Chapter Text
Rachel is painting her nails when her phone vibrates from across the room. Curious, she quickly finishes up her nails and blows on them for a minute before walking to haphazardly pick up her phone with the palms of her hands. She moves to her bed, sets her phone down, and turns it on. Her screen lights up with a name and message that shock her.
Quinn: Wanna come help me with something?
It takes a minute for Rachel’s heart to slow down. It isn’t often that Quinn Fabray texts her, especially when it’s the summer, and it certainly has nothing to do with Glee. Ever since school ended, Quinn has been AWOL. No one has seen or heard from her since the last day of school, and, if Rachel’s being honest, she’s been worried about her. After the whole Nationals fiasco and Quinn randomly cutting her hair, Rachel has been concerned for Quinn.
So to say that Rachel is surprised to see a text from Quinn asking her for help with something when no one has heard a peep from her for nearly two months is an understatement.
Satisfied with her nails, Rachel picks up her phone and carefully types a response.
Hi, Quinn. Help with what, exactly?
The response is quick. Something. Can you not read?
Rachel huffs at the vague reply and hint of snark that shines through her message. Still, she’s going to offer her assistance because she is a kind person (and she’s dying to see Quinn and make sure that she’s okay).
I would love to help. She types. How have you been?
The response, yet again, is quick, and Rachel isn’t surprised to see that Quinn ignored her question. Front door is unlocked. Come over whenever.
Seeing as she has no plans for the day, Rachel promptly cleans up her nail polish and throws on a pair of shorts and a tank top that Quinn (most likely) will not make fun of her for wearing.
The drive over to Quinn’s is quick, just over six minutes, and, before she knows it, Rachel is standing in front of Quinn’s house. Taking a deep breath, she walks up the steps to the front door and knocks twice. As her fist collides with the solid wood frame of the door, she remembers that Quinn had said the front door was unlocked, and she opens the door and walks inside the Fabray home.
She’s been here once before, when she and Quinn had sung a duet together and had a practice session at her house. It looks mostly the same from when she was here last, and the sound of soft music from upstairs has Rachel quickly taking off her shoes and heading up to the source of the music. Not surprisingly, it is coming from Quinn’s bedroom, and Rachel knocks on the ajar door out of courtesy.
When Quinn opens the door, Rachel’s breath is taken away. Quinn doesn’t look any different than normal, but the mere fact that she is alive and present in front of her after almost two months is enough to catch Rachel off guard, despite logically knowing that Quinn is okay. Her hair is still short, obviously, and it looks recently cut, too.
“Hey.” Quinn says, moving out of the doorway to let Rachel through.
Rachel edges past Quinn, heading straight to the record player sitting on her desk. Elton John’s Greatest Hits is playing, and it looks like it just started. “Elton John?” She asks in lieu of a greeting.
Quinn shrugs. “I’m a fan.”
Rachel hums along to the song currently playing, losing herself for a moment. “Your Song is my favorite.”
“Me too.” Quinn says.
It’s silent after that, the two of them just standing and listening to the song gently crackling through the speakers. Once the song ends and the next one starts, Rachel moves away from the record player to sit down in the chair at Quinn’s desk.
“So,” Rachel begins, “What am I helping you with today?”
“This,” Quinn says, and she holds up a black box showing a woman with hot pink hair on it.
Rachel’s jaw drops. “Is that… hair dye?”
“Yep.” Quinn replies, popping the “P” at the end.
“A-And you want me to…” Rachel trails off, not exactly sure where this is heading.
“Help me dye my hair.”
Rachel’s mind is spinning with questions: Dye her hair? Why ask Rachel? Why not Santana or Brittany? Why is she dying her hair? But all that comes out of her mouth is, “Pink?”
“Uh, yeah.” Quinn laughs.
Rachel looks at the box, then back at Quinn, then back at the box, and then back at Quinn once more. Quinn wants her here. Quinn wants her help, for whatever reason. And, well, Rachel will be damned if she doesn’t stick around and help her.
“Okay, let’s do it.” Rachel says.
Quinn’s eyebrows raise in shock. “Really?”
Rachel says, “Were you expecting me to say no?”
“No, well, I just…” Quinn stutters. “Never mind, let’s just do it. Take this into the bathroom in the hall, and I’ll be there in a second.”
Grabbing the box from Quinn, Rachel heads into the bathroom and opens the box. She puts on the gloves and begins reading the instructions. She’s realizing this is a lot easier than she thought when Quinn walks in, having changed into a tank top and what look like old gym shorts, and Rachel is shocked to see Quinn dressed so casually. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen the girl not wearing some kind of blouse, dress, or skirt, and Rachel can’t lie and say that this casual look doesn’t look great on her.
Quinn runs a hand through her hair, tousling it a little bit. “We all ready to go? You read the instructions?”
Rachel nods as Quinn lays some old towels on the floor and grabs one for herself. She sits down on a fold out chair and looks up at Rachel expectantly. Promptly, Rachel empties the contents of the dye into a bowl that Quinn had sitting on the sinktop, along with a little brush.
It's cute how she laid everything out already, Rachel thinks.
She turns back to Quinn and sections her hair into four parts. Grabbing the brush, she dips it into the dye and gets a decent amount on it.
“You ready?” Rachel asks, hand hovering above Quinn’s roots on the top of her head.
Quinn absently reaches back with her hand and grabs Rachel’s free hand. She tangles their fingers together and gives her hand a tight squeeze. Making eye contact with Rachel through the mirror in front of them, she says. “Do it.”
Never one to back down from a challenge, Rachel squeezes her hand back and releases it. She adjusts Quinn’s head one last time and goes for it: she paints the dye onto Quinn’s roots, hearing Quinn gasp at the feeling.
“Are you okay?” Rachel can’t stop herself from asking.
Quinn clears her throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Keep going. It was just… shock. Or something.”
Rachel continues painting the dye onto the top of Quinn’s head, making eye contact with her through the mirror every so often. Quinn looks calm, peaceful even. At one point, she closes her eyes as Rachel runs her fingers through the top of her hair to untangle a knot.
She works her way through the sections of her hair and watches the previously blonde locks get coated with the slick, hot pink dye. Rachel watches for Quinn’s reactions, but her face remains expressionless, an odd sense of tranquility washing over her at times. By the time she’s nearly finished, Quinn, still, is blank-faced.
“And… we’re done.” Rachel announces proudly. She sets the brush down in the bowl and carefully peels her gloves off. Quinn stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, head coated in pink, before she turns around and meets Rachel’s gaze.
“Thanks.” Quinn says. “How long do we have to wait?”
Rachel smiles at the inclusive word choice. “The box says anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour, depending on how deep you want the color to be.”
Quinn stands up and moves past Rachel out of the bathroom. She calls over her shoulder, “Guess we’re waiting an hour, then.”
An hour later, they are back in the bathroom, Quinn yet again sitting in the folding chair, now positioned directly in front of the sink.
(The past hour was spent in mostly awkward silence after Quinn put on a different record, Abbey Road by the Beatles, and they sat there and just listened. It was the longest hour of Rachel’s life.)
Now, she’s standing over Quinn, guiding her head back to lean over the sink, and turning on the faucet. Once the water is at a comfortable temperature, Rachel cups some water in her hands and gently lathers it through Quinn’s hair to distribute the color a little bit better. Quinn’s eyes fall shut at the first touch of Rachel’s hands to her head, and Rachel pauses for a moment to admire the absolute look of serenity on Quinn’s face.
She hasn’t seen it in a while, and, well, she’s missed it.
Satisfied, Rachel guides Quinn further back into the (rather large) sink and begins to rinse the dye from her hair. She watches the water turn pink as it hits her head and falls down the drain. Rachel runs her hands through Quinn’s hair, massaging out every last bit of hair dye, and her breath catches at the sight of the bright pink hue it is leaving behind.
A few minutes later, she’s done, and she turns the water off and grabs a towel to place underneath Quinn’s neck. Quinn sits up and grabs the towel, running it through her hair to dry it off. When she’s finished, she holds the towel out in front of her, and they both laugh at the pink stains all over the fabric.
Rachel looks at Quinn, with her newly pink hair, and a grin takes over her face. It looks good. It looks really good. And Quinn hasn’t even seen it yet.
“How is it?” Quinn asks nervously.
Rachel gestures to the mirror behind her. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Quinn lets out a shaky breath. Suddenly, she grabs Rachel’s hand.
Only to be met with Rachel’s still wet and pink-tinted skin because she has yet to wash and dry off her hands.
Quinn grimaces, and Rachel laughs loudly, moving to quickly wash her hands. She scrubs them viciously, ridding them of as much pink as she can, dries them on the nearest towel, and grabs Quinn’s hand again.
“Ready?” Rachel asks.
Quinn meets her eyes and simply nods. She stands up, hand still held tightly in Rachel’s, gives her hand a tight squeeze, and slowly, oh so slowly, turns around to see herself in the mirror.
“Oh, wow.” Quinn breathes out.
Rachel watches Quinn look at herself in the mirror, carefully watching her face for any sort of reaction. Nothing happens for a while, but, then, Rachel notices the slight quirk of her lips which morphs into a full-blown smile. Quinn lets out a heavy sigh as she grins, and Rachel can’t help but smile right back at her.
Quinn turns to look at Rachel. “Thank you.” She lifts their entwined hands and shakes them a little bit in emphasis. “Thank you.”
Rachel’s heart flutters at the pure joy on Quinn’s face. “Of course, Quinn.”
They’ve never been the closest of friends, and Rachel doesn’t know what today means for them, but she knows, with Quinn’s hand in hers, they must be doing something right.