A/N:I know I should be working on Coffee's for Closers Only, but this just sort of came unbidden from my fingers when I sat down to write. I hope you can forgive the delay for the aforementioned story; I'm working on the details of the plot so I ultimately know where I'm going and how to get there. Though flying by the seat of my pants is largely my M.O. I'm not really known for doing multi-chaptered fics. Which is probably why this came first.
Hope you like it anyway. Thanks for reading!
A/N 2: Somehow the first voicemail message did not get included in the original upload... sorry if this story is no longer considered good, but I would rather have it published in the manner in which it was intended than have it be liked universally. Hopefully, it is still liked, but I apologize if it changes too drastically for you. This version was the original.
A/N 3: I'm sorry to anyone who commented on this story earlier, and I apologize for blowing up the inbox of all those who have me on author alert. In trying to fix this the old fashioned way, via the doc manager on this site, I was thwarted at every possible turn and forced to remove the story twice. First time, re: Author's Note 2, and the second time because there had been some internal error within the sites framework. I'm not pretending I know what that means exactly, but hopefully 3rd time is a charm. Thank you for all your patience with me. I'm will do my best not to be completely useless in the future.
September 15th, 2011
You have one unheard message.
I know this is probably grossly inappropriate considering you have never formally given me your phone number, but I really want you to know that... I went to great lengths to procure this number...
That's not really why I'm calling, but it should be noted that I was so determined that even Santana's surly attitude was not going to be a deterrent. She did make me promise to mention that your, and I quote, *ahem* punk-wannabe ass better not get preggers again now that you're hanging around with the Skanks. I feel really uncomfortable telling you that, but she refused to allow me to have your number unless I agreed to say it, and while I think the subject-matter entirely questionable, I did want to make sure it was verbatim, so you knew it was from her and not from me.
But, again, that's not really why I'm calling... Do you ever get the sense you were born in the wrong place? I don't mean time, but place. Spatially. I feel like if I was me, and it was today, but instead of growing up in Lima, Ohio I had grown up in, oh let's say, New York City. And you were you, and it was today, and you had also grown up in New York City, and though the city itself is home to over 8 million people, I just know that if we had bumped into each other where all the social hierarchy of McKinley didn't cloud our personalities and motives... That's silly, isn't it? Because we did grow up in Lima, Ohio, and I suppose if one wanted to they could still look beyond the social hierarchy of McKinley...
*Sigh* That's not really why I'm calling either.
I wonder if I'm about to run out of time on your voicemail.
I'm not sure why I'm beating around the bush. As I mentioned, I went to great lengths to procure your number; reading to you Santana's statement was just the compromise after a long, drawn-out argument about my intentions. She thinks you're just going to snap out of this, that you're in a phase, and maybe she's right. But I don't think that can be my call on your behalf, and I want to think of you as a friend and friends don't just assume their friends will get over whatever it is that's bothering them.
Sorry, I thought I heard a beep and that my message had finally run out.
I miss you. I know that seems weird to say, especially coming from me, but I believe in honesty above all things. I do, Quinn, I miss you. And I know that last year was an incredibly difficult time for you. You're braver than anyone gives you credit for, and I don't think this is a phase. Even if it is, that's okay. We are, after all, the sum of our experiences, and if this makes you who you are then so be it.
That's not really why I'm calling either. I just... it should be said, for posterity if nothing else.
Look, I'll try you back another time. Maybe then I'll have a more thought-out message. Hope to see you tomorrow.
It's Rachel Berry, by the way.
September 16th, 2011
You have one unheard message.
Hi. It's Rachel Berry telephoning you again.
I wasn't sure if I'd get you on the line this time around, but perhaps you're screening your calls. I'm not offended, in fact I find this forum considerably easier to speak candidly in. The silence on the other end is comforting. As though I can pretend you might not hear this.
You weren't in IB English today. We had to read that short story about infidelity in Louisiana written in 1898 by Kate Chopin. So... if you have time, I would read it. I can send you the study questions that Mr. Fink wants answered by Monday.
I hear there is a party tonight at Noah's place. I wasn't planning on attending, as I find his gatherings to be... well, academically decaying seems hyperbolic to say. Although, I wouldn't say wholly untrue. I can't imagine all the alcohol consumed can have any enriching effects on the brain. But I guess that just makes me sound... un-fun. Finn said I am sometimes. Perhaps that's why he's going and didn't really ask me if I wanted to accompany him.
I suppose since the, um, Skanks are going you will too... Is there another name I can call them? I find that moniker to be a little disconcerting for me. I don't think you're a skank, Quinn. I don't even think you're morally questionable... I think you're sad... But that still doesn't make you a skank.
I think some people think I'm morally questionable, and I'll admit that there have certainly been times where my judgement on something ethical in nature can be called... suspect? But I think at the end of the day, as long as no one is physically hurt in any way, there can't really be any... well, I suppose there could be harm, emotionally, but I mean I've been teased and slushied for the better part of my secondary school education and I'm no worse for wear realistically. A little gun-shy around the Slurpie machine at the 7-11, perhaps, but that's only because I highly doubt those machines are entirely up to code when it comes to hygiene. But I do like the grape flavour. You know, as far as corn-syrup beverages go.
I wonder if I went tonight, and saw you, if you would talk to me.
I wish there was an edit feature on your voicemail.
I'm sorry; I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just... I miss you. But I guess I already said that yesterday. No point in beating a dead horse.
Anyway, read that story. I think it's called, The Storm. And I'll photocopy the questions for you and get them to you tonight in Glee.
I'll leave them in your locker.
Have a good evening, Quinn. Call me if you need anything.
September 18th, 2011
You have one unheard message.
Hi, it's me, Rachel.
I'm not sure what to say now.
Friday night was...
Was it because you had been listening to my voicemail messages, or was it because you wanted to? Were you drunk? You said you weren't drinking when I offered to get you a beverage.
Finn drank a lot. A lot, a lot. I drove him home but that didn't stop him from relieving himself in his front yard. I'm just glad Kurt didn't see that, he would have been really unimpressed.
Don't tell Finn I told you that. I'm not sure he even remembers it, but I don't want him to be embarrassed. What one does when one is intoxicated is not entirely one's own choosing.
Which is why if you were drunk then I can ignore what happened. Just say the words, and it will never be mentioned again. I'm not saying that if you do want to talk about it I would be adverse to that. I'm rather confused, to be honest, but...
I wasn't really planning on going to Noah's party to begin with. I suppose I just wanted the quintessential High School Experience. I know we had that party at my house, Junior year, but I'm not sure that was the quintessential experience I was hoping for. It did somewhat prepare me for Noah's party though.
Well... except for that.
I'm not mad, if that's what you're thinking. I could never be mad at you, Quinn. It's not as though you haven't given me ample opportunity, true, but I never wanted to be mad at you. I think it's fair to say we've hurt each other in equal measure, but I hope that's behind us. Now.
You have a really great voicemail feature. Who's your carrier?
I was hoping you would have called or texted me yesterday. I want an explanation, but like I said... but an explanation would be preferable. If it were up to me.
Explanation or no, if you want to talk about anything, anything at all, I would be, as they say, all ears.
Have a good day, Quinn.
September 20th, 2011.
You have one unheard message.
Hi, it's me.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say, Quinn. You don't seem to want to talk about what happened at Noah's, but then it happened again today beneath the bleachers.
I just wanted to talk to you in person for once. I suppose the fact that you haven't gone out of your way to talk to me should have been indication enough to maintain my distance, but you looked... lonely.
I liked it. I can admit that. You must know the effect you have on me. You just... and then my knees weakened, and I guess all those clichés people say about moments like that are clichés for a reason.
Finn had mentioned fireworks.
God, if only it had just been fireworks.
It was everything, and yet it still feels like not enough.
I'm baring my soul to you, Quinn, and all I want is an explanation. I know this is partially my fault for disturbing the radio silence last week, but I wasn't hoping for this when I started calling you. I had no idea this was something I could hope for.
I'm not sure if I should expect any more of these... events. I'm not sure if I want any more. My brain is all muddled, and even though I can admit that when it's happening it's good - like, really, really good - Quinn, you have to admit how confusing this all is. It's not as though you've given any indication before that you might...
Granted, certain aspects of our history that seemed suspect before do appear in sharper relief now. I just don't want to jump to any conclusions.
And I don't want to hurt anyone.
I worry that even enjoying what little has transpired means that ultimately someone will get hurt. Like, Finn. I'm not sure what I should tell him, or if I should even tell him.
Did you read The Storm? The assignment seems oddly fitting now, doesn't it?
It's a really... unfortunate comparison.
Anyway, call me if you want to talk, about any of it. It doesn't matter, I'll be here.
September 21, 2011
You have two unheard messages.
You have lost the privilege to ignore the situation, Quinn Fabray. I thought I was clear that any further dalliances would need to be accompanied by an explanation. You have forthwith ignored this simplest of demands, and thusly have lost any leniency with me.
You made me late for Glee, and that is most assuredly not okay. I have never been a truant for anything, extra-curricular or otherwise, and I do not appreciate having mired that record today. Even if the reward was... that.
As pleasant as it was.
I think Finn knows. When I got into the choir room – twenty-five minutes late, I hasten to point out – he looked... disappointed. Like he knew where I had come from. I had done my best to straighten my appearance, but I suppose he was always expecting me to cheat again and so he just knew.
I'm not a cheater, Quinn, and it hurts me that anyone thinks that of me. I just can't help myself around you. This past week has been... overwhelming. Everything about it has been overwhelming.
Remember when I called you the first time and I couldn't quite say what I wanted to say. I think it was because I didn't really know what it was that I wanted to say. I think I had all these feelings and they were churning tumultuously about in my head and heart and all I could discern from them was that I missed you. But I think it was more than that. I don't think I knew it then, but I know it now.
I think you know it too. I can't think of any other reason why this has been happening with us.
And I know it makes me a bad person, but... I want everything too much. And this, whatever this is, is part of that.
I can't handle the silence anymore, Quinn. I know I said it was comforting not knowing if you were listening to these messages, because it meant I could speak freely, but I can't be feeling this all by myself anymore. It's not fair.
I'm coming over.
I'll see you in twenty minutes.
Next unheard message.
I know it's late, and I just left your place, but I just wanted to say...
I'm not sorry I forced you to explain everything that's been going on with you, with us. I'm glad I'm not feeling this alone anymore, Quinn.
I have never felt anything like that before. It was...
I can't believe I thought I could wait until I was twenty-five. *Chuckle*
I didn't know what I was missing, obviously.
Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow.
By the way, does this mean you're coming back to Glee club now? I mean, it's not like you have to, but I'm sure it will come as no surprise to learn that I want the person who professes to love me to also support me. Vocally. I know I've accused you of being pitchy before, but it's nothing a little practice can't cure.
And before you go accusing me of doing all this to get you to come back to the Glee club, just remember who kissed who first.
I'll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.