True Story of What Was (Part Three)
Title: True Story of What Was (Part Three)
Rating: PG
Length: 4,000
Summary: One of them makes it big singing about her past.
Note: Click on the first line of the song to hear the original version.
“It’s time, Rachel.”
Jesse smiled at his best friend, but his voice gave away his annoyance.
“Not today, Jesse.” Rachel rolled over on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. There was no way he was getting her to move. She just wasn’t ready.
“Rachel. Honey. You know I love you.” Jesse sighed, resigned that it was time to bring out the tough love. “It’s been half a year. Six months. It’s time.”
“Jesse. Please.”
“No, Rachel. I’ve told you many times that this is for your own good, but it’s beyond that now. It’s for my good, too. I need my apartment back. I have needs, Rachel. Lots of needs. Needs that can’t adequately be fulfilled when your best friend is sleeping on a sofa 10 feet away from your bed.”
“Jesse I told you I could stay somewhere else if you want to sexile me. And let’s be honest, it’s not like you’ve had suitors knocking down your door or anything since I got here.”
“Do you think that’s a coincidence?! I’ve been tactful, Rachel. But it’s time. It’s beyond time. I think I might technically be a born again virgin.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, even thought her best friend couldn’t see it.
“Look,” his voice softened, “I know you’re still waiting for her to return the 157 calls you made after ‘it’ happened. It’s hard to accept, but she’s had months to return those calls, Rachel. If she were going to call you it would have already happened. And I know the lease on the apartment is going to be up soon. She hasn’t asked you to come back. It’s time to find your own place.”
Rachel stayed motionless for a few moments, collecting her thoughts, willing herself not to completely break down like she had the last 10 times Jesse made these points.
“Rationally, I know it’s over,” she said into the cushion before turning over to face her friend. “I know that Quinn will never forgive me for how I acted, even if I can forgive her for letting me go so easily. But maybe one of us just needs to swallow our pride one last time and reach out? What if I just make one more attempt? I haven’t even called in almost six months…”
“If I hadn’t taken your phone after the first week you never would have stopped.”
“Either way, that deserves some kind of reward, doesn’t it? Just tell me I’m not pathetic for wanting to give it one more try.”
“It’s totally pathetic,” Jesse deadpanned. “It’s pathetic that you were able to call her 157 times in a one-week period, and she never returned your call. It’s pathetic that she is on every goddamn magazine cover with a smile on her face like she’s happy. It’s pathetic that she broke into the business with a song about how you should suffer. Most of all it’s pathetic that she has been photographed with all kinds of different women hanging all over her. It’s disrespectful, even if she doesn’t want to be with you anymore.”
Rachel couldn’t stop the slow tears from rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t ready to give up.
“I need to sing.”
Jesse didn’t respond immediately.
“I need to put my emotions down in song. I mean, that’s how I always process my emotions best, so why has it taken me this long to do it?”
Rachel grabbed her messenger bag, pulled out her song notebook, and turned to the first blank page.
“Rachel.”
“I know you don’t approve, Jesse.”
“It’s not that I don’t approve.” Jesse took Rachel’s hand, forcing her to pay attention to him. “It’s that I really believe that if she were going to call you, she would have by now. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”
Rachel wiped her eyes and looked down at her notebook.
“I just need to do this. The worst she can do is say she doesn’t love me anymore, that she will never love me again. And that’s where we are now, isn’t it? I have nothing to lose.”
Rachel patted Jesse’s hand softly and picked up her bag.
“If I’m really going to do this I need help making this song perfect, because it really is my last chance.”
Jesse nodded at Rachel’s words as he watched her put on her jacket and walk out the door.
“Good luck,” he said quietly as the door clicked shut.
--------------------------------------------
“What’s that Tolstoy line? Something about families…”
“‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’”
“Exactly. It’s like that.”
“Are you trying to say you want to pull an Anna Karenina and throw yourself under a train? I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“No,” Quinn leaned back against the soundboard in the familiar recording studio, her hands in her pockets, smiling at her producer. “I’m trying to say that happiness is boring. Happy songs all sound the same. Go ahead, play anything sappy that’s been on the radio in the past few weeks and tell me you aren’t bored by the bridge.”
“Quinn, you’re the top selling artist on our label; multiple times over. And you’ve been signed for what, four months?” Liam paused for dramatic effect. “It’s time to diversify your sound. You have sold millions of records, but you need to stay current to have any staying power in this industry.”
Quinn knew it was true, but was unwilling to concede that a different perspective was what she really needed. “So diversifying the sound. Does that mean I need to change the voice? What if I write in a slightly different genre? Or pull in someone for collaboration on a single? Or even just put one of my songs through a pop filter?”
Liam’s brow furrowed as he listened to Quinn. As usual, she had a point.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he started, his serious expression imparting his reluctance to argue. “We are going to finish the songs that are partially finished, and then work on a few collaborations. We need a different sound. Not totally new, but definitely fresh. There is only so much wallowing that people can take.”
“Oh, come on,” Quinn said lightly, “Misery loves company. Listeners want to know that beautiful people are terrible depressed, too. Anyway I have the perfect artist in mind for a collaboration.”
“Well I will be sending you clips, anyway. We should have at least a few backups in case things don’t work out as expected.”
“Always the cautious producer, Liam. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about it in a few days, after we finish up with this giant turd of a sample.”
“Just watch, Quinn - this turd of a sample is going to get you a Kanye remix.”
Quinn said her goodbyes to Liam and headed out of the studio towards Joe’s Pub, hoping Puck is still behind the bar. There was something magical about Joe’s for Quinn; when she passed through the threshold of the bar she felt calm and clear. It had taken the better part of two seasons in New York, an eternity in this city, to get back to some feeling of peace. She got the closest to that feeling at Joe’s, but no matter how hard she tried, she still had a voice telling her that she isn’t as happy as she could be. Tremendous fame, a ridiculous amount of money, and the smug feeling of knowing that she made it on her own were no match for the happiness she felt with Rachel.
She shook the thoughts from her mind as she heard the door close behind her. Almost immediately every pair of eyes in the bar were trained on her: something she still hadn’t gotten used to.
“I’m not Quinn... I just look like her,” she said loud enough for the first few tables to hear. They seemed to accept it and turned back to their companions.
Puck smiled warmly as his friend pulled out a bar stool to sit down.
“Is it a rum and diet kind of night, or are we looking for something a little more dangerous? Perhaps a dirty martini?”
“I want to stick with rum. How about a dark and stormy? It makes me feel all tropical.”
Puck poured her a perfectly mixed drink, as usual. Quinn closed her eyes and enjoyed the first few sips before speaking again.
“So I need your advice.”
He eyed her suspiciously. Usually Quinn asked for advice about Rachel - how she possibly withstood her annoying qualities for so long, how she had gotten herself into that kind of situation, and (generally when she was a few drinks in) how she could ever be happy again knowing that she would be missing a piece of herself for as long as they weren’t together. But it had been a few weeks since Quinn had even brought up Rachel’s name, so Puck thought it might be getting better.
“Do you need me to beat someone up for you again? Is it a dude?”
“No, but thank you. I’m actually thinking about spending some of this money that I have now, and I wanted your opinion.”
“Definitely get a private jet. Or at least a helicopter. How cool would that be? We could go to LA for lunch or Germany for the weekend and not even worry about having to wear your seatbelt or those cramped bathrooms. Wait… you’d still have flight attendants, right? Can I audition them? Oh, Quinn, this is going to be so totally awesome.”
“Actually… I was thinking about moving into a different apartment. The lease is up in a few months so it got me thinking about the space, and I really need some extra room for instruments and equipment if I’m going to start practicing at home instead of in the studio.”
Puck was absolutely shocked at Quinn’s statement. Sure it had been a few weeks since she had brought Rachel up in conversation, but he was sure that Quinn still thought about her all the time. Could she really be moving on enough to get a new place to live?
Quinn interrupted his thought process.
“Well, I’m thinking about keeping the apartment as a studio, actually. I have written my best songs in that space. All my songs, really. It’s a good creative space.”
“I think it sounds great, Quinn.”
The blonde beamed at her friend over her drink, happy to have his endorsement. Puck’s focus shifted slightly above Quinn’s head to the door of the bar. His eyes widened in surprise, prompting Quinn to turn to look at the entrance of the bar. The two spoke nearly in unison.
“Oh my god.”
“Well it’s about damn time,” Puck half-yelled before climbing out from behind the bar to give his newest patron a bear hug.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Santana said, pointing at Quinn, “I haven’t even been abroad for a year and this bitch signs a recording contract and becomes the next big thing?”
Quinn looked up at her old friend. So much had happened since they had last spoken, since they had last shared a drink in this bar. Santana’s mouth tightened and she took a seat next to Quinn, studying the blonde for a moment before looking down at the drink Puck had placed in front of her.
“So it’s true,” she said softly. Quinn sighed. “At first I thought it was just stuff they had songwriters prepare for you, but it’s really true, isn’t it?”
Quinn looked down at her drink before turning to face the brunette. Puck shot Santana a warning glare, begging her not to make a big deal out of this conversation. He could tell from both girls’ postures that this wasn’t going to go smoothly.
“Yeah, she left.”
“What do you mean she left? You let her leave?”
“No, asshole.” Quinn’s tone was sharp. “She fucking left. I couldn’t stop her.”
"So the tabloid stories are true? You're whoring around with dumb sluts now that you're famous?"
"No! None of that is true!"
“So what did you do to piss her off?!? Quinn, the girl is practically a midget. Don’t tell me you couldn’t stop her.”
Quinn exhaled deeply.
“Listen, Santana. We’ve been friends for a long time, but don’t think you can just waltz into the bar after being gone for months and just start talking shit. If you can’t let it rest then it’s our friendship that’s going to be on the line.”
Santana paused for a moment and looked at her drink, seeming to contemplate her options. For a second, Puck thought Santana might actually stop.
“You know what? Fine.”
“Thank you. So tell me about your time in Portugal.”
“No, I don’t think you get what I’m saying.” The brunette turned. “Fine, you can forget I exist if you really want to. But obviously someone needs to talk some sense into you.”
“Santana,” Puck cautioned. She put her hand up and gave him a pointed glare. Just as she was about to continue, Quinn stood up from her barstool and took a step towards the door. Santana raised her voice louder.
“If this is our last conversation as friends, you’re at least going to listen to what I have to say.”
Quinn stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around.
“I know your heart is hurting. I know your ego is hurting. But God damn, Quinn. As much as I gave you shit for being with Rachel, you had something real. You had something that most people barely have courage to dream about. However you fucked it up, find a way to fix it. You’d be an idiot to let her go, and I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t say it.” Santana gave a meaningful look at Puck and turned back to Quinn. “That girl is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Quinn tilted her head, eyes trained on the door, blinking back tears. When she spoke Santana could tell she was on the verge of breaking down.
“Don’t you think I know that?”
She continued through the door and back onto the busy New York street. Santana turned back to the bar. Puck spoke before she had a chance to start again.
“Quinn didn’t fuck anything up this time. Rachel didn’t want their relationship to ruin whatever big Broadway career she was about to have, so she left. I thought it would be one of their typical fights and Rachel would come back a day or two later begging for forgiveness, but a few weeks after the fight Quinn went home and the closets were empty. She really left, San.”
The two friends sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing their drinks. Santana shook her head sadly.
“Fuck.”
---------------------------------------------------
Rachel clutched her bag tight to her chest as she rattled with the subway car. The 3 train wound its way up Manhattan, past central park, and into Harlem. The tiny brunette smiled as she walked past a trumpet player in the gorgeously tiled subway station. The flow of commuter traffic spit her out onto the street, three blocks from her final destination. She quickly found herself knocking on the door of a first floor apartment in a gorgeous converted brownstone. A dog yipped and was scratching at the other side of the door.
“One minute!” called a familiar voice on the other side. Rachel could tell someone was looking through the peephole on the door, so she smoothed her skirt and smiled.
“Oh my lord. Rachel Barbra Berry!”
Locks quickly turned and the door swung open. Mercedes Jones stood, grinning widely, in the open doorframe.
“Girl, it has been too damn long!” She stepped out to hug Rachel tightly before looking past her. “Where’s Quinn? Busy with fans? It must be tough! Ha!”
Rachel deflated. Her smile dropped.
“Well, that’s kind of why I’m here.”
Mercedes smile was replaced with a worried expression. Her brow furrowed. Rachel couldn’t stop the tears that were swelling in her eyes.
“Oh no, Rach.” She pulled the smaller girl into a tight embrace. “I thought something might be going on, what with her songs being about breakups and all, but I didn’t really think it was true. You guys were just so solid, you know?”
Rachel sniffled audibly. “Yeah, I know.”
“Ok.” Mercedes pulled back just enough to wipe Rachel’s eyes. “So obviously there is some work to do. What do you need me to help with?”
Rachel was grateful that her friend didn’t ask who left whom or what the story surrounding the breakup was. It really didn’t matter at this point, anyway. The only thing that really mattered was getting her feelings across to Quinn, and getting Mercedes to help.
“I’m writing a song. For Quinn. Well, about Quinn. And me.” Rachel looked down at the notebook she was holding. “It’s a song about how I feel. I need it to be absolutely perfect, and I thought that you could help me with the harmony. As you know, Quinn loves Motown. I was hoping to create some cross between the style she loves and my vocal strengths.”
“Grab a seat in the living room and we’ll get right to work. I just have to make a quick phone call first to rearrange some plans.”
Mercedes headed towards the kitchen while Rachel made herself comfortable on the sofa, spreading out her notebook and organizing the papers. She stared intently at the lines she had written out on the way up to Harlem. After a moment, Mercedes was reading the same lines over her shoulder.
“Girl, this is good. It would be absolutely perfect with this piano arrangement I’ve been holding onto for a while now.”
“Mercedes, you don’t need to give me special music you’ve developed. I really just appreciate…”
“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “It’s yours. My band will be over in an hour to put in the brass and percussion. I’ve been waiting to find perfect lyrics, and these fit wonderfully.”
The girls spent the rest of the night and much of the early morning in Mercedes’ living room with the band, fitting the song together. They set up a mic by the upright piano and Mercedes played the keys and harmonized while Rachel sang the melody. Somewhere around 4am Rachel caught herself smiling, voice almost raw, convinced the last take was absolutely perfect.
“Let’s replay that one, if you don’t mind.”
Mercedes was right; the song fit together perfectly with the lyrics.
You know my heart more than I do,
We were the greatest, me and you,
But we had time against us, and miles between us
The heavens cried, I know I left you speechless
But now the sky has cleared and it’s blue,
And I see my future with you
I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to love me again,
I'll put my hands up
I'll do everything different,
I'll be better to you.
I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to love me again,
I’ll put my hands up,
I’ll be somebody different,
I’ll be better to you.
Rachel hugged Mercedes and the band goodbye, promised to call the following day, and held the recorded CD tight as she walked back to the subway feeling more hopeful than she had in six months.
--------------------------------------------------
“Who the fuck does she think she is? Coming back here like she knows everything.”
Quinn threw the books she was holding into the cardboard box at her feet, making Puck jump slightly.
“If I had wanted to hear her advice I would have called her.”
Puck looked at his best friend. His first impression was wrong - she wasn’t moving out because she was moving on from Rachel, she was moving out because she was running away from her feelings. Quinn was falling apart.
“Well,” he began tentatively, “why do you think you didn’t call her?”
Quinn stopped and looked at him incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you call Santana? Sure, you guys go months without talking sometimes, but there’s been a lot going on. I would have thought you guys were talking pretty regularly.”
“I don’t know. I guess I just got busy.”
Quinn turned her back to Puck and continued packing up the contents of her bookcase.
“Are you sure it’s not because you knew what she was going to say?”
Quinn turned sharply. “Not you, too.” She dropped the heavy hardcover tome into the box with a loud thud. “Ok, go ahead. Let’s have it. Tell me how amazing Rachel is and how stupid I was to let her go, like it was my choice that she suddenly became this homophobic bitch and decided that she didn’t love me anymore. Please, tell me all about it. It’s exactly what I need to hear right now as I pack up the last of the happy memories I have of the relationship that fell apart in this apartment.”
Puck brought his hand up slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Quinn. I’m not, and would never, defend what Rachel did to you. It was horrible and nothing can excuse that.” He sat down on the bed. “But I know you still love her. And maybe Santana is right. Maybe you should fight for what you guys had.”
Quinn stood motionless, her expression unreadable.
“Get out.”
Puck hardly recognized her voice.
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the fuck out. Now.”
“Quinn, don’t run from this. There’s still time to fix- “
“Get out of my apartment before I say something I really regret.”
Puck stood up and sighed. He looked at Quinn one last time before walking towards the door. “You know where to find me.”
Quinn didn’t respond as Puck walked out the door, only letting herself break down once he was gone.
Three hours later she was carrying the last box down from her apartment to the car. She paused at the mailbox, looking at the nameplate. She only hesitated for a moment before pulling off the tag and putting it in the top of the box she was holding. She watched the building grow smaller in the rear view mirror before it was completely lost in the city skyline.
-----------------------------------------------------
Rachel took one last look in the mirror before she left Jesse’s apartment. Hair perfect, makeup fresh, and the outfit Quinn had given her for her last birthday. If things didn’t go well, it wouldn’t be because she didn’t look good.
She walked down the street nervously rehearsing the lines she planned to say when Quinn answered the door, gathering all of her courage. She stopped in front of the familiar building that was once her home and took a deep breath. This was it. She pulled the CD with her song and her old keys out of her bag. At least if Quinn wouldn’t talk to her, she could throw the CD in the apartment before the blonde kicked her out.
She paused at the mailboxes by the door. 3A. No name.
Fuck.
She hadn’t considered this possibility. Maybe Quinn had just removed the tag for anonymity. She was a famous rock star now, after all. Rachel walked up the three flights of stairs and stopped in front of the door to her old apartment, touching a hand to the oak frame. The door was slightly ajar, ominous. She pushed it open.
The room was empty.
Rachel collapsed against the doorframe.
Rating: PG
Length: 4,000
Summary: One of them makes it big singing about her past.
Note: Click on the first line of the song to hear the original version.
“It’s time, Rachel.”
Jesse smiled at his best friend, but his voice gave away his annoyance.
“Not today, Jesse.” Rachel rolled over on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. There was no way he was getting her to move. She just wasn’t ready.
“Rachel. Honey. You know I love you.” Jesse sighed, resigned that it was time to bring out the tough love. “It’s been half a year. Six months. It’s time.”
“Jesse. Please.”
“No, Rachel. I’ve told you many times that this is for your own good, but it’s beyond that now. It’s for my good, too. I need my apartment back. I have needs, Rachel. Lots of needs. Needs that can’t adequately be fulfilled when your best friend is sleeping on a sofa 10 feet away from your bed.”
“Jesse I told you I could stay somewhere else if you want to sexile me. And let’s be honest, it’s not like you’ve had suitors knocking down your door or anything since I got here.”
“Do you think that’s a coincidence?! I’ve been tactful, Rachel. But it’s time. It’s beyond time. I think I might technically be a born again virgin.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, even thought her best friend couldn’t see it.
“Look,” his voice softened, “I know you’re still waiting for her to return the 157 calls you made after ‘it’ happened. It’s hard to accept, but she’s had months to return those calls, Rachel. If she were going to call you it would have already happened. And I know the lease on the apartment is going to be up soon. She hasn’t asked you to come back. It’s time to find your own place.”
Rachel stayed motionless for a few moments, collecting her thoughts, willing herself not to completely break down like she had the last 10 times Jesse made these points.
“Rationally, I know it’s over,” she said into the cushion before turning over to face her friend. “I know that Quinn will never forgive me for how I acted, even if I can forgive her for letting me go so easily. But maybe one of us just needs to swallow our pride one last time and reach out? What if I just make one more attempt? I haven’t even called in almost six months…”
“If I hadn’t taken your phone after the first week you never would have stopped.”
“Either way, that deserves some kind of reward, doesn’t it? Just tell me I’m not pathetic for wanting to give it one more try.”
“It’s totally pathetic,” Jesse deadpanned. “It’s pathetic that you were able to call her 157 times in a one-week period, and she never returned your call. It’s pathetic that she is on every goddamn magazine cover with a smile on her face like she’s happy. It’s pathetic that she broke into the business with a song about how you should suffer. Most of all it’s pathetic that she has been photographed with all kinds of different women hanging all over her. It’s disrespectful, even if she doesn’t want to be with you anymore.”
Rachel couldn’t stop the slow tears from rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t ready to give up.
“I need to sing.”
Jesse didn’t respond immediately.
“I need to put my emotions down in song. I mean, that’s how I always process my emotions best, so why has it taken me this long to do it?”
Rachel grabbed her messenger bag, pulled out her song notebook, and turned to the first blank page.
“Rachel.”
“I know you don’t approve, Jesse.”
“It’s not that I don’t approve.” Jesse took Rachel’s hand, forcing her to pay attention to him. “It’s that I really believe that if she were going to call you, she would have by now. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”
Rachel wiped her eyes and looked down at her notebook.
“I just need to do this. The worst she can do is say she doesn’t love me anymore, that she will never love me again. And that’s where we are now, isn’t it? I have nothing to lose.”
Rachel patted Jesse’s hand softly and picked up her bag.
“If I’m really going to do this I need help making this song perfect, because it really is my last chance.”
Jesse nodded at Rachel’s words as he watched her put on her jacket and walk out the door.
“Good luck,” he said quietly as the door clicked shut.
--------------------------------------------
“What’s that Tolstoy line? Something about families…”
“‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’”
“Exactly. It’s like that.”
“Are you trying to say you want to pull an Anna Karenina and throw yourself under a train? I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“No,” Quinn leaned back against the soundboard in the familiar recording studio, her hands in her pockets, smiling at her producer. “I’m trying to say that happiness is boring. Happy songs all sound the same. Go ahead, play anything sappy that’s been on the radio in the past few weeks and tell me you aren’t bored by the bridge.”
“Quinn, you’re the top selling artist on our label; multiple times over. And you’ve been signed for what, four months?” Liam paused for dramatic effect. “It’s time to diversify your sound. You have sold millions of records, but you need to stay current to have any staying power in this industry.”
Quinn knew it was true, but was unwilling to concede that a different perspective was what she really needed. “So diversifying the sound. Does that mean I need to change the voice? What if I write in a slightly different genre? Or pull in someone for collaboration on a single? Or even just put one of my songs through a pop filter?”
Liam’s brow furrowed as he listened to Quinn. As usual, she had a point.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he started, his serious expression imparting his reluctance to argue. “We are going to finish the songs that are partially finished, and then work on a few collaborations. We need a different sound. Not totally new, but definitely fresh. There is only so much wallowing that people can take.”
“Oh, come on,” Quinn said lightly, “Misery loves company. Listeners want to know that beautiful people are terrible depressed, too. Anyway I have the perfect artist in mind for a collaboration.”
“Well I will be sending you clips, anyway. We should have at least a few backups in case things don’t work out as expected.”
“Always the cautious producer, Liam. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about it in a few days, after we finish up with this giant turd of a sample.”
“Just watch, Quinn - this turd of a sample is going to get you a Kanye remix.”
Quinn said her goodbyes to Liam and headed out of the studio towards Joe’s Pub, hoping Puck is still behind the bar. There was something magical about Joe’s for Quinn; when she passed through the threshold of the bar she felt calm and clear. It had taken the better part of two seasons in New York, an eternity in this city, to get back to some feeling of peace. She got the closest to that feeling at Joe’s, but no matter how hard she tried, she still had a voice telling her that she isn’t as happy as she could be. Tremendous fame, a ridiculous amount of money, and the smug feeling of knowing that she made it on her own were no match for the happiness she felt with Rachel.
She shook the thoughts from her mind as she heard the door close behind her. Almost immediately every pair of eyes in the bar were trained on her: something she still hadn’t gotten used to.
“I’m not Quinn... I just look like her,” she said loud enough for the first few tables to hear. They seemed to accept it and turned back to their companions.
Puck smiled warmly as his friend pulled out a bar stool to sit down.
“Is it a rum and diet kind of night, or are we looking for something a little more dangerous? Perhaps a dirty martini?”
“I want to stick with rum. How about a dark and stormy? It makes me feel all tropical.”
Puck poured her a perfectly mixed drink, as usual. Quinn closed her eyes and enjoyed the first few sips before speaking again.
“So I need your advice.”
He eyed her suspiciously. Usually Quinn asked for advice about Rachel - how she possibly withstood her annoying qualities for so long, how she had gotten herself into that kind of situation, and (generally when she was a few drinks in) how she could ever be happy again knowing that she would be missing a piece of herself for as long as they weren’t together. But it had been a few weeks since Quinn had even brought up Rachel’s name, so Puck thought it might be getting better.
“Do you need me to beat someone up for you again? Is it a dude?”
“No, but thank you. I’m actually thinking about spending some of this money that I have now, and I wanted your opinion.”
“Definitely get a private jet. Or at least a helicopter. How cool would that be? We could go to LA for lunch or Germany for the weekend and not even worry about having to wear your seatbelt or those cramped bathrooms. Wait… you’d still have flight attendants, right? Can I audition them? Oh, Quinn, this is going to be so totally awesome.”
“Actually… I was thinking about moving into a different apartment. The lease is up in a few months so it got me thinking about the space, and I really need some extra room for instruments and equipment if I’m going to start practicing at home instead of in the studio.”
Puck was absolutely shocked at Quinn’s statement. Sure it had been a few weeks since she had brought Rachel up in conversation, but he was sure that Quinn still thought about her all the time. Could she really be moving on enough to get a new place to live?
Quinn interrupted his thought process.
“Well, I’m thinking about keeping the apartment as a studio, actually. I have written my best songs in that space. All my songs, really. It’s a good creative space.”
“I think it sounds great, Quinn.”
The blonde beamed at her friend over her drink, happy to have his endorsement. Puck’s focus shifted slightly above Quinn’s head to the door of the bar. His eyes widened in surprise, prompting Quinn to turn to look at the entrance of the bar. The two spoke nearly in unison.
“Oh my god.”
“Well it’s about damn time,” Puck half-yelled before climbing out from behind the bar to give his newest patron a bear hug.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Santana said, pointing at Quinn, “I haven’t even been abroad for a year and this bitch signs a recording contract and becomes the next big thing?”
Quinn looked up at her old friend. So much had happened since they had last spoken, since they had last shared a drink in this bar. Santana’s mouth tightened and she took a seat next to Quinn, studying the blonde for a moment before looking down at the drink Puck had placed in front of her.
“So it’s true,” she said softly. Quinn sighed. “At first I thought it was just stuff they had songwriters prepare for you, but it’s really true, isn’t it?”
Quinn looked down at her drink before turning to face the brunette. Puck shot Santana a warning glare, begging her not to make a big deal out of this conversation. He could tell from both girls’ postures that this wasn’t going to go smoothly.
“Yeah, she left.”
“What do you mean she left? You let her leave?”
“No, asshole.” Quinn’s tone was sharp. “She fucking left. I couldn’t stop her.”
"So the tabloid stories are true? You're whoring around with dumb sluts now that you're famous?"
"No! None of that is true!"
“So what did you do to piss her off?!? Quinn, the girl is practically a midget. Don’t tell me you couldn’t stop her.”
Quinn exhaled deeply.
“Listen, Santana. We’ve been friends for a long time, but don’t think you can just waltz into the bar after being gone for months and just start talking shit. If you can’t let it rest then it’s our friendship that’s going to be on the line.”
Santana paused for a moment and looked at her drink, seeming to contemplate her options. For a second, Puck thought Santana might actually stop.
“You know what? Fine.”
“Thank you. So tell me about your time in Portugal.”
“No, I don’t think you get what I’m saying.” The brunette turned. “Fine, you can forget I exist if you really want to. But obviously someone needs to talk some sense into you.”
“Santana,” Puck cautioned. She put her hand up and gave him a pointed glare. Just as she was about to continue, Quinn stood up from her barstool and took a step towards the door. Santana raised her voice louder.
“If this is our last conversation as friends, you’re at least going to listen to what I have to say.”
Quinn stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around.
“I know your heart is hurting. I know your ego is hurting. But God damn, Quinn. As much as I gave you shit for being with Rachel, you had something real. You had something that most people barely have courage to dream about. However you fucked it up, find a way to fix it. You’d be an idiot to let her go, and I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t say it.” Santana gave a meaningful look at Puck and turned back to Quinn. “That girl is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Quinn tilted her head, eyes trained on the door, blinking back tears. When she spoke Santana could tell she was on the verge of breaking down.
“Don’t you think I know that?”
She continued through the door and back onto the busy New York street. Santana turned back to the bar. Puck spoke before she had a chance to start again.
“Quinn didn’t fuck anything up this time. Rachel didn’t want their relationship to ruin whatever big Broadway career she was about to have, so she left. I thought it would be one of their typical fights and Rachel would come back a day or two later begging for forgiveness, but a few weeks after the fight Quinn went home and the closets were empty. She really left, San.”
The two friends sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing their drinks. Santana shook her head sadly.
“Fuck.”
---------------------------------------------------
Rachel clutched her bag tight to her chest as she rattled with the subway car. The 3 train wound its way up Manhattan, past central park, and into Harlem. The tiny brunette smiled as she walked past a trumpet player in the gorgeously tiled subway station. The flow of commuter traffic spit her out onto the street, three blocks from her final destination. She quickly found herself knocking on the door of a first floor apartment in a gorgeous converted brownstone. A dog yipped and was scratching at the other side of the door.
“One minute!” called a familiar voice on the other side. Rachel could tell someone was looking through the peephole on the door, so she smoothed her skirt and smiled.
“Oh my lord. Rachel Barbra Berry!”
Locks quickly turned and the door swung open. Mercedes Jones stood, grinning widely, in the open doorframe.
“Girl, it has been too damn long!” She stepped out to hug Rachel tightly before looking past her. “Where’s Quinn? Busy with fans? It must be tough! Ha!”
Rachel deflated. Her smile dropped.
“Well, that’s kind of why I’m here.”
Mercedes smile was replaced with a worried expression. Her brow furrowed. Rachel couldn’t stop the tears that were swelling in her eyes.
“Oh no, Rach.” She pulled the smaller girl into a tight embrace. “I thought something might be going on, what with her songs being about breakups and all, but I didn’t really think it was true. You guys were just so solid, you know?”
Rachel sniffled audibly. “Yeah, I know.”
“Ok.” Mercedes pulled back just enough to wipe Rachel’s eyes. “So obviously there is some work to do. What do you need me to help with?”
Rachel was grateful that her friend didn’t ask who left whom or what the story surrounding the breakup was. It really didn’t matter at this point, anyway. The only thing that really mattered was getting her feelings across to Quinn, and getting Mercedes to help.
“I’m writing a song. For Quinn. Well, about Quinn. And me.” Rachel looked down at the notebook she was holding. “It’s a song about how I feel. I need it to be absolutely perfect, and I thought that you could help me with the harmony. As you know, Quinn loves Motown. I was hoping to create some cross between the style she loves and my vocal strengths.”
“Grab a seat in the living room and we’ll get right to work. I just have to make a quick phone call first to rearrange some plans.”
Mercedes headed towards the kitchen while Rachel made herself comfortable on the sofa, spreading out her notebook and organizing the papers. She stared intently at the lines she had written out on the way up to Harlem. After a moment, Mercedes was reading the same lines over her shoulder.
“Girl, this is good. It would be absolutely perfect with this piano arrangement I’ve been holding onto for a while now.”
“Mercedes, you don’t need to give me special music you’ve developed. I really just appreciate…”
“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “It’s yours. My band will be over in an hour to put in the brass and percussion. I’ve been waiting to find perfect lyrics, and these fit wonderfully.”
The girls spent the rest of the night and much of the early morning in Mercedes’ living room with the band, fitting the song together. They set up a mic by the upright piano and Mercedes played the keys and harmonized while Rachel sang the melody. Somewhere around 4am Rachel caught herself smiling, voice almost raw, convinced the last take was absolutely perfect.
“Let’s replay that one, if you don’t mind.”
Mercedes was right; the song fit together perfectly with the lyrics.
You know my heart more than I do,
We were the greatest, me and you,
But we had time against us, and miles between us
The heavens cried, I know I left you speechless
But now the sky has cleared and it’s blue,
And I see my future with you
I'll be waiting for you when you're ready to love me again,
I'll put my hands up
I'll do everything different,
I'll be better to you.
I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to love me again,
I’ll put my hands up,
I’ll be somebody different,
I’ll be better to you.
Rachel hugged Mercedes and the band goodbye, promised to call the following day, and held the recorded CD tight as she walked back to the subway feeling more hopeful than she had in six months.
--------------------------------------------------
“Who the fuck does she think she is? Coming back here like she knows everything.”
Quinn threw the books she was holding into the cardboard box at her feet, making Puck jump slightly.
“If I had wanted to hear her advice I would have called her.”
Puck looked at his best friend. His first impression was wrong - she wasn’t moving out because she was moving on from Rachel, she was moving out because she was running away from her feelings. Quinn was falling apart.
“Well,” he began tentatively, “why do you think you didn’t call her?”
Quinn stopped and looked at him incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you call Santana? Sure, you guys go months without talking sometimes, but there’s been a lot going on. I would have thought you guys were talking pretty regularly.”
“I don’t know. I guess I just got busy.”
Quinn turned her back to Puck and continued packing up the contents of her bookcase.
“Are you sure it’s not because you knew what she was going to say?”
Quinn turned sharply. “Not you, too.” She dropped the heavy hardcover tome into the box with a loud thud. “Ok, go ahead. Let’s have it. Tell me how amazing Rachel is and how stupid I was to let her go, like it was my choice that she suddenly became this homophobic bitch and decided that she didn’t love me anymore. Please, tell me all about it. It’s exactly what I need to hear right now as I pack up the last of the happy memories I have of the relationship that fell apart in this apartment.”
Puck brought his hand up slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Quinn. I’m not, and would never, defend what Rachel did to you. It was horrible and nothing can excuse that.” He sat down on the bed. “But I know you still love her. And maybe Santana is right. Maybe you should fight for what you guys had.”
Quinn stood motionless, her expression unreadable.
“Get out.”
Puck hardly recognized her voice.
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the fuck out. Now.”
“Quinn, don’t run from this. There’s still time to fix- “
“Get out of my apartment before I say something I really regret.”
Puck stood up and sighed. He looked at Quinn one last time before walking towards the door. “You know where to find me.”
Quinn didn’t respond as Puck walked out the door, only letting herself break down once he was gone.
Three hours later she was carrying the last box down from her apartment to the car. She paused at the mailbox, looking at the nameplate. She only hesitated for a moment before pulling off the tag and putting it in the top of the box she was holding. She watched the building grow smaller in the rear view mirror before it was completely lost in the city skyline.
-----------------------------------------------------
Rachel took one last look in the mirror before she left Jesse’s apartment. Hair perfect, makeup fresh, and the outfit Quinn had given her for her last birthday. If things didn’t go well, it wouldn’t be because she didn’t look good.
She walked down the street nervously rehearsing the lines she planned to say when Quinn answered the door, gathering all of her courage. She stopped in front of the familiar building that was once her home and took a deep breath. This was it. She pulled the CD with her song and her old keys out of her bag. At least if Quinn wouldn’t talk to her, she could throw the CD in the apartment before the blonde kicked her out.
She paused at the mailboxes by the door. 3A. No name.
Fuck.
She hadn’t considered this possibility. Maybe Quinn had just removed the tag for anonymity. She was a famous rock star now, after all. Rachel walked up the three flights of stairs and stopped in front of the door to her old apartment, touching a hand to the oak frame. The door was slightly ajar, ominous. She pushed it open.
The room was empty.
Rachel collapsed against the doorframe.