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“You know that I’ve always just tried my best to help you, right?” Quinn asked, the oh-so typical edge in her voice uncharacteristically absent. “I know that it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I do. I try.” Quinn shifted on her pool chair, drawing one ankle up under her opposite knee to sit half cross-legged, facing Rachel, her champagne flute perched on her thigh.
Rachel looked down, her stomach twisting, nerves tightening as she thought about where this was going. So this was really happening. Quinn King, stoic of stoics, was… opening up to her? Their relationship was not something that they ever discussed seriously. Rachel didn’t even know if it could be adequately put into words; much of their communication had long since ceased to be explicitly verbal anyway. Anything real, anything genuine, they said to each other through actions. But she knew that Quinn was trying, and somehow that ignited every kind of emotion in Rachel. “Quinn, I… you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Who said I was apologizing?” Quinn scoffed, returning slightly to her usual self. “I don’t regret anything that I’ve done. To you.” She dropped back into her softer voice, almost unsettling for Rachel to hear. “For you.” It’s not that it didn’t sound like Quinn, but it wasn’t the Quinn she was used to. And she sure as hell wasn’t used to… whatever this was. “I mean, I guess I could have gone about it differently, but I’ve always done what I thought was best for you,” she repeated. “Because I felt like you needed me. Or maybe I just wanted you to need me, I don’t know.” Quinn hesitated. “Maybe… maybe I just needed you.”
Rachel mentally cursed her heartbeat for quickening involuntarily at that last line. “Quinn, whatever our relationship is—” she hated a term so simple as relationship, their dynamic could not be reduced to such a concept, but there was no better word, “—whatever this is, it’s not healthy, you know. That’s part of the reason why I left after last season, to get some space, to get a better perspective on things. I guess I just need you to recognize that I’m capable of making my own decisions, you know, that I’m not just some damaged person that you need to protect.”
“I know.” Despite the glass in Quinn’s hand, Rachel knew she was stone cold sober. Her eyes were startlingly green and clear, and were locked on Rachel’s in an earnest but indecipherable plea. “The past few weeks have made that clear. You saved my ass, Rachel, and I don’t just mean with the show.” Rachel gave her a weak smile. She knew what she meant.
When Quinn had come to bring her back from her self-imposed, essentially honest exile, Everlasting hadn’t been the only thing that was falling apart. It was almost poetic, really, how the effects of the deaths of last season on the show and its executive producer had run parallel. How could Rachel ever have denied her? So she had returned, and she’d picked up all of Quinn’s pieces and put her back together again. Almost. Clearly some had ended up being rearranged from the original, because the old Quinn never would have talked to her like this. She had let Rachel in before, but it had always been shallow, and Quinn had always been quick to put her walls back up after. This time, Rachel thought, the cracks in Quinn’s armour weren’t quite closed. She thought — she hoped — that might be a conscious decision.
Quinn put her champagne down on the table between them and settled back in her chair. “So you’re really leaving.” It was less of a question and more of a defeated statement. The way Quinn’s voice faltered had Rachel’s heart plummeting down to her stomach.
“Yeah, Quinn.” Rachel forced herself to blink back tears and look over at the other woman, but Quinn had her gaze fixed dead ahead of her, purposefully avoiding eye contact. “I’m really leaving.”
“That’s—” Quinn choked, her mouth twisting, and suddenly Rachel’s decision seemed like the exact wrong one. “That’s… good,” she continued. “You’ll be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
Rachel let out a half-hearted laugh. “Sometimes I’m not so sure of that.”
“Are you kidding me? Rachel. You need to get out of this hellhole more than anyone. I… I’ve been selfish trying to keep you here. I tried to ignore what it was doing to you. God, I even told you to wait until the season was done to get better. I didn’t know.” Even from just her profile, Rachel could see the weight of Quinn’s guilt written on her face.
They didn’t do this. They didn’t apologize, they didn’t explain, they didn’t put these things into words. It was almost too much for Rachel to bear.
“Quinn, it’s okay—”
“It’s not,” Quinn said, unexpectedly venomous. Rachel flinched, but she knew Quinn’s anger wasn’t directed at her. It was focused on herself, and Quinn was feeling everything she’d refused to let herself feel until now. “It’s not okay, don’t say that. If I’d let you go sooner, you’d be… you’d be better. You’d be happier. Healthier.” The worst part, the part that hurt the most, was that she wasn’t entirely wrong. “But I kept dragging you back here because I needed you.” Quinn’s voice was thick now, far past the point of no return. She sat up and looked at Rachel, finally, tears highlighting her cheekbones. Quinn’s breath caught in a sob, and Rachel crumbled.
Rachel was across the foot that separated their chairs in a heartbeat. She didn’t know what to do, how to react, how to console Quinn. She wasn’t used to seeing her strong, fearless mentor so vulnerable, reduced to raw, open tears, head in hands. “Quinn, look at me.” She did, and Rachel was hit with the full force of how close they were to one another in that moment, in every sense of the word. In the fading evening light, Rachel noticed the lines on Quinn’s face: around her eyes, painstakingly perfect makeup now smudged, the small scar on the upper corner of her mouth. Quinn’s mouth. Her gaze lingered there a beat longer than it should have. Rachel put her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, more to steady herself than anything. It took her longer than it should have to find her words again, to say what she needed to say. To tell Quinn what Rachel knew she needed to hear.
“I forgive you.”
Quinn opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. So Rachel continued. “Everyone in my life who was supposed to love me only ever manipulated me, tried to change me. They thought I was broken and just wanted to fix me, or at least make sure I didn’t spiral out of control and hurt other people, which is apparently all I ever do. My mother, Jeremy, Coleman, Dr. Simon, wanted to get rid of whatever darkness I have inside of me. Drug me up, psychoanalyze me, whatever it took. But you told me I was perfect.” Rachel couldn’t help the tears spilling from her own eyes now. “You’ve always seen me and accepted me for who I am, Quinn, and even when I resisted you you still only ever did what you thought was best for me. Especially when I resisted you.” That got a weak chuckle from Quinn. “Sure, you could have gone about it… differently. But you understand me. No one else does.”
“You shouldn’t forgive me. All I ended up doing was hurting you, and I couldn’t see it. No, that’s a lie. I could see it, but I ignored it.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know, not really,” Rachel began, trying to justify, trying anything to soften what she imagined Quinn must have been feeling. “You didn’t know why… you didn’t know about….”
Quinn shook her head. “I knew enough. And I’d suspected, for a while. And then your dad….”
“Well.” Now it was Rachel’s turn to break eye contact, look down, look anywhere but Quinn’s face. Despite what she’d just said, Dr. Simon’s words flashed through her head, telling her no one would ever accept her her if they knew what had really happened. Before that they had been Coleman’s words, and before that, her mother’s. “Maybe everything you’ve said doesn’t really apply anymore, you know, now that you’ve figured it out. Now that you know the whole truth about the real, broken, fucked up Rachel Goldberg.”
“Oh my God, Rachel. How could you even think… that would never change how I feel about you. I love you.” Quinn paused, letting those words hang between them. “I stand by what I said. You’re perfect. You’re fucked up, but you’re perfect. God knows I’m fucked up too.”
“Yeah, I mean, of course, but you know I love you too—”
“No, I mean it, Rachel, seriously. Don’t you get it? I love you,” Quinn repeated, taking a deep breath. “I love you.” There was something about Quinn’s intonation, her emphasis on the second ‘love’, that struck a chord somewhere deep within Rachel. Her brow furrowed. She’d heard it before, almost a year ago, when she’d found Quinn in the control room, bloodied and broken. Rachel hadn’t thought much of it then — had chosen not to think much of it — but what Quinn was telling her dawned on her now as they sat in the dying light. And it knocked all the air out of her.
“You… love me.” It was a cautious statement, not an outright question, but plainly laiden with the search for affirmation that that was what Quinn really meant. The look of combined terror, hope, and shock on Quinn’s face gave Rachel the answer she needed. As did Quinn’s subconscious and conspicuous glance at Rachel’s mouth.
She started to say something, but only managed to get out “I—” before Rachel decided to take the biggest risk of her life, dive right off the edge of a cliff, and kiss Quinn King.
Quinn made a noise of surprise against Rachel’s mouth. She was hesitant, at first, but within seconds she was kissing her back as though Rachel’s body was the only source of oxygen left in the universe. And in some ways, Rachel thought later, it must have been.
All Rachel could think about was how soft Quinn was. Given her usual demeanor, Rachel wouldn’t have been shocked to find Quinn sharp and icy cold, but she was far from it. Rachel’s lips on Quinn’s soft lips, her hands found the soft skin on Quinn’s jaw, reached into her soft hair. One of Quinn’s hands settled tentatively on the side of her face. Rachel reached around Quinn’s waist and pulled the woman toward her, needing to be closer, so much closer.
Quinn put a hand on Rachel’s chest and broke the kiss. “Rachel, we can’t. I can’t.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Especially since you’re leaving.”
“Come with me,” Rachel pleaded, all inhibitions long gone. “You’re technically buying that cabin, it could be as much yours as mine. If you wanted.”
“You know that’s not a good idea. Besides, I can’t leave Everlasting. It’s all I have.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.”
Quinn gave Rachel a look. “That would never work, Rachel, and we both know it.” She reached for Rachel’s hand, holding it so gently as though she was afraid of breaking her. “I wish… I wish it could. I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t. You need to get away. It’s time for me to stop making selfish decisions when it comes to you. I need to let you go.”
“Okay. I get it. Yeah, you’re right.” Rachel had known it was unrealistic — stupid, even, to suggest — but the rejection hurt all the same. “Could we sit here for a bit longer, though? Our last night on Everlasting.” She gave Quinn a tight-lipped smile. “The end of an era.”
Quinn returned the smile in kind. “Sure.” Rachel was about to get up to return to her own chair, but Quinn moved herself over so she had room to lie back beside her. Rachel positioned herself alongside Quinn, their bodies pressed together from ankle to shoulder. Quinn put her arm around her, and Rachel turned toward her slightly to rest her arm across Quinn’s stomach. She tried not to think about the future, what her leaving meant for them, what this night meant for them. How often she’d even see Quinn anymore. The only thing that mattered in the world in that moment was Quinn’s hand absentmindedly drawing circles on her back.
Rachel woke up sometime later, not even having realized she’d fallen asleep. She sat up and something fell off of her — Quinn’s jacket, still carrying the scent her perfume. But the sun had gone down completely, and it was dark, and Quinn was gone.