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Quinn · Paras · Tags · Canon

Tagging: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Location: Rachel’s Apartment

Time: Tuesday, February 21^st, 2012; Night-time

Notes: Rachel and Quinn got into a spat, the night before, and might have already broke the cardinal rule of not going to sleep angry. So…Quinn shows up with a peace offering.

Quinn:

She sighs, tongue running over her teeth as she paces in front of Rachel’s door, a habit that manifests whenever she’s a little nervous or, particularly, unsure. She used to just stand in place and count to ten, thanks to her father—regress is progress, he’d always say—but the holding backof emotions became more of a problem for Quinn than a tool, with Beth, and the doctor suggested light exercise…so she paced. Like she’s pacing now, nervous and unsure and, yeah, okay, worried.

Her thumb skims over the edge of the paper coffee cup. She didn’t ask Rachel to buzz her in—apparently, she’s been here enough for that lady from next door to not even hesitate holding the door for her which is kind of nice, given that whole myth about New York hospitality…which is true, really—so she doesn’t even know if she’s home. She doesn’t know if she wantsRachel to be home. She’s not good at apologizing. She’sneverbeen good at apologizing. She’s better at it, now, but that isn’t saying much…at all. Because apologizing makes her nervous—it’s…definitely more vulnerable than she’d like—and she already feels like she’s consistently coming from a place of constant rawness with her girlfriend. It’s a concept that feels entirely foreign—and maybe a little unwelcome because it makes her scared, admittedly, being vulnerable—but…Rachel’s…it’s hard to describe. It’d be impossible to notbe vulnerable with Rachel, now, because she always feelslike she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve, and she’s always so scaredthat something like this will happen, and she’s not even—

Rachel’s not even going to let her in if she keeps wearing a hole in the welcome mat in front of her door. So Quinn tries to stand still—take in a deep breath—and clear her head. She was just…frustrated. And jealous. And really, really, tired. She’s been so stressed, lately, and she…shouldn’t have taken that out on Rachel. Ever. It’s just not fair. But Quinn knows Rachel more than she…knows anyone, really—and isn’t that a frightening thought—and it’s not hardto fight with her because they were good at that before they were evergood at talking. They were always good at being honest, but never good about talking.

But, yeah. Yes. Yes. She can do this. It’s not like Rachel’s entirely unreasonable—save for when she is—and it’s not like she’s gonna toss her out, or anything. If she’s even here. She’ll at least take the coffee. She hasto take the coffee. So Quinn finally knocks on the door, succeeds in calming her nerves, and leans against the frame.

 

Rachel:

It had taken a week for Rachel to adjust to a new schedule and acclimate to her new routine of missed Monday classes in favor of her workshop’s rehearsal.  The worst part about her altered daily to-do list was having to transition from a Monday afternoon dance practicum into an early morning class on Tuesdays to make up for the missed Monday slot.  Luckily her partner, Marcos, had been more than willing to switch classes with her so Rachel didn’t have to add yet another unknown variable, and thus another possible stress point into her life.  But the change in class still meant less sleep following what Rachel had learned after just two Monday rehearsals was turning out to be a very long and tiring day.

The first week of the adjustment period involved little sleep and too much caffeine and not enough food going into her body to maintain the energy level and focus she required.  Rachel had actually been instructed to sit out for a period of the past Wednesday’s dance rehearsal because she was feeling faint and only Marcos’s strong arms had stopped her from face planting into the sprung hardwood floor; though after Quinn’s reprimands she didn’t dare tell her girlfriend as much.  Nights were spent sleepless pouring over text books, writing responses and papers, and just trying to make up for lost time.  And, Rachel was still feeling the loss of Tyler’s friendship when she spent countless hours alone in a practice room with just the sounds of hammers hitting strings to keep her company as she practiced the melodies of the song selections she had been given over and over.

Rachel’s still not sure how yesterday ended up with her going to bed in tears, crying childishly into her pillow on a bed that anymore seems all too big and lonely when it’s just her curled on to her side.  It had been another long day; an anxious day where she met, sang, read with, and kissed potential costars for the musical production.  And it had been unexpected.  She had been under the impression she’d be running through more of the script and going over more of the songs, but her world had been flipped on its axis when she showed up in the loft space in downtown Manhattan and had been greeted by four smiling, handsome faces.

Granted, there had probably been a better way to break it to Quinn that she had spent the majority of her day trying to establish and test out chemistry – through multiple kisses – with someone other than herself, but Rachel’s not always had the best approach for tactfulness.  So again, she’s not sure if it was the stress of the day, or spending the hours after rehearsal was complete slumped over her desk in the office creating a timeline for the next three weeks – until Spring Break – and visually seeing a representation of just how much was going on, including a visit from her fathers, was more than a bit overwhelming and her own insecurities manifested themselves in the least flattering way possible by attacking Quinn and twisting her words.  Their bubble they had been living in where everything was happy and fluffy and the sex was spectacular had to burst at some point when they seemingly did what they used to do best: fight about boys.

Even though she’s expecting it, Rachel still startles when she hears the knock at the door.  She’s been memorizing lines essentially all day with the goal of being off-book by the end of week, and having spent all of her free time over the weekend either catching up on coursework or with Quinn, she neglected to do her normal grocery shopping routine and her refrigerator currently sits ridiculously barren.  Grabbing the folded bills off her coffee table, Rachel shouts a “Coming!” over her shoulder as she walks towards the door, eyes still very much focused on the script she holds in her hand.  Blindly reaching out to grasp the knob of her apartment’s door, Rachel thrust the bills into the open space of the doorway and mumbles around the pen now in her mouth, “You’re late. And I don’t need change.”  When a paper bag containing the eggplant parmesan she had ordered over an hour ago isn’t placed in her hand, but instead the familiar cylindrical shape of a paper coffee cup takes up residence, Rachel’s eyes finally drift from the note-filled pages.

The site that greets her tired and strained eyes is not one she expected: her girlfriend leaning casually against the doorway, but definitely sporting a nervous smile.  She’s not sure if it’s the shock of her unexpected visitor that causes her to not notice the door slowly closing, but when it essentially slams in Quinn’s face, Rachel’s returns to her senses.  She quickly sets her script, pen, and newly acquired cup of what she’s sure is coffee with a shot of vanilla – because Quinn has known her preferred order for months now – on the entryway table before she’s throwing the door back open with a quivering chin, pouting lip, and glassy eyes.  It only takes a moment for any hesitation to recede before she’s stepping into the blonde’s space and wrapping her arms around and molding against the strong frame in a way that’s come to feel as very much as home as the walls beyond the door behind her do.  “Baby,” comes out choked, half stuck on a sob, the walls she had built up while drying her tears last night in bed to bolster her need for space and clarity instantly crumble.  “I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

(Source: lucydreamingq)