” Noah said, the words flowing from his mouth like he’d rehearsed them for weeks and not come up with the lie on the spot.  Rachel bit her cheek before she allowed herself to really get into the role.

“Hi, Alma, lovely to meet you!  Wanna get me another drink, brother o’ mine?”

Noah narrowed his eyes, looking back at Alma like his whole plan would come unraveled at any moment.

“Nah, you’re drunk enough already, sis. ”

Rachel pouted, her eyes darting to the dance floor, where not only Brittany and Santana were showing off their unabashed affection, but Quinn was softly speaking to the man she was dancing with, her cheeks flushed a splotchy red.

“Then can we at least get out of here?  Go somewhere where I can sing?”  It was a childish request, one borne of a bratty despondence rather than any solid logic.

Noah licked his lips, his hips pressing into the table.

“Uh, I don’t–”

Rachel latched onto his forearm with both hands, her grip tighter than it probably should have been.

“ Please , big brother?”  She blinked owlishly up at him, hoping she looked childlike and not flirty, for Noah’s sake. He sighed deeply, his hand dropping from Alma’s.

“Sure, why not?  After what you pulled off tonight, I owe you one.”

Chapter Text

It seemed that everyone had paired up as they walked the two blocks to the bar that Noah promised had a piano player and "owed him a thing or two."

Sam had one arm wrapped tightly around Marley’s little waist and he was leaning down as she giggle-whispered into his ear.  Noah had dragged Alma the redhead out of the bar with no more than a kiss and a pat to her rear end, Brittany and Santana were linked at the pinkie as they almost always were, and even Mike had found a girl, a blonde that might have been shorter than Rachel with tight pin curls and bright red lipstick on.  She was laughing loudly at something that Mike was saying, but they were at the caboose of their gaggle, along with Quinn.

Quinn, who had ditched her dance partner after one and a half songs.

Rachel was just behind Noah and his date, and having downed the warmed beer that Mike had originally gotten for her on top of her other drinks, she was currently trying her best to keep herself from veering into oncoming traffic.  

Especially since, every so often, she would crane her neck around and sneak a glance at Quinn. They were the odd people out, a perfect opportunity to couple up if not just for friendly appearances sake, but no.  Quinn kept her distance.  Rachel grumbled and groaned and caused everyone to look at her like she was a child.

She was aware that it wasn’t exactly a great seduction tactic, but then again, all of her tried and true methods had only been tested on men, and moreover – men she hadn’t particularly felt like throwing herself out of the nearest tall building for.

But the plan, however tenuous it may have been, was taking shape.  Noah had used a dime from Alma to call up his friend that worked at Mancuso’s, an Italian restaurant that doubled as a piano lounge.  The guy promised he had a piano player that didn’t mind sharing the stage and could play by ear.

That was the key. She had a few songs in mind, but if the piano player didn’t know them, she was done for.  She wasn’t about to sing Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini to the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen.

“Ugh, count on the minikin to bring us to some granny joint.” Santana groaned as they entered the lounge.  It was classy – at least, classier than the Brass Anchor, with low red lighting and dark, buffed brown leather seating.  Older people sat smoking, drinking martinis and speaking in hushed tones.  It was perhaps the polar opposite of the Brass Anchor, and perhaps she was a granny after all, because the place had been exactly what she’d always hoped for when she thought of going to a bar as a “proper adult.”

Rachel ignored the perturbed faces of what must have been the regular patrons to stumble towards the bar.

“I’ll have–”

“She’s good.” Noah interrupted, his hand wrapped tight around her upper arm as he dragged her away from the unamused bartender.

“Excuse me!” She shrieked – or it would have been a shriek if she hadn’t been trying her hardest to exude a mature, breathy mystique.  As it was, she just glared at the boy, elbowing him hard in the ribs until he’d had enough and dropped her, wobbly-legged, right in the middle of the lounge.

“I thought you wanted to sing, superstar?” He threw up his hands and Rachel watched as their friends all sat down on the leather bench seating that lined the back wall of the place. Mike’s little friend, named Daisy if Rachel heard correctly, pulled out a gold-plated cigarette case and offered one to Quinn, who took it without hesitation, rolling it absently between her middle and forefinger.

“I – I do.” Rachel said, her eyes going from Noah’s face to Quinn’s, back and forth like she was hanging on a clock pendulum.  He snapped directly in front of her nose and she was forced to pay him sole attention.

“You’re a goddamn lightweight.  Look, go get some coffee from the bar and I’ll let my guy know we’re here.”

“I can’t drink coffee at midnight, Noah!  I won’t be able to sleep, and then if I can’t sleep my entire next day will be ruined, and I have plans!  I need to – I need to speak to Quinn, and she needs to–”

“Quinn’s right there, kid. Last I heard she was talkin’ you up, too.  Whatever you wanna say to her, you better say it to her now.  Or just shut the hell up and sing.  I didn’t come up in this old folks’ home to get chicks, so–”

Rachel took a deep breath, looking out onto the low stage, where the piano player was gently singing a show tune that she happened to know was from Pajama Game, though she imagined she was probably the only one.

She gave one resolute nod.

“All right, I’ll be right back.  Don’t do anything crazy before I get back.”

Rachel watched Noah poke his way around the back curtain.  As soon as he was out of sight, she felt that familiar feeling – most would call it anxiety, rolling and rambling nerves, but to Rachel it was only ever excitement.

She knew she was good.  She had known since she was very, very young.  But did it matter to Quinn?  That was the real question.

Did anything matter to her at all anymore where Rachel was concerned?  She was beginning to think that Quinn had simply moved on, if not for some stray glances, if not for the way that she’d quickly kicked at Rachel’s feet as she sat staring longingly at Brittany and Santana.

She did not know what Quinn wanted, but her drunken mind was convinced that singing to her couldn’t possibly hurt.  It was the only pure expression of desire that she could think to give.

“Ladies and gentleman–” A low, murmuring male voice rang out over the speakers, causing the piano player to drop his hands.  He looked confused, his neck twisting around towards the back curtain like he would be given some kind of direction.  “We have here tonight a special guest from the city – Rachel Berry.  Please give her a round of applause.”

Rachel smoothed down her hair with her palms, then her skirt. She suddenly wished she was dressed in something a lot more elegant, a silk ankle-length dress that hugged her in all the right places, something that could be draped over a piano.

Still, she held her shoulders back, and she walked up onto that stage like she owned it and straight to the man sitting at the piano.  He looked up at her with his face as wide and curious as the full moon outside.

“Do you know Ray Charles?  You Don’t Know Me?”

The man paused, his hands splayed out over the keys.  He played a few quick chords like he was trying to jog his memory and then nodded, smiling.

“Question is, do you know it?” He asked, already starting up with the first few chords of the intro as he wrested the microphone from its stand and handed it to her.  Rachel’s eyes went wide and she licked her lips, looking out into her audience.  Of course, the stage lights were shining in her eyes, and she couldn’t see much of anything at all up close, but the back wall where her friends sat was remarkably clear. 

Quinn had her head resting against the seat, the long white column of her throat exposed.  She wasn’t drunk, she had barely had anything to drink at all at the Brass Anchor and here she was only smoking a cigarette, doing her best to try and appear unmoved by anything and everything.

Santana sat on one side of her, and as soon as Rachel opened her mouth, she saw how the girl’s elbow dug into Quinn’s side.

“Hello, all.  It’s lovely to see you this evening.  I fear my friend made a deal with the devil, but I can assure you, if your dear piano player can keep up – this will be a decent show.”  She smiled, not even caring how her words slurred slightly into each other.  She could hear the clinking of ice in tumblers.  Somewhere, a door screeched open and closed.

“You give your hand to me, and then you say hello, and I can hardly speak my heart is beating so, and anyone can tell, you think you know me well, but you don’t know me–”

Rachel breathed deeply, running her fingertips along the glossy edge of the piano as her accompaniment did his work.

“No, you don't know the one who dreams of you each night, who longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight.  Oh, I'm just a friend, that's all I've ever been, ‘cause you don't know me.”

She had sung this song in the shower, clutching at her heaving chest enough times to know the lyrics like the back of her hand, alcohol-be-damned.

She often closed her eyes when she sang, but the place was so quiet, and she couldn’t hear much else other than her own voice, the piano, and the heartbeat currently thundering in her chest, so she opened them.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, maybe two things at once, both rejection and loving acceptance, but what she saw, instead –

Quinn’s shoulders were turned in, her knees tight against each other, her arms wrapped around her middle as if to make herself look small. She wasn’t frowning, not really, her mouth kept itself in a straight enough line, but her eyes–

They nearly tripped Rachel up.  Her eyes were rimmed red and bright green for it, jewels in a room of rock and stone.  She stumbled a word, perhaps only half, and had to look away from the girl entirely to keep on without another mistake.  She closed her eyes again, tight enough to hurt her scalp, and leaned on the piano, letting her hair fall to one shoulder, allowing herself to realize what she had just done.

Surely everyone must have seen her looking at Quinn.  They were in the back of the lounge, yes, but it couldn’t have been more than a 15 foot wide space, and Rachel was hardly on the wall.

Thankfully, she remembered that the last verse was repeated, and Rachel did her best to put her heart and soul and every ounce of feeling she had for Quinn into it, because what else could she do?  If her secret wasn’t out to the entire world at that point, she would’ve been gobsmacked.  How it felt, to look at another person that way.  She’d heard the phrase “hung the moon” her whole life and never understood it, but now it was so clear.  She illuminated everything to Rachel, made knives look sharper, the stars brighter.  No shade of green had ever looked so vivid as it did now that she knew her.

“Oh, you will never know the one who loves you so, ‘cause you don’t know me.”

She drew out the last few words, and bless that piano player, he held on tight for it, even giving her a few embellished outro chords to really drive the thing home.  When the last note from the piano rang out, Rachel opened her eyes, her breath catching in her throat as the sound of applause hit her ears.

It wasn’t exactly thunderous, more of a quiet, subdued rumble, but it was beautiful nevertheless.  Noah whistled through his fingers and Mike let out a soft whoop , and Quinn – Oh, Quinn – she stood up, and she walked away.

- - -

“Hate to break it to ya guys and gals, but we got work in the morning.  Moishe’s got me waxing the canoes.”  Sam groused as he stood up, pulling out his wallet and leafing through it for a stack of dollar bills.

It was nearly 1am.  Rachel had made her way back to where her friends sat, only to be told that Quinn was just out smoking, catching the breeze.  Rachel sat there, her hands in her lap, getting patted on the shoulder and praised for her talent, and all the while, Quinn did not come back.

She stood up with Sam.

“Is everyone ready to go?”

She looked over at Brittany and Santana, who were currently whispering to each other, their cheeks flushed, eyes black from the dimly lit room.  Santana’s eyes rolled over to Rachel, narrowed as ever.

“Closing time’s 2.” She said, like it was a warning, before refocusing her attention back on Brittany’s waiting ear.  She said something that Rachel couldn’t hear, and Brittany let out a stark, loud laugh that made everyone nearby jump.  Neither of the girls seemed to notice.

Rachel looked to Sam, but he just shrugged.  He wasn’t, nor would he ever be the leader of the pack.  That role was assigned to Noah and Quinn, and Noah currently had Alma’s earlobe between his teeth.  Rachel looked over to the door, not able to see Quinn through the windows but positive that she mustn’t have gone far.  She huffed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth because the alcohol was rapidly leaving her system and all she felt now was a bone-weary fatigue that she didn’t think could handle the way Quinn might look at her.

But she had failed.  And it was time to go and lick her wounds, or perhaps join a convent if they would accept sexually confused Jewish girls.

She turned around and walked out of that lounge with only the hope that she would be issuing some kind of demand to Quinn that she use her pull to get the others to leave.

When she walked out, she turned left and saw a group of boys in bomber jackets smoking and laughing and drinking out of a metal flask.  She had the miserable thought that Quinn really had left them completely after Rachel’s song, that it had done the exact opposite of her intent, driven Quinn even further away.  

And what about her safety?  Rachel had never been to Poughkeepsie, and certainly not at night, so she had no way of knowing the certain fate of a young woman walking the streets, especially one that looked like she’d been plucked from the heavens and placed on Earth for humankind’s pleasure.

She took in a shallow, shaking breath and turned around to go back inside and call a search party, but as she did it she saw Quinn’s baby blue skirt fluttering in the wind just at the corner of the block.

She was leaning against the light post, smoking as the others had promised.  Rachel’s mouth turned down.  She felt as though her whole face turned down, in truth, like it was being dragged.  She walked over to the girl, uncertain of where to put her hands while they were so desperate to be anywhere on Quinn’s body.

She took a chance and touched the mere tips of her middle and pointer finger to the soft round of Quinn’s shoulder. She turned around immediately, her face like stone.

Rachel stepped back, taking her hand with her.

“Um – I think about half of us are ready to go, and the other half need a good push in the right direction.” Rachel smiled shyly, because Quinn made her, Rachel Berry, the least shy person in the state of New York if not the country, feel like a mewling kitten.

The tip of Quinn’s pink tongue came out and licked the spot where her cigarette had been sitting.  Rachel came to the heartbreaking conclusion that she had been crying – there was moisture on her cheeks and her eye makeup was smudged and off-kilter.

Her free hand was rubbing at her elbow as she smoked and looked at Rachel like she was the worst person she’d ever met.

“What do you want me to do about it?” She asked, finally, her words cruel but her tone surprisingly even.  Rachel guessed that Quinn had had a lot of practice perfecting that particular trick over the years.

Rachel geared up to go into her half-assed spiel about Quinn having leadership qualities seeping out of her pores, but when she opened her mouth with the express knowledge that Quinn was a mere two feet in front of her, maybe even less, she stopped short.

“Quinn, I–”

The alcohol had a thing or two to say.  As if it hadn’t just thoroughly embarrassed her by singing a simpering love song on stage…

Quinn looked away, quickly, out at the street lights as they turned from green to yellow to red.  The red light bounced off her pale face and made her look like she was in another world, some place with a red sun.  Rachel did the stupidest thing she could think of and reached out a hand.  Quinn dodged it with a swivel of her hips, proof that she was still paying attention to Rachel.

“You don’t have to tell me we can be friends, okay? It’s… It’s embarrassing, Rachel. I don’t want your pity.”

Quinn threw her still smoking cigarette to the ground, pressing her heel hard into it like she was squashing a bug.

The way she said Rachel’s name hadn’t changed, so reverent, so full of a thing that Rachel felt just like her own beating pulse but refused to name.  If she hated her so much, how could she still say her name that way?

Rachel felt like she had some kind of script her whole life, like she was reading off of it, tweaking it here and there to suit her needs but mostly adhering to its conventions.  One of the most painful things Quinn had done was throw Rachel’s script out entirely. Now she often found herself floundering for words in front of Quinn, a guppy opening and closing its mouth around nothing.

“I – I don’t – What can I do, Quinn?  What can I say? I don’t want to lose you.”

Quinn flinched like she’d narrowly escaped a slap on the cheek.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to people you don’t know.”

Rachel felt a shrill, high sound of indignance come out of the back of her throat.

“Oh, I know you! Only for a month, but I don’t think I could ever know anyone more! I thought that if you could hear me sing, that–”

“Whoa, whoa, stop the violence, chickadees.” Noah came out of Mancuso’s laughing, and Rachel took a small second to wonder just how the two of them looked on that street corner, shouting what must have amounted to nothing more than nonsense to any reasonable onlooker.

The whole crew, even Brittany and Santana, were at his heels, some interested in what was happening between her and Quinn, and some just hanging on their dates, trying to look a little less like they were two seconds from getting a hotel for the night and taking an expensive cab back in the morning.

“We’re peachy.” Quinn sneered, shoulder-checking Noah as she walked past him towards where the cars were parked.

And, of course, everyone followed.

- - -

“Rachel, you have such nice skin.  You probably don’t even have to wear makeup, do you?” Brittany smiled, drunk though you could barely tell since she was always just a little bit loopier than anyone else. She had grabbed onto Rachel’s elbow on their walk back to the cars, mostly because Santana had grabbed onto Quinn’s and was speaking to her in a low, harsh whisper.

Rachel was absolutely dying to know what was being said, but instead she got treated to Brittany giving her every manner of compliment known to man while she brushed the edge of her thumb along the skin just above Rachel’s elbow.

She had to admit, it was kind of nice to be intentionally touched outside of the act of dancing, even if it was by someone that would caress the underside of a settee if it looked at her a certain way.

“I do not wear foundation, no – well, sometimes, but mostly it sits for months in my vanity.  Most of the time I just employ some mascara, eyeliner naturally, and shadow if the occasion calls for it.”

“So, um, tonight I put it all on. And you looked hot.  But I think Quinn must have hated it, because she told San she couldn’t look at you without crying.”

Rachel felt her bottom lip tremble.  Quinn had said what?  Rachel grabbed at the girl’s arm like it was the only thing keeping her from plunging to an untimely death.

“Brittany, it’s imperative that you tell me exactly what Quinn said.”

Brittany’s eyebrows knit as she looked down at where Rachel’s knuckles rounded over her forearm.  Rachel let loose her grip, but not entirely.

“Um, she said something about you being different.  Too different.  Like, in a good way. That you were better, or something.  See, I shouldn’t have done your makeup so well.  Now she’s all ‘Oh, no, Rachel can’t be prettier than me!’ I'm a menace.”

Rachel shook her head, and so did Brittany, and after a beat they were both saying, in tandem “except no one is prettier than Quinn.”  An incredulous laugh bubbled out of Rachel’s throat.

What the hell had she been thinking this whole time?  Quinn didn’t require finesse.  She didn’t require that Rachel tip-toe around her on egg shells, acting for all the world like someone else entirely.

She just needed to act like herself.  When they came upon the street where the cars were parked, Rachel raised her voice.

“I’ll be in the girl’s car this time, thank you!” She announced, pulling open the unlocked door and plopping herself inside with her shoulders high and back.

“Hey, Mike, you mind trading with Marley?  We kinda want to–” Sam motioned towards the backseat of Puck’s car with his chin, and Marley only looked at the ground and blushed.

“Damn, all right–” Mike sighed, crawling into the backseat of Santana’s car next to Rachel.  He wasn’t seated for two seconds before Santana was barking out more commands.

“I said no boys allowed, Evans!  Keep your goddamn fish lips to yourself and let Mike keep his seat!”  Mike scurried as fast as he could back out onto the street, standing there with his palms up like he was waiting for direction.

“Screw that, Lopez, you don’t make the rules!” Puck groused.  He pulled Alma in for a quick, head-knocking kiss and then told her he’d see her around.  She wobbled off back into the Brass Anchor with her hand still over her mouth as everyone watched in brief amazement.

“Can I just get in the car?” Quinn complained, her voice both deep and reedy.  She made to open the door to the passenger seat, and Santana was already banging on the top of the car before she could even get the thing open.

“That’s Brit’s seat, Q, are you nuts?  You think I wanna listen to you whine for the whole hour back to Ben Israel’s?”

Through the window, Rachel could see Quinn crossing her arms defiantly under her chest.  So far, no one had even attempted to tell her to get out of the “girls” car, much less use physical force to remove her, and she was reveling in how using her God-given confidence had actually worked in her favor for once.

“Scoot over, pigmy, you have to be adult-sized to get a window seat!” Santana growled, reaching in through the rolled down window and softly shoving at Rachel’s shoulder.  She moved to the middle, because it did make a lot of sense, and not because she was compromising her aforementioned confidence.

“No.” Quinn said, a surprise to everyone.

“No what , Q?  She’s short, I’m so sorry that I’m the only one in this godforsaken group that’ll actually speak the truth when it needs speaking. Mike, get in the fuckin’ car, ya pansy.”

“No, she can’t sit there!” Quinn had rounded the car and was directly in front of Santana.  Brittany had already taken her throne at the front and was giving herself a little wink in a clamshell compact.

Mike did as he was told, hopping back into the car on Rachel’s left.  He briefly glanced at her with a sheepish, half-scared smile before looking straight ahead, his hands tight on his knees like they were about to get shot out of a cannon and not driven by Santana Lopez.

“Let me drive.” Quinn demanded in a low rumble, muffled after Mike decided to roll up his window.

“Like hell I will.  This is one of Moishe’s cars and the only driving you know how to do is driving me to fucking drink.”

“Santana!” Quinn shouted, much to the delight of a few passing men that decided to let out a few drunken catcalls as they walked off.

“You really think shouting at me is gonna do anything?  Look, be a big girl and go sit in the backseat, Q.”

There was a moment in which Rachel thought that Quinn might just go and insert herself between Sam and Marley in the back seat of Noah’s car, but instead a small, pathetic sound came out of her mouth.

If she’d meant for it to be soft enough that the people inside of the car couldn’t hear it, she’d failed.  Rachel bit her bottom lip.

“Santana, please. ” Quinn begged, and Rachel closed her eyes.  This was her fault, after all.

“I’ll leave!” She called out, scrambling on her hands and knees despite a mere scoot being much easier.  Santana rounded the car until she was standing on the curb in front of the door that Rachel currently had her head sticking out of.  She looked up at Santana with wide, defeated eyes.

“I’ll just go, okay? I’ll lie in Noah’s trunk if I need to.”

She watched Santana’s throat work itself into a swallow.

“Get back in the car, Berry.”

Oh, that was new.  She hadn’t even known that Santana knew her last name.  She felt a quick pang of pleasure make its way up her spine at the notion that she now had some kind of nickname that didn’t expressly point out her height deficiencies, but it was quickly ruined by the inhuman sound that came out of Quinn’s mouth.

It all happened very fast after that.  Santana snapped back around the other side of the car and was forcibly wrapping her arms around Quinn’s waist like she was a calf in a rodeo.

“You will–” Santana started, but the rest of her pronouncement was muffled by a passing police car with its sirens wailing.  By the time it was gone, Quinn had been unceremoniously stuffed into the backseat by Santana’s bare hands.

Rachel only fully comprehended what had just happened when Santana’s door shut with a resounding bang and the engine was started.

Quinn was beside her.  Quinn was warm, and Mike was a broad-shouldered guy, so it was impossible to keep their arms from touching.

Quinn tried to make the impossible possible, of course, pressing herself against the car door like her life depended on it.

Rachel sighed, letting her head fall back as they made their way out of the city of Poughkeepsie.

Chapter Text

Being slightly drunk and not being able to touch the girl next to her that smelled like a mixture of sweet native flowers and something dark and musky for a full hour made Rachel feel like she was going to spontaneously combust.

Once they pulled up into the resort and Santana shut the engine off, Mike was up and out of that car with an Olympic quickness, and Quinn wasn’t much better.  Rachel watched her shake out her shoulders as soon as her feet were on solid ground.  For her part, Rachel got out of the car the same way as Mike, leaving Quinn to stretch and make a ridiculous show out of the great pains she’d endured by simply sitting next to Rachel.

Santana cleared her throat like she was about to announce the name of the next pope.

“Well, Georgia’s visiting her family for the weekend, so you know what that means.  I’ll see ya when I see ya.”  It was obviously meant for Quinn, who only blinked and nodded, not even offering Rachel a glance as she began walking towards the staff cabins.

Rachel stood there for a second, watching her.  Something deep within her felt that the moment was overripe, that if she waited any longer it would wither and die and there would be nothing left for her to do or say, if there even was now.

She followed her.  She made her feet quick and light like the dancer she had quickly become, but nevertheless, about halfway to their destination, Quinn turned around.

Exasperated did not even begin to describe her face.

“You’re following me.”

“I had rather hoped I’d be stealthy enough to go unnoticed.”

Quinn was walking backwards now, and it had to have been quite an effort, made much worse by the fact that she had temporarily closed her eyes, vexed.

“That’s insane.”

Rachel nodded, trying to pick up speed, though Quinn just turned around and hustled even harder.

“I'm beginning to realize that.”

“Are you trying to kill me, or something?”  Quinn asked, the question almost a shout since they were no longer facing each other. It was such a deflated question, too, so empty of any real malice that it almost felt like a joke.  Though, Rachel knew that there was no joking going on between the two of them.  Not anymore.

Quinn was still walking at a clip, if anything her pace had increased, and because she couldn't do a single other thing but follow her, Rachel was still walking as well.  As she spoke, her voice bounced with every step she took.

“I just want to talk to you, Quinn.”

Quinn scoffed and it sounded like some kind of animal shuffling in the darkness.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Rachel, you made yourself very clear the first time. You need to just forget what I said.  It was a mistake.”

Rachel felt her heart lunge forward at the idea that Quinn wasn’t just sour about her rejection, but regretting the whole thing, second-guessing how she felt and coming to the conclusion that she did, in fact, not actually like Rachel as much as she thought she had.

They had just been so close, hadn’t they?  Day in and day out, running their fingertips over sensitive skin.  Anyone could get confused. That’s what Rachel had told herself for days, anyway.  She knew, now, that it was more than that.  Not a bone in her body was confused about what she wanted.

“But I didn’t make myself clear, Quinn! I made myself... opaque! Like mud! I reacted poorly, and I know I don’t deserve forgiveness but if you could just listen to me–”

“I don’t want to hear that we’re so much alike despite our many differences.   This isn’t a Good Housekeeping article about the enduring power of ladies’ friendships, okay?”

Quinn stomped up the steps to her cabin porch, back still firmly to Rachel, though she paused at the door.  She was slightly out of breath, and it made her voice sound almost childish.

“And I don’t want to hear about how charmed you are by me, okay?”  She looked back over her shoulder, her dimpled chin brushing against the fabric of her shirt.  Rachel practically ran up the steps, stopping less than a foot away from Quinn like she had used every ounce of will within her to keep from pounding her whole body into Quinn’s – to keep from pushing her, maybe, like she’d done that one day in the old rec.

“But I am so much more than charmed by you!” She shouted, close enough to Quinn’s side that she could see her breath move the little hairs not tucked behind her ear.

Quinn closed her eyes again, reaching down and grabbing Rachel’s wrist before forcibly pulling her inside of the cabin and shutting the door.  Inside, the place was a perfect picture of she and Santana’s warring personalities. Clean and well-kept on one side, bed nicely made, and on the other, the aftermath of a tornado.  Rachel nearly smiled before she saw the anger on Quinn’s face.

“You can’t just go around saying things like that out there, okay?” It was a shout to rival Rachel’s.  Quinn brought her hand to her forehead and then shook her head roughly, like she was trying to unseat some horrible thing inside of her brain.

“Well then I’ll say it in here.” Rachel said, quieter.  It would have been a whisper, but she didn’t want Quinn to be able to pretend she couldn’t hear her.

Quinn went to the tiny icebox in the corner of the cabin, sat atop a table with oatmeal and cereal boxes stacked underneath.  Rachel imagined Quinn eating her oatmeal in the morning, her hair mussed, makeupless. Every cell in her body sang with the idea that she might ever see something like it.

She opened the door and pulled out a little carton of apple juice, obviously nicked from the kitchens, and just stared at it like it was a beer and she was a drunk.  Rachel decided to speak then and ask for forgiveness later.

“I am not the type of person that scares easily, but – you scare me, Quinn.  You have since the day I met you.”

Rachel walked to where Quinn stood letting all the cool air out of the ice box, and rested her hip against the single counter in the kitchenette.  Quinn still stared at her carton of juice like it held the answers to all of life’s problems but was being withholding that day. Rachel watched her chin wobble and then she was just squaring her jaw, gritting her teeth.

“Yeah, I know, I was an asshole, and I’m sorry, okay?  We get read the riot act every staff meeting about keeping clear of the guests.”

Rachel let her head loll to the side as Quinn set the juice down on the counter that she was resting against.  It put them closer, a hair’s breadth between their forearms brushing.

“Yes, you were particularly abrasive, but – it wasn’t that.  Before I walked into that old rec center and saw all of you dancing like you didn’t have a care in the world, I was a different person, Quinn.  You – you touched me, you looked into my eyes, and I became someone else entirely. I haven’t recognized myself in weeks.”

Quinn pressed her arms into her sides, fisting at the fabric of her skirt.  The little hairs on her arms weren’t blonde, Rachel realized, they were a light mousy brown that faded out into nothing at her wrists.

“That sounds terrible.” Quinn croaked out. Rachel did the unthinkable and reached out, placing her outstretched fingers on Quinn’s forearm.  Her skin immediately prickled with goosebumps, but she didn’t move away from the touch.

“Doesn’t it?” Rachel asked, her chin raised as she studied Quinn’s face.  Quinn looked tired, and Rachel supposed she probably did, too. It was late, and the week had been relentlessly long.  Mostly, she was just tired of not touching Quinn.  

“Only, it’s thrilling, not terrible.  It’s realizing that every moment I’ve spent thinking that I was alive before then, well…”

Rachel leaned forward, a deep lean, not wanting to waste another minute being so far apart.  Quinn wasn’t running or sneering or telling Rachel she didn’t want to be around her.  It was a start.

“I wasn’t.  Not really. And maybe someone will make me feel this way again, but nothing and no one ever has before. I didn’t know what it was!  I didn’t know what it was because I’d never felt it.”  She shook her head, biting the corner of her mouth, trying to decide where to go next.  They were close as anything, could only be closer if they were holding each other.  Rachel could feel Quinn’s little breaths against her flushed chest, rising and falling.

She reached down and pried Quinn’s hands from where they were wrenching her skirt.  At first she ran her thumbs along the girl’s knuckles, and God, it felt like she was being shot full of the world’s strongest painkiller, but it wasn’t enough.  She squeezed Quinn’s hands before moving hers up to cup her cheeks.  Quinn looked down at her, blinking and blinking, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip before she closed her eyes.

“Rachel, you don’t have to–”

“Do you not see what you mean to me?” Rachel asked, almost frantic.  Quinn’s eyes popped open.

“I suppose that you don’t.  Let me show you.”

She leaned up, on her tiptoes, and Quinn was backing up into the ice box, but Rachel still made her mark.

She had kissed three people before that summer, one at camp just before sixth grade, a loose tooth fiasco that she’d rather not dwell on, another her sophomore year, just a boy in one of her classes that had been too afraid, she thought, to say no to her. And then Finn, of course.  Their kisses had ranged from soft to hard to loving to languid to needing and everywhere in between.

It had been a pressing of lips, an exploration of tongues.  When Rachel kissed Quinn, there was nothing.  Quinn’s mouth remained shocked still for seconds while Rachel simply strained her pursed lips against it.

And then, miraculously, Quinn began to kiss her back.  Quinn began to kiss her back, and it was like someone had set Rachel over a burning pyre.

Her hands were tentative, coming to rest somewhere on Rachel’s waist, then her ribcage.  But her lips practically scooped Rachel’s mouth up, smooth and soft and so achingly slow that Rachel moaned, completely unbidden into the girl’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, I must taste like–” Rachel started to apologize, thinking of her drinks that night, the stale beer, but then Quinn took the opportunity that presented itself – Rachel’s parted lips – and licked at the inside of her mouth.  Rachel’s resulting moan was indecent.

“You taste good.” Quinn murmured against her lips, her hands moving up to the back of Rachel’s neck as she cocked her head and ran her tongue over Rachel’s again and again.  There was no exploration, no question.  They both matched each other, stroke for stroke, like it had been planned for years, for their whole lives.  Rachel ran her hands down Quinn’s neck and over her shoulders before wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her closer until they were hip to hip.  Quinn let out a small feminine grunt in response, and their kiss deepened.  Her fingernails pressed into the base of Rachel’s skull, weaving into the hair there as she sucked on Rachel’s tongue.

Rachel hadn’t even known you could do something like that, though it was obvious now that she could do anything, anything she wanted.  She pulled her mouth away from Quinn’s to look at her, reveling in how blown the girl’s pupils were, the rim of irritated pink around her mouth.  Rachel had never seen anything so overwhelming in her life before.

“God, you are so sexy.” She said, her breath hitching just after, embarrassed at how thoroughly unmanaged the words were coming out of her mouth.  Quinn squinted, the skin on her nose wrinkling as she tried to hold back an equally embarrassed smile.

“S-sorry, that was too forward, I know–”

“Rachel – your tongue was just in my mouth.  That’s just about as forward as you can get without–”

Rachel stopped up Quinn’s mouth with a firm kiss, her arms coming even tighter around Quinn’s waist, holding her like she would slip right through her hands if she didn’t.  In turn, Quinn removed her hands from Rachel’s hair and softly, slowly scratched her fingernails down Rachel’s spine.  She gasped into Quinn’s mouth, her breath now coming in quick, desperate pants.

She was ridiculous, like a dog , and then Quinn was pressing her thigh between Rachel’s legs like they were dancing, but this wasn’t a dance, this was Quinn’s hips grinding into hers, Quinn’s groin pressing into the warm, waiting spot between Rachel’s legs over and over.

Something was in the way though – Quinn’s skirt, it was long and pleated in the front and had no business being on her body. Rachel hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the thing and then paused, thoughtfully, as she felt Quinn suck her stomach muscles taut.

Perhaps that was too much, too fast.  She let her hands come back up to simply knead Quinn’s waist, and pleased with the way the girl melded her body into Rachel’s own, she forgot all about that aggravating skirt.

She especially forgot all about it after Quinn herself reached down and hiked it up so that it was only tenting their hips.  Rachel groaned low as she felt Quinn’s smooth thigh slide against her own.  Her panties were silk and Rachel could feel the fabric wrinkling in place with every thrust.

After a quick nip to Quinn’s bottom lip, one that was most pleasingly chased, Rachel held her head back, looking at the girl again.

Her girl.  She would never have said it out loud, but she felt it too strongly not to at least think it to herself. Quinn looked at her for a moment, her face awash in an adorable confusion, then a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

“What?” She asked, thoroughly out of breath.

“Do you remember the song we danced to? That night that you stole me from Sam?”

Quinn’s mouth split open into a full-on grin at the memory.  Rachel couldn’t help it, she leaned in to kiss her cheek, then the other, then her chin.

“I remember,” Quinn nodded, craning her neck to the side to allow Rachel to place small kisses along her jawline.  Her eyelids fluttered closed. “I have the record.” She said, swaying in place, her grip on Rachel’s body causing her to move in time as she kissed every inch of Quinn’s face.

“You do?” Rachel asked, taking Quinn’s hands, excitedly shaking them. “Where are your records?”

Quinn seemed to ignore Rachel, leaning in to capture her lips in the wettest kiss they’d shared yet.  The tip of her tongue immediately found Rachel’s, teasing it, promising things that Rachel couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Can we play it?” She asked, pulling back from Quinn’s lips with a sucking sound that made her regret ever saying anything at all.  Quinn regarded her for a moment, perhaps wondering if she should continue to ignore Rachel, if she could just beat her down with kisses until they were both piles of goo on the floor.  But, her shoulders fell, and she nodded, turning around and walking towards the record player.

Rachel wasn’t far behind.  It was no longer in her repertoire to deny herself the primal urge to touch the girl in front of her – to not only touch her, but to hold her, to seize her like a prize.

She came up behind Quinn and wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing her cheek against the back of her neck. Quinn welcomed the touch, using one hand to lace her fingers with Rachel’s and the other to leaf through a stack of records.  She made a little pleased sound in the back of her throat when she found what she was looking for, and Rachel kissed her hair for it, eyes closed, in disbelief that she could do this, that they were just – allowed to.

Her hair smelled like cigarette smoke and faded Aquanet and underneath it, the sharp golden scent of Halo shampoo.

Quinn put the record on, dropping the needle where she must’ve known their song might be.

The music began to play. Quinn’s hips swayed as she turned around in Rachel’s arms.

Rachel was desperate to kiss her again, but Quinn had her in a formidable grip, and she was situating them in the exact same position they’d been in that night.  

Rachel found that she liked being handled by Quinn, being placed however she liked.

Her nipples were hard and there was a mess between her legs – the accumulation of weeks of pent up something. It was unbearably warm and wet and she knew, now that Quinn had pressed herself against Rachel, that the feeling was most exactly mutual.

Rachel swallowed hard as Quinn rolled her hips to the beat of the song. There was too much between them, too much fabric, too much space, too much unknown.  She reached out and began undoing the buttons at Quinn’s neck, already telling herself that she wouldn’t even care if she was denied.

It didn’t matter much, because Quinn only licked her lips, her thumbs massaging circles into Rachel’s hip bones as she guided her into a slow dip.  She hadn’t realized it that first night, far too caught up in the scandal of the act, but the motion allowed her aching, hot center to get just the littlest bit closer to Quinn’s.  Her hands dropped, not because she didn’t want to continue, but because she suddenly had no proper control over any of her normal faculties.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear Quinn’s low, throaty chuckle, though when she was brought back up and opened her eyes, there was only a soft, sweet look on the other girl’s face.  Rachel smiled back, resuming her work until Quinn’s pearly white bra was exposed.  She pushed the shirt back off of Quinn’s shoulders and placed a gentle kiss on the curve of her shoulder, noticing freckle after freckle, wanting to kiss them all.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” She breathed out onto Quinn’s collar bone, where her lips were tracing the sharp line of it straight down to the hollow of her throat. She felt Quinn’s hands high on her back, and realized that her dress’s zipper was being fooled with, and then Quinn was pulling it down and Rachel didn’t even want to think about what it meant that Quinn wanted her undressed and had done it without so much as a raised eyebrow in question.

The cool air hit her back and then Quinn’s hot hands were on the exposed skin with purpose, massaging and pressing for a moment before she was pulling apart either side of Rachel’s dress, coaxing it slowly off of her shoulders.  Rachel shrugged it away, helping as best she could.  Quinn was watching each new inch of exposed skin like it was a stock ticker, her mouth wet and open, the tip of her tongue captured between her teeth.

With one clumsy shimmy of her hips, the dress had fallen to Rachel’s ankles, and she was standing there in her bra and her panties, nipples so painfully hard that she was sure Quinn wouldn’t be able to see anything else.

To Rachel’s utter surprise and delight, Quinn dropped to her knees, helping Rachel step out of the dress completely, taking off her shoes for her. Quinn’s hands gripped her ankle and the muscle of her calf like Rachel was clay and Quinn was sculpting her body.

When her hands began to coast up Rachel’s legs, Quinn’s head and thus her breath somewhere close to the spot below her navel, Rachel started to shake.  Quinn’s hands stopped, and she pressed her cheek tenderly into Rachel’s belly.

“You’re burning up.” Rachel whispered, high and breathy.  Quinn ignored it, pressing her cheek against Rachel’s skin for a moment longer before she moved her head from side to side, her lips brushing against the sensitive spot just above the top of her panties again and again. All Rachel could do was watch, transfixed.  Quinn’s lips were plump and so naturally red and they were touching her skin, not just her mouth but in places that she never could’ve dreamed.

Quinn looked up at her, slightly crazed, her curls utterly undone and her eyes like a cat’s just before striking.  She still moved her lips over the same spot, only now her tongue peeked out, and Rachel had to shut her eyes.

“Oh, God. ”

Rachel grabbed at Quinn’s shoulders, frantic to have her closer, to be kissing her again, to not feel like she was watching something from a place where she couldn’t participate.

Quinn gave the much-attended spot a sweet kiss before standing back up to her full height, kissing Rachel within an inch of her life.  Nothing was spared, no inch of their mouths left un-licked.

Their song was long over, and even all the songs after.  The record had stopped and the room was silent, save the wet sound of their mouths and the shuffle of Quinn’s clothes against Rachel’s body.

There was no reason for that, Rachel thought, reaching around to Quinn’s lower back as the girl’s tongue licked an agonizing circle around Rachel’s.  Quinn moved closer, maybe even on instinct at Rachel’s hand where it was, and Rachel dipped her fingers underneath the waist of her skirt, pulling her tucked in shirt out with it.

She hesitated after it was done, waiting for any protest, but Quinn seemed to kiss her harder, to rare into her like a horse into its bit.

When Rachel got her hand underneath the fabric and onto the bare skin of Quinn’s lower back, Quinn hissed into Rachel’s mouth.  She knew an endorsement when she heard one.  She pushed Quinn back, playfully enough, their mouths tearing apart, and then she was oh-so-quickly peeling that shirt off of the girl’s body, down her arms, over her wrists.  Once it was gone, Quinn having tossed it somewhere dangerously close to Santana’s bed, Rachel went to work on the skirt.

She knew from experience that there was usually a delicate clasp at the top back, but when she went to search for it with her hands, all she could really concentrate on was Quinn’s thumbs brushing against the sides of her breasts as she ran her hands up and down Rachel’s stomach.

There wasn’t much time, she figured, they’d gotten there at almost 2am and all sorts of unfair things happened at sun-up, things that Rachel would rather not think about, so she just took both of her hands on either side of Quinn’s thighs and yanked that skirt down as hard as she could manage.

It barely budged, only an inch or so down her hips.  Quinn laughed into her mouth, shaking her head, wordlessly reaching around and undoing the clasp with one hand.  When she was done, she took Rachel’s hands in her own, bringing them back to the bunched fabric.

“Try again.” She said, and Rachel thought it might have been the sexiest two words in the world.  Rachel didn’t yank this time, just slid.  The skirt dropped to Quinn’s feet and she kicked it away from them like it was as good as trash

Then they were both standing in front of the open ice box, half-naked, tongues in each others’ mouths like there was no other proper way to exist.

“Bed.” Rachel whimpered when Quinn moved from her mouth to lick at her earlobe.  She decided then and there as Quinn’s tongue swirled around the sensitive flesh that she was exactly the type of girl she’d been so afraid to be, even moreso than Quinn, maybe, who seemed wanton but mostly composed in front of Rachel.

She felt like she was falling apart, like she needed Quinn to carry her around in her arms for the rest of her life.

They walked to Quinn’s bed, Rachel forward, pressing and half-skipping her way there.  Quinn spun them around at the last moment, gently laying her on the neatly made linens.

“Have you done this before?” Rachel asked it as soon as her back hit the bed, not because she’d been thinking about it, but because of the way she was being taken care of so well.  Quinn settled between her legs, one hand splayed wide on the curve of her butt, and rocked herself into Rachel before responding.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, her voice strained as their chests pressed together.  Rachel felt like she would cry at the feeling of Quinn’s stomach against her own, so much skin, so soft and so in control.

“I – I mean–” Rachel’s voice shook as Quinn bent down and sucked at her neck.  It would leave a mark, and she wanted it to, was silently begging for it to happen.

“You mean have I ever done this with another girl?”

Rachel nodded, her eyes shut tight as Quinn’s lips moved down to the swell of her breast just above the cup of her bra.  She scraped her teeth along the skin, for no reason it seemed other than wanting Rachel underneath those teeth, to know that Rachel wouldn’t jump back, that she would never turn away.

Quinn’s lips left Rachel’s skin and she locked their eyes, the first time since the lake that they’d looked in each others’ eyes so close.  Her thumbs both traced Rachel’s cheekbones as their rib cages surged together with each breath.

“Never.” Quinn said, her eyes dropping, almost shy.  Rachel placed her fingers at the back of Quinn’s neck, fluttering them against the skin.

“You certainly seem like you know what you’re doing.” Rachel smiled, trying to catch Quinn’s eyes again.  Quinn only dipped her head, placing small, light kisses over Rachel’s chest.

“It’s only because I’ve been thinking about doing this for–” Quinn paused her words, her breath hot on Rachel’s left breast before Rachel felt a warm mouth wetting the fabric of her bra over her nipple.

The sound that came out of Rachel’s mouth was somewhere between a shout and a moan.

“For a long time.” Quinn finished, and then she was pulling the flimsy fabric of Rachel’s bra down and there was nothing, not a single thing between Quinn’s slick mouth and Rachel’s painfully hard nipple.  Quinn moaned in the back of her throat as she gently sucked it into her mouth, and the sound vibrated over her skin.

“God, make love to me, Quinn. Please.”

She hadn’t expected it.  When she had formulated a plan that evening, it was only to tell Quinn how she felt, only to get her to understand.   Perhaps it was the liquor still working its way out of her system, but she had never thought in a million years that she would be naked and writhing against Quinn before the night was over.

But, now, underneath the girl that took up every bit of real estate in Rachel’s mind, knowing she wanted it just as much, Rachel could think of nothing more appropriate, nothing so right as letting herself be taken apart by Quinn.

Rachel bent forward and unhooked her bra, pulling it off her shoulders and tossing it aside in the same way Quinn had done her own clothes.  She went for her panties, but Quinn pushed Rachel’s hands aside, wanting to take them down herself.

She kissed each freed bit of skin, even kissed the underside of Rachel’s knee just before the panties were gone completely, and Rachel was left laid bare before her.

Quinn brought a hand to the point of one of Rachel’s hipbones. With her eyes closed, Rachel could hear the deep rasp of Quinn’s labored breath.

“If you want to, put your mouth on me.” Rachel pleaded, saying me , but meaning there .  Quinn scratched down her thigh, hesitating, but then Rachel canted her hips, practically placing herself against Quinn’s mouth, and it became less of a decision.

Two thumbs came and parted her and then Quinn was placing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss between Rachel's legs, her tongue rolling from her soaking entrance up to her clit and then back, like she didn’t know where to begin.

This, Rachel had never experienced before.  She’d had some fumbling fingers, and Finn’s thing had been nice enough when he figured out how to use it properly, but no one had ever had their mouth on her like this.

Rachel felt tears spring to her eyes.  Quinn reached up and squeezed at Rachel’s breast as she hummed into her.  The keening, mewling noises she made had Rachel beside herself, truly hovering outside of her body, too alight to feel everything all at once.

Every time Quinn’s tongue inched closer to her entrance, Rachel felt her heart rumble and seize like a dying engine inside of her chest.

“Just – just go inside, God.” She begged, always begging, but Quinn looked up at her, unsure.  Her eyes were wide and everything from her nose to the bottom of her chin was slick with wetness.

“H-how many, um–”

“Just one.” Rachel said, immediately regretting it as Quinn ran her middle finger through her folds. “Or-or two.  Do two.  Please. ” She squirmed, her back arching up off of the bed.  Quinn looked so pliant, so willing to please her and so fucking pretty.  If she didn’t hide her face again Rachel was worried she would come just from looking at her for too long.

Quinn leaned her head down and licked a slow, agonizing circle around Rachel’s clit as she worked two fingers inside of her.

“Oh, God.” Quinn breathed out when she was two knuckles in and Rachel whined against her own palm.  Whatever had just happened, being inside of Rachel, feeling her, Quinn lost the ease with which she had navigated their coupling before.

“I, I don’t know what I sh–”

“Do what feels good. Do what, um, what you think would feel good.” The word good was cut short as Quinn slowly pulled her fingers out and even more slowly pushed them back in.  She had resituated herself, still between Rachel’s legs, but up on her knees, hovering over everything.  Rachel opened her eyes and clearly saw Quinn watching what she was doing, her head cocking one way, then the other, her lips parted and her eyes half-closed.  Her hips were slowly moving in time with her thrusts.  Rachel nearly growled.

“A little harder.” She urged, but Quinn just grabbed at her hipbone with her free hand, holding Rachel in place as she fucked her slowly, watching it happen like it was a starving man’s last meal.

After a few more languid strokes, Rachel cried out as Quinn pulled her fingers out, glistening and pink, looking at them with a sense of wonder before her lips wrapped themselves around those fingers and sucked.  

She closed her eyes while she was doing it. Rachel dug her fingernails into the flesh of her thigh and tried not to pass out.

“Don’t – don’t do that.” She said, writhing, her hips pressing up to meet anything, Quinn’s elbow would do.  Quinn’s eyes popped open and her fingers dropped.  Both hands came to Rachel’s hips as she licked her lips and looked – guilty, maybe.

“Sorry, I–”

“No, it’s not–” Rachel rammed the back of her head into Quinn’s pillow, her untamed frustration mounting.  She gulped. “It’s not that I don’t like it, but it’s too much, I need–”  Quinn entered her again, slowly, her fingers curling up as she placed lazy kisses along Rachel’s stomach.

Rachel tried to surge her hips forward, but Quinn held her harder.  She brought her forearm to her mouth and bit to keep from screaming.

“You’re driving me c-crazy.” She managed to squeak out when Quinn relented, in a way, by using her thumb to rub slow circles over Rachel’s clit.

After a moment of just listening to Quinn’s breathing, Rachel began to open her mouth, primed with another heartfelt protest, but Quinn squeezed her hip harder.

“I like it.” Quinn said, her voice deep with desire. “I like watching you like this.”

Rachel let her head fall back hard against the pillow again.  Quinn’s fingers worked more deeply inside of her, but no faster.  Her gaze moved from her slippery fingers up to Rachel’s face.  There was a fine sheet of sweat along her hairline.

“If you sit up, I think you can watch, too.”

Rachel pressed the back of her head into the pillow and pondered what exactly was being asked of her.  Quinn wanted Rachel to watch what she was doing to her.  She wanted them both to watch, like it was some kind of one-woman show.

She scrambled to sit up.  Pressing her hands into the mattress, she propped herself up and watched with saucer eyes as Quinn’s fingers worked their way inside of her, each thrust measured and torturous.

“Oh my god, oh my god. ” Rachel placed her hand over Quinn’s, the one on her hipbone, and worked her hips in time.

“Move your thumb.” She instructed, watching Quinn’s long, slender fingers stroke in and out of her so slow, with nothing blocking her full view.  Each time they came out, they were slicker than the last. Rachel thought she would be fine, she thought she could handle it, but then Quinn caught her eye and she bit her lip just as she began a much more appeasing pace, just as she experimentally curled her fingers in such a way, and light exploded behind Rachel’s eyes.

When she came to, truly, she was clutching at Quinn’s back and they were pressed closed together, Quinn’s fingers deep inside of her, still rocking slowly.  She looked into Rachel’s eyes, and seeing that they were no longer clouded and faraway, she began to remove herself.

Rachel held fast.

“No – please, no.” She squeezed at Quinn’s shoulders, pulling a leg over to wrap around her hips.

“Don’t leave.”

There were hot tears on Rachel’s cheeks, further even, down underneath her chin. She didn't know why, not logically, but some things didn't need to be questioned.

“I’m not leaving, Rachel.” Quinn assured, her voice about an octave higher than it had been just before Rachel’s orgasm.  She gently settled herself down against Rachel, hand still inside of her.

“Should I–” She jiggled her wrist, but Rachel reached down and held it in place.

“Don’t go.” Rachel wasn’t crying again, she would’ve been embarrassed had she been, but she could feel the same type of desperation clawing at her throat.  Quinn’s body was so tight against hers that she could feel the slickness of sweat on her skin.  She thought, in that moment, that she would need to have Quinn inside of her for the rest of her life.

Quinn sighed dreamily, resting her head against Rachel’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Rachel woke with a start just as the sun was rising. It was her normal routine, her body used to popping up with the new day.  Next to her, a thoroughly naked Quinn was curled on her side, blanket tucked and tossed half-way over her body.  She breathed deeply, still asleep, though it wasn’t a surprise.  They had only fallen asleep an hour or so before.

She thought of her daddy, who would be up in 15 minutes time, maybe less, making a valiant though misguided attempt at coffee, yawning and stretching and wondering where exactly his early-riser daughter was.

It was clear that she had to leave – she had been out at night, certainly, but she’d never just not come home.  He would be livid on top of worried, and because Rachel felt very much like someone had shorn all of her skin off and given her a whole new set, but in a strangely wonderful way, she couldn’t chance getting yelled at or having her day monopolized by her anxious father.

She would simply extricate herself from Quinn’s itty-bitty bed (how they both ever fit on it, she’d never know), tip-toe off to have breakfast with her daddy, and come back before Quinn ever even made a peep.

She leaned over and watched the girl breathing.  There were pink scratch marks on her back and a yellowed bruise on the underside of one breast.  To say Rachel had gotten carried away in her attempt to retaliate had been an understatement.

All of that mambo dancing had turned them both into a couple of deranged sex monsters, if she was being honest.  She would probably be sore for a week, and that was only if they stopped the whole thing right then and there.

But she had no intention of stopping.  In fact, a very large part of her wanted to rouse Quinn with a mouth on one of those perfect, pink nipples.

Rachel was obsessed.  And she had been so sure that she was obsessed before , but now that she truly knew what it was like to touch Quinn, to have Quinn moan her name, to be inside of her—

She was almost mad no one had ever told her.  Cosmopolitan occasionally had a few winks about the pleasures a man could provide, sure, but the end of the world would probably have to come before they even hinted at pleasures from the fairer sex. But Finn!  How had he failed to mention that making love to a woman was like getting a standing ovation on a Broadway stage?

Maybe it had been different for him, though.  Maybe it was just making love to Quinn, who was always both coquettish and cavalier all at once, a dizzying mixture of strength and softness that Rachel couldn’t imagine any other girl could ever possess.

It took every ounce of strength within her not to wake the girl up to at least kiss her goodbye as she danced quickly around the room, quietly putting on her dress and shoes.  But she couldn’t – if she did things right, Quinn would both get good sleep and not even know Rachel was ever gone.

She lingered in the doorway as she held it open for herself.  The rising sun cast a pale yellow glow over everything, beautiful to behold, but all she could do was stare at the girl curled up on the baby blue bed.  From her vantage point, all Rachel could see was her back and the curve of her bottom, but it was easily more beautiful than any sunrise or sunset she had ever encountered.

Rachel hummed on the walk back to her cabin.  She hummed quietly as she opened the door, then hummed louder as she fell back onto her bed, stretching her sore muscles.  She received a flash of memory from the night before, Quinn saying “I like you like this” with her hand between Rachel’s legs. She squeezed her eyes shut and her thighs together, trying her hardest not to squeal with delight.

She could still smell Quinn, not just the normal, pretty scent of her skin and her clothes and her hair but of her sex, sweet and musky and if Rachel didn’t taste it again soon she thought she might do something inappropriate, something drastic.   She pictured herself announcing to all of Ben Israel’s over the loudspeaker that she was sexually obsessed with Quinn Fabray in the form of some rousing showtune.  What could say it best, something from Guys and Dolls?  She giggled at herself, stretching her arms over head before bounding up at the sound of her daddy’s heavy foot on the cabin floor.

“Good morning!” She sing-songed, not even bothered by the fact that she was wearing the same dress that Quinn had taken her out of the night before.  Her daddy didn’t need to know that, though.

He gave her a once-over as he sipped from his favorite coffee cup, leaning his elbow against the kitchen counter.

“How is it, young lady, that you look simultaneously bone-tired and the happiest that I’ve seen you all summer?”

Rachel shrugged, her smile unmarred.  All of her previously looming thoughts of her daddy and Leroy Platter’s indiscretions were gone, replaced by such unbridled joy that Rachel didn’t even know where to put it, if not back into Quinn, over and over and–

“Only a shrug, interesting.  What’d you get up to last night?” He asked, and she could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, though she knew he was still sour about her spending so much time apart from him.  Their usual Ben Israel’s vacations were chock-full of daddy-daughter time, pottery classes and swimming and relay races and all that.

Surely he understood that she was growing up. Or, that she had years ago, and had only done those things to please him.

Now she was forging her own path.  That path looked very much like the line from Quinn Fabray’s belly button up to the perfect patch of skin between her breasts, currently.

“Ahh, did you happen to get a letter from the front desk?” Her daddy asked, tearing open a sugar packet and shaking it into his coffee.  Rachel’s eyebrows knit at the question, but truthfully, she was still thinking about the way that Quinn’s skin tasted, like licking a salty, burning star.  

And she had called Rachel beautiful – twice, once while she was having her third orgasm and the last just before they fell asleep in each others’ arms.  It was all so – well – unreal, wasn’t it?  It felt as though she was dreaming and would fall, gasping herself awake at any moment.

But Rachel was nothing but a dreamer, and she knew how to make them last.

“No, I– It just feels like a brand new day, doesn’t it?  I just want to swim down the river or something.”

“Atta girl, that’s the go-getter I like to see!”

Their moment was interrupted by a knocking at the door.  Rachel put some more sugar in her coffee and didn’t even bother to look back as her father went to answer it, it was probably one of his friends or even the neighbors asking if he wanted to play squash.

She softly sung to herself, see the pyramids along the nile … She didn’t think she would ever stop singing again, even with her daddy right there in the same room.  She went on minding her own business, not even bothering to listen in.

But, oh, she should have been.  As she turned around, coffee replenished, her eyes widened as she saw her father standing in front of a very chagrined looking Quinn Fabray.  The girl’s hands were clasped in front of her, her head hung low.  Rachel wanted to run and tackle her, to kiss her, to tell her daddy that she had never felt this way about anyone or anything in her whole lousy life–

“Now, I don’t have anything against you personally, young lady, but you should know that my daughter isn’t interested in cavorting around with the staff this summer.  She’s–”

“Daddy.” Rachel placed her hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to think of the perfect thing to say that would diffuse this bomb and leave her with Quinn, alone, able to sort whatever this was out themselves.

Quinn swallowed, her head cocking to the side to peer at Rachel standing behind her father’s much larger frame.

“I just wanted to make sure that–” She stopped herself.  Rachel ached at the look in her eye, so uncertain, when Rachel herself felt the most certain that she had ever been.  Every backward thing that she’d felt by the lake and since was gone, replaced with a steadfast, beautiful resolution.

“Daddy, when I was out with the girls last night, I got a bit tipsy and ended up at the wrong cabin.  Quinn saw me and tried to help me back, but you know me, I wouldn’t let her.  I think she must just be checking to make sure I got back okay.”

Rachel had always been confident enough in her ability to lie to her daddy on the spot, but something about his face, how deep his brow dipped down, made her think she’d been wrong about that aspect of herself this whole time as well.

She smiled sweetly, her last line of defense, and finally his shoulders slumped.

“All right, then.” He looked back at Quinn, steely-eyed, and then silently walked into his room.  Rachel felt her stomach do several somersaults in quick succession.

“Hi.” She smiled, leaning forward because she couldn’t help it even if she tried.  Quinn leaned in, too.

“Hi, um–” She looked so shy, so sweet and lovely tucking her mussed and unbrushed hair behind her ears.  She must’ve just woken up and found Rachel gone.  She knew she should’ve left a note, but Quinn didn’t seem to have anything to write with, and she didn’t want to miss her daddy waking up.

Rachel stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her.  She was so close to Quinn that she could feel the bed-warmth of her skin.  She looked down and took her fingers, just the tips of them, between her own, and then looked back up into Quinn’s eyes.

“I would kiss you,” She whispered behind a smile that begged to be wider. “But I’m sure there are people watching.”

“Oh.” Quinn said, her face going from fraught to soft and understanding in an instant.  She licked her lips. “I thought–”

Rachel squeezed her fingers.  “I’m sorry, I hate that you woke up alone, but I wanted to get back before my daddy questioned me and you just looked – well, you looked so unbelievably darling while you were sleeping and the thought of waking you seemed like cruel and unusual torture.”

Quinn glanced down at their joined hands like she couldn’t quite believe it.  This side of Quinn, this demure and shy girl had Rachel feeling like she could scale the tallest pines at the resort and sing when she got to the top.

“So you’re – you didn’t leave because–” She started, and Rachel grabbed her other hand.  It was risky, but it could be explained away – a kiss, of course, could not.

“I didn’t.  I wanted to stay.  In fact, we can go back right this very moment if you think Santana won’t be making her appearances anytime soon.”

Quinn sighed, looking back towards the path that led to the staff cabins.

“She won’t be back all weekend, but I actually have to work this morning.”  Quinn loosened one hand from Rachel’s grip to tuck more hair behind her ears. Rachel sprang up on her tip-toes.

“Can’t you just beg off? I - I can make an excuse for you, maybe?”

“It’s just morning lifeguard duty.  Nancy’s visiting her folks in New Jersey so they have me subbing in.  Rachel, I–”

“It’s okay, Quinn. I understand.  There’s also no crime in me, an esteemed guest, sitting at the foot of the lifeguard tower all morning, is there?”

Quinn’s resulting smile was cautious – she looked to her left and her right before letting it really bloom on her face.

“I really thought you’d left, this morning, I really thought you…” Quinn trailed off, her face laced with something awful dredged up from her early-morning feelings.  Rachel took her turn to look out to the left and then the right, as well, and finding that there were no visible onlookers, she pulled Quinn’s hand until they were back behind the cabin.

The cabins were set up in rows, but they were back to back, creating a grassy alleyway full of hydrangeas and hazelnut bushes.  The ones behind the Berry cabin weren’t as tall as the girls, but they were something , so Rachel bent at the knees and pulled Quinn down into a passionate, stolen kiss.

She couldn’t believe that it was somehow better than the first time, better than all of the ones before.  They’d made love until the earliest morning birds started chirping, and still Rachel felt that the kiss with hydrangea flowers brushing the backs of her knees was like being thrown out of an airplane.

When she pulled away, Quinn was breathing hard, her hands sliding over Rachel’s shoulders, the back of her neck, her cheeks.

“I can’t believe this is real.” She said, much like a girl that had believed nothing good could or would ever happen to her again.  Rachel wanted to prove her wrong.  She wanted to prove that she could be the thing that The Girl Named Quinn deserved.

“You’re so cute, I can’t stand it!” Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn’s ribs and squeezed, pressing her cheek to the top of her shoulder.  Quinn laughed softly, squeezing back.

“I was sort of hoping that you could stand it.  Stand me, I mean.”

“Oh, I can stand you.  I can stand you–” She almost said for the rest of my life, but just shook her head, instead. “For as long as you’ll let me stand you.”

Is this what her daddy had felt that night, watching Leroy, the love tumbling out of him like an ocean tide?  It felt like she couldn’t contain it, as if she even could before!  Now it seemed that the whole universe was bound to know, that she could be shot up into space and the martians would see she was head over heels for a girl named Quinn.

Quinn bent down and stole another soft, slow kiss, her fingertips gently tickling at the back of Rachel’s neck.

“I need to go get ready.  I’ll see you at the pool?” She asked, devastatingly hopeful.  Rachel nodded vigorously, her smile unbidden and hurting her cheeks.

“Count on it.”