Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.
A/N: I'm in an angst mood. Sorry in advance. Title from Lifehouse's 'Broken.'
Quinn was growing concerned. She and Rachel hadn't been intimate in over a month, which in itself wouldn't have been enough to alarm her. They weren't one of those couples that needed to be all over one another 24/7 (cough, BrittanyandSantana, cough), and Quinn enjoyed their cuddling sessions almost as much as she did making love to her girlfriend of seven months.
What was really getting to Quinn, aside from a mild case of horniness that could be cast aside at the thought of Coach Sylvester in tracksuit underwear, were the little things. Rachel had a busy schedule; it was understandable, and something Quinn had signed up for when she (rather unceremoniously) ordered her to show up at Breadstix wearing anything but one of her argyle sweaters seven months ago. She thanked the good Lord repeatedly that Rachel had found it endearing that she was too nervous to simply ask, rather than infuriating that she'd been commanded.
Rachel had dance classes, ballet classes (who knew those were two completely separate things?), acting lessons, voice lessons, her own strict vocal practice regimen, an exercise and diet plan that was followed to the letter every single day, planning future glee performances featuring Mike and Brittany heavily in choreography and herself (of course) on most vocals, other various little things she liked to keep up with (like the organization of her iTunes and CDs, writing her future acceptance speech at the Tony's, revising her application to Julliard for approximately the billionth time, etc.), and the most recent project she'd taken up: the editing of the school newspaper.
After appealing to Principal Figgins's sense of decency for the two hundred and forty fifth time (Quinn was invited along some of the times, too), Rachel finally managed to convince him to remove Jacob Ben Israel as manager of the newsletter and place Ms. Rachel Barbra Berry herself at the helm. She promptly fired him as editor and took the job herself, and Quinn had to admit that she was grateful there were no more stories featuring her girlfriend's panties as the topic any longer. Even if they were replaced by admittedly boring pieces about the recent decline in income for the school from the ever-popular slushie machines.
Anyway, Quinn was very aware that Rachel had a busy life, and she completely understood. Head Cheerio, glee club performer, part time worker at your local Wendy's, Quinn Fabray really, really, really understood her girlfriend's insane schedule. Head cheerleader alone took up over half of the time Quinn might've spent waiting for Rachel to get out of her own classes. But lately, it seemed as though any free time they had to just be together was being sucked away.
Quinn would call Rachel after completing her homework, intent on taking solace in her girlfriend's amazingly talented hands after a strenuous Cheerios practice, and the brunette would be cheerful enough in her greeting. She would stay on the line for a bit, but as soon as the cheerleader mentioned coming over, some excuse came spewing from the diva's mouth and Quinn was left growling at the dial tone. When she pressed her about it, Rachel either evaded her queries or got defensive.
The latter usually led to a brief tiff and Quinn would be left to come a-groveling at the Berrys's house with a pre-written apology (one must always be prepared when Rachel Berry is one's girlfriend), a serenade (one must always be prepared to sing, even at the most unexpected and embarrassing moments, when one's girlfriend is Rachel Berry), and a week's worth of vegan chocolates (because even though chocolates and flowers are so clichéd in apologies that by now they seem insincere, one can never go wrong when giving sweets of high-quality and executing a well-timed quip comparing the chocolates to one's girlfriend's sweetness). That last one Quinn came up with all on her own. She was quite proud that it had actually worked, too.
By now, however, Quinn was sick of this little game. Even after the apology was accepted, Rachel refused to address the reason for it in the first place, and it seemed that the blonde was seeing less and less of her girlfriend with every coming week. Which was downright unacceptable. From the moment they became friends, Quinn couldn't go a day without seeing Rachel. Her company was addictive to the cheerleader, and she wasn't about to sit back and let her girlfriend drift away from her.
So, rather than calling Rachel up after finishing her homework, Quinn decided to break one of their cardinal rules. She was going to show up unannounced, and she was going to figure out what was going on.
Her stomach was already roiling violently as she pulled up next to the curb, eyeing the two-story house in trepidation. They hadn't even argued yet, and she was already feeling sick—and she knew exactly why. She briefly considered driving to Santana's house and beating her to death with one of Brittany's stuffed ducks for putting ridiculous thoughts in her head, but she couldn't stop now. She had to go through with it. Even if it did mean catching Rachel in a compromising position with…someone else. At least she'd know.
Quinn couldn't imagine Rachel cheating on her. It just wouldn't happen. Santana was just trying to mess with her, as usual. It wasn't even a possibility.
She shook her head and flexed her sweaty palms on the steering wheel. Neither of the Berry men were home, which was fairly typical, but she was relieved nonetheless. When she and Rachel argued, they had to be able to have it out—all the way out. And although Dean and James meant well, they tended to intervene before the fight was all the way over, which meant they had time to fume and let it fester. And the argument ended up being even bigger than it started.
Quinn heaved a sigh. Now or never. She hit the automatic lock once she'd managed to wrench herself out of the car, and only the mixture of her Cheerios uniform and the cold weather forced her the rest of the way up the walk. She swallowed down her nerves, though they leaked out in her fidgeting fingers and wavering stance, and knocked twice.
"Um…coming!" Rachel called from inside, sounding puzzled.
Quinn couldn't blame her. She was probably waiting for her call, and she hated to catch her off guard like this—it definitely gave her an unfair advantage in the impending argument—but she had to do this. Rachel wouldn't face the problem until the blonde forced her hand.
She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding when Rachel swung open the door; the relief that came with her girlfriend's presence felt overwhelmingly good. The brunette gave her a puzzled smile, but waved her in immediately.
"God, you must be freezing! Come in!" she placed a gloved hand on Quinn's shoulder and—wait, gloved?
The blonde took a second look at her girlfriend and the infamous eyebrow went straight in the air. Rachel was in her winter wear: cream-colored gloves, black beret, snow boots, and a jacket to match the gloves, with dark pink snowflakes embroidered on the sleeves.
Quinn absently accepted the kiss Rachel pressed to the corner of her mouth.
"What are you doing here? I was waiting for you to call," the brunette asked, and her voice was still cheerful, but Quinn heard the shake in it. She'd noticed Quinn noticing the winter wear, and it made her nervous.
"I came to talk to you. Are you going out?" she retorted, keeping her eyebrow high and her scowl deep.
Rachel swallowed. "A-actually, yes, I was planning to. What did you want to talk about?"
Quinn fought hard to keep calm. But Santana's earlier words and Rachel's evasiveness now were doing a hell of a job on her imagination, and her stomach was jerking even more violently now. She breathed through her nose. Rachel would never cheat on her. There was a perfectly good explanation for this. She didn't need to take her insecurities out on her girlfriend.
"Where are you going?" she asked at length, ignoring her previous question, since her own question was actually the answer anyway.
The brunette visibly thought about this. Her dark eyes flickered away from Quinn's hazel, searching for an excuse on the wall. The blonde almost clutched her stomach in apprehension. If Rachel didn't quit behaving as though she'd gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar, Quinn was going to have to use her toilet for something she'd hoped never to use someone she had a romantic interest in's toilet for. She might anyway, if the images of Rachel with another woman, with Finn, Puck, Jesse—if those horrible images didn't stop poisoning her mind.
"For a walk. The park looks so nice in the snow," Rachel said at last.
She was a good actress. If only Quinn didn't know her like the back of her hand.
"Don't lie to me, Rach," she said thickly.
Even though she obviously had been, the diva gasped indignantly, offended.
"I'm not lying to you," she hissed. "How dare you accuse me of that?"
"How dare you lie to me? Rachel, just tell me what's going on. Are…?" The blonde swallowed. She couldn't even bring herself to say it. The bile was already in her throat. "I know something's going on with you. You keep avoiding me. Did I do something? If I did, I'm sorry. I'll-I'll fix it."
Rachel sighed heavily, stepping into the blonde's space and calming her almost instantly. The brunette cupped her cheek with a gloved hand. Quinn leaned into the touch, privately wishing she could feel her soft skin instead.
"I'm not upset with you, darling," she said so quietly it made Quinn's eyelids flutter. "I'm sorry I made you worry, but I swear I would tell you if something was wrong that you could fix."
Hazel eyes immediately snapped open. "So there is something wrong."
The hand retracted and Quinn almost regretted her words, but she'd struck a weak point somewhere and she couldn't bring herself to back down. Rachel frowned deeply, looking edgy again.
"I didn't say that," she said dismissively.
"You implied it," she snapped, harsher than she meant to.
She winced when the brunette's eyes flashed with hurt before turning to stone.
"Nothing is wrong, Quinn. Leave it alone," Rachel said icily, and even though it was her own fault for using that tone in the first place, the cheerleader bristled.
"Not until you tell me what's going on with you."
"Are you cheating on me?"
Quinn regretted the words as soon as they passed her lips. Rachel looked as though she'd just struck her. Tears filled her dark brown eyes and the blonde's stomach roiled angrily. God, she hated making Rachel cry. She reached forward to wipe them away and kiss it better, apologize for being harsh and hold the brunette in her arms, making them both feel whole, safe, protected. Rachel shied away from her.
"Don't you dare touch me right now," she growled, and though her voice was filled with tears, it was sharp enough to make Quinn pause. "After what happened with Finn…after the past seven months? How could you…?" She worked her jaw wordlessly before clamping it shut and tilting her head back to stem the flow of tears.
The blonde closed her eyes tight. She really hated herself right now. And Santana. Death by stuffed duck was too good for that bitch, she decided abruptly.
"I'm sorry. I just…I didn't know what else to think. I don't know what to think when you don't talk to me."
There was silence between them and Rachel wiped her eyes, leaving dark smudges on the cream gloves. She took a cleansing breath.
"It's fine. I'm going to be late if I don't leave now."
Quinn frowned immediately. "So that's it? You're just going to go? We haven't even talked this through yet."
"I have an appointment to keep, Quinn," she said with false patience.
"An appointment? What are you—"
"Leave it alone," Rachel replied tiredly, stepping toward the door again.
The blonde caught her arm, feeling more alarmed now than she had sitting in that car outside, wondering if Rachel had cheated on her. Appointments meant doctors, and doctors meant bad, bad things. Was Rachel sick? Was she having another tonsillitis flare-up? No, she would tell Quinn if that were the case, right? Pregnancy would involve boys, and they'd already clearly scratched that off the list. If it was something worse….
"Let me go, Quinn," she ordered calmly, breaking into the cheerleader's string of increasingly wild scenarios.
"No, not until you tell me where you're going and what's going on," she retorted sharply.
Rachel glared. "It's none of your business."
That stung far more than it should've. Quinn didn't think she should be involved in every aspect of Rachel's life, and she certainly didn't want to control her, but…. They were together. When people were together, they shared these things. It wasn't just 'my' life anymore. It was 'our' life.
The pain in her stomach was almost crippling.
"Yeah. That's certainly a good way to discourage the thought that you're slutting it up behind my back." She sneered.
The brunette went ghostly pale and her lip trembled wildly, and Quinn's stomach felt like it was going to jump out of her throat and strangle her if she didn't stop hurting Rachel.
"Fuck you, Quinn," she spat, and the blonde's eyes went wide.
Rachel never swore. Not even in bed. Well, usually. There were a couple occasions when it all got to be too much and she had to exclaim an expletive, but that was beside the point. Quinn was pretty sure the strongest word she'd ever heard Rachel use outside of bed was 'damn.' And even then she'd clamped her hand over her mouth after a gasp that could've won her a Tony. She unconsciously tightened her grip on Rachel's elbow.
"Do not talk to me like that," she said lowly, not belying her inner alarm. "Tell me where you're going."
"It's none of your business."
"Talk to me, damnit!"
"Let go of me!"
"Tell me what's going on!"
"Rachel, I will stay here as long as it takes. Talk. To. Me."
"I'm going to see a therapist!" she blurted, and ripped her arm out of Quinn's suddenly limp grasp. "Are you happy now? Is that a good enough explanation for you to accept? Or do you still think I would cheat on you? I'm positive you do. I'll bet you're imagining me fucking him on his goddamn couch right now!"
She was absolutely livid. Quinn had never seen her like this. The brunette pulled her cell phone from her pocket and the blonde was too numb to wonder what she was doing. Even after she chucked it at the couch and started yanking off her gloves.
"And now I'm officially late," she said tearfully, throwing her gloves forcefully after the cell phone. They hit the wall with barely audible thuds. "Thank you very much, Quinn."
"You're seeing a therapist," Quinn whispered at last. Her throat was too dry to go any louder. "Why?"
Everyone knew Rachel had had a therapist before, but that was mostly to deal with the bullying at school and her issues with her mother. Now that Quinn and Rachel were dating, the bullying was over. She hadn't received a slushie since last year. She and Shelby were in a good place now that Quinn was visiting Beth with her, and Rachel was actually rather happy that Quinn's daughter was her semi-relation. It made her feel more a part of both Quinn and Beth's lives. They were family, which was all Rachel had really craved.
So she hadn't been seeing that therapist for almost a year now. And Quinn had a feeling she was going to loathe hearing why she needed one now. She wasn't wrong.
Rachel's voice had quieted as well, and now she was just calmly unbuttoning her coat. It occurred to Quinn, watching her, that she still had her Cheerios jacket on and her torso was getting hot. She couldn't move her hands from her sides. She felt too numb.
The brunette barely glanced at her as she said, "I needed someone to talk to."
Quinn clenched her fists. "You—"
"I don't have any friends, Quinn," Rachel said, as though anticipating what she was about to say. "You have Brittany and Santana and Mercedes, but…I have no one. The people in glee club still only tolerate me, and Finn pretty much actively hates me now." She rolled her eyes. "Noah is nice, but he's not there for me like a real friend should be. He doesn't know how to deal with emotions. And Kurt…he's too far away. I have no one," she reiterated.
Quinn stared, mouth dry. "You have me."
The diva paused as she hung up her coat, long enough to make the blonde's stomach act up again. She wouldn't meet Quinn's eyes as she turned, no matter how the cheerleader tried. Rachel silently unlaced her boots and set them neatly next to her father's hiking boots. When she straightened, she took her time smoothing out her clothing, and it was driving Quinn mad, but she wouldn't let herself blow up again like she did before.
At last, the brunette met her eyes. For a brief, fleeting moment, but it was there.
"I can't talk to you about things that are about you," she said softly, and then brushed past Quinn into the living room.
She felt like throwing up. Her palms were clammy and she could feel sweat on her forehead—though that might have been from the heat of the Cheerios jacket—and her stomach was so pissed at her. When she was finally able to move again, she ruthlessly yanked the buttons on her jacket loose and tossed it to the unoccupied armchair. Rachel was wringing her hands, looking defeated at best. At worst…Quinn almost wished she hadn't brought this up.
"What are you talking about?" she asked through bared teeth.
"Don't you need to vent about me sometimes?" Rachel replied, trying to play it off, make it sound innocent.
"Occasionally, sure. But I talk to you about things I have a problem with."
The brunette did the last thing she expected: she scoffed.
"No, you don't."
The blonde's eyes narrowed. "What? I do, too. I—"
"Quinn, you don't talk to me at all," she said quietly, and Quinn could only gape. "When something's bothering you, you don't come to me. You're not open about how you feel, what you're thinking. Sometimes I have a hard time even getting you to tell me how your day was."
She struggled with that for a moment. The reaction her stomach was having to the words told her that every bit was true, no matter how much she wanted to refute it. She glowered at the diva, who stood her ground with a raised chin and tired eyes.
"So that's what you've been complaining to a therapist about? How I don't talk to you enough?" Quinn spat, another sneer gracing her lips.
Rachel shook her head minutely. "It's not everything."
"What else?" she demanded.
She took a breath. "I don't think you—"
"Tell me now. You've told me this much, might as well go all out," she snarled. God, she really was going to puke.
Rachel's jaw clenched for a moment and she looked as though she was struggling with herself. But eventually, she nodded, just a little bit.
"Fine. I feel like you don't love me."
Quinn ran to the bathroom. The door was in her way and she didn't care that she'd probably put a mark in the wall when she shoved it out of the way. She scrambled with the lid and nearly didn't make it, but finally she was clenching her fists around the sides and heaving, relieving herself of the tension that always came with fighting with Rachel.
She never had this reaction to fighting with someone before Rachel. Guilt was a common feeling, but usually she would simply apologize and that would be that. Or, if the other person was in the wrong, they would come groveling and she would play the merciful one and it would be over. With Rachel, it tore her up. It stressed her out so badly she felt it physically, though her girlfriend didn't know that. At least not before today.
She felt her ponytail being pulled to rest on her back and heard the faucet being turned on before she fell limply against the wall next to the toilet. Rachel kneeled next to her and dabbed at her forehead with something cold and wet, and it was such a relief to her boiling body she nearly cried. Instead, she chose to gaze at her girlfriend beneath tired, hooded eyes.
Her usually tan skin was pale, her mouth set in an unhappy line. Not frowning, simply…tense. It was a sharp contrast to the smile that was usually always there when Quinn was around. If her stomach hadn't been empty, she probably would've been gripping that bowl for dear life again.
Sad brown eyes met hers as she swept the cloth over the blonde's cheeks, and Quinn swallowed, gathering the courage to speak.
"Go on," she said hoarsely.
Rachel's eyebrows knit together and the tense mouth really did turn into a frown.
"What? Quinn, I don't think—"
"I need to know," she said, stronger this time. "I need to know why you think that." She reached blindly for her, her Rachel, and managed to find the edge of her skirt with her fingers. She gripped on tight. "Please," she whispered.
The brunette sighed heavily before another of those slight nods.
"I feel like…I annoy you?" she said quietly, looking at Quinn to see that she was following. The blonde could only swallow. "I tend to talk a lot, which you always knew, but sometimes it seems as though you get sick of it just as easily as you used to. I can see your attention fading and your eyes get…cold. They're usually warm with me. It hurts."
She resumed dabbing at Quinn's forehead when the clammy fingers tightened their grip on her skirt. The cheerleader swallowed.
"You still make fun of me." She bit her lip briefly, but hurried on when Quinn opened her mouth to protest. "I know that most of it is in fun now. When we first started dating, it felt like you were teasing me because you were saying, 'Please don't stop doing that. I love it.' And now…when I get too bubbly, you roll your eyes. Or when I sing a song for you in glee or something like that, you're embarrassed of me. And when you tease, it feels like you're saying, 'Go away. You're pestering me.'"
The soft, cool pads of Rachel's thumbs swept across the blonde's cheeks, and it was only then that she realized she was crying. She couldn't imagine what Rachel was feeling, because just hearing about what she was doing to her was wrecking her. She felt like jumping off a building. Or beating herself to death with a stuffed duck.
Rachel's warm presence started to disappear, and though she knew she had no right to at the moment, Quinn clenched tighter to that skirt, not letting her depart. The brunette gently pried her fingers away, kissing her knuckle softly before getting to her feet. She didn't go far, though, to the blonde's relief. Instead she set the washcloth on the side of the sink before digging through a drawer and bringing out a blue toothbrush. She ran it under the water and spread a thin layer of toothpaste across the bristles before bringing it back to Quinn.
The cheerleader took it gratefully, though she was crying again at the gesture, and scrubbed ferociously at her teeth. Rachel helped her heave to her feet so she could spit up in the sink and rinse out with the brunette's mouthwash. The blonde made sure to rinse the toothbrush out as thoroughly as possible before tapping it against the sink and handing it back to Rachel. Her girlfriend…God, she hoped Rachel was still her girlfriend, and at the thought of having to hope for that, she nearly burst into tears.
She bit her lip to keep from sobbing while Rachel offered her a weak smile and put everything back in its proper place. Quinn couldn't stand continuing this conversation in front of the mirror, so she was grateful when Rachel took her hand and brought her back to rest on the floor. She was confused until she realized it was so the toilet would be easily available for her. Then she just felt sick again.
Rachel was silent for several moments, staring ahead of them with a contemplative expression. Quinn was desperate to reach out for her, bury her face in her neck and inhale her comforting scent, but she held back. She wasn't the one who deserved comfort right now.
"Keep going," she whispered at length.
The brunette glanced at her, biting her bottom lip. "Quinn, I don't wish to burden you or hurt you anymore than I clearly have already."
She steeled herself. "Neither do I. So tell me. I need to hear this."
Another sigh left her plump lips before she spoke again. "You don't…tell me you love me."
Quinn's brow furrowed. "I—"
"It's been thirty seven and a half days," Rachel said, not unkindly, as she turned to gaze into hazel eyes. "The last time you said it was the last time we made love. Just after. You thought I was asleep."
The blonde could only gawk, because…well, only Rachel would keep that kind of track of when she said it. She couldn't remember saying it. Why wouldn't she say it? Why wouldn't she say it at every opportunity?
The only answer she could give was that it was for the same reason she didn't talk to Rachel about her problems.
"Sometimes I feel like you just put up with me for…." She trailed off, staring ahead again.
Quinn knew the bathroom wallpaper couldn't be that interesting. "For what?"
Her stomach was already roiling in anticipation.
Rachel's eyes closed in a grimace as she said softly, "For sex."
Anything that may have been left in Quinn's stomach was no longer. The washcloth was dabbing immediately this time, and the toothbrush was ready almost as soon as she'd rocked back into the wall. She didn't take it, though—she hadn't even really thrown anything up anyway. Her eyes were ablaze and on Rachel, who frowned in puzzlement.
"Are you breaking up with me?" Quinn choked out, and a sob escaped before the brunette even had a chance to answer.
Rachel stared at her for a long moment, but she looked to be more in shock than anything. The toothbrush was still hanging in space between them and her plump lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide. At last, she set the toothbrush next to the sink, not seeming to care that it wobbled over and got toothpaste on the clean counter soon after her hand left its handle. That hand went instead to Quinn's cheek, caressing her skin gently.
"Oh, Quinn," she whimpered, shaking her head. Quinn couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw tears in her eyes. "Of course not. I love you."
Rachel was clearly not prepared for an armful of head cheerleader, because they nearly fell to the ground, and it was only the brunette's quick reflexes that saved them. She had both arms wrapped around Quinn, who was bawling unabashedly into her girlfriend's neck, holding onto her for dear life and determined to never let go.
"I love you, too. I love you so much. I do," she wept, trying to either crawl into Rachel's lap or pull her into hers. She couldn't get close enough. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeated, like a mantra, and the brunette was stroking her back and shushing her, cooing to her.
"Shh, it's okay. It's all right, Quinn. I've got you."
"No, it's not okay!" she exclaimed, pulling back and wiping futilely at her eyes and nose. "I'm so sorry I ever made you feel that way, but-but I'm gonna make it up to you, I swear."
Her brow knitted. "Quinn, you don't have—"
"Yes, I do! I love you, an-and I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure you know that, okay?" Quinn surprised herself and Rachel by kissing her fiercely, holding nothing back—and finally pulling her into her lap. The brunette was panting heavily when she pulled away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—I-I'm going to fix it."
"Quinn, it's not your fault."
"It is. I did this. I let…I let myself become him, and I'm not going to do that. I'm not. I love you," she said vehemently, and Rachel didn't need to ask to know who Quinn was talking about.
She tightened her arms around the blonde, petting her hair comfortingly.
"Shh. You're nothing like that man, you hear me? I wouldn't love you if you were," Rachel insisted, and Quinn gave a watery chuckle.
She'd just listed all the qualities that made Quinn exactly like her father, and yet she was still arguing in her defense.
"Then you're going to love me even more soon," she replied with a weak grin.
Rachel beamed, kissing her forehead. "I don't believe that's possible."
Quinn kissed her again, whimpering when she had to pull away. God, she loved Rachel's lips. She would never get enough of them. And that was exactly the sort of thing she needed to hear right now, Quinn reminded herself. She licked her lips nervously.
"I can't get enough of kissing you," she whispered, and kissed her again to prove her point. "Your lips—" another kiss "—are—" kiss "—amazing."
Rachel's tearful grin was enough to lighten Quinn's entire being, and she enthusiastically responded to the happy kiss the brunette planted on her in reward for her rapidly changing behavior. Their lips were dangerously close to swelling territory when the diva pulled back enough for them both to breathe. Quinn traced her fingers along the curve of her cheek, caressing down her jaw and memorizing the dips in her soft skin as if for the first time.
She smiled. "Promise me something?"
"Anything, gorgeous," Rachel replied sweetly.
Quinn's heart swelled at the familiar pet name. "I love it when you call me that."
The brunette chuckled and kissed her nose. The blonde's fingers were on to smoothing over her lips now, licking her own and tasting the cherry chapstick with delight.
"Talk to me from now on? Not your therapist?" she asked anxiously.
Rachel's beam could've lit up the room. "I will if you will."
"From now on. Always," Quinn assured her quickly.
They sealed it with a kiss, and the blonde grumbled irritably when Rachel pulled out of it. The brunette giggled, pulling her to her feet and leading her back to the living room.
"Don't worry; I'm merely relocating us to a more comfortable area. Now, why don't you tell me about your day?" she asked cautiously, easing onto the couch.
Quinn smirked, moving to sit as close to Rachel as she could without actually sitting on her.
"Okay. I'll start with the chat I had with my 'friends' at Cheerios practice. You might know a couple of them. One is this really tough, Latina chick who likes to stir up trouble for no reason and will likely be running at least a thousand suicides at tomorrow's seven a.m. practice."
"Thought she might. You're welcome to come watch her torment, by the way. Something tells me you might have unresolved anger issues with her that could be greatly helped by the experience."
Rachel grinned. "There's no place else I'd rather be, then. Though I assure you that has nothing to do with the incredibly hot head cheerleader who will be making her run those suicides."
"Should I be worried?" Quinn asked, smirking.
"Oh, no. From what I hear, she's taken anyway," she replied with a smirk of her own.
"Probably by some sexy singer."
And with that, they were kissing for all they were worth again, mending a little bit of their pain a touch at a time, the brunette wondering how she got so lucky, and the blonde privately plotting ways to make tomorrow the best day of her girlfriend's life—not to mention every day after that.