Problem of the affection variety
Rachel's attentiveness was a curse. She didn't usually pay that much attention to Quinn's eyes. It's just that they were kind of really pretty and they lit up in a certain way if the lighting was right, so it was hard not to notice the russet flecks in her irises or the size of her pupils. At first, Rachel had dismissed Quinn's blown pupils as a reaction to low lighting, but after more than a few encounters in brightly lit bathrooms, hallways, and stages she realized that the tiny black saucers were not at all a reaction to the lighting.
That left it as being a reaction to drugs, alcohol, lust or anxiety. Quinn didn't appear anxious in any of the encounters and Rachel laughed in the face of the idea that the blonde had been turned on. Alcohol seemed more likely than the drugs theory, but there was no suspicious alcohol breath or drunken behavior. Add Quinn's connections within the Skanks, who had no doubt dealt with mood altering substances at least at one point in their lives, and the only possibility left was drugs.
Quinn was doing drugs.
She had confronted each of her fellow Glee members individually about the issue, but they all brushed her off and told her she was overreacting in many different, colorful ways. Which led her to be in the following situation.
Quinn was doing her homework on the bleachers during Cheerios practice. Rachel wouldn't be surprised if Quinn was waiting for Santana and/or Brittany and chose to spend her time on more productive things than cheerleaders. Whatever the case, this allowed Rachel the perfect opportunity to observe the girl in a way that was as inconspicuous as possible from across the field.
With a telephoto lens camera that could be its own entity.
So that's why Rachel was taking pictures of Quinn in the bleachers. It was strictly necessary, of course. How else was she going to be able to judge the size of her pupils from that distance? It's not like she could just walk over and strike up a serious conversation about her concerns regarding Quinn's health or anything, goodness no. Quinn was like a mistreated cat you got from an animal shelter. Come on too fast, too strong, and she'd bolt before you could pronounce marihuana.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, midget?"
Rachel jumped with a squeak, almost dropping her borrowed camera in the process. Wide brown eyes flickered up to an unamused Santana, standing with her arms folded.
"Your next words better not involve 'throw her higher' and 'I can't get a good shot,' or so help me God—"
"What?" Rachel glanced across the field to see the Cheerios go through one of their routines. It was all athleticism and short skirts as far as the eye could see. She reared back slightly at the implication. "As much as I hold a certain appreciation for the female form, I'm not here to take panty shots, Santana, and I'm offended you're suggesting as much."
"Then what are you pulling? You look like Jacob Ben Israel hiding out in front of the girls' locker room with that thing," she said with a nod towards the camera.
Rachel looked down at the camera, becoming slightly self-conscious. "If you must know, I'm checking up on Quinn."
"Dios mio, are you still convinced she's on drugs?"
"I'll have you know that there is irrefutable proof on this harddisk," she responded, taking back her confidence as she starting browsing through numerous photos.
"Oh, this, I gotta see," Santana said, sitting down next to the girl to get a better look.
"Here's Quinn while doing her homework," Rachel narrated, showing as much on the picture before zooming in on her eyes. They were slanted down somewhat, focused on the book in her lap, but they were visible nevertheless. "As you can see, her pupils are a perfectly normal size here." She pressed a few other select buttons and another picture showed up of Quinn holding a half eaten muffin. The way she surveyed the field allowed a perfectly good shot of her eyes. "Here, they are suspiciously bigger after consuming half a muffin. This causes me to believe that she has taken some… liberties… while baking her lunch."
Santana inched forwards and frowned incredulously at the pictures. A memory popped up, one long forgotten. Quinn had been rather tense back when they were washing cars, and even excused herself once. She'd been noticeably more relaxed after returning, but she couldn't remember the size of her pupils. It was a possibility. But then Santana backed away with a shake of the head. "Oh my God, Berry, you have got to start looking for some hobbies if your crackpot theories are starting to make sense to me."
"But I have more!" Rachel protested, reaching for her bag.
"Of course you do," Santana deadpanned, kind of curious despite her bored appearance. When Rachel pulled out her phone, it took all Santana had not to make another comment about the girl's stalker behavior. "Jesus, are you sure the only reason you're doing this is because you're worried?"
What? She was totally containing herself.
"I can understand your fascination with my sexuality, but please focus on the evidence at hand," Rachel said, completely ignoring Santana's 'what the fuck?' look as she browsed through a list of pictures. "Here." It was a picture of Quinn, her body facing a mirror in the bathroom as she looked sideways, directly into the camera. Santana was about to ask how she even took that photo and got out alive when Rachel explained. "I've been faking calls in Quinn's presence, allowing the perfect angle to take pictures of her in a brightly lit setting." She zoomed in slightly. "Again, her pupils are dilated."
Santana smirked as Rachel showed another picture wherein Quinn looked slightly more irritated. "You realize she's looking at you, right?"
"Santana, will you please stop implying that Quinn and I are romantically interested in girls or each other? Quinn's a very pretty girl, but she's a lot more than that." Santana narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Rachel, not sure if she was purposely sounding like an ignorant queer. For someone who kept catching on to her vague implications, she sure was blind to the way she acted. "Here," Rachel said resolutely, thrusting her phone display in Santana's face. It showed a picture of Quinn's face, taken from over a shoulder that was covered with long dark hair.
Santana squinted at the picture. She recognized that shirt. There were also only a few people taller than Quinn. "Is that Shelby?"
"You can see that even when she's speaking to others, the size of her pupils remains the same. Therefore, there must be another external factor at play," Rachel said, ignoring Santana's question.
"Whoa there, Katy Perry." Santana held up both her hands, stopping Rachel right in her tracks. "Shelby's your mom, who basically looks like an adult version of you. All you've shown me is pictures of Quinn making puppy faces at either you or scantily clad girls twisting in strange positions."
"I'm not done speaking!" Santana continued, this time holding up only one hand to silence Rachel. "No, wait, I am. I'm just looking to leave before you brainwash me into believing Quinn's secretly also a lesbian vampire slayer." And with that, she stood up and walked away.
Rachel closed her mouth as her brows dipped down in wonder, speculating about whether Santana was referring to lesbian vampires or lesbian slayers.
"Finn?" Rachel asked through the phone.
"Have you ever noticed something about the size of Quinn's pupils?"
"That's, like, the black in her eye, right?"
"Yeah, they were always kind of small. Her eyes were really green."
"Hazel," Rachel corrected. "What about currently?"
"Um, this isn't some kind of trick question, right? Where I get in trouble for looking at Quinn's eyes or something?"
"Of course not. Unless you were looking at her while committing adulterous acts, you're free to look at her eyes whenever you like."
"Oh, okay. That's cool. Um, they're still the same, I guess."
"What about her posture? She seems more relaxed these days, doesn't she? Her smile has taken up this lazier quality, and her eyes shine brighter."
"And her hair. Maybe it's her hair. She used to have such pretty, long hair. That costs a lot of time to maintain. Maybe now that it's shorter, it leaves her with more time to do other things. It doesn't solve anything, of course, but I heard getting a haircut is quite therapeutic. It must be nice to run your hands through such hair."
"Rachel? This conversation is weird."
"Of course. I'm going off topic. So, about her smile…"
"Hello, Quinn," Rachel said, approaching the girl at her locker the next day. She had all the proof she needed to confront Quinn and see through the lies that she was no doubt going to tell to put Rachel off the trail.
Quinn glanced over briefly before proceeding to put the rest of her books away. "Hey."
Rachel fidgeted a moment, wondering if this was the right place for a confrontation. But she quickly put the thought out of her head – Quinn needed help as soon as possible – and gathered all her courage. "Quinn, we're kind of friends, right?"
Quinn sighed deeply, quietly shutting her locker as she turned to Rachel. "What did you do?" she asked pointedly.
"What?" Rachel's eyes widened a fraction. "Why would you say I did something?"
"You always ask that after something big happened. As far as I know, the biggest thing that happened this week was that they offered blueberry muffins in the cafeteria four days in a row," she explained calmly, missing the way Rachel silently cursed under her breath. "And since I'm not really interested in the boys right now, I know you didn't steal my boyfriend." She smiled a tiny, genuine smile. "Again."
Rachel smiled bashfully before realizing her position and straightening up. She took note of Quinn's darkened eyes, and briefly wondered when the girl wasn't on drugs. "Be that as it may, I have something I need to talk to you about."
Quinn raised an eyebrow, smiling in amusement.
Almost as if she knew, Rachel thought.
"I—I have," been taking pictures of your eyes the last few days? Abort, abort. "I know about your problem," she whispered, leaning in.
"I do have a problem," Quinn said, nodding solemnly. For someone who knew she had a problem, Rachel thought she looked surprisingly composed. "I have a problem understanding what you're getting at."
Rachel looked around, found that the coast was clear enough, and took a step closer to Quinn to ensure ultimate privacy. "Your drug problem."
Quinn blinked once, twice, and then outright laughed. "Oh. Oh wow. And here I thought Santana was just making things up."
"She told you?" Rachel asked, looking horrified.
"Well, yes," she said, her laughter dying down until she was only smiling. "But who'd believe you've been going through such an extent to take pictures of me just to judge the size of my pupils? You could have just asked."
"That had crossed my mind," Rachel muttered, averting her eyes. "We're digressing." She turned back to face Quinn. "I've googled some instances that can help you with your addiction, and if you're interested, I've also—"
"Rachel, I don't have a drug problem," Quinn hastily cut in. "I'm not high."
"Then why are your pupils always dilated like that?" she asked quietly, eyebrows knitting together as she pointed large, brown eyes in Quinn's direction. Quinn bit on her lower lip, looking away as she no doubt tried to come up with an excuse. Rachel's eyebrows shot up her forehead at the conclusion she drew. "You're… But why?"
"Can we not talk about this in the hallway?" Quinn asked, becoming fidgety.
"Of course, yes." Rachel led the way to the closest empty room, which just so happened to be a bathroom. That was odd. There were usually a few students around and she hadn't heard the bell ring.
"I don't exactly feel comfortable that you know this," Quinn said eventually, her arms crossed as she stood in the middle of the bathroom.
"But it doesn't make any sense. Why would you be scared of me?" Rachel asked, gesturing wildly as she started a rant, completely oblivious to the disbelieving look Quinn was shooting at her. "Sure, I may be intimidating if I go after a solo, or if I think we should use a certain song, but it's always in the best interest of the Glee club. It's not like I ever attack someone personally—"
"Yes?" Rachel turned to Quinn, lowering her hands. In her brief tangent, Quinn had closed in the distance between them, and looked down meaningfully at her. It was strange, because those were not the eyes of someone who was afraid. Of course it figured that only Quinn could hide her anxiety that well.
"This is your fault," she said quietly, not as accusingly as it could have been. Rachel was about to ask what was her fault, but Quinn had already leant forwards and pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek. Rachel's breath hitched as Quinn breathed out against her skin, not quite moving away. "Why aren't you moving?" Quinn asked.
Rachel took a moment. "Why aren't you?" she asked right back, carefully turning her head to look into dilated pupils. Huh. Okay. Well.
Quinn grinned as she returned the rather intense look. "I think you may have a drug problem, Rachel."
Written because of TouristSeason's Giant Gay!Pupils prompt. Curse you for the genius.
Extra scene (aka the reason why nobody interrupts them in the bathroom):
A student walked over to the restroom and was about to turn the handle before she was interrupted.
"I wouldn't go in there," another girl warned.
The student withdrew her hand as if she'd been burned. "What? Code green?"
"God, why can't they use the supply closet like the rest of us?"
"At least they're quiet this time."