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Fic: No Wise Words Gonna Stop the Bleeding [Part Seven]
Title: No Wise Words Gonna Stop the Bleeding
Rating: NC-17
Words: little over 10k
Notes in Part One
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six
--
Despite feeling tired deep in her bones, Quinn can’t sleep. There’s just too much going on for her to really give into how exhausted she is, but she lets her mind relax a little and takes comfort in the sound of Rachel’s soft snoring and the warmth of the hand she’s still clutching. The room is dimly lit, and Quinn spends her time studying the television against the far wall and the shelving set up all around it. Distantly, she remembers putting the entertainment center together with Santana and Brittany when they first moved in. It feels like a lifetime ago.
A door slams closed and she thinks maybe Santana came back already, but it’s Brittany who bounces into the room and smiles down at her.
“Matt and Finn just left,” Brittany whispers, eyes flickering quickly to Rachel.
Quinn shakes off the lingering lassitude in her body and moves Rachel’s arm away, standing and straightening her clothes out. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, they’ll be back later,” Brittany replies, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “So do you want pizza?”
Looking down at Rachel, she blows out a heavy breath before nodding softly. “Yeah, food is good.”
“Good, because I already ordered it,” Brittany says. “It takes forever and a day for them to get here.”
Quinn laughs and shakes her head as she looks back up at Brittany. It’s so weird for a second that Quinn doesn’t quite know exactly what to say or do. And that just makes it all weirder. This is her best friend. The last six months aside, she’s known this girl her entire life. Yet, here they are, standing in a familiar apartment and she feels like there’s this huge gulf between them.
Brittany seems to sense it too, and decides to do something about it. In a flurry of motion, Brittany flings herself towards Quinn, long arms wrapping around her neck as Brittany presses her face into Quinn’s shoulder and just like that all the space between them disappears. “I miss you,” Brittany croaks. “Like all the time.”
She sucks in a breath and squeezes her eyes shut, bringing her face down to Brittany’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist. Her heart feels like it’s beating triple time and she’s afraid she’s going to start crying, about missing Brittany, about Rachel, about Puck, about this whole fucked up mess she’s started.
“Yeah, B,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice even and low as to not wake up Rachel. “I miss you too. All the time.”
Brittany laughs into Quinn’s neck. “I’m sorry about Rach,” she says.
“Me too,” Quinn gulps, trying desperately to not look down at her still-sleeping wife. Heat spikes in the backs of her eyes as Brittany’s arms tighten around her neck. She doesn’t want to cry again, she feels like that’s all she’s been doing. And it’s useless. How many times can she cry about the same damn things?
Rachel stirs and Quinn whips her head over to check on her, crossing her fingers that she stays asleep. Brittany notices, too, and pulls away, her hands trailing down Quinn’s arms until their fingers are tangled together. “Let’s go hang out in the bedroom,” Brittany suggests, tugging Quinn’s hands backwards as she backs up and cocks her head towards the back of the apartment.
Quinn almost bursts out laughing, her emotions swinging all over the place. Sometimes that question out of Brittany’s lips is more dangerous than anything else. But, in reality, the bedroom was kind of where Brittany did her best work. The bedroom was always Brittany’s remedy for life’s pain. Quinn or Santana would have a bad day and she’d pull them to whatever bed was close and snuggle them into the mattress until they felt better. The remedy was probably slightly modified for Santana, but the procedure was mostly the same.
It seems like the most ineffective method for making Quinn feel better, but Brittany’s been doing it since they were kids and Quinn can’t help the longing deep in her heart at having it suddenly back in her life after so much time. Santana is good at a lot of things, but this was always kind of Brittany’s area of expertise. They work as a unit, Santana with the alcohol and Brittany with the hugs, and Rachel was just this added gift and Quinn didn’t realize just how broken she felt without Brittany until now. Brittany chuckles, winks and squeezes Quinn’s hands as she pulls her down the hallway and skips into the bedroom.
Quinn kind of feels better already.
Brittany pushes Quinn onto the bed when they get there and crawls in next to her, lying on her side and smiling with her head propped up in her hand. Quinn presses her back into the mattress, but turns her head to observe her friend, reacting to the smile without thinking about it. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Nemo curl up into a ball near the door, yawning and licking his lips.
“So,” Brittany breathes.
“This is weird,” Quinn admits in a whisper. It feels strange, caught somewhere between new and familiar, but Quinn likes it.
Brittany chuckles. “Is it?”
“You don’t think so?” Quinn intertwines her fingers together where they rest against her stomach and twiddles her thumbs around as she looks at Brittany.
Shrugging, Brittany looks down at the mattress. “Which part are you talking about, the part where I’m back, or the part where we’re all involved in some weird criminal brouhaha?”
“The part where you’re back,” Quinn answers after a beat of laughter about the brouhaha. She looks away briefly as she asks the next part. “Are you back?”
Brittany laughs and picks at the comforter on the bed. “Yes?”
“Is that an answer or a question?”
“It’s weird,” Brittany jokes, lifting her head to lock eyes with Quinn. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”
Quinn hums lowly in affirmation. She can see Brittany’s perspective easily. When it comes to Santana and Brittany, to Brittany in general, Quinn feels like she doesn’t know what’s going on either.
“I never thought I’d feel like that, you know? Not about this,” Brittany continues. “Not about Santana.”
“She loves you,” Quinn says.
“Yeah,” Brittany laughs. “I know. I wasn’t sure because I had been gone for so long and everything and we’d been together forever and I thought she wanted me to leave, but then she showed up at my apartment and just...”
Quinn reaches over to grab Brittany’s hand and swallows against the emotions she can see flicker across Brittany’s face.
“She’s Santana, you know?” Brittany whispers, squeezing Quinn’s hand and smiling lightly.
“Yeah,” Quinn agrees. “She is.”
“I just want to come home,” Brittany confesses.
“I’m glad,” Quinn replies her voice soft, but firm. “Santana will come around and figure it out, B. She always does.”
“I know. We’re going to be okay,” Brittany says.
“Yeah, you will be.”
Brittany blows out a long breath, her shoulders sagging as she does it before she smiles wider and shifts to snuggle up against Quinn’s shoulder. “Everything else is going to be okay too, Q.”
For the first time that night, Quinn allows herself a shred of hope that Brittany’s right.
--
The first night after Quinn and Rachel broke up early on in their relationship, Quinn spent the night at Santana and Brittany’s in complete misery. When things went wrong in her life it was kind of default setting to show up at their apartment - it was how it had always been with the three of them. At the end of the day, no matter what happened with the rest of the world, Quinn would always have Santana and Brittany around to be there for her. It was one of the few things she never doubted.
Santana was grumpy about the whole thing of course and maintained that Quinn was better off without Rachel, but Brittany was just about the best dose of medicine for a broken heart anyone could ask for. This was mostly because Brittany believed with certainty she could solve the world’s problems with hugs.
So, after the initial shock of Rachel walking out on her wore off and Quinn made it all the way to her friends’ place, she spent the next few hours on Santana and Brittany’s bed watching stupid action flicks and snuggled into Brittany’s side.
“Don’t you have finals to be studying for?” Santana grumbled, walking through the bedroom to open the closet. Nemo, their small cocker spaniel, trotted in behind her and jumped up on the bed, curling up against Quinn’s legs.
“I’m taking one day to wallow in my misery,” Quinn answered, closing her eyes as Brittany’s hands stroked through her hair. “I start tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” Santana replied rolling her eyes. “This whole thing is pathetic.”
“Santana,” Brittany admonished, looking at her girlfriend over the top of Quinn’s head. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice,” Santana said, pulling out a black sweatshirt from inside the closet and tugging it over her head. “I offered Quinn my best bottle of scotch, didn’t I?”
“Alcohol is not the answer to every problem,” Brittany said and Quinn breathed in against the fabric of Brittany’s shirt, inhaling sweat pea and vanilla and realizing absently that the shirt Brittany was wearing was actually Santana’s.
“The only problem alcohol isn’t the answer to is alcoholism,” Santana deadpanned, walking over the bed and plopping down on the edge.
“That’s super comforting to hear you say,” Brittany joked and Quinn could hear the smile without having to look up. Listening to the banter between her friends was soothing in a way, healing the cracks in her composure that Rachel’s leaving had left.
Santana pulled a sock on and crossed her legs to pull on the next one. “Whatever. If Quinn’s not going to be studying we should be going out and doing something to take her mind off the whole thing.”
“We are doing something,” Brittany retorted, running a hand down Quinn’s back. “We’re snuggling.”
The bed moved as Santana stood up and twirled, laughing. “As if hugs can cure all the world’s evils better than a stiff drink and a night out.”
She didn’t have to look up to know Brittany was glaring at Santana, she could see the reaction all over Santana’s face - her super badass, mega tough friend was totally weak when it came to Brittany. “Whatever,” Santana said again, throwing her hands up a little in defeat.
Quinn laughed and shifted her head a little as Brittany twisted strands of her hair around. “You’re so the better friend,” she mumbled loud enough that Santana could hear her but soft enough that it seemed unintentional.
“I heard that,” Santana grumbled.
“It’s going to be okay, Q,” Brittany murmured, laughing at Santana. “She’ll come around.”
“Santana will never come around,” Quinn laughed, turning a little to look at her friend in question. Santana rolled her eyes at both of them and threw her hands up in defeat.
“No,” Brittany chuckled. “I meant Rachel.”
Inhaling sharply, Quinn blinked against the sudden onslaught of tears overwhelming her at the thought of her now-ex-girlfriend. It didn’t feel like she should be so upset, and Santana had said as much, but it still stung so much more than she could have expected. “I hope so,” she whispered. She could hear Santana shuffling around the room as Quinn pressed her cheek further into Brittany’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
“She will,” Brittany said with calm certainty.
“Lethal Weapon 4,” Santana announced, popping a DVD into their player across the room and jumping onto the bed. “If we’re not going to get drunk we’re going to watch a decent movie.”
--
Quinn hears Rachel before she sees her, a muffled crash that has Quinn rolling out of bed quickly and a very un-Rachel like curse word floating down the hallway from the living room. Laughing a little, she sends a look to a bemused Brittany and walks back towards her wife, her hands already on her hip and an eyebrow raised when Rachel comes into view.
“What are you doing?” The question comes out of Quinn’s mouth with heavy censure as she watches Rachel try to gather herself off the floor after presumably rolling off the couch.
“That should be obvious,” Rachel mumbles, clearly annoyed.
Quinn crosses the distance between them and holds on to Rachel’s bicep, helping her stand steadily on her feet and glaring at her. “Rach, you shouldn’t be moving. Your ribs need time to heal.”
“My ribs are fine,” Rachel argues, staring at Quinn. Her eyes are wide, her jaw dropped open a fraction and her head is slowly waving back and forth as if she can’t keep it still. Quinn notes the bottle of organic pain killers sitting on the coffee table. “I need to shower.”
“You need to lie down,” Quinn counters.
“I need to shower,” Rachel insists, shoving Quinn away from her and then rocking off balance from the motion.
“Whoa,” Quinn mumbles, stepping back forward and grabbing Rachel’s arms. “Okay, fine,” she concedes, knowing that trying to argue with Rachel while she was both waking up and high off pain killers would be futile. “Let’s go take a shower.”
Brittany laughs from behind her as she moves through the living room and heads towards the kitchen. “I’m going to call Mike while you guys are in the shower.”
It’s an offhand, nothing kind of comment because it’s Mike Brittany’s closest friend after Quinn and Rachel and it’s about the most normal thing in the entire world that Brittany’s calling him. But Quinn hasn’t seen Mike since Brittany left and the more that Brittany’s back the more Quinn’s realizing just how much her life changed that one night six months ago.
“Tell him I said hi,” she tells Brittany in a soft voice and she can feel Rachel’s eyes on her.
Brittany seems to realize the seriousness of the moment because her voice is low and even when she responds with an equally soft, “I will.”
Nodding, and smiling at her wife, she strides out of the room, watching Rachel carefully as they make their way back to the shower.
--
They get back into the kitchen to see Brittany opening a pizza box on the counter and smiling at the food, the smell of cheese and pizza sauce making Quinn’s stomach growl. “God, that smells good,” she comments, coming up to the counter and observing the pizza over Brittany’s shoulder.
“I know,” Brittany drawls, pushing Nemo away with her leg as the dog whimpers for handouts. “Pizza is the best thing ever.”
Quinn laughs and grabs two of the plates Brittany had set out, setting one in front of a stool as Rachel maneuvers her way on to it.
“Santana not home yet?” Quinn eyes the pizza in front of her trying to choose which piece to take. Choosing the first piece is an art. One she, Brittany and Santana had perfected over years and years of pizza nights.
“Not yet,” Brittany answers, staring with equal intensity at the box.
They both stare at the pizza, their shoulders close as they stand in silence. Rachel breaks the spell with a disgruntled noise, “For goodness sake, just choose a freakin’ piece. I know this is some sort of studied ritual but I was hit by a car and am starving. Think of your wife, Quinn.”
Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up on her head and Brittany laughs, Rachel glaring at them from her perch at the counter.
Before Quinn can lecture about how Rachel knows how important choosing the first piece is and how she should have more respect for their method, Brittany skims her hand over the food, fingers waggling over all the pieces before deciding on one and picking it up from the pie.
“Finally,” Rachel breathes, barely letting Quinn set the slice on her plate before she’s chewing on it.
Quinn shakes her head, a little disgruntled that her pizza ritual was cut short by her wife’s impatience, but her stomach is grateful as she sits down next to Rachel and starts eating her own slice.
“Drink?” Brittany asks around a mouthful of food. Quinn nods, while Rachel reaches across the table for another slice of pizza despite not having finished the one she’s currently eating.
Brittany grabs herself a bottle of beer, setting it on the counter and then pours a glass of water for Rachel. A few minutes later she’s back at the counter with Santana’s bottle of Glenlivet and a short glass.
Quinn lets out a grateful breath and watches as Brittany pours her the drink, sliding it across the counter until it’s next to her plate and putting the bottle on the counter next to it. Quinn takes a sip as the door to the apartment opens and her other best friend strides in, a wet, sopping mess.
When Brittany left, Quinn took notice. She felt the absence in her life like a big gaping black hole floating next to her and next to Santana. She noticed. But the pain faded to a dull ache after the days turned into months and Brittany still wasn’t back. She learned to adjust, to train her body to deal with the void, to convince herself maybe it wasn’t there.
Now, though, with Brittany back, giggling at Santana and smiling and pressed all up against her like they’re patched together, Quinn’s having trouble breathing. It all feels so transient, like this moment is just a small reprieve before Brittany’s out the door again.
It’s stupid to think because Brittany basically told her moments ago that she was back back and Santana’s clutching her like she never wants to let go, but she’s failing to enjoy this moment because she’s so worried about the next. When she looks at her friends, standing together and smiling at each other like they’re still in love and happy and perfect, all she sees is Brittany crying on her doorstep as she says goodbye and Santana shooting tequila at Rick’s. All she sees is Brittany leaving and all she feels is pain.
Rachel bumps against her, then, and smiles, her cheeks full of pizza, sauce on her lips. It’s a small thing, the thing that’s kept her sane for all these months and years. Santana starts shaking out her hair as she settles down next to Brittany, then, and her small, happy thing starts snapping about the sanctity of pizza.
Santana snaps back, and Brittany talks to Quinn over their argument, and Nemo circles the table with whines. It’s familiar. It’s normal. Quinn forgets, for a little bit.
--
Rachel insists that they sleep on the couch for some reason, which sort of irks Quinn because Santana offered them a bed she knows is soft and comfortable and spacious enough for both of them. But stubborn is Rachel’s baseline attitude, so Quinn knew she wasn’t really going to win that argument.
So here she is, on the floor of her best friend’s living room with her wife next to her on the couch and her two best friends having sex in a bedroom down the hall.
At least some things are getting back to normal. At this point, the sound of their debauchery is just background noise.
“Go to sleep,” Rachel orders, her hand dangling over the side of the couch towards Quinn’s body, sometimes tugging at the collar of Quinn’s t-shirt for no discernible reason.
“I can’t,” Quinn replies, hitting Rachel’s fingers with hers softly. She doesn’t even bother asking how Rachel could tell she wasn’t asleep.
“Why not?” Rachel shifts, but still doesn’t open her eyes, her fingers tapping back against Quinn’s. It distracts her, just a little bit.
“Can’t you hear them having sex?” Quinn hisses, ending the question with an incredulous laugh.
This time Rachel turns her head and opens her eyes to look at Quinn. “No. And if you can, then you should ignore it, considering you’ve likely heard it at least four hundred times before. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” Quinn grumbles, dropping her hand to her stomach. Rachel’s fingers search for hers and find her chest instead.
“We could have sex,” Rachel offers, smirking. “That would probably distract you.”
The offer is appealing, and distracting because Rachel’s leaning over the bed a little and brown hair is falling over her shoulders, and her fingers are where they are and Quinn’s just always found Rachel extremely attractive. That, and her body always seems to overrule her brain when Rachel looks at her like that.
“No,” Quinn replies firmly, snapping out of her small Rachel induced trance, pointedly looking away and staring at the ceiling.
Rachel laughs - this deep, throaty laugh that does nothing for Quinn’s resolve.
“Go to sleep,” Quinn commands.
“I was!” Rachel exclaims, laughing.
“Will you stop laughing at me?”
“Will you come up here and kiss me?”
Quinn frowns, feeling petulant. “No.”
Rachel’s fingers move upwards and end up poking Quinn in the cheek and she swats at them, irritated. “Stop it.”
“Why are you so cranky?” Rachel’s still laughing and Quinn rolls her eyes. Of all the times for Rachel to get all slaphappy.
“Oh I don’t know.” She holds her finger in the air to tick of the reasons. “I’m sleeping on the floor. My two friends are going at it like rabbits in the other room. You got hit by a car. There’s a picture out there of my father linked to a crazy madman. My entire life feels like it’s getting hit with a two by four.”
Rachel grabs her hand and pulls it towards her. “I love you.”
Quinn swallows. This moment feels so much more serious than the last and fear, hot and sudden, bubbles up in her chest, her heart pounding as she really, truly thinks about all the implications of what’s going on around them. Rachel’s hands tighten around her own, like she can read it off her face.
“Quinn,” Rachel says, her voice soft and low, all hints of the early drug-induced laughter gone. “It’s going to be okay. I love you and it’s all going to be okay.”
“Yeah, I know,” Quinn says, swallowing and willing the adrenaline out of her body. She’s trying to contol her voice, keep tears out of her eyes, but Rachel knows. Rachel always knows.
“No you don’t,” Rachel counters, gripping her hand tighter, “but I’ll keep reminding you.”
“Thanks,” Quinn replies softly.
“You’re welcome. Now come up here and let’s have sex.”
“Oh my God,” Quinn groans, pulling her hand away and covering her eyes as she lets out a long stream of laughter.
She hears a low moan following hers from down the hallway that she unfortunately recognizes as Santana.
“Now, I did hear that,” Rachel mutters. “Are you sure you don’t want to have sex? We could try and out-noise them.”
It’s going to be a long night.
--
Quinn did not mean to get this drunk. Honestly. Getting this drunk was not really in her game plan for the night, but apparently it had been in Santana’s because here they were. Drunker than Quinn’s been in awhile as they tried to figure out how exactly to get home.
“We should call Brittany,” Quinn suggested, blinking slowly at the cement sidewalk under her feet. She tried to follow the lines and keep herself straight, but she didn’t think she was really succeeding, because her feet seemed to have a different agenda.
Santana looped her arm through Quinn’s and pulled them both forward, still swaying a little as they walked. “Can’t,” Santana answered.
“We should call Brittany,” Quinn repeated, the words slurring a little as Santana swayed abruptly to the side, bringing Quinn with her.
“Can’t,” Santana replied again, clearly undisturbed that she had answered Quinn’s question twice. “She’s doing some movie thing with Mike. Told her I wouldn’t bother her.”
Quinn pulled Santana to the left as they sidestepped a pedestrian, but she stumbled a little, hitting her shoulder against the brick wall of a store front before straightening and trying to walk again, Santana clutching at her arm.
“Rach will come get us,” Quinn said, clearing her throat.
“Working,” Santana said, licking her lips audibly as she peered at Quinn. “That show, whatsit. That show tonight. She’s in that show.”
“Chicago,” Quinn supplied, blinking at the earnest expression on Santana’s face. If she weren’t so drunk she’d question her friend further as to why she knew Rachel’s schedule so well. The Chicago think was just a workshop for possible investors, not anything too fancy.
“That’s the one!” Santana exclaimed, snapping her fingers at a businessman smoking a cigarette at the bus station.
“S’over,” Quinn said, squeezing Santana’s arm further into her side and smiling warmly at the now bewildered stranger. “It’s like, over now maybe. She’ll come get us.”
“No.” Santana shook her head and bumped her shoulder into Quinn’s. They stopped at the crosswalk and Santana looked to her left and then to her right before tilting her head up to observe the street sign. “I can do it. Let’s go left.”
Quinn let herself get pulled drunkenly back down the sidewalk on to some street that she was having trouble recognizing.
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” Santana answered definitively.
“Do you even know where we are?”
“I’m a fucking cop,” Santana spat. “I could do this drunk, sober, asleep, fucking, fucking whatever. I can figure it out.”
“Yeah, okay,” Quinn replied, her head feeling way more heavy than normal. It lolled back onto her shoulders and she observed the dark night sky with pensiveness. “Think it will rain?”
“It always rains,” Santana grumbled, picking up pace.
“Yeah,” Quinn sighed, blinking up at the sky still, trusting Santana to lead them.
They finally arrived at Santana’s building after who knew how long and they stumbled past the night guard, Santana swaying in front of the elevator buttons for a few seconds before she was able to push the up button correctly.
After a few moments of fumbling, Santana dropping her keys twice and Quinn pulling them into a wall, they finally got the door to Santana and Brittany’s apartment open and practically fell inside, Quinn tripping over the threshold and bringing Santana with her.
Someone started laughing and it took Quinn a second to realize it was her only because Santana was shoving her shoulder and shushing her.
“Stop shoving me,” Quinn hissed, trying to get the words out around her laughter.
“Stop being loud!” Santana countered, her voice booming in the small entryway.
It only served to make Quinn more hysterical, Santana swaying heavily into Quinn’s side, doubled over in laughter.
“Wow.” A voice broke through the noise and cut Quinn’s chuckling off as she looked around to try and locate its source.
“Rachel,” Santana drawled, her head rolling back onto Quinn’s shoulder. “Quinn, your midget is in my apartment.”
Quinn turned to see Rachel standing in front of them, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in amusement. Brittany stood behind her with Mike, both of them smiling, hands over their mouths to contain their laughter.
“Rachel…” Quinn says, reaching out for her girlfriend and grinning when Rachel grabs her hand.
“Britt, why did you let the small person in?” Santana asks, frowning as she stumbles away from them.
“I was looking for Quinn,” Rachel answered. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
A wrist appeared in front of her face, nearly making her cross-eyed before her vision cleared and she was squinting at Santana’s watch trying to make out the time. “It’s late,” Santana whispered in her ear.
“Late,” Quinn repeated, shifting her gaze to Rachel. “It’s late.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, sterner this time and with much less mirth.
Santana pushed off of Quinn and took a few unsteady steps towards Rachel, pointing her finger forward and waggling it around a little. “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.”
Eyes wide, Rachel jerked back slightly, and glanced back to a still laughing Brittany and Mike. Then, as if Santana just realized the other two were there, she straightened up abruptly. “Brittany!” She exclaimed loudly, then, in a lower voice, “Michael Chang.”
Mike moved towards her and waved a little. “Hey, Santana. Quinn.”
Quinn tried to wave, but her arm just sort of flopped lazily in the air. Out of nowhere, she got the sudden feeling that she had something of severe importance to tell Mike. It propelled her forward in his direction, letting go of Rachel’s hand, stopping a few inches away with what she hoped was a look of utter seriousness on her face.
“How you doing there, Fabray?” Mike chuckled.
She thought about that for a moment, and then suddenly the world started spinning, the floor coming up way faster than normal.
“Whoa,” Mike intoned, moving towards her and scooping her up. She smiled up at him, grateful for not packing it on the ground.
“Hey, thanks.”
“Hey you’re welcome,” Mike replied.
Santana started laughing loudly and she looked over to see her best friend draped over Rachel, grinning at her, Brittany nowhere to be found. Rachel looked terrified.
“Where’s Britt?” Quinn pressed her cheek into the shirt over Mike’s chest and squinted around the apartment.
“Getting you water,” Rachel replied, glaring at Quinn and shifting Santana’s body around. “Santana, I realize you’re inebriated, but I’m not actually strong enough to support your entire body weight.”
Quinn heard the sound of Mike’s laughter through the ear pressed to his chest and closed her eyes as he started to move, walking through the family room until he was setting her down on the couch.
He left and Quinn opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, wishing it would stop spinning.
“Thank you, Mike,” she heard Rachel say before she turned her head to see Mike carrying Santana farther into the apartment, the distant sound of her best friend’s grumbling reaching her ears.
Brittany’s face appeared in front of her, sitting down on the couch near her hip. “You should drink some water,” Brittany said, handing her a glass and smiling. As she sat up a little to grab at the water, a little of it spilling onto her hands, she saw Rachel over Brittany’s shoulder, scowling.
“Thanks,” she whispered, bringing the glass to her lips and drinking. Brittany brushed a hand over Quinn’s head, pushing some of the hair away while she drank before standing up and moving towards Rachel.
“You guys can stay here tonight. I don’t think moving her is going to be happening,” Brittany said.
Rachel glanced at Quinn, then back at Brittany. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Britt.”
Bouncing a little on her toes, Brittany chuckled and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s neck, pulling their bodies together and kissing her on the top of the head. Quinn finished her water and let the glass fall from her hands to the carpet. “Of course, Rachers.”
Mike came back into the room and walked over to them as Brittany and Rachel pulled apart. Quinn pressed her head further into the couch pillow and blinked.
“Santana’s all good, but she’s going to have a killer headache I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll come by in the morning with some Gatorade and extra strength aspirin.
“Thanks, Mike,” Brittany replied, bounding over to him and wrapping him up in a hug too.
“Hey, you guys’d do the same for me.”
Brittany stepped away and Mike moved to hug Rachel before coming over to Quinn. “See you in the morning, Quinn,” he said, grabbing her fist and pressing his against it.
“Night, Mikey,” she slurred, smiling.
Brittany laughed and then the next thing Quinn was aware of was the door slamming shut and Rachel coming to sit next to her on the couch.
“Night guys,” Brittany called, striding back towards the bedroom.
“Good night,” Rachel replied.
“Love you!” Quinn yelled, laughing a little and reaching out towards her best friend. The movement nearly threw her off the couch, but Rachel grabbed her and kept her put.
“Will you be careful?” Rachel sounded irritated and tired, and drunk or not Quinn reacted to the sound.
“Baby,” she pleaded, managing to get her hand somewhere on Rachel’s body. “Don’t be mad.”
Rachel shook her head, turning to pull Quinn’s shoes off. “I’m not mad.”
Quinn hummed. “Kind of think you are.”
“Do you know how late it is? I was worried about you.”
“I was with Santana,” Quinn explained, licking her lips and trying not to fall asleep. “Santana wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
“Santana was clearly equally if not more intoxicated then you considering that’s the most she’s used my real name in a conversation the entire time I’ve known her.”
Quinn laughed. “That was pretty funny.”
“Quinn, I’m being serious.”
“We’re fine, we’re here now and you’re taking care of me.” Quinn closed her eyes as Rachel’s hands pulled her jacket off and managed to remove it without dislodging Quinn from the couch.
“Yeah, you’re lucky you have people around that care about you,” Rachel mumbled.
“I know.”
Rachel stilled, but Quinn opened her eyes a little to see her smiling softly.
--
In the morning, Quinn’s woken up by a familiar body bouncing on top of hers as blonde hair falls over her face and Brittany’s laughter breaks through the sleepy haze fogging her brain.
“Morning, Q,” Brittany whispers, perched on Quinn’s stomach. Long fingers pull up on Quinn’s eyelids so she swats them away and laughs, pushing at Brittany’s thighs to get her to move.
“Morning,” she groans as Brittany stands and steps away.
“I’m going to make waffles,” Brittany announces, staring at Rachel’s sleeping form on the couch. “You want some?”
Waffles. Brittany’s waffles. Quinn’s stomach growls as her heart tightens and she nods happily. “Yeah, waffles sound awesome.”
“Awesome,” Brittany repeats with a grin, practically bouncing towards the kitchen.
Quinn stands and looks at Rachel, brown hair spread over the pillow, chest rising and falling slowly.
“Rach,” Quinn says softly, leaning over and running her fingers over Rachel’s forehead lightly. “Rach, wake up.”
Rachel’s eyes pop open alarmingly fast and Quinn jerks back. “Good morning!” Rachel says brightly, moving to sit up.
Stepping back, Quinn grabs the pill bottle on the table next to her and eyes her wife suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel makes grabby hands at the bottle Quinn’s holding until Quinn hands it over. “Fantastic,” she answers.
Brittany, who must have heard Rachel wake up, strides back into the room. “Hi, Rach!”
“Hey, Brittany,” Rachel says with a smile. Brittany steps around the couch to give a soft hug and a kiss to the top of Rachel’s head.
“I’m making waffles,” she whispers as if it’s a secret.
Rachel’s head perks up as she looks at Brittany, her hands opening the pill bottle and dumping two of the small pills into her palm. “Fabulous,” she replies.
“Good,” Brittany says with a nod, detaching from Rachel and exiting back into the kitchen.
Rachel stands, a bit unsteadily, and hands Quinn the pills back, smiling at her and following Brittany into the kitchen. Shaking her head, Quinn grabs a small duffel bag on the floor beside the couch and rummages through it, grabbing out a new shirt and she and Rachel’s toiletries. “I’m going to go brush my teeth,” she announces, peering into the kitchen to see Brittany with her head in the fridge and Rachel leaned up against her back.
At her voice, though, Rachel stands up straight and looks at Quinn, making her way back towards her and grinning in an entirely unsettling manner. “Me too.”
“Okay,” she draws out, laughing at her wife.
Rachel latches onto the hem of Quinn’s shirt and pulls as she walks towards the guest bathroom, stepping inside and running the water. Quinn sets her bag on the sink and shuts the door before setting her shirt down on the lid of the toilet and pulling off the one she’s wearing.
She’s barely got her shirt over her head when small hands on her abdomen make her jump in surprise. Managing to pull the shirt off the entire way, Quinn chucks it on the ground and stares down into Rachel’s smiling face, as the smaller woman’s fingers drum on the muscles of Quinn’s stomach.
“Hello,” Quinn says though it sounds more like a question.
“You’re hot,” Rachel whispers.
“Okay,” Quinn drawls, putting her hands on top of Rachel’s and pressing them into her stomach to hold them there.
“Yup,” Rachel says, nodding slowly and focusing on Quinn. “You’re like really hot.”
“Thanks,” Quinn laughs, letting go of one of Rachel’s hands to grab her discarded shirt. “Brush your teeth. Do something useful.”
Quinn’s barely turned around to put her shirt on when Rachel reaches up with her free hand to grab the back of Quinn’s neck, pulling her head down to press their lips together.
Responding to the kiss, because when her wife kisses her like that it’s hard not to kiss back, Quinn let’s go of Rachel’s other hand and grabs Rachel’s hips, pushing her back and pulling her lips away.
“Rach,” Quinn admonishes.
“Yeah?”
Quinn kisses her again, softly, just because she can, before saying, “Brush your teeth.”
“No,” Rachel argues. “Kiss me instead.”
“Brush your teeth,” Quinn commands, maneuvering Rachel around by the hips to face the sink.
Rachel mumbles something under her breath but obeys, picking her toothbrush up out of the bag Quinn brought and grudgingly starting in on her task. Quinn pulls her shirt over her head and starts to do the same, standing beside her, smiling when Rachel starts to hum her morning song.
--
Brittany’s got half the contents of the fridge out on the counter when Quinn and Rachel return to the kitchen, and she’s mixing batter into a large mixing bowl, a bright happy smile spread across her lips as she makes faces at the dog bouncing around her legs.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Brittany says, looking up as they come into view and cocking her head toward a plate of already made waffles set in the middle of the counter.
Quinn strides to a coffee maker on the opposite side of the kitchen, ruffling her hand over Nemo’s head in greeting and exhales in relief at seeing the coffee already made. “Thanks for making coffee,” she says, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a mug.
“Coffee,” Rachel mumbles, shuffling across the kitchen until she’s leaned up against Quinn’s back, her head landing on Quinn’s shoulder blade. “I want coffee.”
“No,” Quinn laughs, pouring the hot, brown liquid into her cup and setting it down.
“Yes,” Rachel counters, poking at Quinn’s back. “Coffee good. I want coffee.”
“I’m pretty sure there has never been a drop of decaf in this apartment in the history of its existence,” Quinn says, turning around and grabbing Rachel. “Why don’t you go eat some of Brittany’s waffles?”
“You’re so mean to me,” Rachel says, squinting her eyes and pouting up at Quinn. “You won’t kiss me, you won’t give me coffee.”
“Rach,” Quinn sighs. She can hear Brittany laughing from where she’s pouring batter into a waffle maker.
“You know what?” Rachel says suddenly, straightening and widening her eyes. Quinn doesn’t like that look. That look is making her suspicious of Rachel’s shiny new plan.
“What?” Quinn asks, drawing out the word and glancing between her wife and Brittany, setting her bowl of batter down and watching the exchange with amused interest.
Rachel nods once and steps back, turning to walk towards Brittany until she’s standing in front of the taller girl and smiling, evilly. “Hello, Brittany.”
“Hello, Rachel,” Brittany parrots, smiling.
“Would you give me coffee if I asked for it?” Quinn rolls her eyes at Rachel’s question.
“Sure,” Brittany shrugs, chuckling.
“Real coffee? With caffeine?” Rachel rocks up a little on her feet as she asks the question.
“Whatever you want, Shortstack.” Brittany pats Rachel on the head.
“Rachel,” Quinn chastises, but before she can get another word out Rachel is tugging Brittany towards her by the hem of her shirt and pressing their lips together in a kiss.
To say Quinn is shocked at this moment is a gross understatement.
He best friend and her wife are making out. Legitimately making out. Rachel’s fingers are still wrapped up in Brittany’s shirt and Brittany’s hands are now gripping Rachel’s cheeks and their mouths are moving against each others like they have no plan to stop. And from the looks of it, the comfort shown in the way Brittany’s fingers splay across Rachel’s face, they’ve done this before. Quinn doesn’t know whether she’s completely appalled or mildly interested.
“Rachel!” Quinn finally exclaims, needing them to stop before she has an aneurysm or something. The pair break apart and Brittany is smiling like she just won the lottery before she breaks into uncontrollable giggles.
“What?” Rachel asks as innocently as she can. “You won’t give me what I want so I have to go elsewhere.”
“That is a ridiculous argument!” Quinn puts her hands on her hips and glares at her best friend, who’s still laughing, one hand over her lips as she watches Rachel.
“It is not. It is a perfectly reasonable line of reasoning. My logic is completely logical.”
“You’re high,” Quinn says, shaking her head.
“You’re high,” Rachel counters uselessly.
Brittany laughs particularly loud at that statement and Quinn cuts her a glare again. “I’m going to go get Santana,” Brittany adds, pointing out of the kitchen before walking past them, still laughing.
Quinn shakes her head and purses her lips at her wife. “We’re in the middle of a crisis and you’re high on pain meds.”
“You make it sound so sordid and intentional.”
“High as a kite and using words like sordid,” Quinn laughs. “Making out with my best friend.”
Rachel takes a step back towards Quinn, smirking a little. “That was hardly making out.”
“Well what do you call it then?”
Grabbing at the bottom of Quinn’s shirt, Rachel tugs her forward and smiles up at her before leaning up and kissing Quinn hard on the lips. Quinn can’t do much but go along with it because Rachel’s fingers are scratching at the skin under Quinn’s shirt and her tongue is stroking inside Quinn’s mouth and she just really, really likes doing this.
Rachel pulls away and smiles up at her. “That’s called making out.”
Quinn can barely nod before Rachel’s lips are on hers again. The world sort of fades down to just this, Rachel’s mouth slanting against her own and she’s not aware of anything else but her wife’s body pressed up against hers until Santana’s voice cuts through the kiss, disgusted and mumbling something about infecting her apartment.
--
Breakfast is a strange affair, just like dinner was the night before because Quinn’s not really used to having the four of them together. That, and Rachel is still thoroughly enjoying the side effects of her pain meds, which means that Santana is having just about the most fun she’s had in ages and Quinn and Brittany are left listening to the two of them gripe at each other.
To be honest, Santana looks so uncharacteristically happy and free compared to the last few months that Quinn doesn’t even want to intervene. She lets Santana and Rachel argue all through breakfast and Quinn couldn’t be happier. From the looks of the smile on Brittany’s face as she looks at Santana, neither can she.
Santana leaves eventually because there's actually still a crazy madman out there that she has to catch, and Quinn is left in the apartment feeling both completely useless and charged with the most important of tasks at the same time.
There’s Rachel and there’s Brittany and there’s this unknown, strange element out there that’s threatening everything good in Quinn’s life. She feels her knee shake in anxiety just thinking about it.
Brittany must notice because after a few minutes of talking to Rachel, Quinn stewing in silence, Brittany claps her hands together and jumps a little bit. “You guys want to see a new dance?”
“Yes!” Rachel exclaims, far too enthusiastically than normal.
“Okay,” Brittany replies. Her friend walks over to Quinn and tugs her arm to get her to stand, maneuvering her to an open space in the living room. “Stand there, I’ll teach you.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Brittany,” she sighs and her friend catches on to the tone almost immediately.
“Q, I teach this to first graders, you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, baby,” Rachel says, grabbing Quinn’s hand and smiling at Brittany. “If first graders can do it I’m sure you’ll be okay.”
She looks at these two women in front of her, all smiles and excitement and such a contrast to the dark rainy world that Quinn can see outside the window that she doesn’t think she should deny them this.
“Yeah, okay,” she laughs. “Teach me.”
--
Getting woken up in the middle of the night was something Quinn was used to. It happened often enough whether it was Santana calling her after a bad shift for a drink, or a client needing a late night bail out. Couple that with the fact that Rachel worked weird, strange hours and would often wake Quinn up when she finally got to bed and Quinn was pretty much used to not getting a full night of uninterrupted sleep.
So when her phone rang loudly across a silent room and she rolled over in bed to see the clock flashing a mocking 3:00 at her she wasn’t surprised. What was surprising was Santana’s half amused, half worried voice on the other end telling her to get to the hospital as fast as she could.
She shot up in bed and her heart sped up, the empty space next to her feeling wide and consuming as she stared at it and tried not to let her brain jump to the worst possible conclusion. Because the worst possible conclusion would devastate her.
“What is it?” The question was soft but firm and urgent. “Just tell me.”
She could hear Santana pause and take a deep breath. “Everyone is fine, Q,” she said, lowly. “Just get to the hospital. They have to release Rachel into someone’s care and I can’t take her.”
Jumping out of bed, Quinn reached for a discarded pair of jeans over a chair and tugged them on quickly. “What happened?”
“She’s fine. Just come get her, yeah? She can tell you,” Santana chuckled a little and Quinn clenched her jaw at the sound. “She’s already screaming it to the whole damn hospital.”
“Be there in ten,” she said, shutting her phone and dropping into her pocket. Bolting out of the bedroom she barely remembered to slip shoes on before making it outside.
--
It took entirely too long to get to the hospital in Quinn’s opinion, but once she was there it was fairly easy to find Rachel in the relatively chaotic floor of the ER. It was made easier for her by the near shrieking sound Quinn was greeted with almost instantly; she would recognize that sound as Rachel almost anywhere.
The fast rhythm of Quinn’s heart slowed as soon as her wife came into view and she let out a deep sigh of relief at seeing her in one piece and in true Rachel Berry fashion, berating the nurse in front of her. She could make out something like a demand to be released and a threat to sue the hospital because, “my wife is an absurdly competent lawyer and you will not appreciate her wrath,” and that was about when Quinn realized Rachel was totally fine.
Well, she knew that until she stepped closer to the bed, weaving in and out of doctors and nurses, to see the bandage on Rachel’s wrist and the butterfly tape over her cheekbone. Her heart sped up again and her fist clenched, a strong desire to punch somebody, anybody, thrumming through her, hot white guilt following fast on its heels.
Rachel finally took notice of her, stopping mid-argument and turning to look at Quinn, a million emotions flashing across her face as realization took hold. “Quinn!” Rachel exclaimed, eyes darting between the nurse and Quinn.
Stepping closer to Rachel, Quinn put her lips to her wife’s forehead with a whispered, “Hey, baby.”
She stepped back and eyed the scene suspiciously again, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. “What happened? Where’s Santana?”
“Santana called you?” Rachel asked, sliding off the bed. She turned to the nurse. “Now that my keeper has come, I can go now, correct?” Quinn heard the agitation and frustration all over her wife’s tone and wondered what could have possibly gone down and why she wasn’t called right away. It would have taken Rachel some time to get to this level of contempt and Quinn hated the feeling of being left in the dark.
The nurse waved them both away and walked to another bed with a roll of her eyes, so Quinn grabbed the sides of Rachel’s face gently and forced her wife to make eye contact with her. “What happened?” Quinn asked in a fervent whisper.
“I’m fine,” Rachel said, grabbing Quinn’s hands and stepping in closer to her. “Can we go home now?”
“No,” Quinn replied, looking up and around the ER, but keeping her hands on Rachel. “Where is Santana?”
“Why?”
“Because maybe she’ll actually tell me what the hell happened,” she said, raising an eyebrow at her wife and pursing her lips.
As if on cue, Santana took that moment to stride into the ER, Puck right behind her leading a disheveled man that appeared to be cuffed. It might have been three in the morning, but Quinn was an excellent observer and an expert in things like Santana, Rachel and criminals. So it only took one look at Santana’s face as her friend glanced between Rachel and Quinn and one look at Rachel’s as she noticed the guy Puck was leading around for Quinn to put two and two together and get four.
So she did what any sleep-deprived, rational thinker would do. She lunged for the guy with her fist cocked.
Santana must have seen the move before it happened because she shifted in front of Quinn with her hands up just as Rachel came up behind Quinn and grabbed onto her bicep stopping the punch before it could fly through, most likely into Santana’s face.
“Thanks, hobbit. Chill, Fabray,” Santana ordered, indicating with her head for Puck to keep walking. “It’s handled.”
Rachel tugged her backwards, but Quinn resisted the pull and searched Santana’s face. “What happened?”
Santana peered around Quinn’s body to where she could feel Rachel standing and cocked an eyebrow. “She’s not talking,” Quinn provided wryly.
A laugh threatened to burst out of Santana as she brought her other eyebrow up and looked at Quinn. “Call the presses,” she joked.
“S,” Quinn sighed, tugging her arm out of Rachel’s grasp and glaring at her best friend.
Rachel wrapped an arm around Quinn’s waist and leaned into her side. “It’s nothing, it’s fine, can we just go home?”
“No,” Quinn said, not looking down at her wife, but remaining steadfast in her glare towards Santana.
Her friend propped a hand the gun at her waist and scraped the other one over her face to wipe away a smile before talking. “Berry here got herself into a bit of a tussle,” she answered.
“What?” This time Quinn whipped her head down to look at Rachel in surprise.
“I did not,” Rachel denied, narrowing her eyes at Santana. “I was helping a friend.”
“Right,” Santana chuckled. “She tried to beat the crap out of the guy for trying to beat the crap out of one of the dancers in her show.”
“I didn’t try!” Rachel insisted, taking a step towards Santana. “I succeeded, and I had to do it, no one else was intervening!”
Quinn let out a low breath and shook her head. This was so very like Rachel it was almost funny. Almost. Because there was a scrape on Rachel’s cheekbone and a bandage on her wrist and that made the whole situation very unfunny.
“Anyway,” Santana continued. “The guy’s been in five times in the last six month for this same sort of thing. Gets drunk, attacks people, usually gay, spends the whole night screaming obscenities about sin to the entire holding cell. Something about his wife leaving him for another woman or some shit. Who knows? Normally I’d charge Shortbus for assault, considering she actually managed some damage, but-,”
“That’s ridiculous!” Rachel interrupted and Quinn rolled her eyes at Santana’s delighted expression. After years of being together Rachel should know better than to play right into Santana’s hand.
“She’s not arresting you,” Quinn said before the argument got out of hand. Now that she knew the basics of what happened and that the guy who hurt Rachel was in handcuffs in the back of Santana’s car, she felt a lot better and she just wanted to go home where she could keep Rachel safe. “Thanks, S,” she said, reaching a hand out to squeeze Santana’s arm. “I owe you.”
“Single malt,” Santana answered as Quinn turned to lead Rachel away. “Preferably an 18 year.”
Quinn waved her off and laughed as she draped her arm over Rachel’s shoulders and strode out of the ER.
“Arrest me for assault,” Rachel grumbled under her breath. It was cold outside, something Quinn hadn’t really noticed in her haste to get to the hospital, so she tugged Rachel in close to her body and walked quickly towards the subway station. “Ridiculous.”
Quinn didn’t say anything - she didn’t really trust herself to stay calm and rational through a conversation right now - so she just kept moving, making sure they got on the right train and walked the few blocks to their building.
It wasn’t until they were finally home, in their bedroom and Rachel was undressing that Quinn let it all out.
“What the fuck, Rachel?” Quinn blurted out.
Rachel jerked away from her as she stood in their large closet in only her underwear, her shirt held in one hand. “What?”
“You assaulted that thug?! He’s twice your size!” Quinn pulled her sweatshirt off viciously as she tried to control her breathing.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel dropped the shirt onto the floor and walked to where Quinn was standing. “I’m okay,” she said softly, swatting Quinn’s hands away from where they were tugging at the front clasp of her pants. Quinn just kept glaring as Rachel popped open the top button of Quinn’s jeans.
“That’s really not the point,” Quinn said, quieter this time but with the same intensity.
“Isn’t it?” Rachel questioned, tugging the zipper down and staring up at Quinn with soft eyes.
“The point is that you could have gotten seriously hurt,” Quinn gulped, Rachel’s knuckles brushing against her lower stomach shooting tension through her already tightly coiled body.
“He was attacking Anna, Quinn,” Rachel exclaimed, pushing Quinn’s jeans down and bringing their bodies closer together. Quinn kicked the denim off when it pooled around her ankles as Rachel’s palms slid up her abdomen under Quinn’s shirt, the fabric lifting with the motion. “And saying entirely offensive things to her. He was a gay basher, Quinn. I couldn’t just walk by. You should have heard what he said.”
“You could have called for help,” Quinn argued, lifting her shirt off the rest of the way and throwing it somewhere near her jeans. She brushed a hand over the bruising skin over Rachel’s cheekbone.
“No time,” Rachel whispered, knocking her body into Quinn’s. “I can’t just walk away from something like that, Quinn. It’s not who I am. It’s never going to be who I am. I had to stand up for her and against the ignorance that caused that man to attack her.”
“I know that,” Quinn said, her hands moving down to grip Rachel’s hips. “It’s just not worth seeing you hurt.”
Rachel smiled and twisted her arms around Quinn’s neck, pressing a brief, warm kiss on Quinn’s lips. “Some things,” she said into the space between their mouths. “Are worth getting hurt over.”
“When it comes to you, nothing is worth that to me,” Quinn confessed, resting her forehead against Rachel’s. “Absolutely nothing.”
--
There are a few moments in Quinn’s life that she’ll think she’ll remember forever - the day she met Santana and Brittany, the day she got accepted into law school, her first job, meeting Rachel, marrying Rachel, Brittany leaving.
Most of them, aside from the last, are good memories, the best really in a long life full of privilege and happiness.
The worst memory is probably of Brittany leaving, of that last goodbye at Quinn’s apartment and the way Santana looked later at the bar. It’s the kind of memory that keeps Quinn awake at night and makes her heart clench whenever she thinks about it.
It was her worst memory until now.
Until, in the middle of Brittany’s strange explanation of some new complicated dance move her and Mike were teaching the first graders this month, a gunshot resounded from outside the door seconds before it burst open, and Roger Pike, a face that had been haunting Quinn for the past week, strode into the apartment.
They all jump at the commotion, Nemo barking and growling loudly from his bed across the room, but Quinn is shocked into inaction, her gaze stuck unwavering on Pike, her body unmoving. Pike is striding towards Brittany, already closest to him in the room, and Quinn is just standing there, Rachel next to her as it happens.
It takes her a second, just long enough for Pike to actually get his hands on Brittany, a gun aimed in Quinn’s direction, before Quinn can move. But eventually something in her catches up to what’s happening and she snaps into action.
Quinn doesn't think - she just reacts. It's a reaction set so deep in her bones that resisting it is practically impossible. The first thing she does when Pike grabs Brittany is pull Rachel behind her.
The second thing she does is lunge for Pike.
It's too late though, because Pike already has his weapon raised in her direction and Quinn's just not fast enough this time. Strangely though, she doesn't really focus on the way Pike's face looks, ready to kill, or the way Brittany's eyes go wide next to Pike. All she hears is Rachel's strangled gasp behind her and Quinn's never been happier to stand in front of a gunman in her entire life.
She's heard guns go off before, a million times. Hell, she's shot guns herself before, but she's never actually been on the receiving end. So when a searing pain slices through her thigh and her leg kicks back she can't figure out what happened for a second.
She falls face forward. The pain is the first thing that registers in her brain but she pushes it away to try and focus on the blurry image of Pike pulling Brittany out the door, grinning maniacally at her. It's all for nothing though, because she can't seem to move except to roll over as the sound of the door slamming shut bounces in her ear like another gun blast. Rachel is kneeling next to her and despite a desperate relief that her wife is clearly alive and breathing, she thinks about her best friend being dragged away and how she failed to stop it.
Uselessness, guilt and self-loathing pour through her until Rachel's tearful face takes up her entire vision and Quinn's focus shifts back in an instant. It's painful. More painful than she thought it would be, but through all the hurt shooting up through her body and the strong, overwhelming urge to black out she can feel Rachel's small, warm hands on her cheeks, shaking her awake.
"No, no, no," Rachel murmurs. "Quinn, Quinn, baby, stay with me."
She doesn't know why a bullet in the leg is so completely knocking her out, but from the look on Rachel's face and the red smeared over her clothes she must be losing a lot of blood. Shit.
A strong wave of desperation rolls through her and she grabs for her wife. "Rach," she croaks.
"Shhhh," Rachel says, her voice full of tears as she lets go out of Quinn's face and pulls something out from her pocket. Her vision is wavering on Rachel's form, but she can kind of make out the phone in her wife's hands as Rachel brings it to her ear.
Rachel starts talking into the phone and in the back of Quinn's head she can kind of figure out what's going on, but her focus is torn between the pain shooting up her body and the hazy feeling taking over her brain.
"Sorry," she gasps, fingers gripping into Rachel's shirt. The distant thudding sound of what must be Rachel's cell phone hitting the floor filters in through her ears as her wife grabs her face again and shakes it a little.
"No," Rachel denies, gripping harder on to her head. "No, don't you dare just give into that, you hear me? Apology not accepted."
Quinn tries to laugh but her vision is collapsing and it's starting to feel like she's floating in water.
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel warns, shaking her head again. "If you so much as think of going into the light or whatever it is you're seeing right now, I will follow you into the afterlife and drag you out. And then I will make your life a living Hell. You know I can do this."
Pain throbs in her leg and she tries to cling to it, scrambles to hang on to sound of Rachel’s voice still whispering intensely in front of Quinn’s face, but the sound is fading and the pain feels like a roaring in her ears, pounding against her temples and making it hard to think. She wants to sink into it, to let herself get dissolved into the carpet under her body and wake up on the other side.
Something wet drops on her face and her eyes flutter at the sensation. Rachel’s face, her brows pulled together and pain in all her features, goes hazy.
She thinks she gets the words out; she hopes she did. She wants Rachel to hear the I love you she’s been trying to get out since she hit the ground, but she’s not sure it got through. The world goes black around Rachel’s sobbing face.
Rating: NC-17
Words: little over 10k
Notes in Part One
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six
--
Despite feeling tired deep in her bones, Quinn can’t sleep. There’s just too much going on for her to really give into how exhausted she is, but she lets her mind relax a little and takes comfort in the sound of Rachel’s soft snoring and the warmth of the hand she’s still clutching. The room is dimly lit, and Quinn spends her time studying the television against the far wall and the shelving set up all around it. Distantly, she remembers putting the entertainment center together with Santana and Brittany when they first moved in. It feels like a lifetime ago.
A door slams closed and she thinks maybe Santana came back already, but it’s Brittany who bounces into the room and smiles down at her.
“Matt and Finn just left,” Brittany whispers, eyes flickering quickly to Rachel.
Quinn shakes off the lingering lassitude in her body and moves Rachel’s arm away, standing and straightening her clothes out. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, they’ll be back later,” Brittany replies, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “So do you want pizza?”
Looking down at Rachel, she blows out a heavy breath before nodding softly. “Yeah, food is good.”
“Good, because I already ordered it,” Brittany says. “It takes forever and a day for them to get here.”
Quinn laughs and shakes her head as she looks back up at Brittany. It’s so weird for a second that Quinn doesn’t quite know exactly what to say or do. And that just makes it all weirder. This is her best friend. The last six months aside, she’s known this girl her entire life. Yet, here they are, standing in a familiar apartment and she feels like there’s this huge gulf between them.
Brittany seems to sense it too, and decides to do something about it. In a flurry of motion, Brittany flings herself towards Quinn, long arms wrapping around her neck as Brittany presses her face into Quinn’s shoulder and just like that all the space between them disappears. “I miss you,” Brittany croaks. “Like all the time.”
She sucks in a breath and squeezes her eyes shut, bringing her face down to Brittany’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist. Her heart feels like it’s beating triple time and she’s afraid she’s going to start crying, about missing Brittany, about Rachel, about Puck, about this whole fucked up mess she’s started.
“Yeah, B,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice even and low as to not wake up Rachel. “I miss you too. All the time.”
Brittany laughs into Quinn’s neck. “I’m sorry about Rach,” she says.
“Me too,” Quinn gulps, trying desperately to not look down at her still-sleeping wife. Heat spikes in the backs of her eyes as Brittany’s arms tighten around her neck. She doesn’t want to cry again, she feels like that’s all she’s been doing. And it’s useless. How many times can she cry about the same damn things?
Rachel stirs and Quinn whips her head over to check on her, crossing her fingers that she stays asleep. Brittany notices, too, and pulls away, her hands trailing down Quinn’s arms until their fingers are tangled together. “Let’s go hang out in the bedroom,” Brittany suggests, tugging Quinn’s hands backwards as she backs up and cocks her head towards the back of the apartment.
Quinn almost bursts out laughing, her emotions swinging all over the place. Sometimes that question out of Brittany’s lips is more dangerous than anything else. But, in reality, the bedroom was kind of where Brittany did her best work. The bedroom was always Brittany’s remedy for life’s pain. Quinn or Santana would have a bad day and she’d pull them to whatever bed was close and snuggle them into the mattress until they felt better. The remedy was probably slightly modified for Santana, but the procedure was mostly the same.
It seems like the most ineffective method for making Quinn feel better, but Brittany’s been doing it since they were kids and Quinn can’t help the longing deep in her heart at having it suddenly back in her life after so much time. Santana is good at a lot of things, but this was always kind of Brittany’s area of expertise. They work as a unit, Santana with the alcohol and Brittany with the hugs, and Rachel was just this added gift and Quinn didn’t realize just how broken she felt without Brittany until now. Brittany chuckles, winks and squeezes Quinn’s hands as she pulls her down the hallway and skips into the bedroom.
Quinn kind of feels better already.
Brittany pushes Quinn onto the bed when they get there and crawls in next to her, lying on her side and smiling with her head propped up in her hand. Quinn presses her back into the mattress, but turns her head to observe her friend, reacting to the smile without thinking about it. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Nemo curl up into a ball near the door, yawning and licking his lips.
“So,” Brittany breathes.
“This is weird,” Quinn admits in a whisper. It feels strange, caught somewhere between new and familiar, but Quinn likes it.
Brittany chuckles. “Is it?”
“You don’t think so?” Quinn intertwines her fingers together where they rest against her stomach and twiddles her thumbs around as she looks at Brittany.
Shrugging, Brittany looks down at the mattress. “Which part are you talking about, the part where I’m back, or the part where we’re all involved in some weird criminal brouhaha?”
“The part where you’re back,” Quinn answers after a beat of laughter about the brouhaha. She looks away briefly as she asks the next part. “Are you back?”
Brittany laughs and picks at the comforter on the bed. “Yes?”
“Is that an answer or a question?”
“It’s weird,” Brittany jokes, lifting her head to lock eyes with Quinn. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”
Quinn hums lowly in affirmation. She can see Brittany’s perspective easily. When it comes to Santana and Brittany, to Brittany in general, Quinn feels like she doesn’t know what’s going on either.
“I never thought I’d feel like that, you know? Not about this,” Brittany continues. “Not about Santana.”
“She loves you,” Quinn says.
“Yeah,” Brittany laughs. “I know. I wasn’t sure because I had been gone for so long and everything and we’d been together forever and I thought she wanted me to leave, but then she showed up at my apartment and just...”
Quinn reaches over to grab Brittany’s hand and swallows against the emotions she can see flicker across Brittany’s face.
“She’s Santana, you know?” Brittany whispers, squeezing Quinn’s hand and smiling lightly.
“Yeah,” Quinn agrees. “She is.”
“I just want to come home,” Brittany confesses.
“I’m glad,” Quinn replies her voice soft, but firm. “Santana will come around and figure it out, B. She always does.”
“I know. We’re going to be okay,” Brittany says.
“Yeah, you will be.”
Brittany blows out a long breath, her shoulders sagging as she does it before she smiles wider and shifts to snuggle up against Quinn’s shoulder. “Everything else is going to be okay too, Q.”
For the first time that night, Quinn allows herself a shred of hope that Brittany’s right.
--
The first night after Quinn and Rachel broke up early on in their relationship, Quinn spent the night at Santana and Brittany’s in complete misery. When things went wrong in her life it was kind of default setting to show up at their apartment - it was how it had always been with the three of them. At the end of the day, no matter what happened with the rest of the world, Quinn would always have Santana and Brittany around to be there for her. It was one of the few things she never doubted.
Santana was grumpy about the whole thing of course and maintained that Quinn was better off without Rachel, but Brittany was just about the best dose of medicine for a broken heart anyone could ask for. This was mostly because Brittany believed with certainty she could solve the world’s problems with hugs.
So, after the initial shock of Rachel walking out on her wore off and Quinn made it all the way to her friends’ place, she spent the next few hours on Santana and Brittany’s bed watching stupid action flicks and snuggled into Brittany’s side.
“Don’t you have finals to be studying for?” Santana grumbled, walking through the bedroom to open the closet. Nemo, their small cocker spaniel, trotted in behind her and jumped up on the bed, curling up against Quinn’s legs.
“I’m taking one day to wallow in my misery,” Quinn answered, closing her eyes as Brittany’s hands stroked through her hair. “I start tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” Santana replied rolling her eyes. “This whole thing is pathetic.”
“Santana,” Brittany admonished, looking at her girlfriend over the top of Quinn’s head. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice,” Santana said, pulling out a black sweatshirt from inside the closet and tugging it over her head. “I offered Quinn my best bottle of scotch, didn’t I?”
“Alcohol is not the answer to every problem,” Brittany said and Quinn breathed in against the fabric of Brittany’s shirt, inhaling sweat pea and vanilla and realizing absently that the shirt Brittany was wearing was actually Santana’s.
“The only problem alcohol isn’t the answer to is alcoholism,” Santana deadpanned, walking over the bed and plopping down on the edge.
“That’s super comforting to hear you say,” Brittany joked and Quinn could hear the smile without having to look up. Listening to the banter between her friends was soothing in a way, healing the cracks in her composure that Rachel’s leaving had left.
Santana pulled a sock on and crossed her legs to pull on the next one. “Whatever. If Quinn’s not going to be studying we should be going out and doing something to take her mind off the whole thing.”
“We are doing something,” Brittany retorted, running a hand down Quinn’s back. “We’re snuggling.”
The bed moved as Santana stood up and twirled, laughing. “As if hugs can cure all the world’s evils better than a stiff drink and a night out.”
She didn’t have to look up to know Brittany was glaring at Santana, she could see the reaction all over Santana’s face - her super badass, mega tough friend was totally weak when it came to Brittany. “Whatever,” Santana said again, throwing her hands up a little in defeat.
Quinn laughed and shifted her head a little as Brittany twisted strands of her hair around. “You’re so the better friend,” she mumbled loud enough that Santana could hear her but soft enough that it seemed unintentional.
“I heard that,” Santana grumbled.
“It’s going to be okay, Q,” Brittany murmured, laughing at Santana. “She’ll come around.”
“Santana will never come around,” Quinn laughed, turning a little to look at her friend in question. Santana rolled her eyes at both of them and threw her hands up in defeat.
“No,” Brittany chuckled. “I meant Rachel.”
Inhaling sharply, Quinn blinked against the sudden onslaught of tears overwhelming her at the thought of her now-ex-girlfriend. It didn’t feel like she should be so upset, and Santana had said as much, but it still stung so much more than she could have expected. “I hope so,” she whispered. She could hear Santana shuffling around the room as Quinn pressed her cheek further into Brittany’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
“She will,” Brittany said with calm certainty.
“Lethal Weapon 4,” Santana announced, popping a DVD into their player across the room and jumping onto the bed. “If we’re not going to get drunk we’re going to watch a decent movie.”
--
Quinn hears Rachel before she sees her, a muffled crash that has Quinn rolling out of bed quickly and a very un-Rachel like curse word floating down the hallway from the living room. Laughing a little, she sends a look to a bemused Brittany and walks back towards her wife, her hands already on her hip and an eyebrow raised when Rachel comes into view.
“What are you doing?” The question comes out of Quinn’s mouth with heavy censure as she watches Rachel try to gather herself off the floor after presumably rolling off the couch.
“That should be obvious,” Rachel mumbles, clearly annoyed.
Quinn crosses the distance between them and holds on to Rachel’s bicep, helping her stand steadily on her feet and glaring at her. “Rach, you shouldn’t be moving. Your ribs need time to heal.”
“My ribs are fine,” Rachel argues, staring at Quinn. Her eyes are wide, her jaw dropped open a fraction and her head is slowly waving back and forth as if she can’t keep it still. Quinn notes the bottle of organic pain killers sitting on the coffee table. “I need to shower.”
“You need to lie down,” Quinn counters.
“I need to shower,” Rachel insists, shoving Quinn away from her and then rocking off balance from the motion.
“Whoa,” Quinn mumbles, stepping back forward and grabbing Rachel’s arms. “Okay, fine,” she concedes, knowing that trying to argue with Rachel while she was both waking up and high off pain killers would be futile. “Let’s go take a shower.”
Brittany laughs from behind her as she moves through the living room and heads towards the kitchen. “I’m going to call Mike while you guys are in the shower.”
It’s an offhand, nothing kind of comment because it’s Mike Brittany’s closest friend after Quinn and Rachel and it’s about the most normal thing in the entire world that Brittany’s calling him. But Quinn hasn’t seen Mike since Brittany left and the more that Brittany’s back the more Quinn’s realizing just how much her life changed that one night six months ago.
“Tell him I said hi,” she tells Brittany in a soft voice and she can feel Rachel’s eyes on her.
Brittany seems to realize the seriousness of the moment because her voice is low and even when she responds with an equally soft, “I will.”
Nodding, and smiling at her wife, she strides out of the room, watching Rachel carefully as they make their way back to the shower.
--
They get back into the kitchen to see Brittany opening a pizza box on the counter and smiling at the food, the smell of cheese and pizza sauce making Quinn’s stomach growl. “God, that smells good,” she comments, coming up to the counter and observing the pizza over Brittany’s shoulder.
“I know,” Brittany drawls, pushing Nemo away with her leg as the dog whimpers for handouts. “Pizza is the best thing ever.”
Quinn laughs and grabs two of the plates Brittany had set out, setting one in front of a stool as Rachel maneuvers her way on to it.
“Santana not home yet?” Quinn eyes the pizza in front of her trying to choose which piece to take. Choosing the first piece is an art. One she, Brittany and Santana had perfected over years and years of pizza nights.
“Not yet,” Brittany answers, staring with equal intensity at the box.
They both stare at the pizza, their shoulders close as they stand in silence. Rachel breaks the spell with a disgruntled noise, “For goodness sake, just choose a freakin’ piece. I know this is some sort of studied ritual but I was hit by a car and am starving. Think of your wife, Quinn.”
Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up on her head and Brittany laughs, Rachel glaring at them from her perch at the counter.
Before Quinn can lecture about how Rachel knows how important choosing the first piece is and how she should have more respect for their method, Brittany skims her hand over the food, fingers waggling over all the pieces before deciding on one and picking it up from the pie.
“Finally,” Rachel breathes, barely letting Quinn set the slice on her plate before she’s chewing on it.
Quinn shakes her head, a little disgruntled that her pizza ritual was cut short by her wife’s impatience, but her stomach is grateful as she sits down next to Rachel and starts eating her own slice.
“Drink?” Brittany asks around a mouthful of food. Quinn nods, while Rachel reaches across the table for another slice of pizza despite not having finished the one she’s currently eating.
Brittany grabs herself a bottle of beer, setting it on the counter and then pours a glass of water for Rachel. A few minutes later she’s back at the counter with Santana’s bottle of Glenlivet and a short glass.
Quinn lets out a grateful breath and watches as Brittany pours her the drink, sliding it across the counter until it’s next to her plate and putting the bottle on the counter next to it. Quinn takes a sip as the door to the apartment opens and her other best friend strides in, a wet, sopping mess.
When Brittany left, Quinn took notice. She felt the absence in her life like a big gaping black hole floating next to her and next to Santana. She noticed. But the pain faded to a dull ache after the days turned into months and Brittany still wasn’t back. She learned to adjust, to train her body to deal with the void, to convince herself maybe it wasn’t there.
Now, though, with Brittany back, giggling at Santana and smiling and pressed all up against her like they’re patched together, Quinn’s having trouble breathing. It all feels so transient, like this moment is just a small reprieve before Brittany’s out the door again.
It’s stupid to think because Brittany basically told her moments ago that she was back back and Santana’s clutching her like she never wants to let go, but she’s failing to enjoy this moment because she’s so worried about the next. When she looks at her friends, standing together and smiling at each other like they’re still in love and happy and perfect, all she sees is Brittany crying on her doorstep as she says goodbye and Santana shooting tequila at Rick’s. All she sees is Brittany leaving and all she feels is pain.
Rachel bumps against her, then, and smiles, her cheeks full of pizza, sauce on her lips. It’s a small thing, the thing that’s kept her sane for all these months and years. Santana starts shaking out her hair as she settles down next to Brittany, then, and her small, happy thing starts snapping about the sanctity of pizza.
Santana snaps back, and Brittany talks to Quinn over their argument, and Nemo circles the table with whines. It’s familiar. It’s normal. Quinn forgets, for a little bit.
--
Rachel insists that they sleep on the couch for some reason, which sort of irks Quinn because Santana offered them a bed she knows is soft and comfortable and spacious enough for both of them. But stubborn is Rachel’s baseline attitude, so Quinn knew she wasn’t really going to win that argument.
So here she is, on the floor of her best friend’s living room with her wife next to her on the couch and her two best friends having sex in a bedroom down the hall.
At least some things are getting back to normal. At this point, the sound of their debauchery is just background noise.
“Go to sleep,” Rachel orders, her hand dangling over the side of the couch towards Quinn’s body, sometimes tugging at the collar of Quinn’s t-shirt for no discernible reason.
“I can’t,” Quinn replies, hitting Rachel’s fingers with hers softly. She doesn’t even bother asking how Rachel could tell she wasn’t asleep.
“Why not?” Rachel shifts, but still doesn’t open her eyes, her fingers tapping back against Quinn’s. It distracts her, just a little bit.
“Can’t you hear them having sex?” Quinn hisses, ending the question with an incredulous laugh.
This time Rachel turns her head and opens her eyes to look at Quinn. “No. And if you can, then you should ignore it, considering you’ve likely heard it at least four hundred times before. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” Quinn grumbles, dropping her hand to her stomach. Rachel’s fingers search for hers and find her chest instead.
“We could have sex,” Rachel offers, smirking. “That would probably distract you.”
The offer is appealing, and distracting because Rachel’s leaning over the bed a little and brown hair is falling over her shoulders, and her fingers are where they are and Quinn’s just always found Rachel extremely attractive. That, and her body always seems to overrule her brain when Rachel looks at her like that.
“No,” Quinn replies firmly, snapping out of her small Rachel induced trance, pointedly looking away and staring at the ceiling.
Rachel laughs - this deep, throaty laugh that does nothing for Quinn’s resolve.
“Go to sleep,” Quinn commands.
“I was!” Rachel exclaims, laughing.
“Will you stop laughing at me?”
“Will you come up here and kiss me?”
Quinn frowns, feeling petulant. “No.”
Rachel’s fingers move upwards and end up poking Quinn in the cheek and she swats at them, irritated. “Stop it.”
“Why are you so cranky?” Rachel’s still laughing and Quinn rolls her eyes. Of all the times for Rachel to get all slaphappy.
“Oh I don’t know.” She holds her finger in the air to tick of the reasons. “I’m sleeping on the floor. My two friends are going at it like rabbits in the other room. You got hit by a car. There’s a picture out there of my father linked to a crazy madman. My entire life feels like it’s getting hit with a two by four.”
Rachel grabs her hand and pulls it towards her. “I love you.”
Quinn swallows. This moment feels so much more serious than the last and fear, hot and sudden, bubbles up in her chest, her heart pounding as she really, truly thinks about all the implications of what’s going on around them. Rachel’s hands tighten around her own, like she can read it off her face.
“Quinn,” Rachel says, her voice soft and low, all hints of the early drug-induced laughter gone. “It’s going to be okay. I love you and it’s all going to be okay.”
“Yeah, I know,” Quinn says, swallowing and willing the adrenaline out of her body. She’s trying to contol her voice, keep tears out of her eyes, but Rachel knows. Rachel always knows.
“No you don’t,” Rachel counters, gripping her hand tighter, “but I’ll keep reminding you.”
“Thanks,” Quinn replies softly.
“You’re welcome. Now come up here and let’s have sex.”
“Oh my God,” Quinn groans, pulling her hand away and covering her eyes as she lets out a long stream of laughter.
She hears a low moan following hers from down the hallway that she unfortunately recognizes as Santana.
“Now, I did hear that,” Rachel mutters. “Are you sure you don’t want to have sex? We could try and out-noise them.”
It’s going to be a long night.
--
Quinn did not mean to get this drunk. Honestly. Getting this drunk was not really in her game plan for the night, but apparently it had been in Santana’s because here they were. Drunker than Quinn’s been in awhile as they tried to figure out how exactly to get home.
“We should call Brittany,” Quinn suggested, blinking slowly at the cement sidewalk under her feet. She tried to follow the lines and keep herself straight, but she didn’t think she was really succeeding, because her feet seemed to have a different agenda.
Santana looped her arm through Quinn’s and pulled them both forward, still swaying a little as they walked. “Can’t,” Santana answered.
“We should call Brittany,” Quinn repeated, the words slurring a little as Santana swayed abruptly to the side, bringing Quinn with her.
“Can’t,” Santana replied again, clearly undisturbed that she had answered Quinn’s question twice. “She’s doing some movie thing with Mike. Told her I wouldn’t bother her.”
Quinn pulled Santana to the left as they sidestepped a pedestrian, but she stumbled a little, hitting her shoulder against the brick wall of a store front before straightening and trying to walk again, Santana clutching at her arm.
“Rach will come get us,” Quinn said, clearing her throat.
“Working,” Santana said, licking her lips audibly as she peered at Quinn. “That show, whatsit. That show tonight. She’s in that show.”
“Chicago,” Quinn supplied, blinking at the earnest expression on Santana’s face. If she weren’t so drunk she’d question her friend further as to why she knew Rachel’s schedule so well. The Chicago think was just a workshop for possible investors, not anything too fancy.
“That’s the one!” Santana exclaimed, snapping her fingers at a businessman smoking a cigarette at the bus station.
“S’over,” Quinn said, squeezing Santana’s arm further into her side and smiling warmly at the now bewildered stranger. “It’s like, over now maybe. She’ll come get us.”
“No.” Santana shook her head and bumped her shoulder into Quinn’s. They stopped at the crosswalk and Santana looked to her left and then to her right before tilting her head up to observe the street sign. “I can do it. Let’s go left.”
Quinn let herself get pulled drunkenly back down the sidewalk on to some street that she was having trouble recognizing.
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” Santana answered definitively.
“Do you even know where we are?”
“I’m a fucking cop,” Santana spat. “I could do this drunk, sober, asleep, fucking, fucking whatever. I can figure it out.”
“Yeah, okay,” Quinn replied, her head feeling way more heavy than normal. It lolled back onto her shoulders and she observed the dark night sky with pensiveness. “Think it will rain?”
“It always rains,” Santana grumbled, picking up pace.
“Yeah,” Quinn sighed, blinking up at the sky still, trusting Santana to lead them.
They finally arrived at Santana’s building after who knew how long and they stumbled past the night guard, Santana swaying in front of the elevator buttons for a few seconds before she was able to push the up button correctly.
After a few moments of fumbling, Santana dropping her keys twice and Quinn pulling them into a wall, they finally got the door to Santana and Brittany’s apartment open and practically fell inside, Quinn tripping over the threshold and bringing Santana with her.
Someone started laughing and it took Quinn a second to realize it was her only because Santana was shoving her shoulder and shushing her.
“Stop shoving me,” Quinn hissed, trying to get the words out around her laughter.
“Stop being loud!” Santana countered, her voice booming in the small entryway.
It only served to make Quinn more hysterical, Santana swaying heavily into Quinn’s side, doubled over in laughter.
“Wow.” A voice broke through the noise and cut Quinn’s chuckling off as she looked around to try and locate its source.
“Rachel,” Santana drawled, her head rolling back onto Quinn’s shoulder. “Quinn, your midget is in my apartment.”
Quinn turned to see Rachel standing in front of them, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in amusement. Brittany stood behind her with Mike, both of them smiling, hands over their mouths to contain their laughter.
“Rachel…” Quinn says, reaching out for her girlfriend and grinning when Rachel grabs her hand.
“Britt, why did you let the small person in?” Santana asks, frowning as she stumbles away from them.
“I was looking for Quinn,” Rachel answered. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
A wrist appeared in front of her face, nearly making her cross-eyed before her vision cleared and she was squinting at Santana’s watch trying to make out the time. “It’s late,” Santana whispered in her ear.
“Late,” Quinn repeated, shifting her gaze to Rachel. “It’s late.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, sterner this time and with much less mirth.
Santana pushed off of Quinn and took a few unsteady steps towards Rachel, pointing her finger forward and waggling it around a little. “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.”
Eyes wide, Rachel jerked back slightly, and glanced back to a still laughing Brittany and Mike. Then, as if Santana just realized the other two were there, she straightened up abruptly. “Brittany!” She exclaimed loudly, then, in a lower voice, “Michael Chang.”
Mike moved towards her and waved a little. “Hey, Santana. Quinn.”
Quinn tried to wave, but her arm just sort of flopped lazily in the air. Out of nowhere, she got the sudden feeling that she had something of severe importance to tell Mike. It propelled her forward in his direction, letting go of Rachel’s hand, stopping a few inches away with what she hoped was a look of utter seriousness on her face.
“How you doing there, Fabray?” Mike chuckled.
She thought about that for a moment, and then suddenly the world started spinning, the floor coming up way faster than normal.
“Whoa,” Mike intoned, moving towards her and scooping her up. She smiled up at him, grateful for not packing it on the ground.
“Hey, thanks.”
“Hey you’re welcome,” Mike replied.
Santana started laughing loudly and she looked over to see her best friend draped over Rachel, grinning at her, Brittany nowhere to be found. Rachel looked terrified.
“Where’s Britt?” Quinn pressed her cheek into the shirt over Mike’s chest and squinted around the apartment.
“Getting you water,” Rachel replied, glaring at Quinn and shifting Santana’s body around. “Santana, I realize you’re inebriated, but I’m not actually strong enough to support your entire body weight.”
Quinn heard the sound of Mike’s laughter through the ear pressed to his chest and closed her eyes as he started to move, walking through the family room until he was setting her down on the couch.
He left and Quinn opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, wishing it would stop spinning.
“Thank you, Mike,” she heard Rachel say before she turned her head to see Mike carrying Santana farther into the apartment, the distant sound of her best friend’s grumbling reaching her ears.
Brittany’s face appeared in front of her, sitting down on the couch near her hip. “You should drink some water,” Brittany said, handing her a glass and smiling. As she sat up a little to grab at the water, a little of it spilling onto her hands, she saw Rachel over Brittany’s shoulder, scowling.
“Thanks,” she whispered, bringing the glass to her lips and drinking. Brittany brushed a hand over Quinn’s head, pushing some of the hair away while she drank before standing up and moving towards Rachel.
“You guys can stay here tonight. I don’t think moving her is going to be happening,” Brittany said.
Rachel glanced at Quinn, then back at Brittany. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Britt.”
Bouncing a little on her toes, Brittany chuckled and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s neck, pulling their bodies together and kissing her on the top of the head. Quinn finished her water and let the glass fall from her hands to the carpet. “Of course, Rachers.”
Mike came back into the room and walked over to them as Brittany and Rachel pulled apart. Quinn pressed her head further into the couch pillow and blinked.
“Santana’s all good, but she’s going to have a killer headache I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll come by in the morning with some Gatorade and extra strength aspirin.
“Thanks, Mike,” Brittany replied, bounding over to him and wrapping him up in a hug too.
“Hey, you guys’d do the same for me.”
Brittany stepped away and Mike moved to hug Rachel before coming over to Quinn. “See you in the morning, Quinn,” he said, grabbing her fist and pressing his against it.
“Night, Mikey,” she slurred, smiling.
Brittany laughed and then the next thing Quinn was aware of was the door slamming shut and Rachel coming to sit next to her on the couch.
“Night guys,” Brittany called, striding back towards the bedroom.
“Good night,” Rachel replied.
“Love you!” Quinn yelled, laughing a little and reaching out towards her best friend. The movement nearly threw her off the couch, but Rachel grabbed her and kept her put.
“Will you be careful?” Rachel sounded irritated and tired, and drunk or not Quinn reacted to the sound.
“Baby,” she pleaded, managing to get her hand somewhere on Rachel’s body. “Don’t be mad.”
Rachel shook her head, turning to pull Quinn’s shoes off. “I’m not mad.”
Quinn hummed. “Kind of think you are.”
“Do you know how late it is? I was worried about you.”
“I was with Santana,” Quinn explained, licking her lips and trying not to fall asleep. “Santana wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
“Santana was clearly equally if not more intoxicated then you considering that’s the most she’s used my real name in a conversation the entire time I’ve known her.”
Quinn laughed. “That was pretty funny.”
“Quinn, I’m being serious.”
“We’re fine, we’re here now and you’re taking care of me.” Quinn closed her eyes as Rachel’s hands pulled her jacket off and managed to remove it without dislodging Quinn from the couch.
“Yeah, you’re lucky you have people around that care about you,” Rachel mumbled.
“I know.”
Rachel stilled, but Quinn opened her eyes a little to see her smiling softly.
--
In the morning, Quinn’s woken up by a familiar body bouncing on top of hers as blonde hair falls over her face and Brittany’s laughter breaks through the sleepy haze fogging her brain.
“Morning, Q,” Brittany whispers, perched on Quinn’s stomach. Long fingers pull up on Quinn’s eyelids so she swats them away and laughs, pushing at Brittany’s thighs to get her to move.
“Morning,” she groans as Brittany stands and steps away.
“I’m going to make waffles,” Brittany announces, staring at Rachel’s sleeping form on the couch. “You want some?”
Waffles. Brittany’s waffles. Quinn’s stomach growls as her heart tightens and she nods happily. “Yeah, waffles sound awesome.”
“Awesome,” Brittany repeats with a grin, practically bouncing towards the kitchen.
Quinn stands and looks at Rachel, brown hair spread over the pillow, chest rising and falling slowly.
“Rach,” Quinn says softly, leaning over and running her fingers over Rachel’s forehead lightly. “Rach, wake up.”
Rachel’s eyes pop open alarmingly fast and Quinn jerks back. “Good morning!” Rachel says brightly, moving to sit up.
Stepping back, Quinn grabs the pill bottle on the table next to her and eyes her wife suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel makes grabby hands at the bottle Quinn’s holding until Quinn hands it over. “Fantastic,” she answers.
Brittany, who must have heard Rachel wake up, strides back into the room. “Hi, Rach!”
“Hey, Brittany,” Rachel says with a smile. Brittany steps around the couch to give a soft hug and a kiss to the top of Rachel’s head.
“I’m making waffles,” she whispers as if it’s a secret.
Rachel’s head perks up as she looks at Brittany, her hands opening the pill bottle and dumping two of the small pills into her palm. “Fabulous,” she replies.
“Good,” Brittany says with a nod, detaching from Rachel and exiting back into the kitchen.
Rachel stands, a bit unsteadily, and hands Quinn the pills back, smiling at her and following Brittany into the kitchen. Shaking her head, Quinn grabs a small duffel bag on the floor beside the couch and rummages through it, grabbing out a new shirt and she and Rachel’s toiletries. “I’m going to go brush my teeth,” she announces, peering into the kitchen to see Brittany with her head in the fridge and Rachel leaned up against her back.
At her voice, though, Rachel stands up straight and looks at Quinn, making her way back towards her and grinning in an entirely unsettling manner. “Me too.”
“Okay,” she draws out, laughing at her wife.
Rachel latches onto the hem of Quinn’s shirt and pulls as she walks towards the guest bathroom, stepping inside and running the water. Quinn sets her bag on the sink and shuts the door before setting her shirt down on the lid of the toilet and pulling off the one she’s wearing.
She’s barely got her shirt over her head when small hands on her abdomen make her jump in surprise. Managing to pull the shirt off the entire way, Quinn chucks it on the ground and stares down into Rachel’s smiling face, as the smaller woman’s fingers drum on the muscles of Quinn’s stomach.
“Hello,” Quinn says though it sounds more like a question.
“You’re hot,” Rachel whispers.
“Okay,” Quinn drawls, putting her hands on top of Rachel’s and pressing them into her stomach to hold them there.
“Yup,” Rachel says, nodding slowly and focusing on Quinn. “You’re like really hot.”
“Thanks,” Quinn laughs, letting go of one of Rachel’s hands to grab her discarded shirt. “Brush your teeth. Do something useful.”
Quinn’s barely turned around to put her shirt on when Rachel reaches up with her free hand to grab the back of Quinn’s neck, pulling her head down to press their lips together.
Responding to the kiss, because when her wife kisses her like that it’s hard not to kiss back, Quinn let’s go of Rachel’s other hand and grabs Rachel’s hips, pushing her back and pulling her lips away.
“Rach,” Quinn admonishes.
“Yeah?”
Quinn kisses her again, softly, just because she can, before saying, “Brush your teeth.”
“No,” Rachel argues. “Kiss me instead.”
“Brush your teeth,” Quinn commands, maneuvering Rachel around by the hips to face the sink.
Rachel mumbles something under her breath but obeys, picking her toothbrush up out of the bag Quinn brought and grudgingly starting in on her task. Quinn pulls her shirt over her head and starts to do the same, standing beside her, smiling when Rachel starts to hum her morning song.
--
Brittany’s got half the contents of the fridge out on the counter when Quinn and Rachel return to the kitchen, and she’s mixing batter into a large mixing bowl, a bright happy smile spread across her lips as she makes faces at the dog bouncing around her legs.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Brittany says, looking up as they come into view and cocking her head toward a plate of already made waffles set in the middle of the counter.
Quinn strides to a coffee maker on the opposite side of the kitchen, ruffling her hand over Nemo’s head in greeting and exhales in relief at seeing the coffee already made. “Thanks for making coffee,” she says, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a mug.
“Coffee,” Rachel mumbles, shuffling across the kitchen until she’s leaned up against Quinn’s back, her head landing on Quinn’s shoulder blade. “I want coffee.”
“No,” Quinn laughs, pouring the hot, brown liquid into her cup and setting it down.
“Yes,” Rachel counters, poking at Quinn’s back. “Coffee good. I want coffee.”
“I’m pretty sure there has never been a drop of decaf in this apartment in the history of its existence,” Quinn says, turning around and grabbing Rachel. “Why don’t you go eat some of Brittany’s waffles?”
“You’re so mean to me,” Rachel says, squinting her eyes and pouting up at Quinn. “You won’t kiss me, you won’t give me coffee.”
“Rach,” Quinn sighs. She can hear Brittany laughing from where she’s pouring batter into a waffle maker.
“You know what?” Rachel says suddenly, straightening and widening her eyes. Quinn doesn’t like that look. That look is making her suspicious of Rachel’s shiny new plan.
“What?” Quinn asks, drawing out the word and glancing between her wife and Brittany, setting her bowl of batter down and watching the exchange with amused interest.
Rachel nods once and steps back, turning to walk towards Brittany until she’s standing in front of the taller girl and smiling, evilly. “Hello, Brittany.”
“Hello, Rachel,” Brittany parrots, smiling.
“Would you give me coffee if I asked for it?” Quinn rolls her eyes at Rachel’s question.
“Sure,” Brittany shrugs, chuckling.
“Real coffee? With caffeine?” Rachel rocks up a little on her feet as she asks the question.
“Whatever you want, Shortstack.” Brittany pats Rachel on the head.
“Rachel,” Quinn chastises, but before she can get another word out Rachel is tugging Brittany towards her by the hem of her shirt and pressing their lips together in a kiss.
To say Quinn is shocked at this moment is a gross understatement.
He best friend and her wife are making out. Legitimately making out. Rachel’s fingers are still wrapped up in Brittany’s shirt and Brittany’s hands are now gripping Rachel’s cheeks and their mouths are moving against each others like they have no plan to stop. And from the looks of it, the comfort shown in the way Brittany’s fingers splay across Rachel’s face, they’ve done this before. Quinn doesn’t know whether she’s completely appalled or mildly interested.
“Rachel!” Quinn finally exclaims, needing them to stop before she has an aneurysm or something. The pair break apart and Brittany is smiling like she just won the lottery before she breaks into uncontrollable giggles.
“What?” Rachel asks as innocently as she can. “You won’t give me what I want so I have to go elsewhere.”
“That is a ridiculous argument!” Quinn puts her hands on her hips and glares at her best friend, who’s still laughing, one hand over her lips as she watches Rachel.
“It is not. It is a perfectly reasonable line of reasoning. My logic is completely logical.”
“You’re high,” Quinn says, shaking her head.
“You’re high,” Rachel counters uselessly.
Brittany laughs particularly loud at that statement and Quinn cuts her a glare again. “I’m going to go get Santana,” Brittany adds, pointing out of the kitchen before walking past them, still laughing.
Quinn shakes her head and purses her lips at her wife. “We’re in the middle of a crisis and you’re high on pain meds.”
“You make it sound so sordid and intentional.”
“High as a kite and using words like sordid,” Quinn laughs. “Making out with my best friend.”
Rachel takes a step back towards Quinn, smirking a little. “That was hardly making out.”
“Well what do you call it then?”
Grabbing at the bottom of Quinn’s shirt, Rachel tugs her forward and smiles up at her before leaning up and kissing Quinn hard on the lips. Quinn can’t do much but go along with it because Rachel’s fingers are scratching at the skin under Quinn’s shirt and her tongue is stroking inside Quinn’s mouth and she just really, really likes doing this.
Rachel pulls away and smiles up at her. “That’s called making out.”
Quinn can barely nod before Rachel’s lips are on hers again. The world sort of fades down to just this, Rachel’s mouth slanting against her own and she’s not aware of anything else but her wife’s body pressed up against hers until Santana’s voice cuts through the kiss, disgusted and mumbling something about infecting her apartment.
--
Breakfast is a strange affair, just like dinner was the night before because Quinn’s not really used to having the four of them together. That, and Rachel is still thoroughly enjoying the side effects of her pain meds, which means that Santana is having just about the most fun she’s had in ages and Quinn and Brittany are left listening to the two of them gripe at each other.
To be honest, Santana looks so uncharacteristically happy and free compared to the last few months that Quinn doesn’t even want to intervene. She lets Santana and Rachel argue all through breakfast and Quinn couldn’t be happier. From the looks of the smile on Brittany’s face as she looks at Santana, neither can she.
Santana leaves eventually because there's actually still a crazy madman out there that she has to catch, and Quinn is left in the apartment feeling both completely useless and charged with the most important of tasks at the same time.
There’s Rachel and there’s Brittany and there’s this unknown, strange element out there that’s threatening everything good in Quinn’s life. She feels her knee shake in anxiety just thinking about it.
Brittany must notice because after a few minutes of talking to Rachel, Quinn stewing in silence, Brittany claps her hands together and jumps a little bit. “You guys want to see a new dance?”
“Yes!” Rachel exclaims, far too enthusiastically than normal.
“Okay,” Brittany replies. Her friend walks over to Quinn and tugs her arm to get her to stand, maneuvering her to an open space in the living room. “Stand there, I’ll teach you.”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Brittany,” she sighs and her friend catches on to the tone almost immediately.
“Q, I teach this to first graders, you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, baby,” Rachel says, grabbing Quinn’s hand and smiling at Brittany. “If first graders can do it I’m sure you’ll be okay.”
She looks at these two women in front of her, all smiles and excitement and such a contrast to the dark rainy world that Quinn can see outside the window that she doesn’t think she should deny them this.
“Yeah, okay,” she laughs. “Teach me.”
--
Getting woken up in the middle of the night was something Quinn was used to. It happened often enough whether it was Santana calling her after a bad shift for a drink, or a client needing a late night bail out. Couple that with the fact that Rachel worked weird, strange hours and would often wake Quinn up when she finally got to bed and Quinn was pretty much used to not getting a full night of uninterrupted sleep.
So when her phone rang loudly across a silent room and she rolled over in bed to see the clock flashing a mocking 3:00 at her she wasn’t surprised. What was surprising was Santana’s half amused, half worried voice on the other end telling her to get to the hospital as fast as she could.
She shot up in bed and her heart sped up, the empty space next to her feeling wide and consuming as she stared at it and tried not to let her brain jump to the worst possible conclusion. Because the worst possible conclusion would devastate her.
“What is it?” The question was soft but firm and urgent. “Just tell me.”
She could hear Santana pause and take a deep breath. “Everyone is fine, Q,” she said, lowly. “Just get to the hospital. They have to release Rachel into someone’s care and I can’t take her.”
Jumping out of bed, Quinn reached for a discarded pair of jeans over a chair and tugged them on quickly. “What happened?”
“She’s fine. Just come get her, yeah? She can tell you,” Santana chuckled a little and Quinn clenched her jaw at the sound. “She’s already screaming it to the whole damn hospital.”
“Be there in ten,” she said, shutting her phone and dropping into her pocket. Bolting out of the bedroom she barely remembered to slip shoes on before making it outside.
--
It took entirely too long to get to the hospital in Quinn’s opinion, but once she was there it was fairly easy to find Rachel in the relatively chaotic floor of the ER. It was made easier for her by the near shrieking sound Quinn was greeted with almost instantly; she would recognize that sound as Rachel almost anywhere.
The fast rhythm of Quinn’s heart slowed as soon as her wife came into view and she let out a deep sigh of relief at seeing her in one piece and in true Rachel Berry fashion, berating the nurse in front of her. She could make out something like a demand to be released and a threat to sue the hospital because, “my wife is an absurdly competent lawyer and you will not appreciate her wrath,” and that was about when Quinn realized Rachel was totally fine.
Well, she knew that until she stepped closer to the bed, weaving in and out of doctors and nurses, to see the bandage on Rachel’s wrist and the butterfly tape over her cheekbone. Her heart sped up again and her fist clenched, a strong desire to punch somebody, anybody, thrumming through her, hot white guilt following fast on its heels.
Rachel finally took notice of her, stopping mid-argument and turning to look at Quinn, a million emotions flashing across her face as realization took hold. “Quinn!” Rachel exclaimed, eyes darting between the nurse and Quinn.
Stepping closer to Rachel, Quinn put her lips to her wife’s forehead with a whispered, “Hey, baby.”
She stepped back and eyed the scene suspiciously again, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. “What happened? Where’s Santana?”
“Santana called you?” Rachel asked, sliding off the bed. She turned to the nurse. “Now that my keeper has come, I can go now, correct?” Quinn heard the agitation and frustration all over her wife’s tone and wondered what could have possibly gone down and why she wasn’t called right away. It would have taken Rachel some time to get to this level of contempt and Quinn hated the feeling of being left in the dark.
The nurse waved them both away and walked to another bed with a roll of her eyes, so Quinn grabbed the sides of Rachel’s face gently and forced her wife to make eye contact with her. “What happened?” Quinn asked in a fervent whisper.
“I’m fine,” Rachel said, grabbing Quinn’s hands and stepping in closer to her. “Can we go home now?”
“No,” Quinn replied, looking up and around the ER, but keeping her hands on Rachel. “Where is Santana?”
“Why?”
“Because maybe she’ll actually tell me what the hell happened,” she said, raising an eyebrow at her wife and pursing her lips.
As if on cue, Santana took that moment to stride into the ER, Puck right behind her leading a disheveled man that appeared to be cuffed. It might have been three in the morning, but Quinn was an excellent observer and an expert in things like Santana, Rachel and criminals. So it only took one look at Santana’s face as her friend glanced between Rachel and Quinn and one look at Rachel’s as she noticed the guy Puck was leading around for Quinn to put two and two together and get four.
So she did what any sleep-deprived, rational thinker would do. She lunged for the guy with her fist cocked.
Santana must have seen the move before it happened because she shifted in front of Quinn with her hands up just as Rachel came up behind Quinn and grabbed onto her bicep stopping the punch before it could fly through, most likely into Santana’s face.
“Thanks, hobbit. Chill, Fabray,” Santana ordered, indicating with her head for Puck to keep walking. “It’s handled.”
Rachel tugged her backwards, but Quinn resisted the pull and searched Santana’s face. “What happened?”
Santana peered around Quinn’s body to where she could feel Rachel standing and cocked an eyebrow. “She’s not talking,” Quinn provided wryly.
A laugh threatened to burst out of Santana as she brought her other eyebrow up and looked at Quinn. “Call the presses,” she joked.
“S,” Quinn sighed, tugging her arm out of Rachel’s grasp and glaring at her best friend.
Rachel wrapped an arm around Quinn’s waist and leaned into her side. “It’s nothing, it’s fine, can we just go home?”
“No,” Quinn said, not looking down at her wife, but remaining steadfast in her glare towards Santana.
Her friend propped a hand the gun at her waist and scraped the other one over her face to wipe away a smile before talking. “Berry here got herself into a bit of a tussle,” she answered.
“What?” This time Quinn whipped her head down to look at Rachel in surprise.
“I did not,” Rachel denied, narrowing her eyes at Santana. “I was helping a friend.”
“Right,” Santana chuckled. “She tried to beat the crap out of the guy for trying to beat the crap out of one of the dancers in her show.”
“I didn’t try!” Rachel insisted, taking a step towards Santana. “I succeeded, and I had to do it, no one else was intervening!”
Quinn let out a low breath and shook her head. This was so very like Rachel it was almost funny. Almost. Because there was a scrape on Rachel’s cheekbone and a bandage on her wrist and that made the whole situation very unfunny.
“Anyway,” Santana continued. “The guy’s been in five times in the last six month for this same sort of thing. Gets drunk, attacks people, usually gay, spends the whole night screaming obscenities about sin to the entire holding cell. Something about his wife leaving him for another woman or some shit. Who knows? Normally I’d charge Shortbus for assault, considering she actually managed some damage, but-,”
“That’s ridiculous!” Rachel interrupted and Quinn rolled her eyes at Santana’s delighted expression. After years of being together Rachel should know better than to play right into Santana’s hand.
“She’s not arresting you,” Quinn said before the argument got out of hand. Now that she knew the basics of what happened and that the guy who hurt Rachel was in handcuffs in the back of Santana’s car, she felt a lot better and she just wanted to go home where she could keep Rachel safe. “Thanks, S,” she said, reaching a hand out to squeeze Santana’s arm. “I owe you.”
“Single malt,” Santana answered as Quinn turned to lead Rachel away. “Preferably an 18 year.”
Quinn waved her off and laughed as she draped her arm over Rachel’s shoulders and strode out of the ER.
“Arrest me for assault,” Rachel grumbled under her breath. It was cold outside, something Quinn hadn’t really noticed in her haste to get to the hospital, so she tugged Rachel in close to her body and walked quickly towards the subway station. “Ridiculous.”
Quinn didn’t say anything - she didn’t really trust herself to stay calm and rational through a conversation right now - so she just kept moving, making sure they got on the right train and walked the few blocks to their building.
It wasn’t until they were finally home, in their bedroom and Rachel was undressing that Quinn let it all out.
“What the fuck, Rachel?” Quinn blurted out.
Rachel jerked away from her as she stood in their large closet in only her underwear, her shirt held in one hand. “What?”
“You assaulted that thug?! He’s twice your size!” Quinn pulled her sweatshirt off viciously as she tried to control her breathing.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel dropped the shirt onto the floor and walked to where Quinn was standing. “I’m okay,” she said softly, swatting Quinn’s hands away from where they were tugging at the front clasp of her pants. Quinn just kept glaring as Rachel popped open the top button of Quinn’s jeans.
“That’s really not the point,” Quinn said, quieter this time but with the same intensity.
“Isn’t it?” Rachel questioned, tugging the zipper down and staring up at Quinn with soft eyes.
“The point is that you could have gotten seriously hurt,” Quinn gulped, Rachel’s knuckles brushing against her lower stomach shooting tension through her already tightly coiled body.
“He was attacking Anna, Quinn,” Rachel exclaimed, pushing Quinn’s jeans down and bringing their bodies closer together. Quinn kicked the denim off when it pooled around her ankles as Rachel’s palms slid up her abdomen under Quinn’s shirt, the fabric lifting with the motion. “And saying entirely offensive things to her. He was a gay basher, Quinn. I couldn’t just walk by. You should have heard what he said.”
“You could have called for help,” Quinn argued, lifting her shirt off the rest of the way and throwing it somewhere near her jeans. She brushed a hand over the bruising skin over Rachel’s cheekbone.
“No time,” Rachel whispered, knocking her body into Quinn’s. “I can’t just walk away from something like that, Quinn. It’s not who I am. It’s never going to be who I am. I had to stand up for her and against the ignorance that caused that man to attack her.”
“I know that,” Quinn said, her hands moving down to grip Rachel’s hips. “It’s just not worth seeing you hurt.”
Rachel smiled and twisted her arms around Quinn’s neck, pressing a brief, warm kiss on Quinn’s lips. “Some things,” she said into the space between their mouths. “Are worth getting hurt over.”
“When it comes to you, nothing is worth that to me,” Quinn confessed, resting her forehead against Rachel’s. “Absolutely nothing.”
--
There are a few moments in Quinn’s life that she’ll think she’ll remember forever - the day she met Santana and Brittany, the day she got accepted into law school, her first job, meeting Rachel, marrying Rachel, Brittany leaving.
Most of them, aside from the last, are good memories, the best really in a long life full of privilege and happiness.
The worst memory is probably of Brittany leaving, of that last goodbye at Quinn’s apartment and the way Santana looked later at the bar. It’s the kind of memory that keeps Quinn awake at night and makes her heart clench whenever she thinks about it.
It was her worst memory until now.
Until, in the middle of Brittany’s strange explanation of some new complicated dance move her and Mike were teaching the first graders this month, a gunshot resounded from outside the door seconds before it burst open, and Roger Pike, a face that had been haunting Quinn for the past week, strode into the apartment.
They all jump at the commotion, Nemo barking and growling loudly from his bed across the room, but Quinn is shocked into inaction, her gaze stuck unwavering on Pike, her body unmoving. Pike is striding towards Brittany, already closest to him in the room, and Quinn is just standing there, Rachel next to her as it happens.
It takes her a second, just long enough for Pike to actually get his hands on Brittany, a gun aimed in Quinn’s direction, before Quinn can move. But eventually something in her catches up to what’s happening and she snaps into action.
Quinn doesn't think - she just reacts. It's a reaction set so deep in her bones that resisting it is practically impossible. The first thing she does when Pike grabs Brittany is pull Rachel behind her.
The second thing she does is lunge for Pike.
It's too late though, because Pike already has his weapon raised in her direction and Quinn's just not fast enough this time. Strangely though, she doesn't really focus on the way Pike's face looks, ready to kill, or the way Brittany's eyes go wide next to Pike. All she hears is Rachel's strangled gasp behind her and Quinn's never been happier to stand in front of a gunman in her entire life.
She's heard guns go off before, a million times. Hell, she's shot guns herself before, but she's never actually been on the receiving end. So when a searing pain slices through her thigh and her leg kicks back she can't figure out what happened for a second.
She falls face forward. The pain is the first thing that registers in her brain but she pushes it away to try and focus on the blurry image of Pike pulling Brittany out the door, grinning maniacally at her. It's all for nothing though, because she can't seem to move except to roll over as the sound of the door slamming shut bounces in her ear like another gun blast. Rachel is kneeling next to her and despite a desperate relief that her wife is clearly alive and breathing, she thinks about her best friend being dragged away and how she failed to stop it.
Uselessness, guilt and self-loathing pour through her until Rachel's tearful face takes up her entire vision and Quinn's focus shifts back in an instant. It's painful. More painful than she thought it would be, but through all the hurt shooting up through her body and the strong, overwhelming urge to black out she can feel Rachel's small, warm hands on her cheeks, shaking her awake.
"No, no, no," Rachel murmurs. "Quinn, Quinn, baby, stay with me."
She doesn't know why a bullet in the leg is so completely knocking her out, but from the look on Rachel's face and the red smeared over her clothes she must be losing a lot of blood. Shit.
A strong wave of desperation rolls through her and she grabs for her wife. "Rach," she croaks.
"Shhhh," Rachel says, her voice full of tears as she lets go out of Quinn's face and pulls something out from her pocket. Her vision is wavering on Rachel's form, but she can kind of make out the phone in her wife's hands as Rachel brings it to her ear.
Rachel starts talking into the phone and in the back of Quinn's head she can kind of figure out what's going on, but her focus is torn between the pain shooting up her body and the hazy feeling taking over her brain.
"Sorry," she gasps, fingers gripping into Rachel's shirt. The distant thudding sound of what must be Rachel's cell phone hitting the floor filters in through her ears as her wife grabs her face again and shakes it a little.
"No," Rachel denies, gripping harder on to her head. "No, don't you dare just give into that, you hear me? Apology not accepted."
Quinn tries to laugh but her vision is collapsing and it's starting to feel like she's floating in water.
"Quinn Fabray," Rachel warns, shaking her head again. "If you so much as think of going into the light or whatever it is you're seeing right now, I will follow you into the afterlife and drag you out. And then I will make your life a living Hell. You know I can do this."
Pain throbs in her leg and she tries to cling to it, scrambles to hang on to sound of Rachel’s voice still whispering intensely in front of Quinn’s face, but the sound is fading and the pain feels like a roaring in her ears, pounding against her temples and making it hard to think. She wants to sink into it, to let herself get dissolved into the carpet under her body and wake up on the other side.
Something wet drops on her face and her eyes flutter at the sensation. Rachel’s face, her brows pulled together and pain in all her features, goes hazy.
She thinks she gets the words out; she hopes she did. She wants Rachel to hear the I love you she’s been trying to get out since she hit the ground, but she’s not sure it got through. The world goes black around Rachel’s sobbing face.
there's a season for everything
Because apparently I can't stop won't stop with these things and because my free time is going to peak soon, here is a summer meme much like the winter and Halloween ones that came before it.
Same types of rules apply. As a refresher:
Comment with a fandom, a pairing/character/group of characters/what-have-you, and a summer-inspired prompt.
Example ~ Glee, Naya/Dianna, Ray Bans
Prompt as many times as you want, but limit one prompt per comment. Try to keep the prompts doable in under 3k words so I can get them out in a reasonable amount of time and don't end up writing 50k words slowly over many months. No promises that I'll get to every prompt, but I'll do my best.
No one can be too late to this party because I'm just going to keep it going until the leaves change here.
Same types of rules apply. As a refresher:
Example ~ Glee, Naya/Dianna, Ray Bans
Prompt as many times as you want, but limit one prompt per comment. Try to keep the prompts doable in under 3k words so I can get them out in a reasonable amount of time and don't end up writing 50k words slowly over many months. No promises that I'll get to every prompt, but I'll do my best.
No one can be too late to this party because I'm just going to keep it going until the leaves change here.
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bored
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housekeeping post
I recently created a community to host all my rpf so that people no longer have to friend this journal in order to read them.
All that questionably enjoyable goodness is over at
lynnerpf now and will be there for the foreseeable future.
Thank you.
Goodnight and good luck.
Stay classy, friends.
All that questionably enjoyable goodness is over at
lynnerpf now and will be there for the foreseeable future. Thank you.
Goodnight and good luck.
Stay classy, friends.
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accomplished
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Fic: All Will Be Well
Title: All Will Be Well
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG
Length: 4k words
Summary: The first time Quinn is in the hospital, Rachel doesn’t go to see her.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: spoilers for 3x14.
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Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG
Length: 4k words
Summary: The first time Quinn is in the hospital, Rachel doesn’t go to see her.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: spoilers for 3x14.
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distressed
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Fic: Tonight's the Night to Cross the Line
Title: Tonight's the Night to Cross the Line
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2k words
Summary: Rachel will succumb to the inevitable eventually. After all, Santana never plays a game she can’t win and she never wants anything she can’t have. In which Santana is the daughter of a local mob boss and Rachel sings at one of the bars Santana owns.
Notes: Written for Pezberry Week day one: AU (any kind) - which is the worst prompt btw because my brain really wanted this to be a 50k word long fic, but it's not because I didn't have time. (this is also what i blame for the plot being thin and the story being short in general. deal with it)
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Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2k words
Summary: Rachel will succumb to the inevitable eventually. After all, Santana never plays a game she can’t win and she never wants anything she can’t have. In which Santana is the daughter of a local mob boss and Rachel sings at one of the bars Santana owns.
Notes: Written for Pezberry Week day one: AU (any kind) - which is the worst prompt btw because my brain really wanted this to be a 50k word long fic, but it's not because I didn't have time. (this is also what i blame for the plot being thin and the story being short in general. deal with it)
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grumpy
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Glee 3.10 Yes/No
Glee 3.09 Extraordinary Merry Christmas
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okay
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