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i.
At eight, Lucy Quinn Fabray has already faced her fair share of schoolyard bullies. She tries to be strong, but it's hard being torn down every single day. She's pretty sure it shouldn't be like this, but she doesn't know who to turn to, so she mostly keeps to herself. She keeps her nose in books, tries hard in school, and dreams that one day, she'll either have the freedom to live where nobody cares that she's not pretty, or have the money to change what she doesn't like about herself. She's starting to think that it'll end up being the latter.
The mirror is only unkind because of the cruel, mocking laughter in her head that accompanies her reflection, but Lucy is too young, already too tired from the painful teasing to understand that.
Her parents take her and her sister on vacation every winter. It's pretty much the only time either of them pays any attention to the girls, and even then, most of that gets showered on Frannie – older, prettier, blonder. For Lucy, the feeling of inadequacy has become familiar terrain.
This winter, they've decided on the bright lights of New York City. It's Lucy's first time there, and she's excited, but she's learned that in her household, emotions betray weakness, so she packs her bags quietly and counts down the days on her calendar. She looks forward to the vacations because if nothing else, it's time away from home, away from the daily reminders that she's not good enough for anyone.
--
Ice skating, Lucy learns quickly, is hard. Her parents had dropped her and Frannie off at Citi Pond at Bryant Park and left for some alone time together, but as soon as they disappeared out of view, fourteen-year-old Frannie had skated away, leaving Lucy at the entrance on a pair of wobbling legs.
Just as Lucy is considering leaving the ice and removing her skates, someone bumps into her, skidding to a stop a few feet away. Off-balance, Lucy slips, tightening her grip around the railing to stay upright.
Lucy lifts her head and blinks at the other girl. She looks about Lucy's age, wrapped up in a purple jacket and red earmuffs, with matching mittens and scarf.
"I apologize," the girl enunciates into her scarf.
"It's okay," Lucy replies, keeping her head down as she struggles with her skates.
The girl stands there for a moment, studying Lucy's movements, before extending a mittened hand. "Let me show you. I'm very talented, you know. I've been skating since I was three."
Lucy hesitates for a moment, glancing around the rink for her sister. She knows she shouldn't talk to strangers, and if she were back home, she'd definitely be searching for an exit because kids just don't do nice things for her. But the girl standing in front of her appears harmless enough, so Lucy reaches out and grabs the offered hand.
"My name's Rachel, by the way. Rachel Berry."
Lucy smiles faintly. "I'm Lucy."
--
Lucy stretches her legs out in front of her and wiggles her toes in her boots. She'd removed her skates as soon as she'd gotten off the ice and is currently nursing a cup of hot chocolate, courtesy of Rachel's dads.
Yeah, dads. Lucy had been pretty freaked out and confused about it when Rachel had introduced them, but they end up being kind people with really infectious laughs who smile and make jokes way more often than her own parents. Lucy decides that she likes them. The hot chocolate in her hands is a nice bonus.
She knows that her sister would kill her if she knew who she's spending her time with, but Lucy's pretty sure Frannie's glad to be rid of her. The entire rink is visible from the lounge, anyway. If Frannie starts to panic, Lucy'll just make her way down and say she'd wandered inside to keep warm.
"Can I see your mittens?" Rachel asks, cradling her own cup of hot chocolate.
Lucy lays her hands palms-down on the table, displaying the pair of angels on the backs of her mittens. "My grandma likes to knit."
"Pretty!" Rachel puts down her cup and holds up her own hands. Each of her red mittens has a large yellow star hand-stitched onto the back. "It's a metaphor."
"What's a metaphor?"
Rachel shrugs. "I heard it on TV. I'm going to be a star one day."
Something about the way Rachel says that makes Lucy not only believe it but also crave it. She wants what Rachel has; in that moment, she wants everything Rachel has – things that she'll later understand to be self-assurance, focus, and ambition.
Rachel eyes Lucy's hands. "Let's trade."
"What, our mittens?"
"Yes. Just for a little while. What do you say?"
Lucy shrugs her shoulders, pulls off her mittens, and hands them to Rachel. In turn, Rachel exchanges them for the ones covering her own hands. The girls slip on their new mittens and smile at each other. Lucy wonders if this is what having a friend feels like.
Lucy spends the rest of the afternoon trying to sing Hanukkah songs with Rachel, who has a really nice voice – It's to be expected. I practice every day. – and sipping hot chocolate. It makes her feel normal, for once, like maybe the extra few pounds she's carrying on her aren't going to determine her happiness or the outcome of her life, and that maybe someone will love her for exactly who she is.
She's having so much fun that she forgets about Frannie until her sister appears suddenly and pulls her violently out of her seat. She glares angrily at Rachel's dads before dragging Lucy away from the table and out of the lounge, hissing threats under her breath, using a slew of colorful language to describe Rachel and her family.
It isn't until they're reunited with their parents half an hour later that Lucy notices she's still wearing Rachel's red, star-patched mittens.
--
Without really realizing it, Rachel's mittens become Lucy's – then Quinn's – comfort item. Her hands outgrow the mittens quickly, but she finds herself playing with them when she needs a bout of confidence, or a pick-me-up, or even a little luck. When the thread holding one of the stars in place starts to fray, she sews it carefully back into place.
Sometimes, she wonders where Rachel is and how she's doing. It's silly to miss someone she's only met once when she was eight, but she does anyway, especially on days when the bullies are extra cruel and the taunting is so horrible she spends last period crying alone in the bathroom. She knows it'd be easier if someone – anyone – would sit down with her at lunch, or volunteer to be her partner in science class, or just acknowledge her with a smile instead of an insult.
But she's been told that she's vile too many times to hang on to her last shreds of self-esteem. She eats lunch alone, dissects the frog alone, and sits with her head bowed as others tear her apart.
She's too paranoid that someone will find the mittens in her bag if she takes them to school, so she keeps them in one of her dresser drawers. In the privacy of her room, she slides them over her fingers, closes her eyes, and imagines that she's back on that rink with Rachel holding her hand, or back in that lounge with Rachel singing and laughing in her ear.
ii.
At fifteen, Quinn Fabray has completed her transformation. McKinley High is a fresh start, and she's suffered too much at the hands of her bullies to be tossed to the bottom of the social ladder again. This time, she has a plan. She's been on the receiving end for so long that she knows exactly how to get on top. In the few months since she'd lost the weight and changed her appearance, she's already gotten so many compliments from strangers about how great she looks.
But kids don't forget little Lucy Caboosey, no matter how clear her skin is or how blond her hair, so the transfer is exactly what she needs. Besides, with her father's recent promotion, her family has money, and with money comes power. With power comes control, and Quinn finally feels like she has a grasp on the next few years of her life.
On her first day of freshman year, she walks into her new school with her head held high. She befriends two girls based on looks alone, the type of girls who wouldn't have given her the time of day back at Belleville.
It becomes painfully obvious to Quinn that if she wants to be popular at McKinley, she has to be mean. She has to show the geeks and the losers their places on the social ladder to maintain hers. She's only too familiar with that concept.
One of her new friends, Santana, has an obvious target, and she isn't alone. This girl who wears these horrible sweaters and tiny schoolgirl skirts is the butt of everyone's jokes. Quinn knows what she has to do, understands it from being on the other side for far too long. So after third period, she finds this girl at her locker, Santana and her other friend Brittany standing on either side of her, and purposely bumps into the girl with the ugly sweater.
"Watch where you're going, Man-Hands."
Santana, standing on her right, stifles a laugh. But when the girl turns around with fear in her eyes, Quinn's stomach plummets in recognition.
It's Rachel.
Rachel from New York. Rachel from the ice rink. Rachel with the two dads. Rachel who'd held her hand and taught her Hanukkah songs and whose mittens had been the only things keeping Quinn going some days.
Rachel looks older than Quinn's memory of her, but she knows without a doubt that it's her, especially when Quinn glances at Rachel's locker door and sees a picture of a younger girl with two men she also recognizes. But Rachel's eyes never shift away from fear; either Quinn's transformation has altered her physical appearance too much, or Rachel simply doesn't remember that day in New York.
It makes Quinn sick to her stomach, but the words of her tormenters is still fresh in her mind. She can't – won't – go through that again, and the sad truth is, regardless whether Quinn makes Rachel the target of her cruel words or not, Rachel will remain a victim of the high school hierarchy.
Pushing aside the chubby girl who'd just wanted someone to sit with at lunch, pushing away a younger Rachel's infectious laughter, Quinn makes a decision.
"When I walk down the hallways, you move out of the way. Got it, Treasure Trail?"
Rachel doesn't look scared anymore. She only looks sad. Quinn makes sure to shoulder her out of the way as they're leaving.
--
It becomes easier over time, especially after Quinn joins the Cheerios and has Sue Sylvester barking orders at her and an entire squad of girls egging her on. Quinn takes on the persona of the mean girl because it's a means to an end. It's a cutthroat world out there, and Quinn never wants to feel the wrath of an entire classroom chanting Lucy Caboosey Lucy Caboosey ever again. These are the sacrifices that she has to make. Rachel is a sacrifice. Rachel's compassion, Rachel's spirit, her willingness to see the good in everything – those qualities make her an easy target. Quinn doesn't really want to crush Rachel; she just wants to make it through high school.
Quinn doesn't have the heart to throw out Rachel's mittens, but it makes her nauseated every time she looks at them, so she stuffs them at the bottom of her drawers and tries to forget about them. There's still the muscle memory of her reaching for the mittens when she's had a bad day, but she always exhibits self-restraint. She refuses to let one girl, one memory of a girl, ruin her run as queen bitch of the school.
That, it turns out, ends up being her own job.
The pregnancy test feels like a brick in her hand. She places it down on her bathroom counter and waits. Two minutes, the box had said. Two excruciating minutes. Unable to bear the wait, Quinn paces her room, letting the anxiety eat away at her, until finally, she caves and digs Rachel's mittens out of her drawer.
Quinn is embarrassed to admit that the sight of the tiny things immediately brings a familiar sense of comfort. She holds them in her hands, takes a deep breath, and walks back into her bathroom. Just one last stroke of luck, Quinn pleads. If she gets out of this, she swears she'll stop tormenting Rachel.
The stick is on the counter where she'd left it, but one glance and Quinn's heart drops.
Positive. She's carrying a baby.
It's the first time Rachel's mittens have let her down, but at the back of her mind, Quinn knows that's not how it works. Making the decision to victimize Rachel was the first time Quinn let herself down, and she's pretty sure everything else spiraled out from there.
Back when she'd been miserable, all she wanted was one friend. Now she has more numbers in her phone than she can keep track of, but she knows that she can't dial any of them.
Quinn balls up Rachel's mittens in her hands, sits motionlessly on her toilet seat, and wishes that she could trade in all those numbers for one in particular.
--
Quinn tries not to get close to Rachel, because she's just not quite sure how to deal with the guilt, and she never, ever wants her secret to become public knowledge. She prefers that Rachel thinks of her as a monster than as the lonely little girl who'd chosen popularity over kindness, who'd let the world mold her into a relentless bully, a cruel individual. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and Rachel had become the unfortunate outlet of Quinn's unhappiness with herself and the world around her.
But Rachel never sees her as a monster, never once hates her for what she does. Rachel tries to help her, and that's what destroys Quinn. Hatred, she can counter. Violence, she knows how to deflect. She's learned how to stand strong and fend for herself against unkind words and malicious actions, but she's never learned how to let someone help her, care for her, and maybe love her.
Despite everything Quinn puts Rachel through, Rachel still tries to do all of those things for Quinn.
Rachel's the one who gets Quinn back on Glee and makes sure she stays there. Rachel's the one who forgives her, over and over, for the choices she's made – whether they affect her or not. Rachel's the one who refuses to lash out and fight anger with anger.
And Rachel's the one who reminds Quinn that there are ways to handle being repeatedly kicked down without inflicting the same pain on someone else.
--
Life doesn't stop for anyone, not even Quinn Fabray. Popping out a baby at sixteen and handing her to Rachel's biological mother is about as weird as it's ever going to get, but Quinn can't help but think that this is just one more twist in the tangle that has become their lives.
Quinn tries to be nicer to Rachel junior year. Nothing that Quinn or anyone else has done to Rachel has dimmed her desire to be the best. Being mean is harder now that she's seen the way Rachel operates with fearlessness and strives to succeed. Rachel believes in a better future for herself, doing what she loves, and that's something Quinn has given up on. Her future is here, in small town Lima, as someone's trophy wife. She's accepted that. But she still remembers the childhood dream of escaping to somewhere glamorous.
When Lauren Zizes reveals her secret to the entire school, the first thing Quinn worries about after she's gotten over the initial shock is whether the reveal will shake anything in Rachel's subconscious. Still, Quinn looks nothing like her eight-year-old self, had carried around none of the feigned confidence or ability to reduce someone to a crying mass.
If Rachel puts the pieces together, she doesn't acknowledge it. Quinn figures she's dodged another bullet, but it stings to think that maybe their encounter hadn't meant as much to Rachel as it had to her.
--
Nationals are in New York.
Between rehearsing and last-minute prep, they're given a few hours off to wander the city. Quinn breaks away from the group after a while and makes her way to Bryant Park. It's the end of spring, so there's nothing but a field of grass where the rink usually stands in the winter, but it's nice being back. Quinn finds a bench and takes a seat, happy to people watch for a while. She runs her fingers through her hair, freshly-cut.
A few minutes pass, and then someone sits down next to her on the bench. To Quinn's surprise, it's Rachel.
"I like your new haircut," Rachel offers as a greeting. To Quinn, she appears apprehensive, like she's never quite sure how Quinn will respond.
"Thanks," Quinn replies. "Brittany's scissor-work."
"I have to admit I'm surprised," Rachel says with a good-natured smile, "but don't tell her I said that." Rachel pauses, studying Quinn's features. "It looks nice on you. Frames your face very well."
Quinn blushes, turning her head to hide it. The pair sits in silence for a while, watching as people walk past them. Quinn gets the appeal of New York City, understands why Rachel wants to live here so badly. She tastes the freedom in the air, had seen the way the city lights up at night. When she closes her eyes, Quinn can almost imagine a life here, away from the bad memories of Ohio.
"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks.
"Why'd you come here?" Quinn asks at the same time.
Rachel laughs softly, ducking her head. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy, and Quinn can't help but notice how gorgeous Rachel looks, how easily she fits in with the backdrop of the city.
"You first," Quinn tells her.
Rachel nods before speaking. "When I was seven, my dads took me skating here."
Quinn feels the blood drain from her face. Keeping stoic features, she waits.
"I didn't have many friends back home. Still don't, I suppose." Rachel smiles sadly at that. "But I made a friend here. She was really cute, and had this pretty smile that lit up a room. Her name was Lucy."
Quinn waits for the recognition, waits for the pieces to fit together in Rachel's head, waits for the accusation, because if she's honest with herself, she deserves that. Deserves to be grilled about why she'd turned on Rachel. But Rachel doesn't seem to entertain the idea that her childhood friend is the same person sitting beside her.
"I never got her last name. I was seven; I may have just forgotten. She—she looked lonely. I keep thinking that maybe if we had been friends at school, I would've spent fewer days alone in the bathroom." Rachel inhales sharply and shakes her head. "This is silly."
"No!" Quinn interjects, a little too frantic for her own liking. "No, I don't think that's silly at all. I get that, better than you probably know."
They don't talk much after that, but they don't really need to. In some ways, they are two girls with the same dream and different obstacles to navigate. For maybe the first time, Quinn thinks she understands what that means.
iii.
At eighteen, Quinn Fabray graduates from high school. She takes pride in that. But what she takes even more pride in is the acceptance letter from Yale. She's getting out of Ohio. She's going to make something of herself, and she knows exactly who to thank. Senior year, she'd hit rock bottom. Nobody had taken the time to care about Quinn – not her parents, not her teachers, not even herself. But Rachel had been there in her darkest days and pulled her out, helped her get help, and shown her that her childhood dreams weren't out of her reach. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to repay Rachel for that.
New Haven, Connecticut is only about two hours away from New York City, and Quinn's mother doesn't seem particularly inclined to drive ten hours to see her daughter off to college, so Quinn makes arrangements to carpool with Rachel and her dads.
Rachel and Quinn spend a lot of time with the other glee kids that summer, mostly because when August comes, they'll be spread out across the country. It's kind of sad, in a way, but everyone's excited about the coming months, happy about the direction of their lives, and Quinn can only join in that celebration.
Too soon, it's the night before Rachel and Quinn's drive up to their new schools, and Quinn has barely started packing. Rachel, of course, has had her suitcases packed since mid-July, so when she offers to help, Quinn gratefully accepts.
"I don't have too much to bring," Quinn explains as soon as Rachel walks into her room.
Immediately, Rachel starts buzzing around, carefully selecting clothes from Quinn's closet and folding them into her suitcase. There's a look of fierce determination on her face, but more than that, there's sadness, and Quinn has learned to read that over the past few years.
"Hey, everything okay?"
Rachel sighs. "Finn left for Basic this morning."
"Oh," is all Quinn can muster.
"We broke up," Rachel says quietly. She stands up straighter. "I know it's for the best; long-distance relationships hardly work out, but—I don't know."
Quinn elects to remain quiet. She knows there's nothing she can say here that'll make it easier, and Rachel's never needed the pity. As expected, Rachel shakes out of it a moment later and busies herself with packing. She heads for Quinn's dresser and starts pulling drawers open.
"It's not a big deal," she rambles. "I require stability in my relationships, and I need to focus on my studies at NYADA. Finn would've been a distraction at b—"
Rachel cuts off mid-sentence, and dead silence fills the room. Quinn turns, about to ask Rachel to finish her thought, when she suddenly remembers the contents of the drawer that Rachel had been rummaging through a second ago. Quinn's legs nearly give out under her.
The thing is that as Quinn had gotten closer to Rachel this past year, she'd found herself needing Rachel's mittens less and less, until she'd all but forgotten about them sitting at the bottom of the drawer.
"Rachel, I can explain."
Quinn can practically see everything fall into place in Rachel's head, the way her eyes widen as she lifts her head and stares straight at Quinn like she's seeing her for the very first time. It hurts to be looked at like a stranger, but it isn't about her right now. It's about Rachel. It's about Rachel discovering that the person who had tormented her for the majority of her high school years is the same person who had skated with her in New York City when they were kids. It's about Rachel coming to the realization that this fantasy of a perfect friend doesn't exist. It's about Rachel deducing that—
"You knew," Rachel says in a tiny voice. "All this time, you knew it was me."
"Rach—"
"No. Don't say my name."
Quinn flinches.
"Did you know from the very first day?"
"Rachel…"
"Did you?"
"Yeah," Quinn finally answers, wishing she were anyplace but there. "You have the same eyes, and that picture of your dads in your locker, I just—"
Rachel's face scrunches up, like she's trying her hardest not to cry. "Then why?"
Quinn lowers her head, staring down at her shoes. Because I wanted to be popular. Because you were just a pawn. Because you weren't supposed to care about me, and I definitely was never supposed to care about you back. Because I was weak. Because I envied you. Because I wanted everything you had. Because sometimes, I wanted you.
Quinn swallows hard. "I don't know," she says, instead of everything else.
Rachel nods slowly, wipes away a tear on the back of her hand, and without another word, heads out Quinn's door. Quinn drops to her bed, heart hurting for a thousand reasons, and buries her head under her covers. She should've just been honest from the very beginning, but if honesty had ever been a part of Quinn's thought process, things would never have gotten this far.
Quinn's phone beeps about half an hour later. It's a text from Rachel that just says: Pick up at 7am tomorrow. Be prepared.
--
Rachel is… civilized. That's probably the best way to describe her interactions with Quinn the next morning. She's polite, courteous, and speaks to Quinn in short, direct sentences, all while making minimal eye contact.
Quinn sees Rachel's dads exchanging looks as they're lifting Quinn's bags into the trunk of their car, but thankfully, they don't make a fuss about it.
The drive is… long. Almost unbearably so. Rachel refuses to speak to Quinn unless absolutely necessary, and Quinn just wishes that she could get Rachel alone for a few minutes so she could—well, she doesn't really know what she'd do. Explain, maybe, even though there's little to explain. Apologize. Beg, if she has to.
Quinn had spent so long wishing Rachel would see her as a monster, because it would've been easier to play the part, but Rachel never relented in her belief that there was potential in Quinn, that there was this inherent goodness underneath the layers of cruelty. In hindsight, that's what kept Quinn afloat: Rachel's unconditional kindness, Rachel's insistence that Quinn was better than she thought, stronger than the world would have her believe. And now, Quinn wonders if Rachel finally does see her as a monster.
But it quickly becomes obvious that neither girl had slept a wink the previous night, because Quinn watches as Rachel drifts off, then leans against the car door and falls asleep herself.
--
They hit Yale first, even though NYADA is closer. The plan had been to drop Quinn and her stuff off at her dorm, then detour back to New York so Rachel and her dads could have the rest of the day to themselves. It's a good plan, until the part where Rachel's dads leave Rachel and Quinn alone in Quinn's new room to give them some privacy to exchange goodbyes.
Quinn figures the next five minutes is the only opportunity she'll have for a few months.
"Rachel."
Rachel shakes her head. "Forget it, Quinn. I have nothing to say to you."
"Rachel, please." Quinn swears she won't cry. "I'm sorry. I know that's not enough, but I am anyway."
"Were you going to keep it a secret our entire lives?" Rachel hisses. "Just let me carry on thinking that there's someone out there who is basically my soul mate?"
Quinn's heart drops, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "What makes you think I'm not your soul mate?"
Rachel's eyes widen almost comically, but the shock is replaced quickly with a hint of resentment. "What?"
"Nothing. I—" Quinn flushes hard. "That didn't come out right. I didn't mean that."
"I can't believe you have the audacity to suggest such a thing," Rachel seethes.
The rejection stings, but Quinn can't help but think she deserves it. She takes a deep breath and tries again. "Last night, you asked me why I did what I did. It was selfish. I wanted to escape the torment so badly that I was willing to hurt you to do it."
"It doesn't excuse your behavior," Rachel cuts in.
Quinn's eyes lower. "I know."
Rachel takes a shaky breath. "After you became popular, after you were untouchable, why did you keep doing it?"
"Because, Rachel," Quinn replies quietly, "it was easier to hurt you than to kiss you."
And maybe Quinn is a coward for laying all her cards out on the table thirty seconds before Rachel has to leave, but they're out there, and it's too late for Quinn to take them back. None of this makes what Quinn did okay, and Quinn understands as much. She's not expecting Rachel to react positively; she's just so sick of secrets tearing her relationships apart.
Rachel's features remain unreadable. "Okay," she says softly, before turning and walking out the door.
--
For the first few weeks of school, Quinn doesn't hear from Rachel at all. It's not like they'd promised to keep in touch or anything, and Quinn knows that the beginning of the semester is a busy time, so she pours her energy into her studies. There's a nagging voice at the back of her head that keeps trying to tell her that the 'okay' that had brokenly left Rachel's lips is the last thing Quinn's going to have to remember Rachel by.
Judging by Rachel's detailed and enthusiastic facebook updates, she's doing just fine, and Quinn doesn't want to be the one to disrupt that. She isn't sure where they stand anymore, so she waits for Rachel to decide if their friendship is worth salvaging.
At the beginning of October, Quinn receives an email from Rachel. It's brief and impersonal, along the lines of I hear Connecticut's fall foliage is beautiful, but Quinn sees it as a peace offering, a second – third, fourth, she's lost count – chance. Embarrassingly, it takes Quinn two hours to formulate a three-line reply, and another thirty minutes to decide if she should add a P.S. I miss you. at the bottom.
They exchange a few more emails after that. Then one day, out of the blue, Rachel calls her, and they end up talking for three hours about their new schools, their new friends, their new lives, about everything but Quinn's admission.
--
Rachel throws a New Year's Eve party. Actually, one of Rachel's really rich friends throws a New Year's Eve party, and Rachel invites Quinn. Rachel had told her to dress comfortable but classy, so Quinn slips into a dark blue dress and black boots, pulling a gray pea coat over it to stay warm in the frosty New England weather.
Quinn is nervous the entire drive down, but she's settled down significantly by the time she pulls up to Rachel's friend's street. Quinn parks a block down and treks up to the house. Rachel is waiting for her on the front porch, enveloped by a giant white coat, and as soon as Quinn nears, Rachel rushes down the steps to greet her.
"Hi," Rachel says softly, grinning.
"Hey," Quinn replies with a nervous laugh.
And then Rachel is in her arms, hugging her, laughing into her ear, and Quinn doesn't remember a time when she'd been happier. Rachel pulls away after a moment, cheeks flushed. Even though it's only been a few months since Quinn last saw her, Rachel looks older, maturity fleshing out her features.
Rachel's eyes skim down Quinn's body. "You look amazing."
Quinn smiles. "You look… still as short as ever."
Rachel huffs with mock indignation, and Quinn laughs, instinctively pulling her closer.
"You look like you're really happy," Quinn settles for saying, because she knows that's more important to Rachel than appearances.
"I am," Rachel replies. She scrunches up her nose. "Let's go somewhere else. It's too loud and crowded in there, and I'm not nearly inebriated enough to kiss a stranger at midnight."
Shit. Quinn had been worrying so much about seeing Rachel that she'd forgotten all about the traditional midnight kiss. As though sensing Quinn's unease, Rachel reaches over and takes Quinn's hand in hers before guiding her down the street.
They end up at Bryant Park, and Rachel's still holding Quinn's hand when they get there. The rink is back in full commission, with skaters laughing and enjoying themselves on New Year's Eve. The two of them stand there for a while, watching the skaters against the backdrop of bright lights, listening to their squeals of delight, and wondering what would have happened if seven-year-old Rachel and eight-year-old Lucy never had to go through the hardships of adolescence.
They're close enough to Times Square to hear the countdown. The skaters on the ice are mostly paired off already, awaiting the big moment. Quinn's hand tightens around Rachel's as her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to kiss Rachel, so badly, but she doesn't want to assume anything. She knows she doesn't deserve to take anything else from Rachel.
But Rachel doesn't hesitate. When midnight hits, Rachel closes the distance between them, rises slightly on her toes, and presses her lips to Quinn's. Rachel's mouth is soft and gentle, full of promise, and Quinn sighs into the kiss. At the first trace of tongue, Rachel pulls away but keeps their foreheads together for a moment, breathing the same cold air between them.
"As good as you thought it would be?" she asks teasingly.
Quinn laughs, heart full. "Better."
Rachel's features soften momentarily. "Easier than hurting me?"
Quinn reaches up and cups Rachel's cheeks in her palms. She wants to apologize again, but she knows it's not what Rachel wants. "So much easier," she answers, pressing another kiss to Rachel's lips, even softer than the first.
Rachel leans her head against Quinn's shoulder as they turn back to the rink. The skaters have all resumed skating, and Rachel points to a pair of young girls wobbling awkwardly on their skates. Their hands are clasped tightly together between them. One stumbles, falling to the ice and pulling the other down with her. The laughter that bubbles from their throats makes Quinn's chest hurt.
Quinn knows nothing about them, but she's suddenly filled with an urge to warn them, to make both of them promise her that they will treat the other with the same kindness for the rest of their lives.
As though sensing this, Rachel pulls Quinn's hand to her lips and brushes a placating kiss across her knuckles.
"I still have your mittens, you know. The ones your grandmother knit you."
Quinn leans into Rachel. "Bet they still fit you."
Rachel giggles and nudges Quinn with her elbow. "My hands have grown, thank you."
Quinn gives Rachel's hand a squeeze in acknowledgement. Then, "I'm thinking of moving here after college. I know that's still a few years away, but this city has always treated me well, especially in the winters." She smiles a little at that. "I can see myself settling down here." With you, she wants to add, but it's far too soon for that.
Rachel seems to catch it anyway. She smiles. "I'd like that."
Rachel and Quinn hang around the park until early morning, watching skaters and chatting about their lives and the future, stealing kisses under the bright lights. In a way, it feels like they've come full circle, but in another, it's really only the start of the rest of their lives together.
fin