Disclaimer: These characters belong to the creators of Glee.

A/N: Here's the next chapter, a little quicker this time and reasonably long. Let me know whether you like it or not and as always, all mistakes are mine :)

Words (minus response to reviews) - 8573

Chapter 15:

Her mother is, and has been since she moved into her first house, house-proud. For as long as she can remember, her mother has drilled into her that it's a housewife's duty to ensure the house remains spotless and uncluttered. According to Judy Fabray, being house-proud provides the difference between living in a house and living in a home. When bunches of fresh flowers and no visible mess welcome visitors, they're entering a home, one that has been immaculately cared for, and they feel at ease.

Her mother's obsession with cleanliness has led to Lucy being forbidden from resting her feet on the coffee table because its designed function is not a foot-rest. Whenever she has a drink, she has to remember to use a coaster because rings of condensation are not an appealing sight. She's required to leave her shoes at the front door because they're intended for use outdoors, not to walk over her Persian carpet. One final, unwritten, rule, which applies to not only her but also her father, is that they mustn't be in the way. She's guilty of that more than anything else. Her mother says it's a habit of hers, being in the way.

Standing outside Rachel's house for only the third time, this time about to spend the night, she's mentally telling herself all her mother's rules. She doesn't want to be ill-mannered because before she left her house, her mother reinforced the necessity for basic etiquette, warning her that rude house guests don't receive future invitations. She doesn't want tonight's sleepover to be her first and last and she believes her mother shares that hope, so she's determined to be on her best behaviour.

After their first meeting on Monday, they saw each other the following day, with Lucy staying true to her word and bringing Dusty over so he could meet Rachel. The way he'd wagged his tail and nestled into Rachel's side told her that he liked Rachel just as much as she did. The day after, Rachel's dads took them to the playground, a trip she'd made frequently over the summer vacation but with Rachel and her family, she experienced the playground for what seemed like the first time because she had somebody to play with. She didn't have to amuse herself. When they'd been walking home, Rachel asked Lucy, before checking with her fathers, if she wanted to spend the night and Lucy didn't need to be asked twice.

She's been eagerly awaiting tonight since Wednesday evening, when Rachel's fathers gave her permission to stay over but said it had to be Friday as they had a prior engagement on Thursday night. The past two days have dragged by at a cruel and teasingly slow pace but it hasn't dampened her excitement. The only house she's spent the night at, that isn't her own, has been her aunt's, so she's been looking forward to spending the night at a friend's. For the first time, she'll be able to contribute in school when her teacher asks what everybody did over the summer vacation.

Whenever the question has been put to her before, her stories have been mundane compared to everybody else. She's had to listen to her peers talk about their vacation to Disneyworld or Europe when all she'd done had been stay at home.

She raps her knuckles against the front door, stepping back once she's finished. She didn't know what she should bring tonight so she's packed everything she could think of. Thinking about it, she's probably brought enough to spend the next week at Rachel's house.

The front door flies open and a beaming Rachel greets her. She's wearing an apron with a smiley face decorating it but the face is hidden behind a layer of flour, flour which also coats her face and hair. She barely has a chance to return the smile before arms are flung around her, wrapping her in a suffocating hug.

"Hello."

Once Lucy is capable of breathing again, she returns the greeting. "Hello."

"You're early."

"Sorry," Lucy says, ducking her head. After realising her daughter would be spending the night elsewhere, Judy decided to accompany her husband to one of his trivial business functions because in her words, she wanted to keep an eye on him. Since Judy requires at least two hours to make herself look presentable for a function, and a further hour to prepare herself for the night ahead, she'd practically ordered her daughter to head to her friends, even though Rachel had said five and it had only just turned four. "My mom said it would be okay if I came early, she's busy."

"Of course it is," Rachel assures her, reaching for her friend's hand and leading her inside, closing the front door behind them. "We have more time together this way."

Lucy kicks her shoes off the second she enters the house because there had been an unforeseen shower of rain this afternoon and she doesn't want to leave muddy footprints on the Berry's floor.

That would surely be rude behaviour.

"I was making cookies," Rachel says suddenly. "That's why I look like this."

"Cookies?"

"You do like them don't you? I would have asked but I wanted to surprise you."

"Who doesn't?"

Rachel retakes Lucy's hand. "I have so many plans for us," she begins, leading her friend into the living room, gesturing for her to sit down. "My daddy has rented us a collection of movies, I didn't know what you'd like, and my dad is going to cook our dinner. He's an amazing cook you know," Rachel praises with heartfelt admiration. "After dinner, I thought we could play a game. I have hundreds of them. Do you like games?" Rachel adds as an afterthought because she has only known Lucy for five days, there's still a lot on information she has to learn about her friend.

"I like playing games," Lucy informs her new friend. She never has a chance to play them at home. Her mother has never been a fan of board games, even as a child, and her father is always too preoccupied with his work to spend time playing with his daughter.

"You do?" Rachel asks with glee. "So do I. My dads and I have a game night once a week; you'll have to join us. I could use new competition. Can I tell you a secret?" Lucy bobs her head. "I think my dads let me win."

"That would be cheating," Leroy comments as he walks into the living room, two glasses of lemonade in his hands. "Although, we have borne the brunt of your behaviour when you lose, it's unpleasant and we would much rather avoid a tantrum if possible."

"I do not throw tantrums," Rachel tells him sternly, crossing her arms in protest.

"Of course you don't sweetie," he complies, kissing her on the top of her head. "It's lovely to see you again Lucy." He hands both girls their glass of lemonade, receiving a thank you from both girls. Taking a step back, his eyes fall to Lucy's over-night bag. "Just how long are you planning to stay Lucy? Should Hiram and I start decorating the spare bedroom?"

She doesn't need a mirror to know her face is beetroot. "I didn't know what to bring."

"One should always be prepared; at least that's what the boy scouts teach you."

Lucy's ears prick up. "Were you a boy scout?" She asks with keen interest. Her father had been one and instead of bedtime stories, he used to regale her with stories of his time as a scout, detailing their camping trips and how he learned to build a fire and forage for food. He has promised her he'll take her on a father, daughter camping trip but it's yet to be organised. In truth, she's stopped looking forward to it.

"Alas I wasn't," Leroy tells her. "Nevertheless, I do believe that motto is one we should all strive to undertake. In the words of Benjamin Franklin, by failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail."

"I'm always prepared," Rachel admits, seeking out praise and perhaps a compliment but she settles for the warm smile sent her way by Lucy.

"I had better return to the kitchen and check on Rachel's cookies, we wouldn't want them burning. You won't want to eat dinner if you have to eat inedible cookies," he jokes. "I hope you like lasagne Lucy. We weren't sure what you would want."

"I love lasagne." She doesn't have the luxury of eating it too often as her mother doesn't make it a habit of consuming dairy products and by default, neither does Lucy.

"You're a girl with great taste," he tells her before pausing. "Rachel will be having a vegetarian lasagne, you're not a vegetarian are you Lucy?"

"No Sir," she replies politely.

Leroy sighs at the young girl, her politeness is definitely commendable, she never forgets to say please or thank you. It's something he and Hiram have noticed every time they've spent time with her. "You needn't call me Sir, Leroy is perfectly acceptable or if you'd prefer, Mr Berry will suffice."

"Okay, Mr Berry."

He leaves the two girls alone and Rachel tucks her feet underneath her. "Are you looking forward to school starting next week?"

"More than I was last week." Lucy sips her lemonade and moves to put it down, deciding to keep hold of it when she fails to locate a coaster.

Rachel sips her own drink. "I'm relieved I'll already know somebody, I wasn't looking forward to starting school and being alone."

"You won't be alone as long as we're friends."

"I hate to interrupt but this is a necessary disruption," Leroy comments as her returns from the kitchen, a camera in his right hand. "Hiram and I have a habit of documenting Rachel's life and since this is her first sleepover, it's only fitting we capture this moment. If that's alright with you Lucy."

Lucy nods and shuffles closer to Rachel, smiling widely at the camera. Rachel takes Lucy's glass and places it down on the coffee table with her own before her left hand finds a home on Lucy's shoulder and she mirrors Lucy's wide smile. Leroy tells them to say cheese and both girls comply. When the camera flashes, documenting the first, of hopefully many, sleepovers, Lucy momentarily forgets her mother's house rules.

The last time she spent the night in Rachel's bedroom, it had been Rachel's thirteenth birthday. She'd been there to celebrate Rachel's journey into adolescence and four months later, Rachel had returned the favour and helped her celebrate her own thirteenth birthday. Her birthday had been the last one she'd spent with Rachel because the following year, Lucy transformed into Quinn and their childhood friendship dissolved into nothing more than memories. Between the ages of eight and thirteen, the two girls had weekly sleepovers, more often than not, on a Friday night, and they made a pact that they would always spend the night on a birthday.

Unfortunately, that was a pact they were unable to keep.

On Rachel's thirteenth birthday, her dads treated their daughter to a day out, an afternoon at the Edgewood Roller Skating Arena, followed by ice-cream at Cold Stone Creamery. Knowing their daughter and her best friend were inseparable and couldn't be apart for longer than an hour without one of them experiencing loneliness and boredom, they'd extended an invite her way. She and Rachel had spent the afternoon skating and laughing, with Rachel dramatically attempting to outdo everybody who was skating alongside them. Rachel turned her hand to any skating trick, in the hope she could impress, not only her best friend, but everybody else in the Arena. None of the tricks were successful but she had applauded every one of Rachel's efforts. She'd burst into laughter when Rachel tried to spin emphatically but ended up losing her footing, crumbling to the floor in an ungraceful heap. When Rachel's cheeks had uncharacteristically flushed and her head ducked in embarrassment, she mimicked her friend and fell to the floor, providing Rachel with company in her humiliation. After reassuring words and a friendly hug, both girls agreed to continue skating and the next time Rachel fell over, she brushed it off without a second thought.

She can remember their trip to the ice-cream parlour vividly because it had been her first experience in such a place. Her parents had never taken her for ice-cream, describing it as an unhealthy snack which would only contribute to her already steady weight gain. When she was younger, everything other children ate and enjoyed was considered bad for her health, at least by her parents. Her aunt never took her either because she'd never had enough courage to defy her parents and ask her aunt if they could go. When Rachel's fathers took her, she'd been hesitant, contemplating how much trouble she'd be in if her parents discovered she'd gone against their wishes. Her father had grounded her only once before, when she'd disobeyed him and visited Rachel, despite his orders for her to stay in the house, and it was an experience she had no intention of re-living. When she'd stepped foot inside the parlour and saw a myriad of flavours staring back at her, tempting her, any fears she previous had dissipated and she felt like she was in heaven. Rachel immediately ordered the 'Mint Mint Chocolate Chocolate Chip' but she couldn't choose that easily. She needed time to make the decision, it required careful consideration. She wanted to taste every flavour because she had no idea if she would ever be allowed to come back. After Rachel promised they'd return, she settled on the 'Berry Berry Berry Good' ice-cream, purely because of the name.

Afterwards, she'd returned home with the Berry's and following a delicious home-cooked meal, she and Rachel settled down in front of the television for their weekly movie. Every aspect of their friendship was fair and that included taking turns to choose the movie, but as it was Rachel's birthday, she had first pick by default. It came as no great surprise to her when Barbra Streisand appeared on the television screen. Rachel allowed her to choose the second movie and she chose '13 Going On 30' because she had been going through a phase of watching romantic comedies. She'd enjoyed it but Rachel repeatedly criticised it as she found the premise ill-conceived before stating that it was impossible to age seventeen years over night. Despite her protests that the majority of movies were fictional, Rachel didn't stop criticising. Rachel has always been a harsh film critic.

Sleeping over was an activity both girls were accustomed to. She spent more time in Rachel's house growing up than she did her own. When they first formed their friendship, they would spend every other weekend at her house, against her father's wishes, but Russell's wishes became stronger the older they became and he soon affirmed his authority and forbad Rachel from sleeping over, the only exception was when her aunt looked after her. His disdain for the Berrys was omnipresent but despite his best attempts, it was never shared by his daughter. He hated his daughter spending time with that family and if he'd have had his way, she'd have never set foot in their house but he had a propensity for working late on Friday nights so she and Rachel used to use that to their advantage. Luckily for them, he'd always be too drunk upon his return to notice his daughter's absence.

Despite having a double bed, Rachel claimed the right side of the bed as her own, except when she was required to share. Rachel always sacrificed her preferred position for her friend because it was closer to the window and more familiar of her bed's position at home. Rachel never complained once because she knew better than anybody that Lucy was a creature of habit.

They would fall asleep to hushed whispers and giggles and during the night, both heavily asleep and content in their dreams, the distance between the two of them vanished and they would wake in the morning, wrapped up in one another. Even when they were fast asleep, they refused to be separated. She would recoil first while Rachel made her excuses, blaming her friend for being unnecessarily comfy.

That last birthday sleepover, she'd awoken in the middle of the night and discovered Rachel's head nestled neatly against her neck. She was no stranger to waking up in that position but that time, something felt different. Her first instinct hadn't been to recoil but to close her eyes and drift back to sleep, satisfied in their closeness.

It's been three years since that night and standing in Rachel's bedroom now, she feels like an intruder. This bedroom may no longer feels like a second home to her but it is still littered with memories from her childhood, from her first conversation with Rachel, to their first sleepover, to their final conversation before high school started; the conversation that effectively terminated their close friendship. Her eyes wander over the room and unlike earlier, she allows herself to take in her environment as memories flash over her.

She can see her ten year old self sitting at the foot of the bed, her elbow bleeding more than expected, and tears in her eyes. They'd been playing tag in Rachel's back yard and in her excitement; she'd tripped and fallen, slashing her elbow on a stray rock. She can remember Rachel expertly cleaning up the wound before bandaging it up, kissing the bandage when she'd finished, informing her it was what her fathers did when she hurt herself. Apparently, a kiss has magical powers; at least that's what her dads said. When Rachel had noticed her unshed tears, she'd conjured up a humourless knock knock joke and it had been so poor, it made her stop crying and chuckle.

As her eyes move to the right, she can remember the first time she brought Dusty to Rachel's house. It had been a rainy day and Dusty had playfully rolled through the mud before entering the Berry's house. Despite her best intentions to stop him, he dashed inside, leaving muddy paw prints as a trail of his movements. He'd located Rachel's bedroom with expertise and jumped onto her bed, staining the bed sheets with dirt. She'd been apologetic but Rachel shrugged her apologies off, telling her it was standard behaviour for dogs and there was no harm done. Her fathers would be doing a load of laundry later than day anyway.

"Feel free to make yourself at home. You needn't stand frozen in the doorway," Rachel comments as she starts collecting her nightwear. "I don't bite."

"I know."

"What's wrong? If you'd prefer not to share my bed, you're welcome to sleep in the spare room. Although I'm afraid to say my daddy has decided to use it as a storing place for his memorabilia, or junk as my dad calls it, so there's not much room. We never have the luxury of entertaining over-night guests so we see no need in –"

"I have no problem sharing a bed with you, that's not the problem."

"Yet you're admitting there is a problem."

"It's just nostalgic," Quinn replies, crossing her arms over her chest.

"This isn't the first time you've been in my bedroom tonight. Was your earlier visit not nostalgic?"

"More than you know," Quinn says before continuing. "But this is…"

"More nostalgic," Rachel finishes for her. "It is to be expected; you spent a significant part of your childhood in this room, it was practically a second bedroom. It's natural that memories are returning. I'm sure if I suddenly found myself in your bedroom, the times I spent there as a child would come flooding back to me."

"You never spent much time in my bedroom."

"At your father's behest," Rachel says. "Even as a child I knew he disliked my dads and he was never going to invite them over to share a brandy in the study so I was grateful he allowed me access to your home at all, no matter how sporadic."

The corner of Quinn's mouth curls upwards. "Is that what you think my dad does in his spare time, drink brandy in the study? Honestly Rachel, he's a whisky man."

"My mistake." A ghost of a smile crosses Rachel's lips. "You are not to blame for your father's ignorance and homophobia. They're traits I'm fortunate you never inherited otherwise our friendship would have been over before it even had the good fortune to begin."

"It's rich of my father for disliking your parents on account of their sexuality because no matter their sexual orientation, they're better fathers than my dad could ever dream of being."

"Your father believes otherwise."

"Like you said, he's ignorant." Quinn clears her throat. "You know, I used to wish my parents could be like yours, even if only for a short period of time. Your dads turned up to every singing recital, dance recital, spelling bee, everything. I was lucky if my parents even remembered to wish me luck. I would wish that my parents could care about me an ounce of how much your dads care. Your dads care about me more than my own parents," she trails off slowly. "At least, they used to."

Rachel frowns at the confession; it's the first time she's heard Quinn actively talk about her parents since they were children. Quinn hates discussing her family and the topic has become taboo over the years. Whenever Rachel has tried to steer their conversation in that direction, Quinn's always been prompt in shutting it down.

"Your parents care about you," Rachel says after several seconds of silence. "They may not show it in a conventional way but –"

"I've always been more of a nuisance than a pleasure to them," Quinn tells her, wringing her fingers together. "Sorry, you don't need or want to be listening to my complaints."

"Not at all Quinn, you can tell me anything."

Quinn puffs out a breath before looking directly at Rachel. Being honest with Rachel is a step in the right direction right? "My dad's having an affair," she admits. "He has been for years, not a prolonged affair with the same woman but a plethora of them. He prefers to alternate the women he cheats on my mom with."

"Does you mom –"

Quinn bobs her head. "She knows."

"Why –"

"Is she still married to him?" Quinn finishes for her, sensing Rachel's next question was going to be the obvious one. It's one she's wondered herself time and time again. "It's a necessity to maintain appearances; her entire world would fall apart if her neighbours, or worse, her congregation knew her husband was cheating on her. For Judy Fabray, it's all about appearances and creating the perfect charade, no matter how far away from the truth it may be."

"Forgive my rudeness because I know he's your father but in my honest opinion, he's not a tolerable man, he never has been. Judy can do better."

"My mom isn't much better. In a way, they're the perfect match for one another because they both have an endless list of faults." Quinn curls a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sometimes you choose the person you believe you deserve rather than somebody who you actually want."

"If that's what your mom has chosen to do, I pity her," Rachel admits, walking in the direction of the bathroom. "Nobody should live that way."

"She doesn't know how to live any other way; it's all she's ever known."

Rachel releases a heavy breath before speaking. "Promise me something Quinn."

"What?"

"Promise me you won't let Russell Fabray force you into living the life he wants for you. He may be your father but he's not allowed to dictate your future. Earlier this evening, you implied you liked somebody you didn't think you deserved, somebody your father would hate you for wanting, but you can't let his opinion stop you from going after what you want. If you continue to think that way, you'll end up exactly like your mother, a bored house-wife whose life is wasting away before her eyes and who is forced to rely on the bittersweet company of liquor so she's not alone. Don't let his warped idea of a future for you eclipse your own dreams." Rachel tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry, was that rude of me? I didn't mean to cast aspersions on your mother."

"You told the truth," Quinn says. "Maybe I'm destined to end up the same way as her, like mother like daughter."

"I don't believe that for a second, you have a wonderful life in front of you and you are better than you give yourself credit for Quinn," Rachel runs her fingers through her hair. "May I offer you a piece of advice?"

"Of course you can."

"You should be honest with them."

"I doubt my parents would listen to me or care about what I said."

Rachel shakes her head. "I didn't mean your parents; I'm in agreement with you, they wouldn't listen to you. I think you should tell the person you like about your feelings. You never know, they could feel the same way."

"Maybe I will, one day," she breathes out. "You've removed the photograph," she points out, changing the topic of conversation.

Rachel follows Quinn's gaze to find it locked on her bedside table. A photograph of the pair of them used to reside there; the photograph that Rachel's dad took on their first sleepover. After the photograph had been developed, Rachel asked her dad if she could have it framed and it immediately took pride of place on her bedside table because she wanted it to be the first thing she saw when she woke up. She treasured it. That had been until last year when she gave it a new home in her closet. Staring at it had become too painful because it only acted as a reminder of what she used to have.

"I have." Rachel hovers in front of the bathroom door, her pyjamas in her hand. As a child, she would change in her bedroom, having no qualms changing in front of her friend but Quinn would always opt for the bathroom, ashamed of her body and unwilling for Rachel to see it. Now the tables have turned. Quinn's body is undoubtedly perfect, she's made sure that's the case, and it's Rachel turn to feel embarrassed, ashamed. "I'll be back in a minute," she states, entering the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Within seconds, the bathroom door reopens and Rachel emerges, still dressed. She walks towards the dresser and withdraws a spare pair of pyjamas for Quinn. "I forgot to give you something to wear." She hands them to her friend and clears her throat. "I don't wear these anymore because they're old and their condition has deteriorated but I wasn't expecting to have any company."

"They're perfect Rachel, thank you."

"You're welcome," she replies, returning to the bathroom and closing the door completely. She rests her hands on the sink and exhales heavily. Spending the night with Quinn Fabray had not been how she anticipated the night ending but she can't say she's exactly disappointed by the surprising turn of events, even if the situation feels peculiar. She changes at an astonishingly rapid pace and puts only fifty per cent effort into her nightly routine, suspecting Quinn will want the bathroom after her and she doesn't want to keep her guest waiting. She opens the bathroom door and falters as she bears witness to Quinn standing confidently in her bedroom, clad only in underwear. The brazen and unabashed girl standing before her is a shadow of the girl she once had the pleasure of knowing. When Quinn was Lucy, Rachel never saw any part of her body because Quinn had been ashamed of everything from her small breasts to the rolls of her stomach and finally, her chubby ankles.

That's always been Quinn's problem; she sees her faults as defining characteristics rather than what makes her unique.

Since Quinn has her back to her, Rachel's eyes fall to her friend's legs, taking in the defined calf muscles, courtesy of Quinn's strict and constant cheerleading practice. As her eyes move upward, she can feel a bob form in her throat. Her friend's body is idealistic, to a fault you could say, and it would appear she's managed to obtain all the qualities she desperately desired as a child. Her lower back showcases two refined dimples and when Quinn turns around, she's greeted by a sculpted set of abdominal muscles.

"You're staring," Quinn says, feeling scrutinised by Rachel's intense and unwavering gaze. She'd felt eyes on her body for the past couple of seconds but when she turned around, she hadn't expected to find Rachel, for all intents and purposes, leering at her, not making any attempt to disguise her staring.

"I am."

Quinn's stunned into silence at the answer; she hadn't expected Rachel to be so forthright with her frankness. "Is everything okay?"

"You're beautiful," Rachel remarks bluntly as her eyes wander over Quinn's body.

Quinn's eyes flutter shut because she knows Rachel doesn't mean the compliment in the way she craves. "Rachel."

"I know it's beyond rude to stare and for that, I apologise," she begins, finally managing to drop her gaze onto the wooden floor. "I've never seen you this exposed, I'm used to you concealing yourself, not being this open. It's like I'm seeing a complete stranger's body for the first time. I didn't mean to stare, it's just…I was momentarily taken aback. I knew your body had changed but knowing and seeing are two separate things."

"It's okay."

"It's not; I've made you feel uncomfortable."

"Rachel, you could never make me feel uncomfortable," Quinn informs her truthfully. "I've grown accustomed to changing in public places so I'm used to people staring at me. It's taken a while but I'm no longer ashamed of my body so –"

"You never had a reason to be," Rachel interrupts.

Quinn smiles softly, after all these years, Rachel's unwavering belief in her remains solid. "I never expected you to be one of the people who stared at me. I didn't know what you were thinking."

"I was thinking," Rachel says, licking her lips. "That the person standing before me is a far-cry from the girl I once knew, in appearance at least."

"Is that bad?"

"No," Rachel admits. "It's different but that's not necessarily bad. All I can say is I'm glad I chose to change in the bathroom, I don't compare to you."

"Don't compare yourself to me," Quinn says sternly. "I paid to change the way I look because I never had your body confidence. You are and have always been perfect."

"I suppose there are only so many times you can hear otherwise before you start to doubt it yourself. Word of mouth is a powerful critique."

Quinn steps closer to the other girl, still wearing only her underwear. "Rachel, is that why you changed in the bathroom?"

"Surely it shouldn't surprise you that I don't have as much confidence in my image as I used to," Rachel replies, knowing this conversation could take an unpleasant turn, one which she doesn't want to take. This is what happens with the pair of them now. They can talk like they used to and share a pleasant conversation but those conversations are, and always will be, tainted by what Quinn has done and whether she likes it or not, that will always rear its ugly head. "You should finish changing, it's late and I'm tired."

She hesitates at her bed before walking round to the left side of the bed and climbing in. Quinn darts into the bathroom to finish up her nightly routine as Rachel lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. For something that used to be commonplace, she hadn't expected this to feel so strange. She may have invited her to stay but she hadn't expected it to feel uncomfortable, awkward yes but not uncomfortable.

The bathroom door opens after five minutes and Quinn emerges, smiling softly when she sees Rachel has left the right side of the bed vacant for her, she remembered. When she climbs in beside her, Rachel's breath catches in her throat. She hasn't been this close to Quinn in a long time.

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"You're most welcome; I didn't think your parents would appreciate their daughter rolling in at all hours."

"They wouldn't notice."

"Have you called them?" When Quinn shakes her head, Rachel continues. "You should inform them of your whereabouts, just in case they're waiting for you to come in."

"They're not waiting for me, it's fine."

"If you're sure," Rachel says, switching the bedside lamp off. Silence coats the bedroom before Rachel speaks once more. "You know, for the record, my dads still have a soft spot for you. They're not overly fond of the person you became but they can't forget the little girl they were enamoured with."

"Really?"

Rachel bobs her head but Quinn can't see it. "For what it's worth, I was enamoured with that little girl too."

In the darkness, Rachel's incapable of seeing Quinn's smile. "Good night Rachel."

"Good night Quinn."

She's rudely disturbed from her slumber by the sound of thunder crashing above her. The volume is startling and she jolts awake with a fright. Within a minute, her bedroom illuminates briefly before plunging back into darkness after lightning flashes. Her eyes slam shut as she tries to fall hopelessly back to sleep but when the thunder rumbles once more, she knows it's not going to happen. She rolls over, bringing her knees to her chest protectively and sandwiching her head between her two pillows.

She doesn't need to have her eyes open to know the lightning has flashed once more, meaning the thunder is fast approaching. As a child, she used to climb into her dads' bed, terrified of the storm outside. They told her to count the number of seconds after a lightning strike until she heard thunder and divide the number by five because it would let her know how far away, in miles, the lightning strike had been. She's never liked not knowing so that little trick helped her feel a little more prepared. Heeding their advice, she counts under her breath and reaches five before she hears the distinctive growl of thunder; the storm is only a mile away. She doesn't know if the storm is growing nearer or moving further away but she prays it's the latter.

Quinn is sleeping, impossibly, through the storm and Rachel has to resist waking her. She knows from previous experience that Quinn is not a fan of being woken up, especially not if she's enjoying the pleasures of a dream, which is a strong possibility right now, if the lazy smile coating her face is anything to go by. Her room lights up yet again and she starts counting, this time only reaching four before the thunder announces its presence.

She wants to move and turn her bedside lamp on but her legs are frozen. Astraphobia has plagued her for as long as she can remember and if anything, it's become worse as the years have passed. It's a fear she's grown into rather than out of, much to her annoyance.

"Quinn?" Rachel whispers, too quietly to be heard and she's not surprised when Quinn fails to stir. "Quinn?" She tries once more, a little louder this time but it's too quiet to wake Quinn. She brings her hand to the other girl's arm and shakes her, hard enough to cause her to stir but gently enough to not cause any pain.

Quinn's eyes flutter open and she's momentarily dazed before her eyes land on Rachel. "What's wrong?"

A flash of lightning gives Quinn her answer before Rachel has the chance to speak. Quinn's eyes widen and she's no longer dazed, she's fully awake. Any tiredness or aggravation at being woken up in the early hours of the morning vanishes when she sees the fear hidden in Rachel's expression. She's never shared Rachel's fear of storms and to this day, she doesn't truly understand why Rachel is so afraid but she knows better than to question people's fears. She asked Rachel years ago what exactly it was that scared her most of all and she associated her fear with the thunder but stated everything was a contributing factor.

In the past, Quinn would wrap her arms around her friend and hold her until the storm had passed. Rachel had a habit of burying her head into Quinn's neck and refusing to move until about five minutes after the final clap of thunder could be heard in the distance.

She doesn't know what to do now; she doesn't know whether she should hold Rachel or leave her alone.

She doesn't know what Rachel would prefer her to do.

She never used to second judge her actions with Rachel but now she doesn't act without thinking twice.

Puffing out a breath, she decides to take the initiative and wrap one hand around Rachel's waist, pulling her close against her body.

"Is this okay?"

Rachel nods against her before her head finds its old home in Quinn's neck.

"Are you okay?"

Once more, Rachel nods and Quinn tightens her hold on her friend. At the closeness, she finds herself becoming overwhelmed by the scent of Rachel's shampoo. The vanilla scent reaches her nostrils and she's reminded why she never buys anything with that aroma, it reminds her of Rachel.

"Do you think Santana and Brittany have woken up?"

Quinn opens her mouth to speak but is momentarily distracted when Rachel fists her hand into Quinn's top as the loudest clap of thunder to date occurs directly above them. "I doubt it; they could sleep through an apocalypse at the best of times. When they've been drinking, nothing could wake them up. Believe me, I've tried."

"Lucky them."

If you asked her, Quinn would say she's experiencing a little bit of luck right now, being this close to Rachel. She clears her throat before speaking. "Did you know, supposedly, we're born with two innate fears?" Quinn asks softly. "Everything else we fear is acquired throughout our experiences in life."

"What are the two fears?"

"Fear of loud noises and fear of falling, I suppose that explains why you're afraid of the thunder. You never stopped being afraid of loud noises."

"I'm not afraid of falling."

A soft chuckle escapes her lips. "One out of two isn't bad."

"Do you still suffer from coulrophobia?"

Quinn furrows her brows. "What's that in layman's terms?"

"Are you afraid of clowns?" Rachel explains.

"Oh, yes, ridiculously so."

"Why?"

"Why?" Quinn repeats. "Have you seen clowns? Everything about them screams creepy, from their red noses to their unnecessarily baggy trousers. It just isn't right." Rachel laughs out loud at Quinn's reasoning. "I'm telling you, whoever came up with the idea that clowns should be humorous needs serious psychiatric help." She runs her hands soothingly through brown locks. "Do you remember the day we first met? About ten minutes after I went home, the storm my mother predicted came. You know, if she ever wanted to venture out into the working world, I think she'd make an excellent weather reporter."

"Judy Fabray working, we should call the press."

Another soft chuckle escapes her lips. "Anyway, that day, I wanted to come back to yours and protect you but my mom wouldn't let be back outside in the bad weather. She said I'd catch a cold or worse, be struck by lightning. That's my mother for you, always thinking of the worst situations."

"I wouldn't have advocated you returning in that weather."

"I still would have because you were the first proper friend I'd ever had; I would have done anything to make sure you stayed that way."

"What changed?"

The question adds palpable tension to the air and Quinn's eyes flutter shut at the fragility of Rachel's voice.

"High school. It made me a terrible person."

"I'm not going to argue."

"I'm sorry Rachel."

"I know you are."

The thunder growls quietly, it's moving further away. "No, listen to me. I'm sorry," she says sincerely, gently moving backwards so she can face Rachel. With tear-stained cheeks, Rachel stares at Quinn intently. Her right hand comes up to cup Rachel's cheek, the pad of her thumb rubbing away the invisible tears, as if she can erase the tears Rachel may have cried because of her actions over the past years. "I am truly sorry for how I treated you. The insults, the pornographic image of you in the toilet and how I would ignore you when you were only trying to be a friend. If I could take it all back, I would."

"Quinn –"

"I'm sorry I ever called you Ru-Paul."

"You never called me it directly, at least not to my knowledge."

"That doesn't excuse my behaviour; I concocted the vile nickname with Santana. I became a sheep and did what everybody else did, I stopped thinking for myself. I tried to tear you down because it was socially acceptable to do that," she breathes out softly. "You're beautiful; don't let anybody ever tell you any different, especially not me. I've always envied how you look and those nicknames, they're so far from the truth. You've always been at home in your body and if I've taken that away from you, I've never forgive myself."

Rachel feels a blush creep on her cheeks and she's grateful the darkness in the bedroom shields it from Quinn's view. She's not used to Quinn being so honest. "I –"

"I have no excuse for my actions," Quinn continues, failing to let Rachel interrupt her. "I chose popularity over you because I thought that was what I wanted. I thought life would be better with an infinite amount of friends and if everybody loved me but it isn't. The truth is, none of the friends I have, have ever held a candle to you. I chose popularity Rachel but I should have chosen you. There should never have been a choice to make."

"People make mistakes. It's one of the problems of the human race, we're all flawed."

"I shouldn't have made that mistake. God Rachel, can you imagine how different everything would be if I'd just had the courage to stay the way I was, if I'd never lost the weight, if I'd stayed as Lucy. You told me I was perfect the way I was and I should have believed you."

"You didn't want to believe me," Rachel tells me, forgetting about the storm and failing to notice the latest distant rumble of thunder.

"Can you forgive me?"

"I have."

"You've accepted my apology and you're willing to give our friendship another go but that's not what I mean. Can you look at me and not see what's happened, not see what I've done to you in the past? Can you see past all that and forget?" She needs to know whether Rachel can forget because if she can't, if she's always going to remember Quinn's mistakes, then her dream of being with Rachel will forever be nothing more than a pipe dream. Not that it's anything more than that now, Quinn highly doubts Rachel would ever want to date somebody who made her cry, who made her feel less than perfect.

"No," Rachel breathes out. "At least not right now."

"Do you think you'd ever be able to?"

Rachel looks down momentarily before meeting Quinn's eyes. "I think the fact you're lying beside me means there's a good chance I will be able to try and forget."

"That's all I can ask for."

"Can I ask you something, something I've always wondered?" Rachel asks, waiting for Quinn's permission before she asks. "If the situation had been reversed and I'd chosen popularity over you, not that I would have had the chance, what would you have done?"

"I don't know. I'd like to believe I would have fought for you but I doubt I would have compared with all your newly founded friends. I was nothing special."

"You would have compared," Rachel replies honestly. "You were special Quinn and you are the only friend I've ever wanted."

"You're the only friend I've ever needed. It just took me too long to realise."

Rachel's mouth curls upwards in a warm smile. "Lucky for you, I'm a patient person."

She runs her fingers raggedly through her hair as she trudges downstairs, covering her mouth as she yawns. After the thunderstorm died down, she fell asleep, never leaving Quinn's hold, and slept without interruption for the rest of the night. Sleeping beside Quinn, surprisingly, provided an ideal night's sleep. Quinn hadn't been beside her when she'd woken up and she'd assumed the girl had returned home but the smell of coffee wafting through the house, greeting her nostrils, tells her she may have assumed incorrectly.

Unless Santana has decided to ignore another one of her house rules and is currently making herself at home. Rachel wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, Santana doesn't seem to have any restrictions.

Thankfully, when she enters her kitchen, it's Quinn and not Santana.

"I thought you'd left."

Quinn raises her head at the voice. "And leave you to deal with the lovable duo downstairs alone, no way."

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks as Quinn begins making two cups of coffee.

"I'm making coffee."

Rachel rolls her eyes at the flippant answer. "I can see that. Why are you making coffee?"

"Santana requires coffee in the morning, if you think she's bad in school, wait until you witness a hung-over version, she's tetchier and more irritable. Whatever she says to you, ignore it. I've learned to take her with a pinch of salt."

"I haven't been capable of doing that yet; it's a skill I need to acquire."

"It takes time." Quinn bites down of her bottom lip. "About last night."

"Are you about to say you didn't mean what you said? If that's the case, perhaps it's better if you don't talk."

"No, of course I meant what I said. I didn't say it to help distract you from the storm, I meant every single word. On Monday, you will receive my undivided attention."

"How will you explain your drastic change in behaviour to everybody else, to your fellow cheerleaders?"

"I don't care."

"I do."

"Rachel –"

"I know what it's like to be an outcast and it's a burden I wouldn't wish on you. You know Quinn; you've always been weighed down by the same problem. You've always assumed high school is an either or situation, you think you can only have popularity or my friendship but that's not true. You can have both but you never tried."

"Maybe I don't want both anymore."

"You do," Rachel says softly. "I don't understand your need to be liked by our fellow peers and I will never understand your friendship with Santana but I can see it's a real friendship. You want both worlds and you can have both, Annie does it. Annie's never worried about my status as an outcast and she hasn't been shunned for talking to me."

Quinn exhales heavily. "I didn't realise Annie was the poster child for this scenario."

"She's not," Rachel tells her. "She's…she's the person you could have been. I think that's why I like her, she reminds me of you."

"I need coffee," Santana growls as she walks into the kitchen, Brittany following suit, bounding with every step she takes. She throws herself onto a kitchen stool and wraps her hand around the mug of coffee Quinn sends her way. She quirks her eyebrow when she sees Quinn wearing a pair of pyjamas that scream Rachel Berry, but she's too ill to make a witty remark.

"I would delight you with a lecture detailing the side effects of copious and careless drinking but I'm sure you're feeling those said effects so any lecture I give you will be fruitless, not to mention unwanted, am I correct?"

"If I say yes, will that shut you up?"

"For the time being, although please heed my advice and refrain from drinking too much on a regular occasion, it can be detrimental to your health."

Santana rests her head against the kitchen counter, revelling in the coolness as it reaches her forehead. She doesn't have the strength or the energy to continue an argument with Rachel.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Brittany asks, already perusing Rachel's refrigerator and kitchen cupboards in search of nourishment.

"Are you not feeling under the weather?" Rachel asks, taken aback by Brittany's sunny disposition. She drank as much, if not more than Santana last night, so Rachel expected her to be suffering just as much.

"I'm feeling hungry."

"She never feels bad the following morning," Quinn explains, sitting beside Rachel and offering her a glass of orange juice. "It's a miracle."

"Since you're both awake, I would appreciate it if you'd help Quinn and I with the cleaning, the basement is in a state of disarray and I cannot have my father's seeing it like that. They'll admonish me before refusing to leave me alone again."

"No."

"Santana, it's only fair that you help. You both contributed to making the mess, you more than anybody else, let's not forget the two items you smashed. It's fitting you help clean it up."

Santana raises her head and after a momentary struggle, she manages to stand up, although once again, her balance is questionable. "I can't deal with you," she mumbles, taking both cups of coffee from the counter. "Britt, if you help me leave, I'll buy you breakfast," she bargains and Brittany eagerly agrees because her stomach won't cease rumbling.

She always has a large appetite after a night of drinking.

"Santana," Rachel shouts, copying Santana and standing up. "You can't just leave." When she receives no answer, she appeals to Santana's conscious. "Brittany, can you please stay and help us?"

"She won't help," Brittany says honestly. "She can't help you when she's hung-over. I'll bring her back after breakfast."

"Do you honestly think I'm foolish enough to believe that you will be coming back?"

The only answer she receives is in the form of the front door closing. Rachel puffs out a breath and turns to face Quinn with an exasperated sigh. "Your friend has stolen two of my mugs."

"She does that, I think she suffers from a mild form of kleptomania."

"Alongside her many other insufferable factors," Rachel mumbles. "It would appear that it's just us, unless you have a prior engagement and you're going to leave me to do the cleaning by myself."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Rachel's mouth curls upwards slowly before a wide smile graces her features. "Good to know."

A/N 2:

Alice – Thanks for reading and reviewing :) They actually did end up cuddling and Rachel slept better than ever.

TDB - Thanks for reading and reviewing :) Well I'm glad you've found this story and I'm really pleased to hear you love it. So do I, it's proving problematic at times but I'll keep going with this story.

Sarah - Thanks for reading and reviewing :) Thank you very much, that means a lot. I think Rachel's 'first kiss' has always supposed to be with Quinn and I'm not going to let Annie get in the way of that. I don't mind if you go on :)

Guest - Thanks for reading and reviewing :) I changed the error, thanks for pointing it out.

A/N 3:

Google told me the Roller Skating Arena and Ice Cream Parlour are in Ohio so if they're not, blame Google not me. Also, those ice-cream flavours are taken from the Parlour's website.