Company (9/?)
Title: Company
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Truth-telling
A/N: Apologies if my writing's a bit sporadic for a bit - I had surgery last week to remove a tumor from my breast, and I'm not sure how much writing I'll be doing while I get hormone therapy, it's going to depend how I feel. Thanks for understanding, and I'll still try to be as regular with updates as possible! :)
The clock on her bedside table reads three in the morning, and you can’t sleep. You lie there looking at her instead, until she wakes as if she felt your gaze. She blinks the sleepy look from her eyes and reaches out to put a gentle hand on your cheek.
“Quinn? Why are you awake?”
“Why did you come to me? The first time, I mean - why did you pay for me?”
She sighs, pulling herself up to sit against the backboard. She pats the bed between her legs and you crawl into it, leaning back against her. She wraps her arms around you, her grip gentle. She makes a fumbling start two or three times, then clears her throat. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as you want to tell me.”
“Okay,” she exhales slowly. “I’m trying to think where to start. Well, I guess the easiest place is the beginning, right? I hadn’t had sex since high school.”
“Wait, what? Who did you-”
“Not McKinley. The other school.”
“I thought you were waiting until you were twenty-five.”
“Yes, well,” she laughs bitterly. “When it turns out your meticulously planned future isn’t going to happen, it changes your priorities. But it was only one time.”
“I hope he treated you nicely?”
“She, actually. And yes, she did - but we were incompatible in the long term. So we mutually decided to just leave it at that.”
“But not in all the years since then?”
“I never had any great urge to get to know anyone that well, Quinn. And I don’t believe in casual sex - or, I didn’t, at any rate.”
You’re quiet, letting her compose her thoughts.
“The first time I saw you, I didn’t approach you. I watched you from a distance for a few minutes, trying to discern whether it was really you or not. I couldn’t quite fathom what I was seeing.”
“And when you figured out it was really me?”
She clears her throat again, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I should-”
“Please, Rachel.”
“I wanted to hurt you,” her voice is soft. “I wanted to rub it in your face that your precious perfect little dream had fallen apart like mine had. So I made up my mind - I was going to buy you, and I was going to fuck you, as dirty and rough as I knew how to. I wanted to break you, Quinn. I wanted you to feel what I felt every day in school when you tormented me. I wanted to take the pain of every slushie, every hurtful name, every crudely drawn caricature, and stab it into you. I wanted to take my failure of a life, my collapsed future, all of it, out on you. And that’s what I did. I bruised you, I made you bleed, and I utterly used you. And as much as it shames me, it felt so good - the first time.”
“What changed?” she puts a finger to your lips.
“Let me finish,” she admonishes. “It felt good - but every time I bought you, every time I made you cry out in pain, the less good it felt. I could see myself in your eyes - the pain, the loss, the utter absence of hope. And the more I saw, the less able I was to revel in your pain. Until the last time, when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So I wrote you that note.”
You feel something wet fall onto the top of your head, and you realise she’s crying. You try to turn, to face her, but she holds you firmly in place. “I need to say this before I let you try and comfort me, okay?” her breath is coming in shallow gasps. “I need to beg you for your forgiveness. The way I treated you, the things I did - they’re unconscionable. I’m no better than the man that raped you, Quinn. I hurt you for my own pleasure, for my own edification, and there aren’t words to properly express how wrong that is. I will never be able to make that up to you.”
“Hey,” you crane your neck backward until you’re looking up at her. “You’re nothing like him. I knew what this job entailed when I started doing it, Rachel, and you didn’t do anything to me that someone else didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t mean you should forgive me. I took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable, and that makes me a disgusting human being.”
“And how is that any different than how I treated you? Okay, there may not have been sex involved, but no one is more vulnerable than they are in high school, and I treated you like shit then, and I made your life miserable. I’m not any better than you.”
She shakes her head. “No. Don’t try and equate the two, Quinn - there’s no comparison between teenage bullying and sexual assault.”
“Dammit, Rach - you didn’t rape me. You paid and I consented.”
“But-”
“Listen,” you talk over her. “You are the only reason I have a chance at keeping my son in my life. So I’ll tell you what - let’s just wipe the slate clean, okay? I’m willing to let the past be the past, if you are.”
She doesn’t answer, but she leans down to cover your mouth softly with hers. You feel your body respond instantly, a bolt of heat rushing from your abdomen to your center, and you groan into the kiss. She pulls away with a grin on her face.
“Dylan’s a light sleeper,” you caution.
“Then you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?” she smirks. She reaches down and finds the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head and throwing it aside before she moves out from behind you and lets you lie down. Her bed is soft, and her lips are warm against yours, and her hands seem to be touching every part of you at once. She keeps you hovering at the edge until you’re all but weeping, and then she tumbles you over and shatters you into a million pieces, her gentle hand over your mouth to muffle your scream. You move to return the favour, but she gently deflects your attention and wraps you in her arms. It’s only minutes before you drift off to sleep, warm and sated.
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Lindsey paces the floor in front of you. “Miss Fabray, isn’t it correct that your sole source of income is prostitution?”
“No. It used to be, but-“
“No, no no. Don’t offer anything. Answer the questions they ask you, but don’t volunteer any more than that. If you do that, they’ll bury you. What is the nature of your relationship with Miss Berry?”
“She’s my employer.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s my friend,” you say haltingly, looking at Rachel for approval. She nods.
“Where do you sleep?”
You glare at her, but she’s unapologetic. “These are the things they’re going to hammer you on, Quinn. Where do you sleep?”
“In her bed.”
“So, you’re more than friends, then.”
“Yes.”
“And is your son aware of the nature of your relationship?”
“What? No!”
“So you’re lying to your son about the person he’s living with?”
You sputter, and Lindsey shakes her head. “See, this line of questioning is going to be trouble. You need to be honest from the start, Quinn. You need to say, flat out, that Rachel is your girlfriend. If you’re evasive, they’re going to use that as proof that you’re embarrassed about your personal life.”
“Excuse me,” Charlie speaks up from the jury box of the mock-courtroom, “what the fuck does any of this have to do with whether she’s a fit mother or not? Christ on a bicycle - there’s, what, four questions that matter? Is her kid happy? Is he safe? Does he do well in school? Has he ever gone hungry? Beyond that, what does all this superficial shit have to do with it?”
“It would be nice if the justice system was that simple, Miss Fabray, but it’s not. The judge will be looking at every aspect of your sister’s life to determine her fitness as a mother. Everything she’s ever done is fair game.”
“Fucking crock,” Charlie shakes her head. Lindsey turns back to you. “Are you ready to try again?”
You shake your head, unable to keep tears from sliding down your cheeks. “I - I need a minute.”
“Okay,” she checks her watch. “Let’s break for lunch. I’ll see all of you back here in an hour.” She gathers her things and leaves, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. You burst into tears, and Rachel beats everyone else to your side.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this,” you sob, “I can’t remember all of this. They’re going to trip me up, and then I’m going to lose.”
“Hey,” she pulls you up and into her embrace. “You’re going to do fine. You’re tired, and you’re stressed, but that’s all. We’ll get some lunch, and we’ll come at it fresh this afternoon.”
“Where are we goin’ for chow?” Charlie asks.
“Somewhere vegan,” you answer, but Rachel chuckles.
“Not an issue anymore, Quinn. Pick anywhere you want.”
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There’s a Vietnamese restaurant down the block from the building that houses Lindsey’s mock courtroom, and by consensus you all walk there. You order a half-dozen lettuce wraps to start, along with some cold milk tea. Your mother, as is her wont, drops a bombshell halfway through.
“You know, Quinnie used to talk about you all the time.”
Rachel’s mouth is full, but her eyes widen. She swallows quickly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Really?”
“Oh, yes - as much as she made a show of hating you, I always wondered if there was something else going on. Not that we could ever have discussed it with Russell still in the house, of course.”
“Mother!” you sputter, feeling yourself turning red.
“What?” she asks, all innocence. “I’m just saying.”
The arrival of steaming bowls of soup saves you from any further embarrassment, as everyone tucks into their food. You see Charlie staring at you over the rim of her bowl and stick your tongue out at her. She grins, plucking a noodle from her bowl and flicking it at you. Judy reaches over and slaps the back of her head. “Charlotte Marilyn Fabray! I taught you better manners than that.”
“Marilyn,” you snicker.
“And Quinnie, quit egging your sister on. Goodness, this is like having two little children in the house again.”
Rachel’s snickering beside you, so you take the noodle and flick it at her. “Teach you to laugh at me,” you murmur. She responds by taking the noodle and dropping it in your hair. “Bitch!” you whisper, picking it out.
“I’m curious,” Rachel says, smiling sweetly at you. “What did you used to say about me?”
“Nothing good,” you retort.
“That much is true,” Judy confirms, “but it wasn’t what she said. It was the fact that she just never stopped talking about you. Rachel did this, Rachel did that, could I believe she’d do that?”
“Mother, will you please stop?”
“Aww, is Quinnie getting embarrassed?” Charlie teases.
“Mammaknullare,” you mutter.
“Quinn Fabray!” Judy snaps. “I know what that means, young lady, or have you forgotten?”
“What was that?” Rachel’s looking at you, confused.
“Swedish,” you grin. “Charlie and I learned the swears when we were kids.”
Charlie laughs. “We got away with it for a while, too. Then we did it around one of our relatives, who told mom what we were saying. Russell beat both our asses that night.”
“Worth every second,” you reach across the table and high-five her. Rachel’s cell phone rings, and she digs it out of her purse.
“Hello? Yes, one moment please.” She covers the mouthpiece. “It’s Dylan’s school.”
When you’d dropped Dylan off that morning, you’d stayed and informed the office that you had a new phone number. You hadn’t realised until now, though, that Rachel forwarded her home phone to her cell. You take it from her, trying not to accidentally hang up as you do.
“Hello?”
“Miss Fabray?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Jennifer, from the main office. Did you authorize anyone else to pick up Dylan today?”
The phone drops from your suddenly numb hands, seemingly in slow motion as it tumbles end over end and hits the table with a strangely apropos thud.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Truth-telling
A/N: Apologies if my writing's a bit sporadic for a bit - I had surgery last week to remove a tumor from my breast, and I'm not sure how much writing I'll be doing while I get hormone therapy, it's going to depend how I feel. Thanks for understanding, and I'll still try to be as regular with updates as possible! :)
The clock on her bedside table reads three in the morning, and you can’t sleep. You lie there looking at her instead, until she wakes as if she felt your gaze. She blinks the sleepy look from her eyes and reaches out to put a gentle hand on your cheek.
“Quinn? Why are you awake?”
“Why did you come to me? The first time, I mean - why did you pay for me?”
She sighs, pulling herself up to sit against the backboard. She pats the bed between her legs and you crawl into it, leaning back against her. She wraps her arms around you, her grip gentle. She makes a fumbling start two or three times, then clears her throat. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as you want to tell me.”
“Okay,” she exhales slowly. “I’m trying to think where to start. Well, I guess the easiest place is the beginning, right? I hadn’t had sex since high school.”
“Wait, what? Who did you-”
“Not McKinley. The other school.”
“I thought you were waiting until you were twenty-five.”
“Yes, well,” she laughs bitterly. “When it turns out your meticulously planned future isn’t going to happen, it changes your priorities. But it was only one time.”
“I hope he treated you nicely?”
“She, actually. And yes, she did - but we were incompatible in the long term. So we mutually decided to just leave it at that.”
“But not in all the years since then?”
“I never had any great urge to get to know anyone that well, Quinn. And I don’t believe in casual sex - or, I didn’t, at any rate.”
You’re quiet, letting her compose her thoughts.
“The first time I saw you, I didn’t approach you. I watched you from a distance for a few minutes, trying to discern whether it was really you or not. I couldn’t quite fathom what I was seeing.”
“And when you figured out it was really me?”
She clears her throat again, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I should-”
“Please, Rachel.”
“I wanted to hurt you,” her voice is soft. “I wanted to rub it in your face that your precious perfect little dream had fallen apart like mine had. So I made up my mind - I was going to buy you, and I was going to fuck you, as dirty and rough as I knew how to. I wanted to break you, Quinn. I wanted you to feel what I felt every day in school when you tormented me. I wanted to take the pain of every slushie, every hurtful name, every crudely drawn caricature, and stab it into you. I wanted to take my failure of a life, my collapsed future, all of it, out on you. And that’s what I did. I bruised you, I made you bleed, and I utterly used you. And as much as it shames me, it felt so good - the first time.”
“What changed?” she puts a finger to your lips.
“Let me finish,” she admonishes. “It felt good - but every time I bought you, every time I made you cry out in pain, the less good it felt. I could see myself in your eyes - the pain, the loss, the utter absence of hope. And the more I saw, the less able I was to revel in your pain. Until the last time, when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So I wrote you that note.”
You feel something wet fall onto the top of your head, and you realise she’s crying. You try to turn, to face her, but she holds you firmly in place. “I need to say this before I let you try and comfort me, okay?” her breath is coming in shallow gasps. “I need to beg you for your forgiveness. The way I treated you, the things I did - they’re unconscionable. I’m no better than the man that raped you, Quinn. I hurt you for my own pleasure, for my own edification, and there aren’t words to properly express how wrong that is. I will never be able to make that up to you.”
“Hey,” you crane your neck backward until you’re looking up at her. “You’re nothing like him. I knew what this job entailed when I started doing it, Rachel, and you didn’t do anything to me that someone else didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t mean you should forgive me. I took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable, and that makes me a disgusting human being.”
“And how is that any different than how I treated you? Okay, there may not have been sex involved, but no one is more vulnerable than they are in high school, and I treated you like shit then, and I made your life miserable. I’m not any better than you.”
She shakes her head. “No. Don’t try and equate the two, Quinn - there’s no comparison between teenage bullying and sexual assault.”
“Dammit, Rach - you didn’t rape me. You paid and I consented.”
“But-”
“Listen,” you talk over her. “You are the only reason I have a chance at keeping my son in my life. So I’ll tell you what - let’s just wipe the slate clean, okay? I’m willing to let the past be the past, if you are.”
She doesn’t answer, but she leans down to cover your mouth softly with hers. You feel your body respond instantly, a bolt of heat rushing from your abdomen to your center, and you groan into the kiss. She pulls away with a grin on her face.
“Dylan’s a light sleeper,” you caution.
“Then you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?” she smirks. She reaches down and finds the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head and throwing it aside before she moves out from behind you and lets you lie down. Her bed is soft, and her lips are warm against yours, and her hands seem to be touching every part of you at once. She keeps you hovering at the edge until you’re all but weeping, and then she tumbles you over and shatters you into a million pieces, her gentle hand over your mouth to muffle your scream. You move to return the favour, but she gently deflects your attention and wraps you in her arms. It’s only minutes before you drift off to sleep, warm and sated.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lindsey paces the floor in front of you. “Miss Fabray, isn’t it correct that your sole source of income is prostitution?”
“No. It used to be, but-“
“No, no no. Don’t offer anything. Answer the questions they ask you, but don’t volunteer any more than that. If you do that, they’ll bury you. What is the nature of your relationship with Miss Berry?”
“She’s my employer.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s my friend,” you say haltingly, looking at Rachel for approval. She nods.
“Where do you sleep?”
You glare at her, but she’s unapologetic. “These are the things they’re going to hammer you on, Quinn. Where do you sleep?”
“In her bed.”
“So, you’re more than friends, then.”
“Yes.”
“And is your son aware of the nature of your relationship?”
“What? No!”
“So you’re lying to your son about the person he’s living with?”
You sputter, and Lindsey shakes her head. “See, this line of questioning is going to be trouble. You need to be honest from the start, Quinn. You need to say, flat out, that Rachel is your girlfriend. If you’re evasive, they’re going to use that as proof that you’re embarrassed about your personal life.”
“Excuse me,” Charlie speaks up from the jury box of the mock-courtroom, “what the fuck does any of this have to do with whether she’s a fit mother or not? Christ on a bicycle - there’s, what, four questions that matter? Is her kid happy? Is he safe? Does he do well in school? Has he ever gone hungry? Beyond that, what does all this superficial shit have to do with it?”
“It would be nice if the justice system was that simple, Miss Fabray, but it’s not. The judge will be looking at every aspect of your sister’s life to determine her fitness as a mother. Everything she’s ever done is fair game.”
“Fucking crock,” Charlie shakes her head. Lindsey turns back to you. “Are you ready to try again?”
You shake your head, unable to keep tears from sliding down your cheeks. “I - I need a minute.”
“Okay,” she checks her watch. “Let’s break for lunch. I’ll see all of you back here in an hour.” She gathers her things and leaves, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. You burst into tears, and Rachel beats everyone else to your side.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this,” you sob, “I can’t remember all of this. They’re going to trip me up, and then I’m going to lose.”
“Hey,” she pulls you up and into her embrace. “You’re going to do fine. You’re tired, and you’re stressed, but that’s all. We’ll get some lunch, and we’ll come at it fresh this afternoon.”
“Where are we goin’ for chow?” Charlie asks.
“Somewhere vegan,” you answer, but Rachel chuckles.
“Not an issue anymore, Quinn. Pick anywhere you want.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There’s a Vietnamese restaurant down the block from the building that houses Lindsey’s mock courtroom, and by consensus you all walk there. You order a half-dozen lettuce wraps to start, along with some cold milk tea. Your mother, as is her wont, drops a bombshell halfway through.
“You know, Quinnie used to talk about you all the time.”
Rachel’s mouth is full, but her eyes widen. She swallows quickly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Really?”
“Oh, yes - as much as she made a show of hating you, I always wondered if there was something else going on. Not that we could ever have discussed it with Russell still in the house, of course.”
“Mother!” you sputter, feeling yourself turning red.
“What?” she asks, all innocence. “I’m just saying.”
The arrival of steaming bowls of soup saves you from any further embarrassment, as everyone tucks into their food. You see Charlie staring at you over the rim of her bowl and stick your tongue out at her. She grins, plucking a noodle from her bowl and flicking it at you. Judy reaches over and slaps the back of her head. “Charlotte Marilyn Fabray! I taught you better manners than that.”
“Marilyn,” you snicker.
“And Quinnie, quit egging your sister on. Goodness, this is like having two little children in the house again.”
Rachel’s snickering beside you, so you take the noodle and flick it at her. “Teach you to laugh at me,” you murmur. She responds by taking the noodle and dropping it in your hair. “Bitch!” you whisper, picking it out.
“I’m curious,” Rachel says, smiling sweetly at you. “What did you used to say about me?”
“Nothing good,” you retort.
“That much is true,” Judy confirms, “but it wasn’t what she said. It was the fact that she just never stopped talking about you. Rachel did this, Rachel did that, could I believe she’d do that?”
“Mother, will you please stop?”
“Aww, is Quinnie getting embarrassed?” Charlie teases.
“Mammaknullare,” you mutter.
“Quinn Fabray!” Judy snaps. “I know what that means, young lady, or have you forgotten?”
“What was that?” Rachel’s looking at you, confused.
“Swedish,” you grin. “Charlie and I learned the swears when we were kids.”
Charlie laughs. “We got away with it for a while, too. Then we did it around one of our relatives, who told mom what we were saying. Russell beat both our asses that night.”
“Worth every second,” you reach across the table and high-five her. Rachel’s cell phone rings, and she digs it out of her purse.
“Hello? Yes, one moment please.” She covers the mouthpiece. “It’s Dylan’s school.”
When you’d dropped Dylan off that morning, you’d stayed and informed the office that you had a new phone number. You hadn’t realised until now, though, that Rachel forwarded her home phone to her cell. You take it from her, trying not to accidentally hang up as you do.
“Hello?”
“Miss Fabray?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Jennifer, from the main office. Did you authorize anyone else to pick up Dylan today?”
The phone drops from your suddenly numb hands, seemingly in slow motion as it tumbles end over end and hits the table with a strangely apropos thud.