A/N: I have checked it over several times, but

inevitably there will be mistakes and typos, so please

point them out

1. The Lopez/Pierce Residence

From the first time Quinn Fabray walked into the

room, Santana knew that there was going to be
trouble.
Not literally the first time Quinn Fabray had ever
walked into the same room as her, as that had
occurred several years previous, while they were at
college, and without any major mishap.

What she meant was that the way Rachel Berry’s

eyes widened and her mouth curled into an ‘oh’ as
her friend stepped into the room, couldn’t spell out
anything but attraction, and therefore trouble.

She still hadn’t quite made up her mind about Rachel.

Of course Brittany loved her, since the moment that
Santana had introduced her girlfriend to the brunette.
She had only been clearing up a small compensation
issue for the theatre that Rachel was working at – had
talked for a minute to the cast and received a couple
of free tickets – and now the little woman was talking
animatedly to Santana’s friends at Santana’s glass
table in Santana’s airy flat. It seemed that she was
getting along just famously with everyone, recounting
anecdotes from work and generally talking far too
much.
This was all Brittany’s fault.

Santana couldn’t deny her anything, so when she’d

blinked her blue eyes and announced that they should
invite Rachel to their small dinner gathering, Santana
hadn’t even thought to question the decision, despite
how grating she found that actress’s voice, her whole
demeanour really.

She questioned it now that Berry was near salivating

at the sight of her best friend. Yes, Quinn was a very
pleasing sight to behold – she had that wholesome,
clean-cut look about her, a certain intelligent depth to
her bright eyes, a certain sincerity in the angles of her
face – but it hardly called for the stricken look that
Rachel was now affecting.

It was the dramatic strain, Santana supposed. She,

most likely, couldn’t help it; her big brown eyes and
expressive mouth probably drew involuntarily into that
position when faced with a situation such as this.
Quinn hadn’t noticed. She never did. Quinn was one
of those people who understood interest, as long as it
was radiating from someone she was interested in.
Anyone else could wave a heart-shaped banner at
her while humming the wedding march and she’d just
think of it as an embarrassing coincidence.

Seeing as the blonde had scanned the room while

extricating herself from her jacket, and had already
returned her attention to Santana, it seemed that
Rachel’s interest was unfortunately one-sided and
already doomed to burn out without being registered.
It didn’t really bother her, as she didn’t know Rachel
that well and she hoped that Brittany’s sudden
friendship with her would taper out sooner rather than
later, but she did feel a small – tiny, really – stab of
pity for her. It sucked to be in that situation with Quinn
Fabray.

“Sorry I’m late, San.” She flashed that same easy,

charming smile that had caught Santana’s attention
on the first day of college, all straight white teeth and
plump pink lips. “I was trying to log my results, but
there was this guy and he would not stop talking to
me. I said I was late, like, ten thousand times and he
just went on and on.”

She kept talking while dumping her jacket and

rucksack – who was twenty eight and still had a
rucksack? – on the floor and breezing over to the
dinner table, leaning her hands on the back of a chair
for a moment while Santana caught up, after
grudgingly hanging up the aforementioned jacket and
bag.

“You’ve all met Quinn, haven’t you?”

And with that she sat down and picked up her wine
glass, Quinn doing the same, sending a thin-lipped,
amused smile over the rim. Santana’s callousness,
even when hosting dinner, never failed to entertain
her. It was one of the reasons she had liked Santana
so much in college. That and the fact that the girl was
actually, undeniably cool, unlike most of the students
in Quinn’s dorm, whom she tried to ignore as much as
possible.

“Rachel hasn’t.” It was hardly a chastisement, simply

a statement. Brittany understood Santana well
enough not to scold her over small things that would
never change, or at least she would never do it in
front of guests. “Rachel, this is our friend Quinn
Fabray. She went to college with Santana. Quinn, this
is Rachel Berry. We met her at the theatre.”

Santana kind of wanted to point out how misleading

that sentence was – yes, they’d met her at the
theatre, but that was because she was performing in
a play, not merely sitting in the stalls next to them,
complaining about the price of the pre-theatre
beverages – but she couldn’t really be bothered when
her stomach was protesting the lack of food on the
table. She wished the oven would cook faster, and
that she hadn’t had to spend an extra half an hour
preparing a special, separate vegan dish for vegan
Rachel, who was now smiling widely and offering a
handshake.

Quinn looked at the hand as if it was something alien,

and Santana had to remind herself that Quinn worked
all day with scarcely any human contact and only
sciencey things like test tubes and Bunsen burners
and alien foetuses as her company. Luckily she still
retained her manners from their years of college
parties and, before that, her more restrained decorum
from church functions and charity meetings, and
grasped the proffered hand.

She would have observed further, had the kitchen

timer not just rung. She glanced at Brittany, inclined
her head, and willed the blonde to just get up and get
the food. Instead her girlfriend casually raised her
eyebrows and made a matching head movement.
Santana shook her head a little harder, and this silent
exchange continued for several seconds, until
Brittany’s blue eyes narrowed, slowly and ominously,
and Santana jolted out of her seat with a reticent huff.

“Whipped, San.” She heard Quinn mutter under her

breath, and physically restrained herself from bopping
her blonde friend on the head. Rachel was still
watching, with barely contained exuberance painted
on her face, and Santana didn’t want to show herself
up.

2. Two Weeks Later - The Lopez/Pierce Residence

She could see, if not from the clenched hand around

the stem of the wine glass, from the slight twitch of
her eye that Santana had not know that she’d, again,
invited Rachel. The colour seemed to drain from her
girlfriend’s tan face as best it could, before getting
stuck at the throat and migrating back upwards to
settle in her cheeks, which turned a pleasing pink.

Brittany didn’t have it in her to chide herself for

whatever had caused Santana’s flush. She liked
Rachel – she was eager and cultured, and she didn’t
eat cute little animals – so why should she not invite
her tonight?

Anyway, Santana presently became engrossed in her

conversation with Quinn and Puck on the sofa, the
three of them sniggering about something Brittany
cared not to know.

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, but pleasantly so, her

voice lilting upwards. “Your friend Quinn is here.”

Rachel’s face seemed to light up with a kind of fervour

as she watched the flex and slide of the blonde’s neck
as she talked and swallowed her wine. The taller
blonde right beside Rachel suddenly understood
Santana’s odd – well, odder than usual – reaction.

“Yeah. Quinn’s always here. She, like, lives here.”

“Does she?” The brown eyes looked up with genuine

curiosity and Brittany wondered if Rachel had been
home-schooled, or if she just didn’t understand the
offhand sentence unless it was properly explained
with appropriate stage directions.
“No. She doesn’t really live here.”

Rachel let out a long, high pitched assent, before

turning back to face Brittany, head cocked to one side
like a bird, maybe a chicken or a pigeon, but definitely
not a duck.

“Of course. You were just indulging in some

hyperbole.” Didn’t know what that meant. “So... what
profession is Quinn currently occupied in? Something
creative, perhaps? Something suitable and
complimentary to a life in the theatre?”

This keen spiel of Rachel’s was as adorable as it was

awkward. Brittany had never heard a person speak so
fast, with so much self assurance, and yet manage to
sound like one of those books that never got read,
that grew dusty and flaked apart at the spine. She
raised her eyebrows in slight wariness of the short
woman.

“Not exactly. She does research at some university. I

mean, she’s totally clever. The first time I met her, I
couldn’t understand a word she said – kinda like you.”

Rachel looked a bit unsure as to whether to be

insulted or flattered that Brittany couldn’t follow her
speech.
“I’m going to choose to take that positively. A positive
outlook on life can only have positive effects on it.”
“Unless you’re positive for an STD. That’s not so
great.”

“Yes... indeed, Brittany. Well... what area does Quinn

research?”

“I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask her. She told me, but
then I completely forgot. It’s like she’s speaking a
different language. It’s like she’s speaking Spanish.”

Hence followed a number of other questions about

Quinn which Brittany was not quite sure how to
answer. There were some mundane ones; where did
she live, how long had they known her? But then
Rachel threw some rather bizarre ones into the mix,
ones about how Brittany would rate their
attractiveness as a couple if they stood side by side,
and if she thought that their height difference was one
that would encourage or obstruct intimacy.

This odd display did not diminish Brittany’s like for her
in the least; she liked to collect quirky specimens of
friends, just like Santana liked to collect very good-
looking ones.

And the most endearing thing was the way that, at the
end, Rachel sucked her lower lip into her mouth in a
decidedly childish fashion, before asking what any
normal person would have asked at the beginning.
“And... Quinn, does she happen to be with anyone?”

“Right now?” A nod. “She’s with Santana and Puck.

They’re right there – on the sofa. Have you met Puck?
He’s a bit much, but harmless, don’t worry. Have you
sat on the sofa? It’s new.”

A crease appeared between Rachel’s brow and she

did a funny twisty thing with her mouth, then shook
her straightened fingers at her sides.

“No, no, no. I mean is she with anyone? At this

particular time, is she single?”

The blonde didn’t colour, but she felt the back of her
neck smart with distant embarrassment. It took her
back to high school when she answered every
question with too little thought and much too much
face value. But Rachel was sneering at her like the
girls she had known then, only staring up with the
tiniest hint of impatience.

“Oh right. Yes. She’s single,” the brunette stood a little

straighter and seemed to be consciously trying to
stifle her smile, which amused Brittany greatly, until
she remembered to add the less favourable condition
that, “but... she doesn’t really do relationships, if that’s
what you’re after.”

“What else would I be after?” Definitely home-

schooled, or maybe she had been part of the
marching band, or the maths team.

“Never mind that.” She put a hand on Rachel’s

shoulder and tried to ignore the way that the woman’s
expression had fallen. “Quinn is really involved in
work. She just doesn’t have much time for dating.
Plus, she normally doesn’t like seeing people,
because the people she works with, she sees
everyday and gets annoyed at them and people from
outside work don’t understand a thing she talks about
and that annoys her too. Of course I think that’s her
fault, because if she were uglier, then people wouldn’t
want to look at her all the time and more people would
listen to her.”

Rachel took a minute to absorb, drawing together her

brow and looking far too contemplative for Brittany’s
liking. In the end she drew out a small card from her
purse and held it out.

“Despite this unfortunate revelation, I wonder if you

wouldn’t mind mentioning me to her. You could ask if
she might like to go on a date with me. Don’t forget to
emphasize my many attractive and appealing facets.”
She smiled, nodding conspiratorially up at the blonde.
“I would inquire myself, but she seems to be trapped
by that large man for the time being, and I have to
leave. I told you I could only drop in, but thank you so
much for your hospitality.” She shook Brittany’s hand
and pressed the card into it. “I know that I tend to go
on, sometimes, so it was very nice of you to put up
with me.”

And she then sort of scuttled out of the room, still

poised but oddly insect-like, before Brittany could
reply that she’d enjoyed the conversation, that Rachel
was very interesting to talk to and that she should
come to her studio open day in a fortnight. Oh well,
she’d just have to phone her, she supposed, or pop
into the theatre. Maybe they’d give her free ice-cream
again.

Twenty minutes later she observed as Quinn slipped

away from the ‘large man’ who was actually Puck’s
friend from fight club, while he was distracted by the
offer of another beverage. She literally crept away,
keeping close to the wall until she was by Brittany’s
side.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to put up with.
How can someone talk for,” she glanced at her watch
– was that a Darth Vader watch? – and blew out a
breath, “twenty seven minutes about dumbbells? Is
that possible? Maybe I’ve slipped into another
dimension.” She smiled, cheeks semi-dimpling, at her
joke. A joke that Brittany most decidedly did not get.

Quinn, she mused, was a very odd creature. It was

why Brittany liked her, when anyone else would have
been wary over her relationship with Santana. Quinn
was, on the outside, the perfect American girl, with
blonde hair and a perfect facial structure. If society at
large had its way, she would have been stuck in a
kitchen feeding two and a half blonde, blue-eyed –
that was always a surprising thing; the hazel eyes that
everyone thought would be blue – children while a
dog yapped around her feet and her husband told her
not to forget to wash his shirt.

Luckily Quinn had escaped her idea of hell by

skipping Ohio under the guise of studying something
useless and well-suited to a housewife, and then
promptly changed her major when she’d secured her
scholarship at college.

And now she was a scientist who couldn’t stand the

company of other scientists because she thought they
were all ‘too geeky’, having not realised yet that
wearing a Star Wars watch meant she fell into that
category as well. Her ex-cheerleader status, though,
apparently afforded her exemption. Santana thought
she was cool, and there was something very laid-back
in Quinn’s approach to life, just not in her approach to
her work.

Still, she felt a little uncomfortable broaching the

subject of Rachel with her, seeing as Quinn was far
too absorbed by her work to think of women as more
than passing fancies. She’d given up serious
commitments when her last girlfriend asked if her
experiment was more important than spending time
together. Quinn had answered, “Of course,” and was
duly dumped.

And that had been three years ago.

“Hey. Did you see the girl I was talking to earlier?”

“No, not really.” Not a good sign. If Quinn hadn’t seen

her, it meant she wasn’t interested; she was as easy
to read as a book, but not a long book, more like ‘The
Very Hungry Caterpillar’ or something like that.

“Blue dress? Brown hair?” She still looked blank, and

then apologetic as her mouth twisted up at one side.

“No? Well, anyway. Her name’s Rachel and she was

asking if I’d pass on her number to you. She had to go
back to work, by the way. She’s not just hiding and
waiting for your answer.”

“Oh. What’s she like?”

“She’s really nice.” A cock of the eyebrow – it was so

much more difficult to break up with nice girls, and
they were always the ones who wanted to keep you.

“Kind of short.” A dip of the mouth – Quinn normally

liked to get with taller people, men or women. “Big
brown eyes.” Quinn liked blue.

“She’s an actress.”
Quinn immediately looked pained, as soon as Brittany
had said it, and the taller blonde had already started
to mourn for the loss of one potential friend. New
friends always stuck around longer when existing
friends didn’t give them the dating run-
around/rejection.

Quinn had a predisposition against dating actresses

or models, or even just sleeping with them. In her
experience they had very little to talk about that Quinn
cared to hear, but Brittany thought Rachel was
different. She wasn’t the run of the mill aspiring
Hollywood B-lister. She was talented.

“Brit... you know that I don’t really... I’m so busy at the

moment and there’s all this competition for the grant
that I need. Can’t you just tell her that I don’t date? It’s
not really a lie.” Brittany pursed her lips. She really did
like Rachel. And she really did like Quinn, but the
woman was so difficult to deal with sometimes. Why
couldn’t Quinn be ugly? “I’m gonna get some more
wine, before beefy corners me again. Just tell this
person that I’m not single, or that I’m secretly married
or something. Tell her that I’ve got herpes! Nobody
wants herpes.”

She started away, then turned back.

“Actually don’t tell her that. I don’t want people

thinking that I have herpes.”
Brittany, possessing a beautiful soul and kind
temperament, did not tell Rachel that Quinn had
herpes. She didn’t tell Rachel anything about what
Quinn had said, simply skipped over the subject when
she phoned to invite Rachel to come and see the
dance studio.

Rachel graciously accepted, and Brittany only hoped

that she didn’t turn up at the same time as Quinn.

3. Two Weeks Later – The Attic Dance Studio

Rachel arrived promptly at 7.30pm for the event.

Being a performer, she knew the importance of
punctuality; no director would look twice at you if you
were late for an audition, unless you were already
suitably known that auditions were a mere formality.
She was proud to think that she was approaching this
state of repute, but that did not mean that she would
let herself slip; it was a question of principles, not
simply necessities.

Rachel also knew the importance of regular contact in

the cultivation of a friendship so, although she had
been planning a well deserved night at home, she
donned a dress and took the metro to the modern
looking space that she was now in.

It really was quite impressive, she admitted, and

wondered vaguely in the back of her mind whether
Brittany owned the studio. But then, if she did, surely
she and Santana would have a larger flat than the
one bedroom they currently occupied. Not that Rachel
had been snooping. She just happened to get lost on
her way to the bathroom and ended up scoping out
every other room instead.

She just liked to know about people. That was it. And
people found it so tedious when she interrogated
them as harshly as she would like. It was a remnant
from her high school days, that she thought that
everyone – even those not remotely interested in the
theatre – would steal her spotlight from her, so she
found out as much as possible about all new
acquaintances.

Of course now she wasn’t so horrifically obtrusive and

manipulative as she had been, but she did work in
musical theatre, and one could never be too careful.
There were dozens of applicants for every role – and
Rachel did not give in too easily.

The better part of an hour later and she had

exchanged a rather stinted conversation with the
acerbic Santana, talked with Brittany and then been
led around the room to meet all the other dance
instructors. This she found difficult, as many of them
couldn’t speak proper English, like the exuberant
Latin dance teacher, and Rachel always had this
awful tendency to over-pronounce single words at
them.

During a lull in the conversation – she had put forth

her ideas on how to widen participation in theatre arts
within the youth community; something that went
completely over both Brittany’s head and that of her
Puerto Rican friend – she felt a draught swirl around
her back. She shouldn’t have worn a backless dress,
but then again she wanted to look her best; you never
knew who was watching. The paparazzi could just be
waiting for her to step outside in a track suit and her
whole budding career could be over.

She glanced over her shoulder to check that the door

had been shut and saw, if she wasn’t mistaken, the
golden hair of Santana and Brittany’s friend, who was
standing by the table of canapés.

She was quite sure it was her. There was the same
soft wave to her hair and the same glossy shine, but
she was facing the canapés, not Rachel, and seemed
very engrossed in her choice between smoked
salmon and Parma ham.

Should she take a chance and go and talk to her? It

very possibly could be a completely different person.
And if it were the right person then Quinn might not
want to talk to her. She hadn’t called.

Then again, Brittany seemed the type to forget all

about giving Quinn her number. Maybe she’d
forgotten to mention Rachel at all. That was a much
more palatable option to Rachel.

Though as she excused herself from the group she

saw a slight widening of Brittany’s eyes, as if she
should like to reach out and stop her, but couldn’t
without it looking suspect. Rachel’s stomach sunk a
little at the gesture and she briefly reconsidered
whether to expose herself to possible rejection from
this utter stranger.

Then Quinn spun around, looking furtive and holding

one canapé in each hand, delicately taking bites from
each in turn, and Rachel remembered how very
winsome the blonde was.

There was no harm in trying.

All that was on the line was Rachel’s admittedly

vulnerable ego, made all the more fragile by her
experience at the bottom of the social pile during high
school. But she was older now and not made of glass
and she could absolutely brush off a less than
agreeable answer to her question.

She waited until the canapés had been consumed

and then approached, her heart fluttering loosely in
her chest.

“Hi.”
Quinn looked up. The pretty hazel eyes were right
there, and she gave a cute half-smile at the greeting,
which then grew into a perfectly symmetrical smile as
Quinn realised that someone she didn’t know was
talking to her.

“Hello.”

Pulling back her shoulders and standing as tall as she

could, she spread a similar smile over her own face.

“Rachel Berry. We met at Santana’s about a month

ago?” The woman nodded, but Rachel saw no click of
remembrance in her face, her expectations falling a
little further. “We only talked for a few minutes.”

“That must be it. I have a terrible memory for names.

I’ve only just learnt Brittany’s last name, and I’ve
known her for years.”

Quinn was so charming, with her slightly self-

deprecatory shrug and the soft timbre of her voice. It
didn’t help that everything was dramatised in Rachel’s
head; she could hear violins in the background and
she was quite certain that there were no violins in the
room.

“Well, I was wondering if you might be available to go

out some time. I gave Brittany my card at her
apartment about... two weeks ago. I had to leave
because I had previous engagements and only
popped in for a while. But, maybe it slipped her mind
to give it to you.”

The way that Quinn’s face tightened – only an actress

would have noticed – indicated that it hadn’t slipped
Brittany’s mind. The uncomfortable humiliation
prickling at Rachel’s skin alerted her of this as well,
but she tried to give no outward sign of her
discomfort. It would be even worse if she
backpedalled, shied away like some shrinking violet.

“Brit did... mention your name to me.”

“Oh?”

There was a moment of silence in which Quinn looked

decidedly pale, most definitely a little bit guilty that
she was about to blow Rachel off.

“Yeah. But... I’m not really in the dating game right

now.”

She shrugged again, looking apologetic. Rachel found

this rather irritating. One could at least come up with a
more original excuse than that, even if it wasn’t true.
At least she hadn’t shot Rachel down cruelly like
some of her crushes in high school, but maybe that
was because she scared them all off with kitten
calendars and apparently slightly stalker-like traits.
She had just been very intense; that was all.
Now she felt as young and foolish as she had that day
that Billy Penn had laughed in her face when she’d
asked if he’d wanted to go to a dance with her. It had
been crippling then, but she knew that now she was
rather more resilient than her teenaged self, and
she’d never got anywhere without perseverance.

“Surely you wouldn’t be opposed to one date? I’m not

asking for any big commitments, despite my natural
inclinations towards doing so.”

Quinn opened her mouth, then shut it, pursed her lips
and started turning red.

It was a little adorable, the way that Quinn obviously

didn’t want to say no twice and it only served to spur
Rachel on to obtain her date. Quinn seemed like a
decent person, unwilling to upset a mere
acquaintance of one of her friends. And there might
be a legitimate reason that she didn’t date. Though,
from the odd way both Brittany and Quinn talked
about it, there probably wasn’t; she probably just
didn’t want to be tied down to a very beautiful,
compassionate, up-and-coming actress who would,
no doubt, make an awesome girlfriend.

“I mean, I’m not going to force you if you really averse

to spending a couple of hours with me, although I can
assure you that I am a perfectly amiable person.”

“No, no. It’s not, I’m not against spending time with
you! It’s not you at all. I’m sure that you’re a really
nice person.” She struggled to get the words out fast
enough, they tumbled from her mouth in an ungainly
fashion, a stricken look settling in her eyes at the idea
of offending the shorter woman. “Brit said that you are
really lovely,” Rachel looked up expectantly into the
panicked hazel eyes, “and... and of course I would
like to go on a date with you.”

She blew out a breath, looking to the side and so not

catching the victorious smile on the actress’s face.
Sure, she’d had to guilt the woman into agreeing, but
sometimes underhanded methods were needed. It
wasn’t like she’d blackmailed Quinn into marrying her.
A single date was not too much to ask of a person,
and soon they’d agreed a date and time that didn’t
impinge on Rachel’s schedule and only slightly
intruded on Quinn’s.

She beamed upwards while the blonde was slipping

her cell phone back into her pocket and began to
move off, watching Quinn’s face contort into a very
bemused expression as she stared at nothing in
particular, possibly wondering how that situation had
ended like that.

And before Rachel could get herself another glass of

wine, Santana had suddenly appeared right beside
her, manner screaming reluctance.

“Berry.”
“Santana.”

“What were you saying to Quinn?”

“If you must know, Santana,” the woman’s continued

stand-offish behaviour was really starting to rile her a
bit. Surely it couldn’t be that hard not to pass
judgement on everything that Rachel did, said and
ate, “Quinn and I have just been arranging a date.”

In answer Santana set her jaw and pushed her mouth

out, biting back what she immediately wanted to say,
which was, most likely, something scathing and not at
all helpful. She took a slow breath in and her eyes
settled on Rachel’s in a much more serious way than
her usual dismissive impatience.

“Quinn’s my best friend. She’s a really good person.”

A slight touch on her forearm alerted Rachel to her

entreating tone.

“But she can be very callous towards people without

knowing it. She doesn’t form attachments easily.”

The contact lifted but the brown gaze stayed sharp.

“Brittany likes you and she doesn’t want me to let

Quinn scare you off. So just be a little bit... careful
with yourself. Quinn can be captivating,” the word
rolled around in Santana’s mouth and slipped
lethargically off her tongue. The sharp eyes turned
soft and Rachel felt understanding seep into her, cold
and unwelcome at the base of her spine, “but... keep
your wits about you. And please, don’t judge her for
being the way she is.”

Grabbing her lapels, she straightened her suit jacket,

returning to the Santana the Rachel knew – bold and
unabashed – and raised her eyebrows at her.

“But, enjoy your date, Berry. Brit says to come to

lunch next week. You’re obliged to come, whatever
the outcome. So I’ll see you then.”

She swept away from Rachel, back to Brittany’s side

with a rare wide smile for the tall blonde. Really,
Rachel was quite puzzled. Why should Santana be so
protective – possessive even – of Quinn when she
was very much in love with Brittany, when she was
wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering in
her ear?

She got the feeling, however, that this was the first
time in their several meetings in which Santana had
been genuine with her – spoke to her without any
intentional deprecation – and she wondered... was
there really something flawed about Quinn?

4. That next Saturday – The Lopez/Pierce Residence

She was late. She was late again. She didn’t know
how she’d gone from the super-organised head
cheerleader, leader of the Christ Crusaders, Celibacy
Club and member of a plethora of other activities to
scrambling out of a cab forty minutes late because
she’d forgotten her watch.

Really she should be more together, and Santana

would probably berate her when she finally arrived for
lunch, especially if they hadn’t started eating yet.

Luckily, as she was running up the stairs (thank God

her athleticism stayed with her) she saw a broad
back, and knew that she wasn’t the only late arrival.

“Puck. Puck. Puck.”

He stopped on the stair and waited for her, smirking

all the time. It was always the same smirk and it didn’t
work on her, except for the first time, but they never
talked about that.

“Late again, Fabray.”

“I forgot my watch.”

“Don’t lie, babe. You were late because you love test
tubes. They turn you on.”

“For the last time. I don’t even use test tubes in my

work. And I’m not sexually attracted to them either.
Just because I won’t sleep with you, doesn’t mean
that I’m asexual. It just means that you’re not as great
as you think you are.”

He gasped as they reached the door, knocking

heavily and making the brass sign wobble
dangerously on its nail.

“I wish they’d get rid of that. It’s so ugly.”

The lock clicked open and Santana’s sullen face

came into view, Quinn and Puck both cringing a little.

“You’re late, asses.”

Twin ‘sorry’s echoed in the hall before the door was

slammed in their faces... and then reopened to let
them in.

“I’m not happy. But it’ll mess up my seating plan if I

throw you out onto the streets.”

They traipsed inside and Quinn instantly saw the

bright, open face of Rachel Berry pinch darkly as she
caught sight of Quinn. She shrunk from the gaze and
sat where Santana pointed, next to Puck.

Lunch was awkward, in Quinn’s opinion, but there

were enough guests to prevent any tense silences,
and she was on the other end of the table from
Rachel.

Still, every time her gaze subtly strayed over to the

brunette she could see her watching, brown eyes
wounded and demeanour stung, and felt herself
shrink even more with guilt. She really hadn’t meant
to upset Rachel.

Really.

She had sort of, maybe, enjoyed Rachel’s company at

dinner three nights ago. Which had been a surprise,
as Quinn had nearly written her off as just another
actress with too little between the ears and she could
not abide unintelligent people. She’d dated several in
high school, and several afterwards for purely
aesthetic reasons and none of them had been worth
her while.

Brittany was, of course an exception, because, while

she might not have been an academic genius, she did
possess an uncanny knack for reading people. Plus
she was always had something interesting to say and
she didn’t pretend to listen to Quinn when she simply
wasn’t interested.

Still, it was nice when someone did listen to her and

Rachel did, although it was clear that she did like to
dominate a conversation. Now Quinn was a practical
person, mostly, and she wouldn’t say that she was
head-over-heels for the woman after one date, but
she definitely wouldn’t be opposed to going on
another.

She hadn’t even minded the vegan food that much,

although she generally found the practice of veganism
illogical.

But she hadn’t called Rachel back like she’d promised

to. And now Brittany was shaking her head in
disappointment – Quinn could see from the corner of
her eye. She knew that Brittany and Santana had
both said something about her to Rachel, probably
warned her not to get her hopes up. And true to form
Quinn had cocked up without particularly intending to.
Though, in fairness, Brittany should be on Quinn’s
side because she was Quinn's friend first.

Oh, it didn’t matter because Puck’s arm just swung

around her shoulders and Rachel’s expression went
from mildly cut to outright hurt. Quinn dropped her
head into her hands and focussed on eating her pie.

During the clean up – everyone was either in the

kitchen or smoking on the small balcony – she finally
managed to catch Rachel alone, carefully seating
herself near her on the couch.

She looked very small, just then, but Quinn noted the
graceful fold of small hands on a petite lap, felt a tug
that she hadn’t felt for so long that she’d almost
forgotten what it felt like.

“Hey, Rachel.”

“Quinn.”

She knew enough of Rachel from a mere two hours to

tell that her lack of discourse meant that she was not
happy, more precisely not happy with Quinn. That,
coupled with her averted eyes, made Quinn feel all
the worse.

“About the other night. I know that I said I’d phone -”

“It’s fine, Quinn. You don’t have to placate me. Yes,

you did say that you would call me and while, yes, I
was expecting a call, I am not in any large way
crestfallen that I didn’t receive one.”

Her eyes persistently avoided Quinn’s own even

when the blonde moved closer, extending a hand to
the cushion between them

“I meant to phone, really. I was going to phone the

day afterwards, but I -”

Again she was interrupted and although she hated

being interrupted, she didn’t want to snap. She just
wanted to clear up the situation.
“Seriously, Quinn, you don’t need an excuse. I had
been forewarned and you, yourself, told me that you
didn’t date. If you aren’t interested, I can’t say that I’m
not disappointed but I can’t make you -”

“Rachel.” She stopped, thankfully, with a soft sigh of

resignation. “I don’t know what people have told you
about me. Everyone seems to have warned you off of
me. But I’m glad you asked me out. I enjoyed the
evening and the only reason I didn’t call you was
because my cell got stolen. I probably should’ve said
that at the beginning, avoided the misunderstanding.”

Cautiously Rachel flicked her eyes up and they were

all dark and sparkly again, like they’d been on the
night of their date. Quinn lifted the side of her mouth.

“I’d like to go out again, if you still want to.”

Full lips parting in a beautifully white smile, Rachel

nodded her head, but gently, rather unlike her
frenzied behaviour in their previous encounters. She
was very... cute, Quinn supposed was the right word,
when her manner was tempered with shyness and
her brown hair fell over one eye in a loose curl.

“Let me give you my new number...”

--------

5. Three weeks later – Brown’s Restaurant and Bar

Now that Rachel was officially a ‘family friend’, the
family being just her and Brittany, Santana supposed
that she should get used to seeing her quite a bit. Not
only that, but she was dating Santana’s best friend,
although according to Quinn they were just ‘casually
dating’. She didn’t think Quinn had progressed past
casual dating in the ten years that they’d known each
other. Actually, she did recall a couple of serious
relationships after college, before Quinn had decided
that she preferred the fairer sex.

It made her feel better that Quinn was going to be

here too. Of course she had Brittany, but Brittany was
a dancer and would get along all too well with all the
actors and theatre people in the room. She, herself,
had never felt quite so out of place, not even at
Quinn’s parents annual Christian barbeque, when
she’d had to participate in a line dance to the Lord.

Quinn hadn’t turned up yet, so the brunette just sat in

the dimly lit restaurant and listened to the various
members of the cast or crew discussing their
nomination. That’s right. That’s why she was here –
she’d almost forgotten. Rachel’s production had been
nominated for an award and seeing that Santana had
rather saved them in a small legal dispute, she too
was invited.

It was more probable that Rachel had wanted to bring

Quinn and thought that she would be more inclined to
come if her friends were there. Sometimes, it
depended on Quinn’s mood, it took a lot of coaxing to
get her to socialise, to get her to even step out of the
university.

She could concede that it was a good thing, Quinn

dating again, even if she had to date Rachel Berry.

And Quinn did certainly clean up well – she’d

forgotten, due to reduced exposure. Black dress,
heels, dusky eyes glinting as she stepped in the door
after her shorter companion.

The star of the show actually looked like she was

glowing with the waves of immense pride rolling off
her, pride in the show and pride that she had a very
beautiful woman on her arm. It was painful, but
Santana thought, grudgingly, that Berry and Quinn did
make a very attractive couple.

It was clear though, and for some reason Santana

had never thought of this before, that Berry didn’t date
that much. She had simply assumed that the actress
dated all the time – don’t ask her why she assumed
that, the girl was insufferable. But from the way she
paraded Quinn around the cast, always keeping
within scant distance of the blonde, it seemed
startlingly obvious that Rachel rarely had someone to
show off.

It made Santana’s stomach squish in an odd way

when she thought that she’d been so against the
match, that she still hoped it might fall apart at the
seams, that it was likely to. Rachel might’ve been
enamoured, but Quinn was a far harder nut to crack,
though she apparently liked Rachel enough to
accompany her to a work function, a very un-
Quinnlike thing to do.

It wouldn’t last though.

Her thoughts were quelled when she felt Brittany’s

soft hand over her own as she scooted into the next
seat, other people scraping chairs around and sitting
around the large table. She was surprised to see
Quinn half pull out Rachel’s chair for her, looking
confused as she did so, as if she had no control over
her own body. She was not surprised to see the
blinding smile – seriously, like a flashlight – that was
sent in response to the action.

Her chest tightened, only a little, but enough for her to

notice, when she saw the two smile at each other,
saw Rachel steal a carrot off Quinn’s plate. They
seemed so familiar with each other and Santana had
to remind herself that they’d been out several times
without her there. It was still odd though, seeing
Quinn with someone, instead of navigating the social
waters like a lonely whale. It was just nauseating to
see Rachel laugh raucously at something Quinn told
her, gripping a fair forearm with her tiny little claws.
That was a bit mean, but God, Rachel was so over-
the-top. Her fellow actors, while being horribly
energetic, were hardly as melodramatic as Rachel
tended to be. Santana tried not to be too distracted by
her antics while she was eating her steak and only
paid her any attention when a certain question filtered
its way over the babble to reach her ears.

“So, Quinn. We haven’t seen you before. How long

have you been seeing our Rachel.”

She didn’t flush – Rachel did, her cheeks dimpling –

at the inquiry, nor seem at all put on the spot, but
pulled her top lip into her mouth for a minute before
releasing it.

“A month, I believe. Is that right, Rachel?”

“Um... yes. Indeed that is correct.”

The guy nodded, started to say something else, and

Santana struggled to listen as Brittany started talking
to her from the other side. In the end she had to
forego her eavesdropping so as not to sound like an
idiot in front of the choreographer, whose husband
was also a lawyer which Santana found so
interesting.

Her attention was drawn back though, as soon as

Brittany had broached another subject. The noise
from other tables was louder now and she had to
strain to hear it, but from Quinn's face she could partly
guess what they were talking about.

“Research scientist! Well done, Berry. Bagged

yourself a genius for a girlfriend.”

The smile of satisfaction fell when Quinn stuttered

out, “We’re, we’re not. I mean, we’re just dating,
casually.”

Classic mistake. Would it really have hurt Quinn so

much to just leave the man thinking that they were
girlfriends, and leave Rachel with that stupidly happy
expression on her face? Now Santana could see a
sulky pout and a mildly resentful look shot at Quinn,
which soon transformed into something far more
bitter, and something that looked out of place on
Rachel’s face.

Quinn looked over to her for help, all wide-eyed, and

Santana suddenly found Brittany’s conversation about
interpretive dance very interesting.

She had intended to step outside for a smoke, but as

soon as she reached the doorway she heard familiar
voices, stopping her midway between the inside
warmth and the brisker air of New York.

She should have turned around and headed back

inside, but Santana had always been a bit up in
people’s business and she really wanted to know
what was happening, so she learnt gingerly against
the wall, shielded from sight, listening.

“...right in front of Fred and everybody else. Couldn’t

you have just left it? What would it have mattered if
they’d thought that?”

“I’m sorry.” Quinn got very sharp when arguing. “I

don’t like leading people on.”

“But you’re fine with leading me on?”

She sucked in breath, nearly audibly at hearing that,

and plastered herself further into the wall.

“How have I led you on, Rachel?”

There was a scoff, followed by some footsteps. She

was probably pacing, but Santana put a hand on the
door knob just in case the woman rounded the corner.

“In multiple ways. In a deluge, a profusion of ways.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Really? Is it ridiculous to assume that a woman who

has been on six official dates with another would
consider being their girlfriend? But no! We’re just
casually dating! When did we ever say that?”
Burn. She had Quinn in a corner with that one.

“We never said that we weren’t!” Quinn’s voice then

lost some of its edge, reverting to its normal docile
tone. “Rachel. We like each other. Why can’t we keep
this casual?”

There was tutting, definite tutting from around the

corner.

“I don’t understand how this is casual dating in the

first place. We organise in advance. We aren’t seeing
other people on the side.” There was a pause. And
Santana really wanted to stick her head out and see
what was happening but she couldn’t. She supposed
Quinn must have agreed because the diatribe
continued. “We haven’t even slept together yet. So it’s
not just casual dating.”

“Do you want to sleep together? I mean, what do you

want?”

Quinn was such a moron sometimes, often really. She

could imagine the look of exasperation on Rachel’s
face, on her own at hearing her. It really was quite
plain what Rachel wanted, but Quinn could be very
obtuse. She did it deliberately in Santana’s opinion,
as an excuse against keeping commitments. It was
Russell’s fault, she thought. He had Quinn under his
thumb for so long that, ten years later, she was still
clinging on to her freedom in any way possible, even
if she was missing out on other things.

Though her father’s shortcomings didn’t absolve

Quinn’s lack of sensitivity in dealing with this issue.

Apparently Rachel concurred, and had rather reached

the end of her tether, squawking loudly like an angry
bird.

“I don’t want a fuck-buddy if that’s what you’re asking!

I want a girlfriend and I thought that’s what you
wanted too, what we were working towards.” She let
out a growl. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over
something like this. This is absolutely stupid.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Because according to you, we’re not even properly

dating.”

“Are we still on that?”

Yeah, were they still on that? This was turning out to

be a very cyclical conversation to Santana, and would
have no merit in a court of law.

“Yes, we’re still on that. I don’t know about you,

Quinn, but I don’t want to be casually dating. I’m past
the stage when all I want is a bit of fun for a couple of
weeks. If that’s all this is, if that’s all you want, than I
don’t think we should see each other.”

“Rachel...”

“No... no. I got the wrong end of the stick about what
was happening between us.”

From the wall, she was actually willing Quinn to say

something, already knowing that she wouldn’t reply to
the dispirited admittance. Despite her initial feelings
towards Rachel, she really didn’t deserve the crap
that Quinn was putting her through, and Santana
knew the feeling all too well.

“I think... that I’m just gonna go home. I don’t feel

great.” Quietening footsteps away, but only a few.
“You don’t have to come on Saturday.”

And the footsteps continued, fading away just like

Rachel’s soft voice into the night.

She turned back into the doorway, not looking forward

to telling Brittany this latest turn of events, and only
heard a hissed, “Shit” from Quinn as Santana
noiselessly closed the door.

6. Saturday – The Berry Apartment

Rachel seemed down. Even though she still talked at

a hundred miles a minute, it seemed forced, put on
like the thin, straight smile that she was also wearing.

Brittany watched in silence as Rachel poured wine

into a glass and admired the dress of another guest.
She hadn’t spent much time speaking with Brittany,
not like the other times they had met, but the blonde
could understand the sentiment behind the behaviour
and didn’t begrudge Rachel for it. It must’ve been
difficult for her and though Brittany couldn’t truly
sympathise since Santana had practically started
drooling when they’d first met, she still knew that she
should give Rachel her space.

She had thought of not attending the dinner. After the

nomination party Rachel had just disappeared and,
after dropping an uncharacteristically melancholy
Quinn home, Santana had divulged all that she had
heard. They weren’t one of those weird ‘absolutely no
secrets’ couples, but they shared most things,
especially things like this. Santana decided not to
come, partly because she insisted that she had loads
of case notes to go over, but partly, Brittany knew, out
of loyalty to Quinn. She got that too; they had been
friends for donkey’s years, far longer than the piffling
month or so they’d known Rachel.

It was one of those things that people loved about

Brittany, though, that she could care for people she’d
know for a day, or a week or a month, if they were
upset. She’d been like that in high school and it was
an enduring trait. Santana, when she was feeling
especially emotional – which wasn’t too often – cited it
as the trait that she loved the most, followed closely
by her killer body.

She kind of wished that Santana were here now.

She’d find the guy she was talking to, Kurt, very
amusing. He was just the sort of unfortunate person
who they would have bullied mercilessly at school, but
who was fabulous once you’d progressed past
college. She wanted to squash him and put him in her
pocket, along with his shiny suit and meticulously
arranged hair.

The doorbell rang, but she ignored it, focussing on the

Hermes scarf Kurt was pointing out on his iPhone.
Rachel was whizzing around like a pixie anyway, and
refused all help, so it wasn’t until Brittany heard what
she was sure was Quinn’s voice that she diverted her
attention to the door.

She shushed Kurt lightly, leaning over to whisper a

brief explanation in his ear – she was going to steal
him anyway, so he would find out eventually – while
keeping her eyes trained on the scene at the door.
Everyone else carried on, buzzing in the background,
while Brittany and Kurt sat like owls.

“Quinn. What are you doing here?”

Quinn looked sheepish – and she should, she added

mentally – and looked at the ground a lot. She
frowned, still gazing downwards.

“I just... I thought I might come and see you.”

“Now?”

“It was the only time I knew you’d be home. I don’t

know your schedule yet.”

Maybe it was word ‘yet’, or maybe it was simply

Quinn’s sudden presence that made Rachel’s stature
loosen and her mouth turn up. She opened the door
further to let her in.

“Come in. I’ll set another place for you.”

When Quinn brushed her fingertips over the

brunette’s wrist and breathed out a fluttering ‘thanks’,
both Brittany and Kurt let out matching sighs at the
display.

Interlude – That night. 3 hours later

The last of the guests had just left, toppling out of the
door after a bit too much to drink and now it was just
them.

It was silent. Quinn wished, just for a moment, that

she hadn’t come. But sitting at home, jotting down
calculations, she had felt peculiarly drained, as if
there was something enjoyable that she definitely
could be doing and, for some reason, she had to spite
herself by not doing it.

A couple of nights mulling over her altercation with

Rachel and she’d come to the conclusion that the
actress was right. She had led her on, completely by
mistake, or maybe not so completely. Either way,
Quinn didn’t know why she had to hold so tightly to
her current, single life when hanging out with Rachel
was just as fun. Going out with Rachel was better,
because at the end of the night she would be treated
to soft lips pressing and dipping against her own, and
a small hand grasping onto her shoulder.

There was no point in cutting off her nose to spite her

face, or some other proverb along those lines.

So she had grabbed her coat and keys and left her
flat, getting lost twice on the way to a flat she’d never
visited before. It was in a large grey building, not like
the lovely old brick of Quinn’s apartment, and there
was no elevator, but she knew she’d made the right
choice when she saw the hopeful glint flutter across
Rachel’s face as she opened the door.

It had been replaced now by a more serious look,

trepidation. Rachel looked almost wary of what Quinn
was going to say or do, and Quinn wished that she
wouldn’t. She distracted herself by piling the dirty
plates and taking them to the kitchen counter, not
really a long trip in Rachel’s tiny flat.

“I was surprised to see you here, that you came.”

Rachel said from a few metres behind, collecting all

the wine glasses but only paying them half a mind.

“Yeah.” She swallowed the knot in her throat, forced it

down so that she didn’t mess things up for a third
time. “Well it was a bit unplanned.”

“Not that I’m not glad that you’re here, I’m just
surprised.”

Rachel moved over to the sink, setting down the

glasses and starting to move away, when a hand
caught her wrist, warmth suddenly burning in her
chest making her breath seem louder than it was.
Letting Quinn tug her around, she tried to quell the
anticipation that was rising in her. Quinn, while being
utterly enchanting had also proved herself to be prone
to shying away from commitment, something that
Rachel, herself, found rather ludicrous.

Quinn also had the most beautiful eyes which were

now staring down at her with apology written into the
golden flecks and quivering eyelids.

“I was thinking about, you know, what you said the

other night. And, you’re right. I was stupid.”

Rachel let out a breath of disbelief. She had thought

Quinn might skirt around the issue, but to hear her
say it so plainly made her repressed affection for the
blonde swell again. Especially when Quinn pressed a
hand over her eyes and let out a suffering breath; it
was too real, you couldn’t just fake anxiety like that,
unless you were an exceptionally skilled actress like
Rachel.

“I know that I’ve not made the best impression, the

phone incident and then... that. But we had a really
good time before and I, I get what you meant about
not just wanting to drift around from one thing to the
next. It’s not what I want either. I feel like I’m not
making any sense.”

“No, I get it. I get it.” She put her hand on Quinn’s
elbow, gripping lightly and looking up earnestly,
speaking . “So... you do want to.”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Rachel was nothing like the people she normally saw,

who all filled a certain mould, a certain boring type of
person who had either too much or too little in
common with her. And they never pushed for more,
they might’ve protested weakly when she rolled out of
their beds in the morning, or left midway through a
date. Maybe that’s why she had grown so fond of
Rachel.

She hadn’t even noticed Rachel in their first meetings,

but Rachel had obviously noticed her. And the more
she got to know about Rachel’s odd quirks and the
calmer personality underneath her confident outward
manner, the more she liked her and the more she
wanted to know. Usually she couldn’t wait to get rid of
a person – sometimes it was difficult and she had to
introduce them to the university physicists to scare
them off.

But she certainly didn’t want to get rid of Rachel. She

was under no vastly romantic illusions, but she
wanted to see this through with Rachel for as long as
they enjoyed each other’s company.

“So... you’re my girlfriend now.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to freak out or lose your phone

permanently or anything like that?”

“No.”

“And by girlfriend, you understand that we’re

exclusive and you can’t flirt with waitresses.”

“I’ve never done that with you!”

“I’ve heard stories.”

The taller woman chuckled lowly and took a step

closer, eliminating the short distance between them
and letting her hand periodically swing against
Rachel’s. Her skin was so soft as Rachel grasped the
moving hand to keep it still and just because she
wanted to, because she could.

“Well... I understand and agree to all your conditions.

And... I apologise again.”

“There’s no need.”

Grinning in relief Quinn dipped her head, nudging

Rachel’s lips with her own until she responded in kind.
Rachel’s fingers reached up to smooth over the
shoulders of Quinn’s button-down shirt, then coming
to rest on her upper arms and all the while they kissed
unhurriedly. They parted, two, three times but moved
back together within mere seconds, filling the time
between with soft smiles and playfully bumping each
other’s noses.

Pulling away, drawing in her bottom lip to savour

Rachel’s taste – she tasted of chocolate, or to be
more accurate, ‘Mockolate’ from the vegan dessert –
Quinn pushed a lock of her out of the brunette’s face.
Her mouth spread into an adoring smile; she couldn’t
help it. This having a girlfriend business felt a lot
better than she remembered it, and seeing the muted
delight on Rachel’s face made it even sweeter.

“I guess I should go.”

She swept her long fingers through Rachel’s bangs

again, sliding them to one side and then behind an
ear.

“You could stay, if you wanted. It’s pretty late.”

There were definitely unspoken undertones to that

sentence. While it was said without seduction in mind,
it was still an offer of extension, to give something
extra to let Quinn know the new boundaries of their
relationship. Now it just depended whether Quinn
accepted them or stayed in safe, explored territory.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind.”

The way that Rachel’s eyes shone told her that she
didn’t mind at all. She’d only just realised that they
were far prettier than the dozens of blue eyes she’d
fixated on – the prettiest pair of eyes that she’d seen.

7. A fortnight later – Green’s Mexican Canteen

“Dude. Why are we here?”

“Maybe because Santana misses her Mammi’s

cooking.”

“Blow yourself, Fabray.”

Puck wondered why every year at their informal

reunion dinner Santana and Quinn spent the entire
night baiting each other. They saw each other all the
time and they got on perfectly fine. Yet on this one
day of the year that they set aside for seeing old
college friends, they bickered like teenage girls.

Finn, ever the peacemaker piped up, “Well I like

Mexican food.”

“Yay, my life is complete.”

Puck scoffed at the miffed look on his best friend’s

face, but really Finn should have known better than to
even try and dim the situation; Santana and Quinn
probably loved their little drama.

“San, be nice.” The Latina scowled. “I like Mexican

food too, Finn.”

Brittany was an honorary member of the reunion,

seeing as she hadn’t gone to college with them, but
they’d know her for years. Other than that, significant
others didn’t really feature in the annual dinner. Finn
had once brought a girl, and he’d come with Quinn
when they were together. Puck went through girls
faster than a roadrunner and Quinn was attracted to
test tubes. Therefore, most years it was just them.

Their other friends from college only came

sometimes, but Finn made the trip from Chicago
every year. Puck picked him up from the airport,
always able to see him standing a head taller than the
crowd and they’d bump fists and generally be cool for
the two or three days that he stayed in New York.
There had been a time when they weren’t so friendly,
years ago, but then Quinn had decided that she was
gay and their animosity suddenly evaporated.

“Waitress.” Santana clicked in the air until an offended

looking waitress appeared. “I don’t like this. I ordered
this without beans and what do ya know? There are
beans. Bring me a new one.”

She thrust the plate at the girl to whom Brittany gave

a sympathetic smile. Puck gave a leer and she
flushed. He was so getting laid later.

Only a few minutes later, when Santana’s new plate

had been brought out with a tight smile from the
waitress, the table was disturbed by the ringing of a
cell.

“We’re eating. Whose is that?”

Quinn cringed guiltily. “Sorry that’s me. It’s Rachel.”

And then she proceeded to take the call in hushed

tones while she was still sitting at the table. Quinn
never took anyone’s call except for those from the
people at this table. At least Puck had the decency to
turn his cell off, but that was because he didn’t want
all those girls cramping his style. God – he needed to
learn some new words; he sounded like a guy with a
mullet out of the eighties.

Finn tried to get his attention.

“Dude. Who’s Rachel?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Have you guys not grown up at all since we left

college? You still speak like high school jocks.
Expand your vocabulary.”

He narrowed his eyes at Santana. Just because she

was some hot shot lawyer didn’t mean that everyone
wanted to talk like her.

“Alright.” He said, raising his voice in a grossly

inaccurate imitation of her. “May I possibly inquire as
to who this Rachel is as pertaining to my dear friend
Quinn?”

“It’s whom, asshat. And she’s her girlfriend.”

Two jaws dropped and Quinn chose that exact

moment to cover her mouthpiece and say, “Hey, I’m
just gonna step outside for a couple of minutes.
Rachel’s just finished and she’s passing by. I’ll be
really quick.”

Puck couldn’t believe that Quinn had a girlfriend. This

Rachel was getting nightly sex from one of the hottest
girls on Puck’s radar, and Puck himself had only got
into her pants once. Once. That was poor.

He had to see who he’d lost out to. It didn’t really

matter to him that he’d technically lost out several
years ago, to a whole sex. All that mattered was that
someone had been able to tie Quinn down. Quinn,
who was for all intents and purposes like a helium
balloon.

“Wait up. I wanna see this chick. Is she hot?”

“I don’t really want to share that with you, Puck.”

He grimaced. “That means she’s ugly. Now I really

wanna see her. Has she got a beautiful soul,
Quinnie?”

Quinn’s eye twitched a little and she made a move to

walk out towards the door. Luckily Finn spoke to
correct Puck’s mistake.

“Well, invite her in for a few minutes. I’d like to meet

whoever’s tamed you.”
“Oh. Up here.” Puck stuck his hand up for Finn to
smack, which he did and they grinned at each other
for being so coordinated. They were epic, like the
Fellowship of the Ring. They were like Frodo and
Sam, except not gay.

Despite their immature display, Quinn did in fact bring

Rachel in, drawing an extra chair from a free table
and scooting her own to the side.

Again Puck’s jaw dropped, while Finn stuck out his

lower lip, silently impressed.

He couldn’t believe it and definitely couldn’t

comprehend it. That was the girl who’d talked for at
least ten minutes about the importance of power
dressing when he’d been trying to talk about nun-
chucks. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough
and Quinn was dating her.

“So guys. This is Rachel and these are my friends

from college, Finn and Puck.”
Rachel smiled at them each in turn, earning a smile
back from Finn and an unimpressed grunt from Puck.
This was so unfair. He was like, fifty times more studly
than this girl and she got Quinn. She wasn’t even
Quinn’s type. She was short and had brown hair and
brown eyes, and he had huge guns. That had to count
for something!

He continued to give her the evil eye while everyone

else recommenced conversation, asking her how her
job was going and Finn asking how she’d met Quinn.
It was sickening and totally out of order how she just
sat down – yeah, sure she was invited, but she was
invited to stay for like ten minutes – and made herself
comfortable in their little clan. She was exactly the
type of person he would have put in a dumpster when
they were in high school, and he hadn’t yet grown out
of the urge to do just that.

And Quinn! What the hell had happened to her?

Quinn was a lone ranger, a free agent and now she
was ordering an extra drink for her girlfriend and
asking if they had any vegan options. What was this?

She was pretty hot, though, he admitted, until she

shot him a smile as wide as Brooklyn Bridge and he
had to clench his hands not to lunge for his soda and
throw it in her face.

Theatre geek.

8. Five weeks later – The Fabray Flat

Brittany and Santana stood on the threshold of

Quinn’s flat, knowing that something had changed,
but neither could put their fingers on what exactly. It
was clean, but it was always clean, because Quinn
couldn’t deal with clutter. The sofa was still there, as
was the tiny television and the record player in the
corner.
“It’s Quinn’s computer. It used to be on the big table.”

“Correct.” They both started as Rachel’s voice struck

up behind them. “Quinn moved it so the table would
be a more conducive eating space.”

“You mean you made her move it.”

The small woman gasped as if affronted, but Brittany

saw the satisfied smile itching to make itself known on
Rachel’s face.

“I did nothing of the sort. It is not my fault if Quinn had

previously been single for so long that her flat became
virtually unusable for a party of more than one. I made
some suggestions and am glad to see that they have
been taken onboard.”

Immediately after finishing her sentence she raised

her eyebrows at Santana and strutted right between
the couple and over to the kitchen. Brittany followed,
but Santana stood for a few seconds, gritting her
teeth and counting to ten in order not to wring Berry’s
little neck. Not even that ass Melvin from opposing
council could rile her as much as Berry could with just
a few words.

Collecting herself she shut the door and joined the

others, only to wish she hadn’t. She grabbed the wine
bottle and glasses as soon as she saw Rachel
tiptoeing to plant a hello kiss on Quinn’s unsuspecting
mouth. If she had to deal with Rachel, sans homicidal
ideas, alcohol was needed.

This meant that by the time they were seated around

Quinn’s now very large dining table she was
pleasantly buzzed. Not buzzed enough not to
complain about the vegan meal now sitting on her
plate. How was she supposed to survive on salad?
She was appeased when a steak arrived in front of
her, Quinn giving her a wry smile as she put Rachel’s
grilled aubergine on her plate.

Brittany, having been with Santana for a sufficiently

long time, could see the slight tipsy smile playing
across the tanned face as she ate. Also, having not
consumed much alcohol herself, she knew that there
was an ulterior motive to this ‘small get together’.

She was proven right when in the middle of dinner

something brushed against her leg, pressing paws up
onto her knees before moving over to Quinn.

The blonde hoisted the creature up, cooing

affectionately, “Up we go, Dudders.”

Rachel leant slightly away, though she was still

smiling fondly at the scene.

“So... as you might have guessed, I’ve got something

to ask you.” Brittany nodded placidly. She’d known; it
was a gift.

“I know that you wanted to get a dog a while ago but

your landlord was a prick and said no. Well, I was just
wondering if you guys wanted to look after Mr
Dudley.”

“What?” Santana put down her cutlery with a clang,

genuinely surprised, almost stunned. “But you love
that cat.”

It was true. Even now she was hugging the sleek grey
cat against her face, making indulgent noises into his
belly.

Rachel replied in her stead, with calm solemnity,

rather a bit much for the situation.

“Unfortunately I have found that I’m slightly allergic to

Mr Dudley.” Indeed the rims of her eyes did look a
little pink.

Quinn passed the cat over the table to Brittany as

Santana shot back, “So live with it. You’re not coming
out in hives, are you?”

Brittany would have scolded Santana if she thought it

would help, but Quinn probably had it in hand, and Mr
Dudley had curled up on her lap like a very warm
pillow. It made her feel a bit bad, but she really did
want to keep him. He was a very handsome cat, and
didn’t leave crap and fur everywhere like some others
did. And she loved pets, but there was no room for a
dog in the flat. There was plenty of room for Mr
Dudley, though.

“Lay off, San. Rachel has to sing and act every day.
And she can’t do that when she sounds like Alan
Rickman.”

“You could just hang around her flat. You don’t have
to give away your cat!”

The blonde heaved out a sigh, eyes sharpening in

agitation.

“She lives halfway across the city. The theatre is like

five minutes down the road from here and the
university is closer. Why are you being like this?”

Santana blinked, clenching her jaw obstinately and

looking off to the side. She didn’t want to say why
exactly she was being like this. Perhaps she didn’t
even know. It just seemed wrong, Rachel coming into
their lives, all their lives, and messing everything up.
And Quinn was letting her. It wasn’t that she really
hated Rachel, but she did object to her intrusion into
their comfortable lives, their intimate circle.

Quinn was her best friend. Could she not look out for
her oldest friend when it was clear that Rachel was
running circles around her?
“Look, San. I’m asking you because then I’ll get to see
Mr Dudley all the time. I really don’t want him to go to
a family who I don’t even know or, God,” she waved
her hands about in frustration, “to some home or a
cattery. Brit,” she entreated, conscious that the blonde
was an easier target, “you don’t mind taking Mr
Dudley, so you?”

Brittany just cuddled the cat like a baby and pouted

intensely at Santana, who gradually lost a bit of her
sulkiness, nodding benignly and petting the cat, all the
while avoiding Quinn’s questioning gaze.

Rachel seemed much more astute as to the cause of

Santana’s prickliness, biting her lip unhappily, drinking
her wine, but quickly finding Quinn’s hand and pulling
it into her lap, squeezing it pathetically between her
own.

The lawyer ignored her for a good few minutes,

diligently excluding herself from conversation, looking
as petulant as a child, but Santana’s heart wasn’t
made of stone and her profession had induced in her
a rationality she’d not possessed as a child, or even a
young adult. In the end she regarded the burnt look in
Rachel’s eyes as she grasped Quinn tightly with the
tiniest stirrings of guilt in her stomach.

She could imagine just as well as Brittany how Rachel

was feeling now; she’d inspired the same isolation in
many when she was younger, as had Quinn and even
Brittany. She was probably feeling cut that Quinn’s
friend didn’t like her – although she must have had a
pretty good idea of this already – and, on top of that,
afraid that this would cost her relationship. After all,
friendships often outlasted and deliberately obstructed
romantic relationships. It was far safer to be a friend,
around at the good times and there to console in the
bad, than a girlfriend, always the first scapegoat when
something goes wrong.

Setting her pride aside for a while – it was difficult, but

not life-threatening – she slung the merest hint of a
smile over at Rachel, who perked up in hope, and
held out her hands for Mr Dudley.

“Give him here then.”

That brought a look of delight to Quinn’s face as her

friend held her precious cat at arm’s length.

“Great. I’ll give you all the stuff to look after him and
I’ve written some instructions for you, but really, he’s
pretty easy. Don’t hold him like that, he’s not smelly.
He really likes to sleep in the bed, but I get that you
might not want that so I bought you a cat basket. If
you leave a window open at night I think it would
please him. He likes to have quite a lot of freedom...”

Rachel got up to clear the table because Quinn would

not stop giving advice. She must have spoken
amorously about the cat for more than half an hour,
taking back Mr Dudley, stroking him and letting him lie
across her shoulders, then popping him back on the
table to fondle his ears, playing cat and mouse with
him and then sadly coaxing him into the pet carrier,
lower lip wobbling.

In a way, Santana thought as she carried Mr Dudley

out of the flat, she was rather proud of Quinn. Quinn
was growing up.

And Santana even dug deep enough to feel happy for

Rachel Berry, which showed that she was growing up.

-----------------------

Title: Make Her Blush

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, minor

Quinn/Finn and Santana/Brittany

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just

having a little fun.

Summary: Sue is hosting an auction of sorts. Make

Quinn blush; win a date. Of course Rachel Berry can't
resist a challenge.

A/N1: I mostly wrote this so that I could have an

excuse to write bitchy!Quinn and slutty!Puck. She's
my fav. Also, I'm in love with Puck.

A/N2: I hope you all enjoy! Comments are love.

___________________________________________
___________________________________

“Step right up and make her blush!” Sue yells these

words into her megaphone as she stands atop one of
the cafeteria lunch tables. “You heard right, you freak
show losers! Five dollars to have a chance at making
the head cheerleader blush. If you succeed, you win
a date of your choice with said Queen Bee. All
proceeds will go to the Cherrios and not a conscious
charity of my choice.”

Students in the cafeteria, especially the male

population, began to buzz with the new
announcement made. Huge, football sized hands
were being jammed into pockets at alarming rates as
the boys scrambled to get enough money to make
Quinn Fabray blush.

Quinn was perched atop a chair on a makeshift stage

in the cafeteria, peering at everyone with disgust.
Every five seconds her eyes would roll at how
pathetic this was. As if anyone could make Quinn
Fabray blush. They’d sooner melt under her powerful
and piercing gaze before a word was even uttered.

After all of two minutes some ‘lucky’ guy was able to

score the money needed to have his chance at the
blonde.

He slowly approaches her with a certain lean in his

walk that conveyed confidence and a smug smirk on
his face. Quinn swallows the vomit threatening to
build in her throat at the sight being presented for her.

“My name is Connor,” he says as he stands directly in

front of her; crotch blocking her view of the rest of the
cafeteria. She briefly glances down at the fly of his
jeans before peering up at him with a perfectly arched
eyebrow.

“Like what you see, Queen Bee?” he asks with the

same smirk in place. “Say the word and I can rock
your world.”

Santana and Brittany were standing just off to the side

and clearly heard what Connor was saying. “Ugh,
what a loser,” Santana scoffs as she crosses her
arms across her chest.

“Totally,” Brittany agrees. “There are already enough

rocks in this world.”

Santana eyes the girl for a moment with an

expression that can only be described as ‘what-the-
fuck’ before she smiles and pulls the taller girl in for a
hug. “You’re exactly right. We don’t need another
loser rock like him.” She kisses the blonde on her
cheek before focusing her attention back on Quinn.

Slowly taking a stand, Quinn pins a hard glare on the

boy as she snarls out her words. “Are you kidding
me? Are you joking?” Her gaze lowers before she
returns her glare to him. “It’s not even up. Either that
or it’s small, which, let’s face it; both are extremely
bad problems to have. I’m not blushing, I’m disgusted.
Now, leave my presence.”

Throughout her rant, the boy’s smile had been slowly

dissipating until his lips were turned down into a
noticeable frown. Head hung, he slowly trudged
away, his pride left at Quinn’s feet.

She sits back down with a scowl on her face, legs

crossed tightly, and her arms folded across her chest.
Her body language the very epitome of closed off.
Anyone else that dared approach her was either very
brave, or very stupid.
“Alright, gentlemen, clear a path. The Puckasaurus is
here to save the day.” Puck muscles his way into the
front of the line, winking at any girl that caught his eye
as he passed by Finn whom was supposed to be
next.

“Dude, what are you doing? Not only did you cut me
but you’re going up there to make my girlfriend blush,”
he says, sounding distressed. “Surely you’re
breaking some sort of guy code here.”

“Guy code?” Puck questions with a snort. “What are

you, gay? Men don’t have codes. Now, untuck your
balls and wait your turn.” With that, he turns around
and pays his money.

“’Sup, Quinn,” Puck says as he walks over to her. “I

got two words for you: I’m hot.” He then proceeds to
rip his shirt off and flex in front of Quinn. Fan girl type
screams and cries of love and devotion were heard
from girls that crowded around the stage the second
Puck’s shirt was off.

Continuing to flex, he eyes the girl carefully. “This

getting you hot, Quinn? Making you blush?”

Quinn, however, wasn’t paying the least amount of

attention. Rachel Berry had just walked into the
cafeteria with a bright smile on her face and penny
loafers on her feet. Immediately Quinn was
transfixed. She followed the girl with her eyes until
her line of sight was blocked by Puck’s six pack.
Growling lowly, she stares up at the shirtless boy.
“Can you leave now? I think we both know that you
lost.”

Appearing to be wounded, he turned around to the

crowd of girls awaiting him. “Puckasaurus was hurt
ladies,” he says with a faux pout. “Who will heal
him?” The crowd breaks out into a frenzy and he
smirks at the girls. “Will all girls that are willing to heal
my ego please meet me at my car?” With that he
winks at Quinn and hops off stage.

Now Quinn is free to ogle –er –stare at Rachel.

Because she certainly wasn’t ogling Rachel Berry.
These things weren’t possible. She watches as
Rachel takes a seat next to Tina and curiously looks
around, wondering as to what’s going on.

Rachel leans over and whispers to Tina. “What’s

happening?”

Not removing her eyes from the display, Tina quickly

whispers, “Coach Sylvester is having an auction of
sorts. Whoever can make Quinn blush wins a date
with her.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It’s been a good twenty minutes,” Artie responds

astutely. “The men that are trying are typical meat
heads and thus failing in the art of wooing a girl.”

Rachel looks toward the front where Quinn is. “Surely

it can’t be that hard to make a girl blush.”

When dark eyes lock onto hers, Quinn quickly looks

away. She has to fight a blush that she knows wants
to blossom on her face. She can’t blush. Not when
Rachel’s the one causing it. Not when Rachel’s not
even trying to cause it.

A huge shadow looms over her and she looks up to

see Finn hovering over her. “Umm, hi,” he says
awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

“Finn,” she says relieved. Hopefully Finn would save

her from this hell.

He doesn’t say another word as he leans forward and

warm breath hits the side of Quinn’s face.

“Finn? What are you doing?” she questions with an

edge to her voice which suggests that she’s not
enjoying this.

“I –uh, I want to t-to touch your breasts,” Finn says

against her ear. Her eyes widen in realization. Oh.
Hell. No.

He runs a shaky hand down her arm as he continues.

“Then, I wanna stick m-my big dick-”

“Ok, no!” Quinn hisses as she pushes him off of her.

She fixes him with an incredulous expression. Finn
was trying to talk dirty to her? Really?

Finn pulls back with a sigh because the only one he

succeeded in garnering a blush from is himself.

“Are you a moron?” she whispers harshly to him.

“That will not make me blush, Finn. We’ve tried it
before over the phone and you’re not good at it.
Damn it. If someone else makes me blush then I’ll
have to go out on a date with them. Have you
forgotten that?”

“No,” he says, sounding defeated.

“Just go, Finn.” He walks off the stage and back into
the crowd.

Santana and Brittany catch sight of the next

contestant before Quinn does. Snickering, Santana
calls out to the head cheerleader, “Watch out, Q. We
got argyle to your left.”

Quinn freezes once she hears those words. This

can’t be life. This can’t be life. Turning slowly, she’s
met with Rachel Berry.

“Berry,” she says uneasily. “What the hell are you

doing?”

“I am here to make you blush, Quinn,” she responds.

“I am sick of the male population failing at what is
honestly quite the simple feat.”

“Oh, really?” Quinn asks with an arched eyebrow and

a smirk. “You think you can make me blush? Don’t
make me laugh, Berry.”

“I won’t make you laugh, Quinn. I’ll make you blush.”

With that she kneeled before the girl and peered
directly into her eyes.

“How do you feel about intimacy, Quinn?” she

questions while leaning forward.

Putting up a front, Quinn responds. “I think it’s stupid

when it comes to you. Sorry, Ru Paul, but I’m not
lesbigay like you are.”

Rachel internally chuckles at the ‘lesbigay’ comment.

An idea pops into her head and a devilish smile
adorns her face as she stares directly into Quinn’s
eyes.

“What?” Quinn snaps, not appreciating the scrutiny.

Rachel stands at full height before bending over so

she and Quinn were face to face. Positioning her
hands on Quinn’s thighs, she leans forward and
whispers in her ear just as Finn did before.

Quinn initially scowls at Rachel’s close proximity. Full

lips part by the blonde’s ear as Rachel mouths words
into them in a low tone.

The taller girl’s lips press into a hard line as she tries
not to be effected by the words entering her ear,
saturating into her brain. She begins to squirm in her
seat as the assault continues.

Rachel’s left hand lifts to the other side of Quinn’s

face. She lightly cups the side of her cheek and tilts
her head closer so her lips brush Quinn’s ear with her
ever word.

Chest heaving, Quinn forces air out of her nose

rapidly so she doesn’t have to resort to panting. She
now admits that what’s happening is having an effect,
but she refuses to show it, to pant like a hungry,
ravenous dog.

The left hand that was on her cheek now runs to the
back of Quinn’s neck, teasing small hairs at her nape.
Hazel eyes slip shut and a soft sound escapes her
lips. She clenches her thighs together in an attempt
to relieve the tension that’s beginning to build.

Rachel smirks at the girl’s reaction and decides to

deliver the final blow. Her tongue briefly flicks over
Quinn’s ear before she lowers her voice even further
and whispers the most important part.

Quinn’s eyes fly open at the last of Rachel’s words

and then it happens. Pink begins to tint her nose. It
doesn’t stop there. Instead, it slowly spreads
horizontally to her cheeks before quickly enflaming
her entire face. But it doesn’t stop. Rachel can feel
the back of Quinn’s neck become hot as the blush
travels from her neck, finally ending at her chest.

Rachel lingers where she is for a moment before

planting a teasing kiss to the blonde’s hot cheek. She
pulls back to look at her handiwork. Quinn is beet red
and panting. Rachel’s done her job.

She begins to walk off stage but a strong hand grasps

her wrist. “I expect you to pick me up this Friday.
That sounded…interesting.”

The singer nods with a bright smile before bouncing

off stage and out of the cafeteria.

“Rachel! Rachel!”

Rachel turns around to find Tina chasing after her.

“Congratulations!” she gushes. “What did you say
that could have possibly made her blush?”

Rachel smirks before replying. “I simply told her

about a documentary I saw about tribadism and the
eventual mutual orgasm that took place. In great
detail of course.”

Spinning on her heel, the brunette proudly walks

down the hallways of McKinley High. High fiving
people all the way.

---------

A/N 1: This is the sequel to 'Make Her Blush'. Written

for a very convincing person named relvoxballroom.
Otherwise known as an evil, evil, bb.

A/N 2: In this fic Quinn and Rachel are trying to one

up each other and make the other blush.

A/N 3: Umm, nothing? Hope everyone enjoys!

___________________________________________
___________________________________
Rachel arrives on the Fabray doorstep at 7:59 for an
8:00 date. She was nothing if not punctual. Blowing
into her hands, she makes sure to check her breath.
Not that she and Quinn would absolutely be kissing,
but a girl can dream.

“Perfect,” she says when the smell of minty goodness

bounces off her hand and into her nostrils.

Bringing up her left wrist, she watches as her new

digital watch counts up from 7:59:55 to 8:00:00 then
promptly knocks on the door.

She fists her hands at her sides as nervousness

began to make its presence known. Moments later,
the door swooshes open and Rachel takes in the
sight of Quinn Fabray.

“Beautiful,” she mutters without even thinking.

Quinn’s dressed in a tight red dress that shows off all
of her curves. A black accessory belt rest on her
waist, accentuating the hips that lie just below. Three
inch stiletto heels adorn her feet, making her even
taller. She caps everything off with sinfully red lipstick
that her parents would not approve of.

“Thanks,” Quinn says quietly. She brushes by

Rachel, hoping the brunette can’t see the pink dusting
her cheeks at the compliment that caught her off
guard.

Of course, Rachel sees it and smiles at her little

victory. Rachel: 1, Quinn: 0. Actually, scratch that.
Rachel: 2, Quinn: 0.

Rachel follows behind the shapely blonde, eyes

catching sight of a very round ass. Where did that
ass come from? Why hasn’t she noticed it before?
She thought she’d noticed everything there is to
notice about Quinn. She tilts her head to the side as
dirty images of squeezing, poking, and biting, yes,
biting, crosses her mind.

A quick glance over her shoulder alerts Quinn as to

what Rachel was looking at and it certainly wasn’t the
back of her head. She chuckles internally because
this was her plan all along. Quinn knew she had a
nice ass. She didn’t wear jeans very often so others
did not know just how great her ass was. However,
this tight dress shows it off perfectly.

In the most seductive tone she could muster, she

calls two simple words to Rachel over her shoulder.
“Down, girl.”

She pauses and waits for a reaction.

Eyes like saucers snap up to Quinn’s own. “Huh?” is

the ineloquent response. “What ass? I –I mean, I
wasn’t…staring.”

Quinn laughs lowly at Rachel’s rising blush and

continues to walk towards the car. Rachel: 2, Quinn:
1. She slips in before the shorter girl and buckles her
seat belt. Rachel files into the car seconds after
Quinn does and situates herself before putting her
key in the ignition.
“So, where are we going anyway?” Quinn asks as she
peers over towards the driver’s side.

Leaning back in her seat, Rachel briefly regarded

Quinn before she put the car in drive and pulled off. “I
was thinking about dinner. Maybe a movie, if you’re
up for it.”

“If I’m up for it?” Quinn asks, taking the bait. “I’m up
for anything, Rachel.”

Rachel nods as her attention is focused on the road.

Quinn, however, is focused on her. She silently rakes
her eyes over the brunette’s petite body. She starts
at her feet, noticing that the shorter girl was wearing
more fashionable shoes. Her eyes drink in long, tan
legs that finally disappear at mid-thigh under a short
skirt. Travelling up her torso, Quinn watches two
swells of flesh under a tight sweater heave up and
down. Up and down. She ends her optical trek of the
girl’s body with Rachel’s teased hair. The first thing
Quinn thinks is that the shorter girl looks as if she’s
just been bedded.
Unconsciously, she licks her lips. “You look…hot,
Rach.”

It had been a long week for the blonde. Admitting that

she wanted the brunette after that little show she put
on in the cafeteria had been the hardest thing Quinn
thinks she’s ever had to do. She had been so
antagonistic towards the smaller girl in the past that
an attraction never even occurred to her. But it was
there all along. Quinn acted like a five year old boy
that was pulling the pigtails of a girl he liked. But she
admitted her attraction now. Owned it. She wanted
Rachel and she was sure as hell going to get what
she wanted.

Rachel’s hormones begin go haywire at Quinn’s

compliment and she voices her thanks in a squeaky
voice.

They continue with small talk until Rachel pulls up to

the restaurant. Quinn unbuckles her seat belt before
she grabs the handle of the car door.
“I’ll get that,” Rachel tells her as she quickly gets out
of the car. She makes her way over to Quinn’s side
and opens her car door. Quinn steps out and leans in
close to Rachel. “Thanks a lot, Rach.” She kisses her
lightly on the cheek before walking off in the direction
of the restaurant. Knowing the shorter girl is
watching, she makes sure to sway her hips the entire
way.

Coughing her blush away, Rachel replies to her

throatily. “Try harder, Fabray.”

“Oh, I will. We have all night.”

The couple walks into the restaurant and orders a

booth. Ordering their food, they patiently wait while
it’s being prepared.

A question that’s been burning a hole in Quinn’s brain

finally gets voiced. “Rach?”
“Hmm?”

“That ‘documentary’ that you saw? It was a porno

wasn’t it?”

Rachel told her to try harder and try harder is exactly

what Quinn did. Flushing and averting her eyes
Rachel’s responds. “Umm, define pornography,
Quinn. I am quite certain that the film that I watched
did not meet the criterion needed for it to be
considered-”

She was cut off by her own sharp intake of breath as

Quinn leaned over towards her ear. “It’s considered
porn if you watched it for gratification, Rach. If it had
you wet and squirming in your seat,” she whispers
huskily into the girl’s ear.

“To be fair, Quinn,” Rachel replies shakily, “I wasn’t

seated while I was watching. I was in a more…
reclined position.”

Quinn’s rapidly darkening hazel eyes slip shut briefly

as she pictures Rachel lying on her bed with her hand
between her legs. She moans quietly, practically
smelling sex in the room she’s conjured up in her
mind.

Opening her eyes, she’s met with darkening brown

ones. She watches a pink tongue dart out to wet a
bottom lip before disappearing back into that
mysterious mouth.

Riveted, she begins to lean forward…

A loud and well placed clearing of the throat causes

Rachel and Quinn to jump away from each other.
They both look up to see the waitress smirking down
at them with an arched eyebrow. Both girls flush hotly
under the scrutiny. The waitress takes pity on the
girls, however, and merely places their food on the
table and leaves without a word. Waitress: 1, Rachel
& Quinn: 0.
The dinner consisted of racy comments and teasing
touches. By the time the meal was over, both girls
were stumbling out of the restaurant, trying to make it
to the car.

“Take me to your house,” Quinn says lowly as she

buckles her seat belt and trains intense eyes forward.

“What about the movie?”

She growls lowly with impatience. “I don’t care about

a movie.”

“But Quinn, on a date it is pertinent that you stick to

the itinerary or else you will not achieve the most
favorable outcome.”

Deciding on a different tactic, Quinn levels Rachel

with a telling gaze. Her mother always told her
honesty was the best policy. “I want to fuck. More
specifically, I want to fuck you.”

The heat from Quinn’s stare pools right between

Rachel’s legs as she swallows thickly at the blonde’s
words. “T-that can be arranged.” She turns the car
on, puts it in drive and pulls off toward the direction of
her house.

“Are your dads home?” Rachel can tell that the blonde
is horny. Her sentences have been short and abrupt
ever since they left the restaurant. Her voice has
become more authoritative. Every time she says
something Rachel gets wetter…and wetter.

“No,” she breathes. “They’re out of town.”

A curt nod. “Good.”

The car ride is silent, Quinn stewing in her own

arousal and Rachel doing very much the same thing.
When they make it to Rachel’s house they practically
run to the door. Rachel manages to open it despite
Quinn’s wandering hands. She enters, followed by
Quinn and turns to close the door. Suddenly she
finds herself being sandwiched between the door and
a soft, voluptuous body.

She rests her forehead against the cool surface of the

door, trying not to burn from the heat coming from
Quinn at her back.

“You couldn’t wait?” she questions with a throaty

chuckle.

“I’ve been thinking about this since Monday,” is the

reply as Quinn drags her hands down Rachel’s sides.

“Fuck,” Rachel whispers as a hand begins to rub her

back and forth over her skirt. “We really…need to go
to my room.”
“Stop making me wait, Rach.”

Rachel moans loudly when Quinn thrusts her hand up

her shirt, past her bra. She’s rubbing a rock hard
nipple between two fingers and it’s driving Rachel
crazy. “I’m not,” she pants, hips thrusting forward
unconsciously. “I just…need a bed. Take me to bed,
Quinn.”

At those words, Quinn takes action. She yanks the

brunette from the door and practically drags her up
the stairs. “Where’s your room?”

When they make it to Rachel’s room Quinn wastes no

time. She steps out of her heels at the same time she
notices dark eyes on her as Rachel sits on the bed.
Deciding she could waste a little time, she turns
around to face Rachel. Looking her directly in the
eye, she slowly undoes the belt at her waist, letting it
fall to her feet.

“More,” the diva demands in a low voice.

Never one to disappoint Quinn turns her back to
Rachel, reaches behind herself and unzips the dress
all the way down to her ass. Chocolate eyes roam
over the smooth expanse of the blonde’s back
noticing that Quinn isn’t wearing a bra.

“Yes…” she whispers to herself. “Quinn, take the

dress off please.”

Quinn does as she’s told then slowly turns around to

face Rachel. “C’mere.”

As soon as she makes it between the brunette’s legs,

greedy hands grasp her sides. Rachel presses a
gentle kiss just above the blonde’s navel. “You’re
gorgeous, Quinn. So beautiful.”

“I want to see you,” Quinn sighs as cool lips press

against her warm skin. Her abs coil and twist as she
tugs at Rachel’s collar lightly. “I need to see.”
Quickly removing her top, Rachel moves right back to
the task at hand. She cups two breasts within her
palms, feeling the weight of them. Taking two fingers,
she roughly pinches two hard peaks.

Quinn yelps loudly as she tosses her head back. “No

fair. You’re not naked, Rach.”

“Sorry,” Rachel replies, not an ounce of remorse in

her voice. A warm mouth closes around a pink nipple
and Quinn groans at the sensation.

Lightly sucking on the nipple in her mouth, Rachel

reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra before
sliding it down her arms. She begins to suck more
firmly alternating between a gentle bite and flicking
her tongue around the bud. Slim fingers weave
through her hair, holding her in place.

She manages to unzip the side zip of her skirt without

interrupting the pleasure she was giving the girl in
front of her. But she can’t get it off.

“Quinn, baby. I can’t get my skirt off in this position.”

“I’ll do it,” she murmurs as she kneels before the

smaller girl, removing her skirt and panties in one
shot.

Standing, she pushes Rachel back onto the bed as

she climbs on top. “About time,” the taller girl
whispers before she roughly claims the brunette’s
mouth.

Rachel allows Quinn to dominate the kiss, content to

roam her hands along her back. She rakes her nails
down the blonde’s back and Quinn arches into her
touch.

Squeezing the ass she’s been staring at all night, she

teases the taller girl. “Why Quinn, what a nice ass
you have.”

Said girl pulls back with a lazy grin plastered on her

face. “The better to get you into bed with.” She then
leans down and begins nipping at Rachel’s neck.

“Y-you could have no ass at all and I’d still…I’d still…

fuck it!”

Laughing at how incoherent the girl is, Quinn replies,

“You’d still fuck it? My ass? Rachel Berry, you freak.”

Rachel was going to formulate a reply. Something

along the lines of ‘you have no idea’ but she’s lost all
sense of thought because Quinn’s just roughly
palmed one of her breasts. Whimpering, she
implores the blonde. “More, Quinn.”

“More what, Rach?” she teases as her mouth hovers

over Rachel’s nipple. Her tongue flicks out over the
peak before she blows cool air on it, driving Rachel
mad.

“That,” she keens. “Please, more of that.”

Having sympathy for the girl and wanting the same

thing she did, Quinn takes the bud into her mouth and
begins to suck with abandon.

“Fuck, Quinn. Just like that.” Quinn continues to suck

and occasionally bite at the nipple in her mouth as
Rachel arched, writhed, and moaned her approval.
She was so caught up in pleasing the singer that she
unconsciously slips her right thigh between tanned
legs and up to moist heat. Dark eyes fly open at the
pleasure and she quickly switches their positions.

“What are you doing?” Quinn growls from below

Rachel. She’s not really appreciating the bottom at
the moment.

“I am the one with the documentary watching under

my belt, Quinn.”

“You mean you’re the one with the viewing of lesbian

porn under your belt?” Quinn quips with a smirk.

Taking the jest in stride, Rachel replies.

“Documentary, porn, both titles are interchangeable-”

“Doubt it.”

“-the point is that I am the one with the most

knowledge in this area at the moment and I ask that
you follow my lead.”

Chuckling at the diva sitting astride her, Quinn replies.

“When does anyone ever not follow your lead?”

Choosing not to respond, sans a knowing smirk,

Rachel leans forward and gently brushes her lips
against Quinn’s own. Quinn whimpers in the back of
her throat at how tender the kiss is and Rachel uses
that as an opportunity to slip her tongue inside.

Deciding the bottom isn’t so bad if Rachel’s going to

kiss like that, Quinn immerses herself in the feeling,
gripping the girl’s waist and pulling her closer.

Rachel trails kisses down Quinn’s jaw line towards

her neck, when she slips her own thigh between
Quinn’s legs and and connects right at her lower lips.

“Rachel,” she groans, arching into her touch. “You

just may be the expert after all.” She lifts her own
thigh and mimics Rachel’s position.

Her breath hitches at what she feels. “So wet, baby.”

“For you,” Rachel breathes as she tries to focus

enough to build a steady rhythm. She finally finds
one and surges forward, hips pumping into Quinn’s
thigh and…well, into Quinn.

Even teeth lightly graze Quinn’s neck and she

whimpers at the sensation. Wanting to hear more,
Rachel decides to be more aggressive and clamps
her teeth down onto her neck.

“Fuck!” Quinn screams as her hips begin to move

faster and faster. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

A slick tongue works around the irritated and fast

purpling flesh. “You’ll live.”

“I’ll live,” Quinn agrees with an eager nod as Rachel

presses more firmly against her. She continues to
rock forward against the blonde, whimpering every
two strokes. She reaches around Quinn’s back and
grips her shoulders as she burrows her face into her
neck.

“You feel…amazing,” she pants into her neck. The

familiar tightening in her abdomen alerts her that the
end is near.

Quinn moans her response as she begins to feel her

insides bunch and twist. She grabs Rachel’s ass,
digging her nails into her flesh as she pulls her closer.

Dark, almost coal black eyes roll into the back of

Rachel’s head at the unexpected roughness. Her
body begins to tremor as her orgasm washes through
her. “Quinn,” she moans loudly as she thrusts harder
and harder. “Fuck, baby.”

Rachel surging forward into her body had the desired

effect as Quinn feels something in her snap. “I’m
coming,” she tells the girl urgently. “Fuck, Rach,
coming for you.”

Quinn spasmed below the smaller girl as her orgasm

quaked through her. Once she finally stilled, Rachel
collapsed on top of her, both panting heavily.
“I didn’t know…” Quinn rasped as she willed her heart
to slow down. “I didn’t know it could be that good.”

“Me neither,” Rachel admitted.

“You’ve never done this? With another girl?”

“No,” Rachel says as she peppers kisses along the

blonde’s chest.

Something akin to pride swells in Quinn and she’s

suddenly overcome with the urge to conquer the
smaller girl. She quickly flips them over so that she’s
once again on top.

“What are you-”

Rachel’s sentence is cut off by a bruising kiss as

Quinn thrusts her tongue inside and stakes claim of
her mouth. Tiny hands latch onto blonde locks as
Rachel tries to hold on for dear life.

“I want inside,” Quinn responds once she pulls back.

Answering Rachel’s previous question. Her right
hand ghosts down Rachel’s stomach as she nips at
her neck, leaving small hickies in her path.

Her hands move down to touch swollen flesh and she

whimpers at the feel. “Fuck me. How do manage to
get so wet, Rach?”

The brunette chuckles darkly at the effect she’s

having on the girl above her. “It’s all for you, Quinn.”

“It better be,” she growls as she runs her fingers

through the moisture. She lightly circles her clit with
two fingers as Rachel’s hips begin to buck up for
more contact.
“Quinn, please…” she pleads with the girl, begging for
more.

She obliges and slowly pushes her middle finger

inside. “So fucking tight,” she whispers to herself.

Rachel bites her lip when Quinn enters her, stifling the
scream that was in the back of her throat.

“Uh-uh,” Quinn breathes as she looms over the other

girl. “I want to hear you. Open your mouth, Berry.”

She roughly flicks her clit and Rachel cries out loudly
in pleasure. “I’m so close already, Quinn. Please,
just…more.”

Slipping another finger into her, stretching her, Quinn

recalls their little game earlier. She smirks down at
the girl and begins to pump faster.
Rachel sighs at the feeling of being stretched and
filled by the blonde as her eyes slip shut. She’s so
close…

Watching the girl’s face contorted in pleasure makes

Quinn clench as she leans down toward Rachel’s ear.
“How was the ‘documentary’ you watched, Rachel?
Did it satisfy you?”

Barely coherent, Rachel replies. “Not nearly…as

fulfilling as this. Quinn, you’re so…fuck.”

“Yes, I am,” Quinn says with a sultry laugh right next

to the brunette’s ear. She flicks her clit with a steady
rhythm as she continues. “Tell me something, were
you thinking about someone while you were watching
the video? Someone like…I don’t know, me?”

Rachel pants desperately as she wraps her legs

around Quinn’s waist, trying to get the girl to go
deeper.
“Yes,” she hisses, arching into Quinn, trying to fit her
whole body inside of her. And she really did think of
the blonde. She’d watched the video until her hands
began inching towards the waist band of her shorts.
When that happened she gave into the feeling and
masturbated to the video, while thinking of Quinn.
When she came, the taller girl’s name was on her lips.

A sinful smirk appears on Quinn’s face as she

continues to verbally torment the brunette in a much
more different way than she did in the past. She licks
the shell of the girl’s ear, just as Rachel did that fateful
day. “You don’t have to watch porn and think of me
anymore, Rachel. I’m here now. And once I’ve made
you come and we take a break to rest up, I’m going to
eat you until you scream.”

A strangled gasp is Quinn’s only warning to what was

about to happen. Rachel arches up like a bow as her
eyes squeeze shut. “Quiiiiiin!” she screams as her
face breaks out into a flush. Quinn watches,
mesmerized as the brunette continues to convulse,
her inner muscles gripping onto Quinn’s fingers,
pulling further inside. But that wasn’t the best part, in
Quinn’s opinion. The blush on Rachel’s face spread
to every inch of her body. Everywhere Quinn’s skin
touched Rachel’s was nothing but pure fire.

Quinn held the poor girl as she continued to shake

and jerk in her grip. She murmurs “Quinn” over and
over again and the blonde can’t help but pepper
kisses on her hot cheeks, forehead, nose, chin,
anywhere she could find.

Once Rachel had finally calmed down and opened

her eyes, Quinn’s smug look is the first thing she
sees. “I win,” are the only words she says before she
snuggles into the brunette, content to just lie there.

“How do you figure that?” Rachel asks sleepily.

“Because I achieved a full body blush. No way you

can beat that.” Quinn wraps a lazy arm around the
girl’s waist as her eyelids become heavy.

“Alright,” Rachel acquiescence. “You win for now,

Fabray,” Rachel says through a yawn. “But I still have
time to get payback.” But payback would have to
wait. For now, they just fell asleep in each other’s
arms.

-----------------

Title: Birthday Week

Author: [info]whatprovidence
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 6,500+ (Jesus Christ on a cracker, that's
ridiculous)
Summary: Quinn wants Rachel's birthday week to be
perfect.
Author's Note: This is just a really, stupidly long fluff
piece in honor of Rachel Barbra Berry's birthday,
because it's today! Also, just an FYI, my birthday was
three days ago. I accept belated 'happy birthdays'.
Ahem.

–––––
It starts when Rachel shows up in Quinn’s bedroom
with a large, purple binder. The blonde recoils a bit at
the sight; the purple binder has become her cue to put
away anything she had been previously doing and
cancel any plans for the rest of the day, because
Rachel will want her undivided attention for an
inordinate amount of time. The last time it came out,
they spent four hours discussing potential duets they
could sing in Glee club if they changed the pronouns.

“What’s up, babe?” Quinn asks, trying to seem as

upbeat as possible when faced with an expected
Rachel Berry lecture.

“Well, as you are hopefully aware, today is November

twenty-ninth.”

Quinn nods, signaling for Rachel to continue.

“This means Birthday Week starts in exactly two

weeks, and I need to begin planning.”

“Birthday week?” Quinn asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not yet a national holiday, but I suspect that it will

be within the next five years. Currently, it is only
observed by me and my fathers, but as my girlfriend, I
believe you are somewhat obligated to partake in the
festivities.”
“That does sound reasonable,” Quinn says with a
nod, biting back a smile. Her girlfriend is insane, and
she loves it. “What’s on the agenda?”

Rachel flashes a bright smile and throws open the

purple binder. She spends the fifteen minutes going
over each day in painstaking detail, to the point where
Quinn is sincerely sorry that she asked.

“I thought that perhaps on Sunday,” Rachel says

finally says. “We could watch the Barbra Streisand
box set my dads are going to give me.”

Quinn looks up from the stack of papers Rachel had

given her to look over. “How do you know what they
got you?”

“Oh, I bought it with Daddy’s credit card and had the

store wrap it. It’s more fun that way.”

“So, wait, you planned this all by yourself and bought

your own presents?”

Rachel nods absently. “Do you think that you could

convince Brittany and Santana to join us for dinner on
Friday? Tell Santana we can go to Breadstix if she’d
be willing to grace us with her presence.”

“It’s your birthday, Rach. We’ll go wherever you want

and Santana will deal with it. But, seriously, how long
have you been doing this by yourself? It seems kind
of…sad,” Quinn says softly.

“My fathers are very busy men, Quinn. I’ve been in

charge of my birthday festivities since the age of
three. It’s actually quite convenient.”

Quinn frowns. Even her parents, despite all of their

shortcomings, have always managed to take care of
cake and presents on her birthday. The thought of her
girlfriend having to take care of it herself, even if she
does it of her own accord, makes Quinn’s heart ache
a little bit.

“Well, I’m sure you put a lot of work into these plans,
but I’ll be taking care of things this year.”

The words leave her mouth before she realizes what

she’s just offered. Quinn really had planned to take
her out to a nice dinner and a movie, like any good
girlfriend would, but the idea of a week-long
celebration is more than a little daunting. Especially
when it’s a week-long celebration that has to meet the
standard of Rachel Berry. She’s never been great at
planning things like this, and she’s pretty sure there’s
a high chance of this ending horribly.

However, she’s also pretty sure that the smile

spreading across her girlfriend’s face is reason
enough to give it her best shot.

–––––
Monday

December thirteenth comes sooner than Quinn finds

necessary. She has spent two weeks planning what is
supposed to be the best birthday celebration Rachel
has ever had, and she still has a nagging feeling that
things are going to go terribly awry by the time
Rachel’s actual birthday rolls around.

They part ways after school, even though they usually

spend the afternoons together. Rachel feels that it’s
not a real date unless she’s picked up at the front
door, so Quinn has resigned herself to afternoons
alone for the next week. It will all be worth it, of
course, when Rachel has the best birthday week of
her entire life.

She’s at Rachel’s house at six o’clock on the dot, with

a thermos of hot chocolate in one hand and a bouquet
of roses in the other.

Rachel opens the door two seconds after the doorbell

rings, smiling brightly. “Are those for me?!” she asks,
eyeing the flowers adoringly.

“No, actually, is your dad home?”

Rachel rolls her eyes and takes the roses, and then
practically skips to the kitchen to find a vase. Quinn
suspects that she was expecting flowers, because it
takes her a surprisingly short amount of time to return
to the front door with her coat on, ready to go.

“You’re going to get cold,” Quinn says, giving Rachel

a once-over. “I’m not complaining about the view, but
your legs are going to be freezing, baby.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Rachel asks. She’s

been trying to figure out all of Quinn’s plans for weeks
now, despite Quinn remaining firm and refusing to
give hints.

“I’m not telling,” she replies. “But I will say that you are
really, really going to be cold if you don’t change into
pants.”

“You really won’t tell me where we’re going?” Rachel

pouts. “Then I guess I’ll take my chances.”

–––––

“So, wait, you knowingly let your girlfriend go ice

skating in a skirt?” Rachel asks in disbelief, as they
walk toward the skate rental kiosk. “Your girlfriend,
who has actually never been ice skating before? I feel
like this is an elaborate ploy to see my panties.”

Quinn ignores the stares that they get from

unsuspecting passers-by and laughs. “I hadn’t
thought of it that way, but now that you mention it…”
Rachel playfully shoves the blonde, and then looks
toward the rink. “It’s not hard, is it?”

“Not at all,” Quinn says, picking up their skates. “Look

at all the little kids out there. You’ll be fine.”

Rachel silently chews on her bottom lip as they walk

toward the rink, lace up their skates, and make their
way toward the ice.

“I won’t let you fall, baby,” Quinn says, taking Rachel’s

hands in hers and stepping onto the ice. They start
slowly, barely moving at all, until Rachel starts to
relax. They gain speed and make a few laps at a fairly
steady pace, with Quinn basically just pulling Rachel
along.

“This isn’t so bad,” Rachel says with a smile, as she

begins to mimic Quinn’s moves. “You can let go, I
think.”

“You sure?” Quinn says, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t

mind holding on.”

“I think I can handle it, Quinn,” she replies, eyeing the

children skating around them with ease. “I’ve got this.”

Quinn drops Rachel’s hands and watches closely as

she starts moving on her own.

“Good, Rachel!” she says, as the brunette picks up

speed and starts gliding with ease around the rink.
Quinn skates nearby, careful not to crowd her but
wanting still to be close in case Rachel loses her
balance.

“You’ve totally got this,” Quinn exclaims with a smile.

Rachel looks to her and grins. “I totally do,” she says.

“This really isn’t hard at…”

The next few seconds go in slow motion for Quinn,

who can only watch in horror as a child flies past
Rachel and knocks her off balance. Her skates go
flying out from under her in a manner that would be
comical if it wasn’t her girlfriend flailing around with a
look of sheer terror on her face.

She falls with a thud, her head bouncing hard on the

ice. Quinn is already on her knees beside her, making
sure she’s still breathing and conscious.

“Rachel, baby,” she says frantically, lightly touching

her shoulder because she can’t think of anything else
to do. “Are you okay? What’s the date? Who is our
current president? How many fingers am I holding
up?” she asks, waving her entire hand in front of
Rachel’s face.

Rachel blinks a few times, then scrunches her face in

pain. “Ow,” she whimpers.
“I know it hurts, Rach, I know. You’re freaking me out,
though. What’s my name?

“Quinn,” Rachel says slowly.

“Yes! Good. Okay, what’s your address?”

“Quinn!” Rachel repeats forcefully. “Help me up

before my legs turn black and fall off,” she grumbles.

“Oh,” Quinn says softly. “Sorry.”

Quinn drives Rachel home shortly thereafter, and

sticks around to make sure that she doesn’t show
signs of a concussion (which she had to Google on
her phone on the way home); a few hours later, she
has a raging headache, a sore back, a lump on her
head that deserves its own zip code, and an
understandably bad attitude, but is otherwise no
worse for wear.

When Quinn’s curfew approaches, she helps Rachel

into bed and tucks her in. “Sorry about your head,”
she whispers. “Nice panties, though.”

“Funny. You’re funny,” Rachel says with a frown that

suggests otherwise.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Quinn says with a laugh. “I really

am. Next time we go ice skating, I’ll rent the whole
rink and we won’t have to worry about any demonic
five-year-olds.”

Rachel smiles a little at this, even though she clearly

would rather be scowling.

Quinn’s cell phone buzzes, and she steals a quick

peek at the screen before sighing. “That’s my mom. I
really need to get home. I’ll pick you up tomorrow
morning, okay?”

Rachel nods and smiles genuinely this time. “Love

you,” she says softly.

“Love you, too,” Quinn replies, kissing Rachel on the

lips and then backing out of the room. As she shows
herself to the door, she finds herself hoping against all
hope that tonight wasn’t an indication of things to
come.

–––––

Tuesday

On Tuesday, she feels a little more relaxed. With

Santana’s help, there were no Slushie facials, with
Puck’s help, Jacob was terrified to come anywhere
near her girlfriend, and with Kurt and Mercedes’ help,
the club put together a surprise number musical
number in Rachel’s honor. She couldn’t have asked
for a more perfect start to the day.
Why she expected it to stay that way, she’ll never
know.

Quinn is driving Rachel home from school, and as per

usual, Rachel has taken over the music. It’s been so
long since Quinn had any say over what she listened
to that she’s not actually sure if she can name a
single song in the top forty at this point.

Just as they’re pulling into Rachel’s driveway, she

claps excitedly and turns the volume dial up; this is
her signal that she wants Quinn to listen to this song
and feign intense interest.

About a minute in, she notices that Rachel won’t stop

staring at her. At first it was strange but cute, but now
Rachel looks a little angry and it’s kind of frightening.
She tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a
grimace, which seems to only upset Rachel more.

“What do you think of this song, Quinn?” she asks

icily.

Quinn furrows her brow. “I…it’s…I love it?”

Rachel nods thoughtfully, pursing her lips together.

“Why do you love it, Quinn?”

“Because…it’s from my favorite musical,” she says

with an enthusiastic nod. “I love Evita.”
The look of fury in Rachel’s eyes is enough to cause
the blonde to actually cower a bit in her seat. That
was not the right answer.

“This song is from West Side Story,” she says quietly,

before grabbing her backpack and yanking the door
open. “West Side Story!”

Quinn watches in absolute shock as Rachel runs up

the front steps and into the house, slamming the front
door behind her. When she fully processes what just
happened, she immediately runs after her; she’s
immensely glad that Rachel was too distraught to
think to lock the front door.

She dutifully makes her way up the stairs, towards the

bedroom where she can hear Rachel weeping behind
a closed door.

“Baby,” she says, knocking on the door. “Rachel,

come out, okay? Let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk!” Rachel wails.

“What happened? I don’t…I’m sorry, Rach, but I just

don’t know why you’re this upset.”

“Really?!” Rachel demands. “Really? West Side

Story, Quinn.”

Quinn blinks. “Uh-huh?”

“Need I remind you of our very first date?” Rachel
says. “We watched West Side Story and America was
on when you kissed me for the first time.”

“Oh.”

Rachel scoffs loud enough for Quinn to hear it loud

and clear. “Yes, oh.”

Without thinking, Quinn lets a small laugh bubble up.

“That’s like thirty minutes into the movie. We really
didn’t waste any time, huh?”

Rachel cries harder.

Quinn simply sighs and runs her hands through her

hair. She really sucks at Birthday Week.

–––––

Wednesday

After giving Quinn the silent treatment for most of the

day, Rachel finally sits next to her in Glee on
Wednesday and announces that she is willing to grant
her temporary, conditional forgiveness; she has until
ten o’clock tonight to prove that she is truly sorry for
the events of the previous evening. Quinn is pretty
sure Rachel just doesn’t want to miss out on another
night of festivities, but she wouldn’t dare call her on it
at this point. Instead, she simply smiles, thanks
Rachel for her benevolence, and hopes to God that
her plans for this evening are enough to get her back
in Rachel’s good graces.

They once again go to their respective houses after

school, and Quinn once again picks Rachel up at six
o’clock. Quinn had previously told Rachel that the
attire for this evening would be formal, and as she
expected, the sight of her girlfriend walking down the
stairs leaves her breathless.

“You look amazing,” Quinn says, taking Rachel’s right

hand and kissing it demurely. “Absolutely amazing.”

Rachel blushes and ducks her head slightly, biting her

lip. “Thank you,” she says softly. “As do you, Quinn.”

Quinn smiles, taking Rachel’s arm and turning to the

front door. “Shall we, my lady?”

Rachel blushes again, and Quinn grins. She is totally

out of the doghouse.

–––––

Quinn takes Rachel to a trendy and horrendously

expensive vegan restaurant a few towns over, and
Rachel’s excitement is enough to make Quinn forget
how much she wants some real food; there will be
time for a McDonald’s run after she drops Rachel off,
so she’s not about to let on to the fact that she finds
all this rabbit food fairly disgusting. She forces it down
for Rachel’s sake, and hopes that this is proof enough
that she is really, terribly sorry for every single thing
she has ever done wrong in her entire life.

The evening goes extremely well, with Rachel

seeming to have forgotten that she was ever mad at
Quinn for anything by the time they leave the
restaurant and start heading toward Lima. It’s about a
forty-five minute drive, and they spend the first thirty
happily chatting and being kind of ridiculously
adorable; Santana would throw herself off a bridge if
she witnessed the adoring glances that the two keep
shooting each other.

There comes a point, however, when Rachel

suddenly grows very quiet. Quinn is terrified that she
has once again unwittingly earned the silent
treatment, and she’s honestly a little afraid to address
Rachel at all. She steals a quick glance in Rachel’s
direction and then takes a deep breath. “What’s
wrong, baby? Was it the dessert I ordered? You didn’t
seem into it, but I really thought…”

“Ugh, don’t talk about dessert,” Rachel moans,

squeezing her eyes shut. “Take me home. Go as fast
as you can.”

Quinn frowns. “What did I do, Rach? I really have no

idea what…”
Rachel shakes her head furiously. “No, Quinn, just…
just pull over. Quickly.”

“You are not walking home, Rachel. And really, this is

about tiramisu? This is absolutely…”

Quinn stops short when, to her great surprise and

horror, Rachel’s hands fly to her mouth and she starts
heaving. “Pull…over,” Rachel manages, doubling over
in her seat.

Quinn does as she’s told this time and quickly pulls to

the side of the road. Before the car is even fully
stopped, Rachel flings her door open and leans out
the side. Quinn rubs her back gently as she empties
the contents of her stomach.

Eventually, she slumps back against the seat, her

face sweaty and colorless, and turns her head to
Quinn. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the cashew
curry tasted a little off.”

Quinn leans her head against the steering wheel. She

is so, so not out of the doghouse.

–––––

Thursday

On Thursday, Rachel’s fathers keep her home from

school. It seems quite likely that it was just food
poisoning, but according to the text message update
Quinn received that morning, Rachel had spent most
of the night heaving and was in no shape to get up
and around by the start of school.

They exchange text messages and quick calls all day,

and by the end of the school day, Rachel says that
she is feeling good as new. Quinn suspects that she’s
just trying to convince her dads that she can come to
Glee, so she gives Santana and Brittany the movie
tickets she had purchased and calls Rachel to tell her
that they’re just going to have a quiet night in.

“Can we scrapbook?” Rachel asks, after hesitantly

agreeing that she would feel better just taking it easy
for the night.

“If that’s what you want to do,” Quinn replies with a

laugh. “I’ll bring some movies, too, so maybe we can
act like normal teenagers at some point in the
evening.”

“Ha ha ha,” Rachel says flatly. “Scrapbooking is a

hobby for all ages, Quinn.”

“Did you hear that from someone in your knitting

circle?” Quinn teases, holding the phone to her ear
between her shoulder as she unlocks her front door.

“You are so mean to me!” Rachel cries, adding a

‘hmmph’ for good measure.

“You know I do it with love, baby,” Quinn says with a

smirk. “Listen, I just got home and I’m going to hop in
the shower real quick. I’ll be by your place around
five, okay?”

“Sounds good. I’ll have the scrapbooking paper out!

Love you!” she says happily.

“Love you, too,” Quinn says, before flipping her phone

shut and tossing it on the dining room table, next to
her backpack. She tries to ignore the unsettled feeling
in her stomach as she makes her way upstairs and
into the bathroom. The feeling grows during her
shower, and by the time she’s done, she feels tired
and a little achy, too. She has thirty minutes before
she has to be at Rachel’s house, so she lets herself
sink into her bed, for just a few minutes.

When she opens her eyes, it’s dark outside and she
feels like she’s been hit by a truck. “Oh, no,” she
moans, looking to the clock beside her bed and
hoping to God that somehow it’s wrong; there’s no
way she’s been asleep for three hours.

When she gets downstairs and finds six missed calls

and five new text messages, she wants to give up on
life. How is this possible? And why does she feel like
she’s about to puke?
She dials Rachel’s number as fast as she can and
doesn’t wait for her to finish the word ‘hello’ before
she starts in on her apology. “Oh God, Rachel, I’m so
sorry. I fell asleep somehow, I don’t even know how,
and it’s seven-thirty and it’s…oh God, it’s so cold in
my house and I think I might…I think I’m going to…
oh, shit, I’ve got to go,” she says, not even bothering
to end the call before she runs down the hallway,
toward the bathroom.

The next thing she’s truly aware of is Rachel hovering

over her, placing a cool, wet towel on her forehead
and cooing over her like she’s a baby or something.
She tries to sit up, but Rachel gently pushes her
down.

“Looks like even the unconquerable Quinn Fabray

isn’t immune to food poisoning,” Rachel says with a
small smile.

Quinn groans, letting her head hit the pillow. This

cannot be happening. “What time is it?” she mumbles.

“Almost nine. You’ve been asleep off and on for the

past hour or so, since a little after I got here.”

“I’m so sorry,” Quinn says. “This is stupid. You

shouldn’t have to hold a cold towel to my head right
now. Totally stupid. Really, really, really…stupid.”

Rachel laughs at Quinn’s fever-induced vocabulary

deficiency and runs a hand over her hair. “You did the
same thing for me, though. I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Quinn grumbles.

“You don’t want me here?” Rachel asks, her

eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

“No,” Quinn sighs. “I mean, yes. I mean, I’m glad

you’re here because I think my mom would just let me
die and also because you’re my girlfriend and I
always want you here, but I don’t want to be sick
during birthday week. It’s not fair to you.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about being sick,”

Rachel says. “So just relax and let me nurse you back
to health.”

Something about this sentence is hilarious to Quinn in

her delirious state, and she breaks out into
uncontrollable laughter. “You do that, babe,” she says
between giggles. “You do that.”

She falls asleep twenty-two seconds later, and

dreams of Rachel giving her a sponge bath in a sexy
nurse costume. She still feels absolutely horrible for
ruining yet another night of birthday week, but she
can’t deny that it wasn’t the worst night’s sleep she’s
ever had.

–––––
Friday

Friday confirms that Quinn likely had food poisoning

as well, as she feels infinitely better when she wakes
up that morning. She’s not going to let another day of
Birthday Week go to waste, so she picks Rachel up at
seven o’clock, after instructing her to wear warm
clothes (and then clarifying that this means she
actually has to wear pants this time) and to eat
beforehand, because she probably won’t like much of
what their destination has to offer.

Initially, Rachel is unbearably excited and can’t stop

begging for hints and bouncing up and down in the
seat every few minutes. However, as they head out of
town, she seems to deflate a bit, and this continues
with every turn Quinn takes. When they pull into the
open field doubling as a parking lot and their plans for
the evening become clear, Rachel has sunk down low
into her seat and takes in a deep breath, slowly letting
it out a few seconds later.

“Rach? Are you okay?”

Rachel turns to Quinn and nods quickly. “Oh, uh, yes.

I’m fine. I just…it’s been forever since I’ve gone to the
winter festival. I’m just…really excited.”

She flashes a perfect Rachel Berry grin, and Quinn

accepts it. “Excellent. Let’s go!”
They exit the car and walk hand-in-hand toward the
entrance, though Quinn almost feels like she’s
dragging her most of the way.

Once they’re in the fairgrounds, however, she finds

that Rachel is all too eager to keep up the pace. She
holds Quinn’s arm tightly, and refuses to be away
from her for even a second. When Quinn gets in line
for hot chocolate and suggests that Rachel find them
a table, the color drains from her face.

“Oh, but you can’t carry the cups by yourself! I’ll stay
with you,” she says with a firm nod.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “I’ve got two hands, Rach. I

think I’ll manage. If you hurry, you might be able to
find a spot close to the bonfire.”

Rachel eyes the seating area warily, but quickly puts

on a smile when she turns back to Quinn. “Okay.
Just…be quick,” she says, giving Quinn’s hand a tight
squeeze before slowly making her way across the
field.

Quinn waves every time Rachel looks over her

shoulder, until she can no longer see the small girl
among the throngs of people. The line for drinks is
long, and when she finally has the cups in her hands,
she begins hurrying through the crowd. She could tell
that Rachel didn’t want to be away from her, and she
wasn’t sure why her normally confident and
independent girlfriend was being so clingy, but she
isn’t going to question it during Birthday Week.

She scans the seating area once, twice, and then a

third time before her pulse quickens a bit; she can’t
find her. She scours the area frantically, barely
apologizing when she pushes her way through the
crowd. There are just so many people and Rachel is
so tiny, and she made them split up even though
Rachel didn’t want to, and now she has lost Rachel.
She has lost her girlfriend.

Quinn turns around and begins making her way in the

other direction, thinking that maybe Rachel had gone
to find her. She walks for roughly half a minute before
she comes upon a mass of people congregating in
the middle of a walkway. Quinn finds this completely
unacceptable and quickly bypasses the group, but on
her way past, she sees a flash of brown hair and
hears a pained voice that she would recognize
anywhere.

“That’s my girlfriend,” she growls, shoving through the

barricade of people to find Rachel doubled over,
alternating between sobbing and gasping for breath.
An older woman is trying to calm her down, and
Quinn quickly takes her place. It takes Rachel a
moment to realize that she’s in Quinn’s arms, but
when she does, she grips the blonde tighter than
Quinn thought possible.
“Rachel, baby,” she says softly. “What’s wrong?
What’s going on?”

When Rachel tries to speak but continues weeping

instead, Quinn pulls away from the embrace and
gently leads Rachel through the swarm of people,
until they find a spot away from the crowds and noise.
Quinn lowers herself to the grass behind a tree and
pats the ground next to her. Rachel ignores her
suggestion and instead climbs into her lap, resting her
head on the blonde’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Quinn says quietly. “What happened?”

Rachel takes a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t…I

couldn’t f-f-find you,” she wails.

Quinn frowns. “I told you I would come find you,” she

says gently. “Did you think I left you or something?”

Rachel’s eyes go wide at this, and a fresh batch of

tears start spilling over. “I hate fairs,” she says with a
sob. “I’m sorry, Quinn, but I hate them so, so much.”

“What? Why? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“When I was five,” Rachel says before pausing to take

a deep breath. “my dads brought me here for my
birthday. They had taken two separate cars because
Daddy had to work late. When they left, they both
thought the other one had me, and…”

Quinn tries to suppress her surprise, but doesn’t do a

good job of it. “They left you?”

Rachel nods. “They left me. They didn’t realize until

they both came home, obviously, so I had to wait in
the ticket booth with a carnival person for almost an
hour. I thought my incredible talent had worked
against me and that they had sold me to the circus.”

Quinn resists the urge to smile at this, because really,

only baby Rachel would come up with that, and
instead pulls the girl closer. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

“It was the scariest thing I have ever experienced, and

years of therapy haven’t cured my intense fear of
carnivals,” she says with a sniffle.

“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you realized where

we were going? If I had known…”

“I know this week hasn’t exactly gone as planned, and

I just…I could tell how excited you were about this,
and I wanted you to think that I was having fun. I’m
sorry,” Rachel replies. “I’m sorry. I should have told
you.”

“Yes, you should have,” Quinn says quietly, wiping a

tear from Rachel’s cheek. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
The drive home is extremely quiet, with Rachel still
recovering from the evening’s trauma and Quinn
feeling so guilty that she can barely breathe. When
they pull into Rachel’s driveway, they sit in silence for
several moments.

“Your dads said that I could stay over, so that we

could get started early tomorrow. I understand if you
just want to call it a night, though,” Quinn says quietly,
staring at her hands.

Rachel scoffs. “Don’t be silly, Quinn! Of course I want

you to stay the night!”

“Even though I accidentally made you feel like a

contestant on Fear Factor on the night before your
birthday?” Quinn says with a heaving sigh.

“’Accidentally’ is the key word there, I believe,” Rachel

says with a slight smile. “Any anyway, you can spend
the rest of the evening making it up to me.”

Quinn laughs and reaches in the backseat for her

overnight bag. God, she loves this woman.

–––––

Saturday

December eighteenth arrives, and not a moment too

soon. Quinn is truly ready to get this week over with.
One more day is just one more chance for one more
thing to go wrong, and if one more thing goes wrong,
she’s going to have a nervous breakdown.

Today is going to be perfect. It has to be perfect.

She wakes up on the Berrys’ couch a little before

seven, and carefully extracts herself from Rachel’s
surprisingly heavy slumbering form. Rachel scowls in
her sleep at the sudden lack of contact, but her face
relaxes when Quinn shoves a pillow in her arms. She
smiles fondly as she smoothes out Rachel’s hair and
pulls the blanket up to the brunette’s shoulders, then
slowly backs out of the room.

The plan is to have breakfast ready when Rachel

wakes up, lounge around the house for a bit, and then
be on the road to Columbus after a light lunch. The
fact that Quinn had managed to find tickets to sing-
along Sound of Music on such short notice was
miracle enough, but the fact that she had kept it from
her super-sleuth of a girlfriend was absolutely
incredible; if all goes according to plan, this is going to
be greatest best birthday surprise she’s ever pulled
off.

If all goes according to plan.

She enters the kitchen and finds Rachel’s fathers

sitting on barstools at the island, sipping coffee and
chatting quietly. She knows that something is wrong
the second they look at her. They both offer
sympathetic smiles and then Leroy’s eyes flicker
toward the small television on the counter.

Her gaze settles on the images flashing across the

screen: cars skidding down ice-packed streets, snow
drifts that nearly reach the roofs of nearby homes,
and trees split in half from the weight of the elements.
The news anchor announces that this is the worst
snowstorm Allen County has seen in almost twenty
years, and her stomach drops.

“No,” she whispers. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

“Sorry, honey,” Hiram says softly. “They’re advising

everyone to stay off the roads unless it’s an
emergency.”

Quinn runs to the window, as if there’s some chance

that this is just a huge mistake. When she can’t even
make out where the yard ends and the street begins,
she wants to cry.

Instead, she walks out of the kitchen and down the

hall, toward the entryway. She doesn’t even bother
with shoes before she flings the door open and
marches outside. The white is blinding and her whole
body is immediately so cold that it burns, and she
doesn’t care.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she chants, kicking at the drifts of
fluffy, white disaster. Snow wasn’t even in the
forecast. There is no way that this is real life. Today
was supposed to be perfect.

She continues abusing the snow for what feels like

ages (probably because the temperature is in the
single digits and she’s not wearing shoes), until it
becomes clear that she has attracted an audience.

Rachel is standing in the doorway, her face fixed in a

sleepy, confused frown.

Quinn pauses and takes a deep breath. “Happy

birthday, baby.”

“Are your feet cold?” she asks.

Quinn freezes, and then looks down at her bare,

bright red feet. “Not really,” she says. They’re actually
kind of numb.

“Get in here,” Rachel demands. “Right now.”

Quinn’s shoulders slump, and she slowly makes her

way inside. She goes in for a good morning/happy
birthday/sorry-you-had-to-see-that hug, but Rachel
backs up and points toward the stairs.

“Get changed into warm clothes before you freeze to

death.”
Rachel walks away grumbling about hypothermia
putting a real damper on her birthday celebration,
leaving Quinn standing in the entryway, shivering cold
and convinced that the universe hates her.

–––––

When she comes back downstairs (in sweatpants and

a hoodie, since they are obviously not going
anywhere), she finds Rachel in the kitchen, drinking
her morning smoothie and happily conversing with her
fathers. She looks to Quinn and smiles, before
gesturing to the steaming mug on the counter next to
her. Quinn accepts it gladly, taking a sip and screwing
her eyes shut, trying to regroup.

“Feeling better?” Rachel asks with a kind smile, when

she opens her eyes.

Quinn almost nods, but then she remembers: this

week, she’s given her girlfriend a concussion, a near-
panic attack, food poisoning, insulted her, and
although she doesn’t quite remember the events of
Thursday night, she thinks she might have puked on
her. And now the one thing that was supposed to
make her happy is ruined. She puts her coffee down
and buries her the sleeve of her sweatshirt, trying
desperately to hide the fact that her face has
crumpled miserably and she is seconds away from
tears. This was not part of her plan. At all.
Rachel gathers Quinn in her arms and places a kiss
to her cheek. “What’s wrong, Quinn?”

“We can’t go to Columbus,” she announces sullenly.

“What were we going to do in Columbus?” Rachel

probes, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Sing-along Sound of Music,” Quinn replies sadly.

When Rachel pulls back and grins wildly, Quinn
frowns. “Don’t smile! It’s not happening!” she snaps.

“But that was plan? You were going to take me to

Columbus to sing-along Sound of Music?”

Quinn nods, and in turn, Rachel squeals. “That’s

amazing,” she says. “I can’t believe you thought of
that! It’s perfect! Not that it surprises me that you
came up with a perfect gift, but, I just…it’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully it’s the thought that counts,

because it’s not happening.” Quinn hates that she’s in
such a bad mood on Rachel’s birthday, but this is
ridiculous and she can’t even begin to put on a happy
face. Not even for her adorable girlfriend, who is
currently bouncing up and down at the mere thought
of a gift that she’s not even getting anymore.

“It is, Quinn,” Rachel says brightly. “And now that I

know that you’d be willing to accompany me to things
of that nature, I can buy season tickets for Broadway
in Columbus! Stomp is coming in January!”

Rachel looks to her fathers with a wide grin and her

fingers weaved together in a pleading gesture.

“My wallet is in our armoire,” Hiram says with a good-

natured roll of his eyes.

“Thank you!” Rachel says, nearly breathless with

excitement, before taking off toward the stairs. “This is
the best birthday ever!”

She once again leaves Quinn standing alone, still

convinced that the universe hates her, but considering
now that Rachel’s blind adoration might make up for
it.
–––––

Many hours later, after a day of snowball fights,

cuddling by the fireplace, multiple board games, more
cuddling, an impromptu sing off between Rachel and
Leroy, and even more cuddling, they are curled up on
the couch, with Sound of Music playing on the
television across the room. They’re only forty-five
minutes into the movie, and Rachel is already fading
fast; this is unsurprising, as it’s almost ten o’clock and
Quinn has never seen Rachel fully conscious past
nine. Still, she insisted that they have their own sing-
along tonight, and she was just so adorably excited
that Quinn could do nothing but acquiesce.
When Rachel starts lightly snoring shortly after Maria
starts singing about her favorite things, Quinn begins
to pull away from the brunette so that she can turn the
film off and get her girl to bed.

“Stay with me,” Rachel mumbles, pulling Quinn closer

again and nuzzling against her neck. “You are a few
of my favorite things.”

“Just a few, huh?” Quinn says with a smirk.

“Truthfully, after this week, I think I’m lucky to be
counted among your favorite things at all.”

“You are all of my favorite things, Quinn Fabray,”

Rachel says quietly, opening her eyes and staring
directly into Quinn’s. “Don’t even let yourself think
differently. This week has been perfect because I’ve
spent it with you.” Her eyes are already closed again
by the time she finishes the sentence.

Quinn feels heat spread across her face, and she

can’t help but bite her lip bashfully; leave it to Rachel
to woo her while half-asleep. “Let’s go upstairs,
birthday girl,” she whispers. “You’re exhausted.”

Rachel’s eyes snap open again. “They haven’t done

The Lonely Goatherd yet! That’s my favorite part. One
of my vocal instructors once told me that my yodeling
skills are comparable, if not superior, to Julie
Andrews’,” she says, hunkering down in the cushions.
Quinn doesn’t press the matter further, because now
she’s pretty sure she wants to hear her girlfriend out-
yodel Julie Andrews before the night is over.

“You can fast-forward to that part if you want, though,”

Rachel murmurs, resting her head on Quinn’s
shoulder and suppressing a yawn. “If you’re tired.”

“I’m good,” Quinn says. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“Mmkay,” Rachel says with a nod. “Oh, hey, Quinn?”

“Yes?”

“This has been fun, but think I should resume my

position as executive activities planner during
Birthday Week next year.”

Quinn laughs. “Me too, babe. Me too.”

Rachel’s response doesn’t resemble a single word

found in the English dictionary, and within the minute,
she is fast asleep. Quinn pauses the movie and turns
the TV off a few minutes later, and snuggles closer to
the smaller girl. They can yodel tomorrow.

That night, Quinn has nightmares involving the

multiple different ways she might accidentally destroy
the television and/or the collector’s edition Sound of
Music DVD before they get to watch Rachel’s favorite
part. She jerks awake around three in the morning,
after a particularly stressful dream where she
somehow manages to launch the disc across the
room and right into Rachel, who keels over on the
spot.

After making sure that Rachel hasn’t been killed by an

airborne DVD, she takes a deep breath and sinks
back into the couch cushion. She really, truly loves
her girlfriend and thanks God for her existence every
single day, but birthday week? Can suck it.

---------------------------------

There used to be a time when Quinn felt certainty.

The world and its functions made sense, a system of
patterns and rules, the consequences and rewards.
She had believed in this reality of processes and
protocols, and thrived in it.

She had seen this structure in every facet of her life.

In her home, in her school, among her peers and
within her religion, everything functioned according to
the same set of restrictions.

As she grew up she quickly learned that this system

was built on lies. The foundation was an illusion and
at the top of the hierarchy were those who knew how
to keep up appearances the best. They were the
leaders and managers, the popular and powerful.
They were the ones who got to manipulate the illusion
and put it to their use. These people were also the
cruel, vicious bastards who could – in one fell swoop
– destroy anyone and everything.

At the age of five, after witnessing a group of girls

beat the emotional crap out of one awkward little boy,
she decided she wanted to be one of those bastards.
Never would she allow anyone to treat her like that
and the only way to guarantee protection was to take
absolute control of the system. She turned cold and
callous.

At the height of her power, her parents were eating

out of her hand, along with an entire high school and
there was nothing she could not have. Father had
laughed, told her she had a guardian angel blessing
her every endeavour. And she felt it was true. There
was even hope for her to leave Lima, to spread her
influence and rise up the ranks. She had been looking
forward to a challenge, a change of pace and to taste
the new flavour of affluence.

Manipulation and control were two things she had

been very good at. Everything was planned out, she
would excel in school, gain notice for her
cheerleading, grab a scholarship and go to university.
In her own way, she loved Finn, but she was prepared
to discard him if he couldn’t follow her. Part of being in
control was knowing when to be flexible. To adapt to
change. She had watched many people fall simply
because they failed to keep up with the ever moving
current of life. It was normal; it was a constant test of
faith.

As she leaned over the railing of the bridge to gaze

upon the moonlit river surrounded by snow covered
trees, she again reflected on the events of her life that
had led to her failure. What had tipped the halo off her
head. Over and over again she wished she had never
gone to Puck’s. She wished she hadn’t had anything
to drink. She wished her uterus was a barren
wasteland. Her mind went over the possibilities,
obsessively dancing around the things that could
have been.

Why couldn’t Puck have put on a condom? The

sleazy shithead knew all about sex, had done it a
hundred times, but no condom. Why couldn’t she
have had a miscarriage like most normal women did?
Why did she have to be fertile? Why didn't she have
the courage or frame of mind to abort? Why did she
have to care about the damn thing? Why didn't she
just work out to stop feeling fat?

After years of self discipline she had a moment of epic

stupidity and everything was taken from her.

Quinn pressed herself more firmly against the railing,

resting her chin in her crossed arms. The weather
was colder than usual and she was not dressed
appropriately for it, but her health was the least of her
concerns. After giving up the baby for adoption she
didn't have anything to guilt-trip her into caring. If
anything, she welcomed the cruel icy bite of the wind,
a taste of the kind of person she had become.

Quinn wondered if there was a possible way to

destroy the system. To completely uproot it. Only a
couple of months ago the idea would have horrified
her. It had been good to her. Everything had been
going smoothly. Then she screwed up and screwed
Puck.

She drummed her fingers on the railing, watching the

current and the white puffs of air that left her nose.
Always watching, she had always paid attention to the
current, trying keep her head above the water. Trying
not to drown. Now that she stood there, stripped of all
her privilege and bare, she contemplated just letting
herself sink.

It would be agony, brutal torture... but only for a brief

moment. Then blissful silence, no more reminiscing
and she could stop mourning over the death of her
future. Her musings were just that, flights of fancy not
meant to be taken seriously.

Yet.

She still had to decide what scared her more: living

this life or hellfire. Lately she was coming to terms
with the fact that she was basically guaranteed a
place in hell regardless of what she did from that point
on. She had fucked Puck, she didn't keep her baby,
and she had no family and no friends. Now Santana
had the run of the school, cock-strutting through the
halls and barking orders at her. At Quinn-fucking-
Fabray. And she was too absorbed in her self-loathing
to care. Had allowed it happen because it was
punishment for her sins. She had done.... something
with Brittany and Santana that she never wanted to
think about again.

Her gut clenched sickeningly and she had to shake

her head to clear her mind of unbidden thoughts. It
helped. She went back to reliving the past.

Puck. She had sex with Puck. All because she had
felt fat. Now she had a few faint stretch lines on the
small paunch of fat she hadn’t even tried to get rid of
even though she had almost a year to get rid of it. It
was almost ironic. With her taut cheerleader’s body
she had felt disgusting. How did she solve the issue?
Why, she got pregnant of course! What the hell had
she been thinking? What on earth made her feel so
fugly she went, of all places, to Puck’s for fun?

Man hands.

A bark of laughter escaped her throat, so pained and

vile it disturbed her.

It was true. Rachel Berry, a constant source of

aggravation in her life, had made her feel fat. It had
taken her months of digging deep within her brain,
agonizing over the little details that had led to her
punishment, until she had found it.

She had been trying, for the millionth time, to put

Berry in her place. And that nauseating brunette just
bounced right back up. Again. It was always the same
dance. No matter what Quinn did the brunette just
seemed to grow a little stronger each time. It was
unfathomable, how one small peppy girl could take so
much abuse and just grow. She disobeyed all the
rules. Berry was social leprosy, everyone attacked her
from all sides and the woman smiled brighter for it.

Quinn had tried to call the agitating Chihuahua fat.

Couldn't even remember what she had said and
couldn't remember what Berry’s response had been.
Someone had slushied the diva and that should have
been it. But it hadn’t been. She felt like crap. Then
she went to Puck.

Though she didn't blame Berry for it, not really, after
all the girl never actually thought before she spoke.
She did most of her damage to Quinn without even
knowing it. Though Quinn got a taste of just how
deeply the girl could stab someone in the back when
she ratted the pregnant girl out. At first she had been
relieved to have the secret out. No more burden... but
then what was left of her shamble of a life imploded.

“Quinn.”
Quinn’s mind felt a little fuzzy. It occurred to her she
had been standing out in the cold night for perhaps
longer than she should have.

“Quinn?”

She frowned at the river, almost accusingly, because

for a second there she could have sworn that Smurf
had called her name. It had to be all the introspection,
she had lost her mind. Had she jumped into the river
without realising it?

A hand landed on her shoulder and she almost

jumped out of her skin in an effort to jerk away from
her assailant. Her whole body flushed with heat. To
her astonishment the brunette was standing right
there wearing a god-awful puffy neon pink winter
jacket and Santa hat. Dark eyes watched with
concern.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Quinn asked in a

daze, her mind trying to wrap around the fact that this
girl had just happened to show up when she was
thinking about her. Like some telepathic demon come
to terrorize Quinn on call.

“You know Quinn I could ask the same of you. At

least I am wearing temperature appropriate attire so
that my presence here is less out of place than yours.
With the northern cold front we are experiencing
harsher winter conditions and you are greatly risking
the possibility of disrupting the homeostasis of your
core temperature by standing here in that thin jean
jacket. You could catch hypothermia.”

Quinn relaxed as Rachel went on as she typically did,

at length, about things she didn't care to hear about.

“Go away Berry.”

“Where do you live.”

It wasn’t so much a question and it made Quinn

pause. Under the street light she could make out
Rachel’s face. There was a determined look about her
and it automatically made Quinn wary.

“I told you, at my cousin’s.” Actually she hadn’t told

Rachel directly, but word got around fast.

“You aren’t living at your cousin’s.”

Quinn felt her stomach sink. She couldn't believe it.

Rachel couldn't have... but then... this was Rachel.

“What are you talking about? I’m living at my cousin’s.

Did you finally pop a vessel in your brain after all that
singing?” She tried to pretend she was exasperated
and not panicking.

“You’re thinner than you used to be.”

“Giving birth will do that to some women.” But she
knew Rachel wouldn’t drop it and all she had done by
responding was make it imperative for the other girl to
go on a list of all the symptoms she had observed.

“Your skin colour is off, you wear the same clothes to

school over and over and you don’t even wear the
same number of clothes you used to. I counted five
shirts, two jeans and only one pair of shoes. You don’t
have lunch anymore. Brittany and Santana tell me
you haven’t had a single sleepover at their house or
yours. In fact, no one has ever visited you at your
cousin’s house. And... you kind of smell bad.”

Quinn clenched her jaw and tried to keep from

screaming at the other girl.

“Fuck off Berry.”

Chocolate eyes widened in surprise at her language.

Quinn stopped breathing as she watched Rachel do
what Rachel did best. Take the blow, absorb it, and
grow stronger. The strength in the diva’s eyes made
her tremble a little. Her defences had been weakened
severely and Quinn panicked internally, fully aware
that she was nowhere near prepared for Rachel
Berry’s attention. When that girl focused on
something that was it, there were few people on the
planet who could shake her off.
“S-stop.” She stammered, inwardly flinching at how
frail she sounded. Her heart was in her throat.
Suddenly the smurfette looked ten feet tall in her
mind. Rachel seemed to sense something was off
because she showed Quinn mercy and kept quiet.

“I have to go. I have curfew. I’m going to be late.”

Quinn tried to walk past her but had Rachel grabbed

her arm and was already leading her away.

“I can give you a ride! I brought my dad’s car. The

heater should help you feel better before we get
there.” Her tone was cheerful but Quinn knew the girl
was more interested in finding out where she lived.

“I’m fine.” She yanked her arm but Rachel’s grip only
tightened. “Let me go! I can make my way home by
myself!”

“Quinn it would be safer and healthier for you to – “

“I don’t care! I don’t want to get in the car with you! If

you don’t let me go I’m fucking calling rape!”

“Quinn.” Rachel’s intense gaze connected with her

tired hazel. “I'm going to be honest with you. If you
don’t get in the car with me, I am going to follow you. I
brought my best boots and got well dressed in
preparation for the possibility that I could end up in
this situation. I am adequately prepared to spend the
night out with you. So please get into the car. It would
be more convenient for the both of us if you
complied.”

Frustration burned in her blood and she felt angered

tears well up in her eyes at the realization that Rachel
was completely serious.

“I’ll call the cops on you.”

“Alright.” Rachel nodded calmly, reaching into her

pocket for a fluffy black hat to put over her head. It too
was oversized and looked warm. “You know the
number.”

They stood there, facing off, with Rachel calling her

bluff.

Shit.

“Fine. Where the hell is your car?” She had already

started walking, her steps sharp against the
pavement.

“We have to cross the street.” Rachel was already

beside her, a little bundle of energy, excited to ruin
Quinn all over again. She felt a headache coming on.

When they got to the car Quinn already made up a

plan. She gave Rachel an address while the girl
started up the heater and moved the car out of park.
They said nothing to one another as they traveled,
Quinn resolutely staring out the window and ignoring
the other girl.

After about fifteen minutes they came to a stop at a

small house. Quinn turned to Rachel.

“Satisfied?” She smirked, opening the car door. What

she hadn’t anticipated was Rachel getting out of the
car with her. “What are you doing?”

The look on Rachel’s face made her feel sick. There

was empathy, kindness and sadness.

“Just making sure you get home safely.”

They stood by the car, Quinn staring at the house

blankly. It was a full five minutes before anyone said
anything.

“What do you want Berry?” Her voice was soft and

tired.

“Where do you live Quinn?”

“Does it make you feel good to do this to me?”

“Just tell me where you live, Quinn.”

She couldn't decide what she wanted to do more. To

scream at the brunette or burst into frustrated tears.
“I live in a women’s shelter, Rachel.” She snarled,
trying to mock the singer.

There was a slight pause before Rachel opened up

the passenger’s side of the car.

“Alright then. Get into the car.”

Quinn raised a surprised eyebrow but Rachel was

already making her way to the driver’s seat. She
hesitantly gave Rachel directions, though still in the
opposite direction of the shelter she was living in. The
last thing she wanted was the girl visiting her there.
She would just take a bus back.

Rachel put the car in drive and Quinn lay back in her
seat, grateful that the singer was quiet. Probably busy
pitying her or feeling guilty for making Quinn expose
herself, she mused.

Too late she had realised they weren’t going to the

address she had told Rachel to stop at. The car pulled
into the driveway of a house.

Before Quinn could ask what was going on the

brunette had turned the car off and was walking to the
front door.

“Rachel?” she called, sticking her head out the door

and finally stepping out when Rachel ignored her and
entered the house, leaving the door open.

Quinn stood there for a moment, feeling stupid. She

had no idea what was going on but knew Rachel
wanted her to get into the house. Frowning, she
entered the building, closing the door behind her, and
let the heat seep into her bones. It felt comforting.

She followed the noise to a brightly coloured room

where Rachel was busy rummaging through her
drawers.

“The bathroom is to my right, you should probably

shower... not to offend you but I’d prefer it if you didn't
take the various odours you’ve accumulated at the
shelter to my bed” She drew out a pair of shorts and
shirt. “I’d offer bottoms but I’m shorter than you so it
would probably make you uncomfortable and I think
you’ll already have trouble adjusting. We have a guest
room dad turned into an office but I think I can
convince them to change it back after I’ve told them
your story.”

Quinn gaped at Rachel uncomprehendingly. At first it

had made no sense at all, then she briefly got the full
picture and her mind melted.

“What?”

“Oh. You’ll be staying here. I mean, I did act as the

catalyst to your current situation and I feel it only
ethical and reasonable that I aid you in your
recovery.”

“Fuck you.”

Rachel canted her head, dark eyes still blazing with

confidence.

“They’ll be back around midnight so I should have

time to stop by the shelter and grab your things for
you. Then I think we might want to talk to my parents
about getting you some new clothes-” Her words were
cut off by Quinn abruptly turning and leaving the
room.

The glacial weather quickly engulfed her like an old

friend and Quinn found herself breathing easier the
second she stepped out of that oven of a house. It
was windier than when she had been at the bridge,
much stronger. But she could still hear the footsteps
behind her as she tried to make her way to the bus
stop on the main street.

“Quinn.”

She kept her head down, her crippled pride refusing

to let her stop. Not Rachel Berry. Anyone but Rachel
Berry.

“Quinn!”
But it was always Rachel Berry. The girl would never
go away. She would never ever go away. Quinn found
it difficult to breathe, her heart racing in her throat and
she didn't understand why.

“Leave me alone.” She half whispered, sure that the

wind took her voice away.

“Quinn it isn’t safe for you.”

“Leave me alone!” The panic turned to anger. This

was an emotion she understood, a feeling she
harvested and nourished. It was one small thread of
power left to her.

“Quinn! Turn around now and get back in the house!”

Rachel’s voice snapped through the air and whipped
Quinn from within. She stopped and turned sharply,
making the brunette nearly slam into her as she tried
to keep up with Quinn’s longer stride.

“Watch your mouth you midget bitch!” She slammed

her hands against Rachel’s shoulders and jerked the
girl backwards, but Rachel caught her balance back
quickly. All that damn dance training.

“You have to come back.” Her words were calm, but

Rachel’s eyes were on fire. There was fanatic
conviction in those eyes which were dark as onyx in
the night.
“Don't piss me off Berry. I know where you live now.”
She sneered, trying not to waver in the heat of
Rachel’s doggedness.

“You have to....” the brunette paused, steeling herself

even more. “If you don’t come back right this instant
Quinn, I will inform the school and they will inform
social services –“

The fierce wind swallowed the dull thud of Quinn’s fist

slamming into Rachel’s face. The brunette gaped in
horror as she stumbled back, clutching her left eye as
the former head cheerleader leapt for her.

Before Rachel could so much as make a run for it

Quinn had pinned her to the ground, punching her
wherever Rachel left herself unprotected.

“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH! You worthless

little freak! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!”

The words came out as a mantra. All the rage and

resentment she had kept swallowed since the baby
was born unleashed. She wasn’t even attacking
Rachel. In her mind she was trying to tear her parents
to pieces for abandoning her. For showing her the
true value of family. She was trying to beat the shit
out of Puck for taking advantage. To destroy Finn for
quickly dismissing her because of her mistakes. To
wipe that smug little smirk of Santana’s face. And to
beat herself up properly, to punish herself for her
weaknesses and for tossing her life away.

She wished she could break Rachel’s nose since that

was the one thing Rachel didn't want broken.

But she wasn’t fit. Her body was hollowed out from
depression, stress and neglect. All her effort had been
put into that first punch and Rachel seemed to quickly
realise this, deftly avoiding every blow until she
flipped Quinn over onto the snow face down.

“Quinn-“ she grunted as an elbow landed in her

stomach.

“Let me go! Fuck you Rachel! I fucking hate you! I

hate you so goddamn much! You-you fucked me up!
You fucked me! You and everyone else! I hate you
all!” She was furious and sick of everything. Her mind
reeled with everything that she had been through, all
she had lost.

“Fuck you! And fuck Puck! Fuck Finn!”

“It was a mistake!” Rachel tried to calm Quinn. “No

one meant to leave you Quinn; you just pulled away
from everyone at the wrong time!” She struggled to
pin the blond girl’s left arm behind her back and try to
grab the other one that was flailing in an attempt to
flip Rachel over.

“Mistake?! Fuck the mistakes! I make one mistake

one stupid fucking mistake and this is my
punishment?!” Hot salty tears burned her eyes, the
cold air shredding her throat as she took deep erratic
gulps. “I did everything Berry! Oh God, I did
everything.” She sobbed. “I did eh-everything I was s-
s-supposed to! Went to church, prayed.... wouldn’t
even l-l-let Finn touch me! One fucking mistake! I was
head cheerleader, I w-was head of the celibacy club!
I-I-I d-d-“ it was getting harder to speak, she was
choking, finally drowning in her despair and fury.

“Oh Quinn....” Rachel murmured softly, shifting her

weight so she wasn’t leaning entirely on the girl, but
tried to hold her as best she could, spooning Quinn
from behind.

“This is my punishment.” A flare of anger surged once

more and she reached within, digging as deeply as
she could for her most raw hatred and shouted to the
heavens from her place on the frozen earth.

“MY PUNISHMENT! Fuck you God! People are out

there doing whatever the fuck they want-“ Her
stomach clenched at the thought of Santana, fucking
people left and right, not giving a damn about religion,
standing at the top of the ladder and reaping the
rewards of having simply associated with Quinn all
those years.

“I’m going to take you home-” Rachel’s words faltered

as Quinn let out a maddened shriek, suddenly
convulsing in her attempt to throw the brunette off her.

“I would rather die here than go to you for anything! I

am tired, so fucking tired of needing help! I don’t need
help anymore. I don’t need it from anyone, especially
you – you fucking troll! What is wrong with you?” The
panic was coming back. “Why are you so demented?
I beat and beat at you and you keep coming back! I
can’t stop you! Nothing - can - stop - you!”

“You need to breathe! You’re hyperventilating.”

“Oh-my-god” she still couldn't breathe, even when

Rachel got off her and pulled her into a sitting
position. It wasn’t until Rachel positioned her head
between her knees and put a hand to her back that
she started getting some of her breath back though
she couldn't stop these rapid shallow gasps.

“Why- why are you do-doing this. You-you’re fucking

– in – indestruct –“

“Shhh” The hand rubbed circles on Quinn’s back and

only made her more disoriented.

“You – you can do anything. You’re just- just fucking

perfect –” Rachel’s hand froze while Quinn’s eyes
glazed over from the lack of air and pumped
adrenaline. “Like – I don’t understand – I could never
– and I tried – but you’re just everything – everything
– everything I can’t be – and I give up – you win. I
hate – hate you so much. I hate you – oh God – I hate
you so much.”

“We.... we need to get back into the house. You’re

freezing.” Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn,
surprised when the blond pressed her face to
Rachel’s collarbone.

“Ohhhhh God no....” Her voice came out in a

desperate cry. “Please Rachel nooooo....” she
sobbed. “I j-just wanna go home. Please don’t make
me go Rachel. Please. Please, Rachel, please...”

Her mind was a whirl of self hatred and pity so she

didn't notice Rachel struggle for a moment before her
resolve came back to her. Without a word, Quinn felt
herself be picked up from the snow, her legs weak
and wobbly. She no longer had any control. Quinn
had broken down, renounced her faith and let her raw
open wounds out into the open for Berry’s intense
gaze. Never had she felt more exposed and bare than
that moment and she felt dead. All her willpower was
gone and Rachel could do with her what she liked.
Unsurprisingly, in a few short minutes she felt warmth
seep into her flesh and it hurt. It hurt to feel heat after
so much cold.

She could dazedly understand what was going on.

Quinn took a slow shower in Rachel’s bathroom,
unable to recall how she’d gotten there and where
Rachel had gone off to. A lot of time passed by and
she came out of the washroom dressed in Rachel’s
shirt and shorts to see that what few possessions she
had at the shelter were laid out on Rachel’s bed. She
stared at it until Rachel came in a couple of seconds
later.

Rachel had a black eye and a bruised lip with a

healing cut. They said nothing to one another as
Rachel handed her a bowl full of soup.

“It’s a bit cooler than it should be but you took a while

in the shower. Tonight you will sleep here and I’ll
sleep on the couch.”

Quinn nodded numbly and when Rachel left she put

the untouched bowl on the table and crawled under
the blankets of the bed, trying to not feel sick from all
the boiling heat of the house. She forgot to turn off the
light but she didn't care, falling asleep so soundly that
she didn't overhear Rachel and her parents arguing a
few hours later.

****

After Quinn found herself forced to live in the Berry

household she managed to escalate her isolation. It
wasn’t too difficult. Rachel’s fathers, although not
pleased about the girl’s intrusion into their lives, were
particularly angry with her for harming their daughter.
No one tried to speak to her and she didn't try to
speak to them.
Within the first day they had acquired a bed and
cleaned out the guestroom for her. She knew it wasn’t
out of the kindness of their hearts because she
overheard Rachel plainly informing them that “in
Quinn’s current condition she needs a comforting
private environment so I’ll sleep on the couch until we
can get her a room.” Quinn felt sick to her stomach as
one of Rachel’s father’s – whom she later came to
know as Leroy – snapped at Rachel in frustration.
Clearly he didn't want Quinn there.

But what Rachel wanted, Rachel got. And she wanted

Quinn Fabray living in her house. After ensnaring the
girl in question, her parents were a piece of cake.

Quinn got her own room. She avoided every other

room in the house as much as possible, barely
speaking to anyone and generally finding reasons to
leave. When the Berry’s ate, she hid in her room, only
coming out when she thought no one would find her
and grabbing a small snack. She was eating a bit
more since her depression but she was still
uncomfortable.

Her status at school changed after the Berry debacle.

People seemed.... intimidated by her once more. No
one threw slushies, Quinn was untouchable, only this
time it wasn’t popularity: it was the ice she surrounded
herself with. In the past it had merely encircled her
heart to protect her from her superficial relationships,
her front an equally superficial veil of friendliness.
Now that ice was at the forefront, a massive and
impenetrable fortress.

Mercedes had approached her once, all full of fire and

outrage, ready to tear Quinn to pieces because –
although Rachel denied it – everyone knew she was
the one who had hit Rachel. She had prepared a
powerful diva moment but it faltered and died in a
heaping mess from one look from those eyes that
held restrained rage that cut into the singer so sharply
she flinched. Instead of yelling at Quinn she
awkwardly stumbled and walked away.

No one could or would touch Quinn. Except Rachel.

Her very presence snuffed out the anger, leaving a
very vulnerable and nervous young girl. So she
avoided Rachel like the plague, and the brunette
generally gave her space.

Back at the house, Leroy was losing patience with

Quinn’s cold shoulder. Rachel kept trying to subtly
invite her into the family but Quinn ignored her efforts.
She would not eat with them, would not play games
on ‘game night’ and certainly wouldn’t watch movies
on ‘movie night’ or do any other activities designated
to any other nights. She was like a ghost in their
home, rarely seen but always felt.

Sometimes before bed, she would call her old home

just to listen to her mom answer the phone. And
sometimes, her mother would stay on the phone,
silently, and she would just lie there connected to her
mom for that night. But nothing was ever said.

One day Leroy knocked on her door.

“Oh. Yes?” She kept her eyes averted, not sure how
to behave. There was a moment of silence.

“Here. Five hundred dollars. Go and buy yourself

some clothes.” His voice was soft but the tension
between them remained the same.

Quinn could taste bile in her throat.

“No thank you. I don’t need it.”

“Yes you do. I expect you to use this money for

clothes.” His tone grew stern and Quinn flinched as
he smacked the money on the dresser.

And so Quinn went out and bought clothes. She also

applied for jobs and eventually landed herself a
telemarketing job that paid more than minimum wage.
When she got her first pay check she got back to the
Berry household and stealthily waited for a moment
alone with Leroy. She managed to catch him in the
kitchen preparing sandwiches for the night’s board
game marathon.

“I got a job.” She watched him jump up in surprise and

she winced at her timing. The man could have cut
himself. He glanced at her then turned back to his
work. “I made one fifty this week.” She placed the
check on the counter so he could look at it.

“I can’t pay much but I’ll pay back the five hundred...
then.... then we can make a rent plan for me.” Her
heart was thudding rapidly as he slowed his
movements to a full stop.

“Ok,” he turned to her, only his gaze was softer on her

since the first time she had moved in. “Keep your
paycheck. I don’t care about it.” He wiped his hands
on a towel. “But from now on, you eat with us. And
you go to game nights. Movie nights. All of them.
You’re going to be nice to my daughter. If you ever lift
a hand against her, you’ll be rooming in a prison cell.
Do we understand each other?”

And so began the game nights. At first everything was

horribly awkward and tense. Meals and evenings
were heavy with silence and everyone was
uncomfortable. Then comments were made, Quinn
joined in here and there, blushing hotly at the way
Rachel always seemed to brighten up at her progress.

The game nights were the worst and the best. It was
terrible because at first Quinn couldn't fathom
competing with them. All of the Berrys were way out
of her league and they had to slow down for her which
was embarrassing. It was also fantastic because it
allowed Quinn to speak without feeling like she was
opening up. Yet she did just that, playfully teasing
Rachel for being too competitive, pretending to be
offended when Leroy told her she was just being a
slow blonde, trying to keep Hiram from cheating off
her. Double teaming worked better because then
Quinn’s fumbles were carried by her team member.
And since Rachel was usually the one to volunteer
them as a pair, Quinn won by proxy.

The entire house relaxed and Quinn began to enjoy

the warmth. It still stung that she had exposed herself
to Rachel so much. She hadn’t even realised what
she had been feeling until she had attacked the
brunette. But it was true, she envied Rachel for the
strength she had. There was no doubt in her mind
that if the roles were reversed Rachel would have
found a way to come out on top. Pregnant teenager?
No problem. Cheating whore? Matter of perception.
She would have still gone on to New York with her
baby and could be proud of herself. Even if her
friends and family kicked her out on her ass, she
would have found a way to land on her feet.

She was ashamed of herself and still unable to deal

with her weaknesses. Whenever she spent time with
Rachel it was with Rachel’s fathers in the room. The
idea of being alone in a room with the other girl made
her feel queasy and she would often break out in a
sweat at the thought. She was scared of her.
Absolutely terrified. Yet at the same time, awkward
feelings surfaced too.

Although the girl made her anxious, she also felt safer
when Rachel was around. She wanted to touch the
singer, be it a hug or just to brush up against her. And
although Rachel seemed to stiffen when she did this,
eventually Rachel allowed herself to touch Quinn
back too. It was disconcerting to want to both avoid
and connect with the brunette. She felt warmer
whenever Rachel was present. And sometimes, to her
horror, when she was feeling lonely and depressed in
the guestroom, she had a powerful urge to sneak into
Rachel’s room and.... cuddle of all things. At first the
thought would make her shudder in disgust but one
night she actually got up and stood outside Rachel’s
door for a full five minutes before she regained her
sanity and hotfooted it back to the guest room.

So she kept their contact limited to game nights and

movie nights with Rachel’s fathers. She didn't think
she would survive spending time alone with the girl.
And she was in luck: the girl did not seek her out.
Moments between the two of them were rare and
almost completely silent. Everything was perfect and
Quinn knew it wasn’t going to last.

*****

“What? What do you mean you’re going?” She hoped

the panic in her voice was subtle, but judging by
Leroy’s concerned expression she had come on too
strong. The two of them had gotten quite close after
the money incident. Quinn felt like she was six again,
watching her parents leave for the first time on what
was going to become annual trips without her.

“We’re only going to be gone for a weekend. There’s

plenty of food in the fridge and you guys have the car.
Rent movies or something. You’ll be fine.”

Quinn felt a little ill at the thought of spending almost

three days alone with Rachel.

“We’ll leave a number on the fridge and the address

where we’re staying. Hiram’s mom is turning sixty, we
can’t miss this party; his brother would never forgive
us” he added, drolly.

“Well... it’s Rachel’s grandmother, shouldn’t she go

visit too?”

He seemed amused by her insistence that she not be

left with Rachel alone.

“Rachel has exams she needs to study for. Relax a

little. You’ve been living under the same roof for the
past two months and you haven’t tried to kill one
another yet. I think you can last a weekend.”

Quinn didn't think so. And later that night she felt a
powerful urge to call her mother, though the urge
lessened since the Berrys unofficially accepted her
presence. So she picked up the phone to dial when
she realised Rachel was already on it. Her first
instinct was to turn it off when she picked up on Finn’s
voice.

“I don’t get it Rachel; I thought things were going good

between us....”

Quinn’s jaw dropped in shock. Finn and Rachel were

dating? Under her very nose? How the hell did they
manage to do that? But then she realised she didn't
spend all that much time in the house. By trying to
avoid Rachel she gave the girl ample opportunity to
date her ex boyfriend. Goddamn it, she grit her teeth
in fury, too caught up in the sickening twist in her
stomach to think about hanging up.

The anger was mainly directed at Finn, though she

wasn’t sure why because she should technically hate
Rachel for stealing her man. Not that he had been her
man for the past several months but something about
this whole affair left a bitter taste in her mouth. The
feelings she had for Rachel on the matter confused
her. She could almost swear she felt hurt.

“Finn, you’re a very nice boy and for the longest time I
thought we were an appropriate match, mainly
because I had spent a lot of time becoming
enamoured with a variety of similar cliché romantic
pairings in the media. However, in retrospect and
after a sufficient time together I have decided that
while I enjoy your company we are not a suitable
couple.”

Relief flooded her brain and Quinn relaxed against

her bed frame.

“..... right.” He sounded confused.

“I’m sorry.”

“This is because of Quinn isn’t it?”

Her heart stopped beating at the long pause.

“Rachel.... I’m sure she’s fine. I can’t deal with her

after what happened. I’m sure her cousin is taking
care of her. She even looks healthier.”

Frowning to herself, she realised that Rachel had kept

it all a secret. No one knew she was living at the Berry
house. For once in her life Rachel was holding her
tongue. To protect Quinn. Tears welled up in her eyes
and she had to swallow hard to gather her bearings.

“Finn,” the venom was thick in her voice. “Quinn is not

something to be dealt with. She is a human being!
How do you go from loving her and wanting to take
care of her baby; actually wanting to keep it with her –
to just dismissing her completely out of your life?!”

She was shocked that Finn and Rachel had been

talking about the pregnancy and even more stunned
when she caught the heavy emotion in Rachel’s tone.

“She cheated on me! Tried to use me!”

“She made a mistake! And she was scared! In this

sexist society it is always assumed that the female
take all responsibility for a pregnancy-“

“I was willing to help her!”

“That doesn’t matter! You get to choose how much

responsibility you want to take! Either a pittance of
your salary to child support or you just leave the damn
country! No one expected you or Puck to actually do
the most difficult aspects of childcare. To raise it! She
had that hanging over her head at the age of sixteen.
You couldn't even talk to her? Ask her how-“

“Forget it Rachel! This is ridiculous. I’m not defending

myself to you!”

She winced at the scrabbling noise as Finn struggled

to turn off the phone in his frustration. Then the line
went dead. She listened to Rachel sigh tiredly.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.” The line went completely

dead.

Quinn’s jaw moved soundlessly for a second before

she turned the phone off and buried her face in a
pillow.

“You’re running away? Again?” Rachel’s voice

sounded sad and it made Quinn feel like shit.

“I just... wanted to go for a walk.”

“They haven’t been gone half an hour and you’re

already trying to get away from me.” When Quinn
didn't respond Rachel shrugged, still looking
wounded. “Alright. Why would I expect anything else
from you.”

Quinn let out a frustrated groan as the diva slammed

the door shut to her bedroom. Feeling every bit like an
ass she grabbed the car keys and went for the car.

She ran things over in her mind, trying to figure out

what to do. Something about Rachel made her feel
strange and nervous and she was beginning to
suspect its origins. There were a few things she
already figured out about their relationship. Never
again would she be capable of actively harming the
girl. She couldn't bear the thought of others harming
Rachel either. What confused and upset her the most
was that Rachel was her protector when she felt she
should have been the one doing the protecting. She
used to have all the power and now she had none to
save Rachel with. And when she did have that power
she had only used it try and destroy the brunette.
The guilt ate away at her. Rachel was keeping
Quinn’s secrets and gave her a home to live in. Hell,
Rachel was even protecting Quinn from her own
rather blunt personality, allowing Quinn to keep the
conversations and interaction to a minimum. Now she
was hurting the brunette’s feelings because she
couldn't handle her own emotions. When she returned
to the house in the evening it was with a DVD, junk
food, and a 2 litre bottle of Rachel’s favourite Diet
Coke with lime.

“You’re... home?” Rachel raised an eyebrow at Quinn

from her textbook on the living room couch. Both of
her eyebrows raised even higher when she noted
Quinn’s loot.

“I rented Paranormal Activity. I figure we can.... also

order a pizza.”

“I have an exam on Tuesday.”

“So?” She tried to cover the disappointment she felt

that Rachel would just wave her off like that. “It’s
Friday. You can spare one night....” She looked away,
feeling embarrassed. This was not Quinn – the social
genius – talking. Rachel made her so awkward.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”
“Yes.”

She managed an almost pained smile at the brunette,

still agonizing over her ridiculousness. This seemed to
amuse the other girl and Quinn couldn't help but grin
more genuinely.

“Well good... this should... this should be good.”

*****

"Oh for the love of God...”

“I demand a refund! Give me the phone.”

“Rachel, just eat around the anchovies!”

“No! The juices have comingled with the rest of the

toppings! I will not have my palate exposed to that
repulsive concoction! And we tipped him!” Rachel
paused, her eyes narrowing at Quinn accusingly.
“Wait – you tipped him! You gave him a tip when he
was almost an hour late!”

“Rachel it was twenty minutes-“

“Forty five!”

Quinn sneered at the brunette in annoyance. There

was an impending headache arriving and it gathered
speed as Rachel delved into her Diva Disaster
moment.

It was supposed to be simple. Lay out the junk food,

start the movie, wait for the pizza, and relax. She had
even planned to allow herself room for chitchat with
the irritating girl. But Rachel was incapable of letting
go and to Quinn’s surprise she gave in easily to the
brunette’s orders. She was allotted only half a bag of
chips so – as Rachel put it – she had an appetite for
pizza. Then she had to change into pyjamas because
Rachel gave her these absolutely evil mind controlling
puppy eyes, implying that she’d never had a proper
sleep over before. They brought a blanket to the
roomy couch and Quinn tried not to stare. Clearly,
Rachel’s taste in clothes did not translate to her
bedroom. The tank top and boxers on that tanned
body made her feel decidedly lightheaded. Quinn
wore a more conservative t-shirt and shorts.

They had a small argument over what to put on the

pizza. Quinn hated pineapple on her pizza; Rachel
salivated at the thought and refused to do a pizza half
and half because it saved money to settle for toppings
they both agreed on. And no, they would not be using
Quinn’s hard earned money. In the end Quinn gave
up because whatever she threw at Rachel the woman
would simply go off on a long monologue on the
various things incorrect with her logic. Rachel had
patience for everything.
Everything but the delivery boy. She had to physically
tackle Rachel to get her to keep from assaulting him
for being twenty – and ONLY twenty minutes late. The
guy must have thought Quinn insane by the way she
threw the money in his face, grabbed the carton and
told him to run for it.

Now the diva was demanding retribution because

they added anchovies.

“Take off the toppings.”

“Give me the phone.”

“Take. Off. The. Toppings!”

“Give. Me. The. Phone.”

They stared at one another, squaring off. Quinn had

an irrational urge to toss the pizza at the girl but it
reminded her all too much of the Slushie attacks.
Rachel quirked an eyebrow and her eyes lost focus
for a moment. Quinn realised the girl was plotting
something and she was quickly running out of time.
So she sat down on the couch with the phone under
her butt and grabbed a slice, quickly removing the
offending anchovies.

“Quinn!”

“Try it.”
“I will not try it.”

Quinn bit into it, trying not to wince at the heat. She
closed her eyes and moaned deeply, as if it was the
most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. When she
opened them Rachel was blushing and looking
flustered.

“It’s excellent. Try it.” She offered it to Rachel, noting

the conflicted and slightly glazed look on the girl’s
face. Her own expression fell when she considered
the fact that maybe Rachel just didn't want to swap
spit with her. It hurt her feelings and she felt stupid for
it.

But Rachel grabbed it from her, eyeing it like it was

some deadly object, before taking a tentative bite.
She chewed slowly, eyes locked on the carton
suspiciously, and Quinn couldn't help but laugh when
she realised the brunette was being playful.

“Well?”

“It’s not inedible.” Rachel grudgingly replied.

To Quinn’s surprise the night improved after that.

They ate and watched the movie. Though Quinn was
almost mortified when she realised they had been
inching closer together as the movie got scarier.
When Rachel’s leg brushed against her own she went
rigid, flashes of Brittany and Santana running through
her mind. Inwardly groaning she tried to ignore the
brunette and her thoughts, only to jump a little when
Rachel starting clinging to her and whimpering.

There was an agonizing ache between her legs and

she immediately regretted the entire evening. She
tried to squirm away from Rachel’s grip but the
smaller girl shrieked at something on the screen and
practically jumped into Quinn’s lap and forced the
blond to lean back on the armrest. Her arms wrapped
around Quinn’s neck as she half lay on top of her.

Rachel’s dark hair was in her face. She could smell

the citrus shampoo, inhaling the scent that mingled
with the diva’s skin. Quinn felt oddly heavy and very
warm. She blamed it on Rachel’s body heat. It was
difficult to breathe because every time she took in air
she would get hit with a dizzying blast of Rachel
Berry.

Rachel was on top of her. So warm and soft against

her. Quinn could almost feel Rachel seeping into her.
That irresistible, boundless perseverance wrapped
around her. Berry was a force of nature. There was
no doubt in Quinn’s mind that if Rachel hadn’t been
so fixated on her Broadway career Quinn would have
found herself usurped from her position in life so
quickly and easily she would have been fighting to
leech off the girl’s popularity. She would have been
Rachel’s Santana, second best and hungry for the
Diva’s leftovers.

Quinn bit her lip at the thought, too deep in her

thoughts of Rachel ordering her around, demanding
her immediate attention and punishing her for her
inadequacies – to notice they had shifted on the
couch and Rachel was completely on top of her.

She used to do that to Santana. Failure was not

permitted. The Latina hated it when Quinn exerted
control, but Quinn felt she wouldn’t mind so much if
Rachel did that to her. She felt herself grow wet and
ashamed. What the hell did it mean, to want someone
to control you?

Rachel shifted her weight to wrap the blanket around

them and even though every move was innocent
Quinn’s heart rate jumped. The brunette stilled; her
cheek by Quinn’s collarbone and her forehead to
Quinn’s neck.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” she answered, trying to ignore the

shakiness in her voice.

Rachel shifted so she could look at Quinn directly.

“You sound... odd.”

Quinn had gone silent, muted by those warm

expressive eyes. Rachel’s silky thick hair trailed down
her shoulders and tickled Quinn’s collarbone and jaw.
Everything seemed to slow down and her body felt
heavy. In that moment she wanted nothing more in
the world than to run her fingers through that hair. Her
mouth had gone dry as she realised what was about
to happen. She was about to do something she would
probably regret for the rest of her life.

She buried her fingers into Rachel’s hair and pulled

her down for a kiss. It was gentle, barely a peck, and
Rachel didn't move. If she had been coherent, Quinn
would have thought Rachel’s lack of response was
rejection. But Rachel’s scent, warmth and weight on
top of her made her giddy and disoriented. So she
explored those lips further with her teeth and tongue,
deepening the kiss and flicking her tongue along
Rachel’s plump bottom lip for entrance. When the girl
whimpered, Quinn felt it all go to her head.

She squirmed under Rachel, intending to flip their

positions so she was on top. Taking charge was all
she ever knew. But what should have been simple
became complicated.

Quinn hissed in surprise when Rachel bit her bottom

lip hard. She tried to pull away and was stunned when
Rachel pinned her to the couch firmly, her hands
darting out to tug Quinn’s hands out of her hair and
hold them down at her sides.
Her grunt of protest went unnoticed or was completely
ignored because soon Rachel’s tongue delved past
her lips and demanded full access. Quinn’s eyes
rolled into the back of her head and she tried to arch
off the couch but Rachel held her down fast.

The kiss was hungry and intense, robbing the blond of

her breath. There was whimpering and whining and
she quickly realised it was all her own. Rachel
growled as she ground her hips into Quinn’s. All the
energy and all the indomitable will that was Rachel
focused on Quinn. She thought she would explode
from sensory overload.

With her arms free she unconsciously reached out

and groped the brunette, hands caressing shoulders,
breasts and stomach. She wanted to touch everything
that she couldn't touch before.

Her lips hurt and her tongue strained against Rachel’s

assault but she fought to claim the diva’s mouth. It
was impossible. Rachel was too much. The woman
was driving Quinn insane, so heady with her
unspoken challenges. The brunette’s nails dug into
her hips.

Rachel nudged Quinn’s legs open and settled herself

between them. The slow, rhythmic grinding made her
mewl. Then her mind latched onto one horrifying fact:
she was wet and teeming. Her juices had literally
pooled onto her boxers and Rachel gasped when – in
the next jerk of her hips – Quinn’s wetness spilled
over and surprised them both. It had gone through her
shorts and Rachel could feel the warmth on her thigh.

Mortified by her body, Quinn violently lurched in an

attempt to get off the couch, only to find herself
trapped by a quick thinking and fast acting Rachel
Berry.

She was flat on her stomach and confused.

“Get off me Rachel!”

The girl didn't respond, unceremoniously jerking

Quinn’s boxers down to her knees. Quinn’s body
flushed when she heard Rachel’s sharp inhalation.
No, she wasn’t wearing anything under the boxers.

Quinn tried to get herself up off the couch when

Rachel pushed her back.

“Stay down” the singer’s voice was hoarse and tense.

“Fuck you” she meant for it to sound angry but it came

out like a moan.

A whimper left her throat when the brunette’s fingers

dug into her shoulders as punishment.

“What the hell are you doing Berry?” Something told

her that calling Rachel any of her old nicknames
would not be beneficial to her at that point but she
was still defiant.

A part of her knew she could easily escape all of this.

Rachel would have given up the minute Quinn
showed she was serious. But Quinn didn't want it to
stop and as much as she hated to admit it, she knew
she had wanted this for a while. An internal battle
raged within her: the desire to finally put that fucking
bitch in her place and the need to have someone
finally put Quinn in her place. Someone to
acknowledge that the blond was a human who had
weaknesses. Someone who could be trusted to see
that part of her. Someone like Rachel, the only person
she had ever known to be stronger than herself and
the only person to have ever withstood the full force of
Quinn’s cruelty and yet show compassion.

She would never understand Rachel. And she wasn’t

sure she wanted to. She got the sense that knowing
Rachel would break her heart.

“Hey!” Quinn jumped a little when Rachel got up and

yanked the shorts off her. The blond didn't even
bother getting up, even though the singer had let go
of her back in order to improve her reach.

In spite of everything, she was not prepared for

Rachel to start nudging her ass up so she was on her
knees with her face pressed up against the pillow.
“Oh.... God....” she groaned as the brunette traced her
opening with the tips of her fingers

She turned around, unsure of what she had been

hoping to accomplish by looking at the singer. Rachel
was staring at Quinn’s sex with feral intensity. A wolf
coveting a delicious meal. The sight alone was
enough to make Quinn forget what was happening.
When those blazing mocha eyes connected with her
own, the blond’s breath hitched.

Rachel grinned though it was more of a baring of

teeth. Goosebumps rose along her skin until Rachel
leaned over and rested a hand between Quinn’s
shoulder blades, effectively restraining her.

She hadn’t had sex since Puck and her body had
recovered marvellously since the birth. Youth made
the human body very versatile. Quinn squirmed as
Rachel pressed three fingers against her opening.
She was so slick that as Rachel slowly slipped her
fingers past the knuckle Quinn had to bite the couch
pillow to keep from crying out too loud from the painful
pleasure. Her hips moved of their own accord.

The position was awkward. Later her neck would hurt.

But at that point in time all she could focus on was
Rachel’s hand. Her eyes squeezed tight as she forgot
about everything: who she was supposed to be, who
she actually was, and all the rules that accompanied
that knowledge. The movements were unhurried and
tortuous. When she tried to speed up, Rachel would
pull out and punish her by gently exploring her folds.
The woman was sadistic in ways Quinn was not
capable of being. She was a child of instant
gratification.

Quinn learned Rachel’s rule. It was one rule alone:

follow Rachel’s lead. Tears ran down her cheeks as
she suffered being so close yet so damn far away.
When her body started to heat up and climax seemed
inevitable, Rachel would change tactics, ruin the pace
or go back to explore.

And all Quinn could do was wait and pray that she
could trust Rachel to finally finish her off. She begged
and pleaded, nearly sobbing with promises and
apologies for everything she had done. Rachel
wouldn’t shut her up. Wouldn’t comment on anything.
Didn't change her pattern.

She was nearly hysterical, wanting so much to push

herself down on Rachel’s hand but knowing that the
brunette would merely leave if she did such a thing,
she stayed put with her ass high in the air.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She was going to die.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was going to
die. Rachel was going to kill her with her touch alone.

Unintelligible words spilled from her lips, mingled with

confessions of past sins. Apologies for selling her soul
to be popular and safe. Appeals for understanding of
her weaknesses. She didn't know what she was really
saying and she forgot she was saying it to Rachel.
The precarious balance between pleasure and pain,
the edge of orgasm, the smell of Berry in the air and
the taste of salt on her tongue, she was going to die
and she was going to love it.

She couldn't see Rachel, couldn't see the wonder and

awe on her face. Rachel’s tears went unnoticed. But
Quinn became very aware of the increase in speed.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh, ahh....” Words disappeared and

Quinn stuffed the pillow into her mouth to muffle her
screams. Her body shook violently and her face
turned red as powerful orgasms racked her thin
frame. It was loud and messy and when it was over
the entire world went black. Quinn had died.

Only she didn't. Someone was prodding her awake. It

couldn't have been more than a minute of sleep, but
some asshole was waking her up from what had been
a fantastic and weird sex dream.

She opened a bleary eye to find she was still on the

couch, Rachel sitting by her feet with a glass of water.

“Drink this.”

Quinn stared at her in disbelief.

“You’ve been unconscious for three hours. Drink
some water.”

Rachel was behaving oddly. Her words were

straightforward and plain, no long rambling
monologues. It was almost as disconcerting as
knowing Rachel had fucked her senseless only five
hours ago until she blacked out.

Quinn couldn't bring herself to say anything coherent

so she grabbed the glass of water, watching the
brunette carefully. Her eyes were so dark they were
onyx. She had never seen Rachel’s eyes that colour
before. It was unnerving. She sipped water from the
glass and continued staring.

When she finished with her drink, Rachel got up to

grab it from her hand and place the glass on the
coffee table. She stood before Quinn

“I am.... fully aware of the ramifications of our

activities tonight. I know we need to talk about this
when we are clear headed and alert.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the brunette, eyes darting

all over. She felt embarrassed but intrigued.

“And we will be doing that. But first, we aren’t finished.

I have waited three hours and while I do like to think I
have the capacity to be a considerate and
compassionate lover, I am due reciprocation. You’ll
have to forgive me this one time – since it is our first
coupling – because I simply cannot wait any longer.”

She didn't even know how to respond to that. Her

eyes widened and her mouth opened but nothing
came out. Rachel seemed to take that for consent.

“Scoot down so you’re flat on your back.” She

grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the blonde, to put
under her head.

The obedience came more easily now. Quinn shifted

so she was flat on the couch and staring up at
Rachel, who swiftly took her boxer shorts and panties
off. The blond’s mouth watered at the sight of the
diva’s neatly trimmed curls.

There was no need for more words. With one foot

firmly planted on the floor Rachel put her knee on the
other side of Quinn’s head. The blond only had a brief
moment to nuzzle and explore the still surprisingly
warm and wet pussy. Quinn swallowed hard and the
instant her tongue touched sensitive flesh, she found
her mouth full with Rachel’s heat.

Rachel had been waiting a long time. She gripped the

armrest hard enough to turn her fingers white. There
was no mercy; she rode Quinn’s face hard and fast.
Waiting had been masochistic of her but watching
Quinn’s peaceful face as she slept – after first
checking her vital signs, Rachel almost panicked
when the blond suddenly collapsed on the couch –
she couldn't bring herself to awaken her. But thoughts
of what they had done wouldn’t leave her head and
soon enough she had lost all pretence of being giving.
Lust won out.

Quinn’s nails were digging into Rachel’s ass, drinking

the brunette in like her life depended on it. The singer
was loud and Quinn did her best to make her louder.
She wanted to drown in Rachel, to take everything the
woman gave her and give that woman everything she
had.

The dark haired singer came with a desperate cry and

hand to jerk herself up from Quinn, her mouth far too
intense and enthusiastic on her sensitive flesh.

Her legs too weak to hold her, Rachel fell to the floor
between the coffee table and the couch. Still panting
and flushed, she looked at the blond who was licking
her glistening lips and looking back at Rachel with a
glazed, possessive look that made Rachel shiver.

“Fuck....” she whispered, more to herself than Quinn.

“Yeah....” Quinn shifted on the couch to make room

for the brunette, lifting the blanket for her.

Rachel laughed a little, amused by the fact that they

were both only clad in this t-shirts. Quinn gave her a
small, uncertain smile that made her look so
vulnerable the diva stopped short. She cuddled up to
Quinn in silence, bringing the blanket tight across
them. The blonde lost her nerve, facing Rachel in
such close proximity, so she quickly shifted onto her
back.

They stayed there like that for a while, Rachel staring

at the side of Quinn’s face while the blonde’s gaze
stayed fixed to the ceiling. Sighing to herself, Rachel
shifted so she was half on top of Quinn, her head
tucked under the taller girl’s jaw.

The low light of the room and the sex should have put
them both to sleep. While Rachel was certainly
getting drowsy, Quinn’s mind was racing.

“You know... I couldn't even look at her.” Her voice

was barely a whisper, but Rachel stiffened slightly
against her, fully alert.

“Her?”

“The baby.” Quinn could taste bile in her throat.

As if sensing this might be the one and only time

Quinn would ever bring this up, Rachel kept her
mouth mercifully shut.

“I couldn't even look at her. Didn't want to hold her.

Made the doctors.... take her away.”
“Oh.”

“Yeah...” Her eyes burned and itched. She didn't want

to talk about this. Not now, not ever, but she couldn't
stop the words from flowing out.

“I - I failed Rachel. I failed everything. My parents...

tossed me away. Like I was nothing. I lost control of
the school... Lost my self-respect.” She hadn’t even
been aware that she had created this list in her head
a long time ago. Idly adding to it as time went by.

“Lost my virginity.... lost my body... lost... my chance

to get out of here....I lost a nice guy I didn't even want
that much.” She laughed at the way Rachel froze at
that, though it came out as a sob.

“Finn is great. A great guy. But nothing... nothing

made me want him.” She couldn't believe she was
saying this. “No one ever made me... fixate on them.
Except you though...” The tone in her voice was
almost joking. “Isn’t that hilarious? You’re the only
person I’ve ever hunted. The only one I ever sought.
God I couldn't even stop myself if I tried. I really
wanted to hurt you.” She sighed, hot tears trailing
down her face.

“I’m one sick fucking bitch.”

Without her permission, one of her hands had started

playing with Rachel’s hair.
“But you know... you know what absolutely disgusts
me? I didn't lose a damn thing.” She laughed this
time, an angry bark of laughter. “I didn't have any of
those things. They were all lies. My body belonged to
God; my parents didn't give a fuck about me, only
cared whether I fit their imaginary perfect life. I never
controlled the fucking school. It controlled me. Told
me what to wear, what to eat, what to say, who to talk
to... Control is an illusion...”

She pressed her lips to Rachel’s hair, taking a deep

breath.

“You know...” she whispered softly, as if this were a

most important secret. “I never had self respect
Rachel. Never. I always did what others expected of
me. We all do. Well... except for you. You’re different
Rachel. You’ve always been different. Drove me
crazy the way you just... spit in our faces, called us
out on our bullshit.”

Rachel had shifted and when Quinn turned she gazed

into wide, surprised brown eyes. Quinn smiled at her.

“Nothing can stop you. Not me, not the entire school,
and not the system.” She noted the confusion on
Rachel’s face but decided to ignore it. She’d explain
that later.

“After everything that’s happened to you... you didn't

get all emo, bitchy or discouraged. You’re amazing
Rachel.” She could have sworn that even in the low
light, Rachel had gone red. “I don’t understand you at
all. But I know you’re the strongest person I’ve ever
met. You wouldn’t have failed. Even if you got
pregnant, you would have kept the baby, gone to
Broadway, made millions and gotten married. You
would have forgotten Lima. You would have told
everyone to fuck off. You would –“

“Quinn!”

The blonde choked on whatever it was she was going

to say. Her rambling rant stopped abruptly. She
looked at Rachel, looking very small and fragile.

“Not that I’m not...” Rachel appeared to struggle with

her words and Quinn was a little proud of herself for
that. “I mean... I’ve never had anyone... give me so
many compliments... especially of that nature.” A light
of confidence returned to those dark eyes. “Of course
I’ve always known people would compliment me on
my voice, my presence on the stage, my ability to...”
she trailed off at Quinn’s knowing little smile.

“Well, what I meant to say is... I have no idea how I

would have handled your situation Quinn.”

The blonde said nothing, turning to the ceiling once

more.
“Quinn... what happened to you was scary. Really
scary. I felt like – like – like shit after I told Finn and
saw everything fall apart. I was selfish and stupid.”

Rachel paused to grasp Quinn’s clenching jaw and

turn those hazel eyes to her.

“I have no idea how I would have reacted. When I

thought about it later... and I couldn't stop thinking
about it... how terrifying it must have been to have the
pregnancy and the lies all on my head.... Quinn you’re
one of the bravest and strongest person I’ve known.”

The sob that escaped Quinn’s lips hurt. Like the

sound actually tore into the soft flesh of her throat. But
Rachel wouldn’t stop talking.

“You’ve walked so many paths. I’ve only ever walked

one. You’ve survived every decision and you’ve been
asked to make some extremely difficult choices. I
mean... you were sixteen and pregnant. But you
refused to abort. And it takes a special kind of
strength to admit your limitations and give the baby up
to someone else. You took every punch thrown your
way. When Finn broke up with you, your friends left
you, you were stripped of your title, your parents....
well(,) everything broke down. And you still survived.
My God Quinn you went to school during the day and
stayed at a woman’s shelter at night! Even after
everything you pushed forward! Quinn....”
At that point Quinn couldn't hear a damn thing. She
was crying. Hard. Nearly retching from it.

The woman she had been torturing for years, the one
she had been secretly loathing for being everything
she wasn’t, put her on a pedestal. Told her she was
worth something, that what she had done meant
something. It was ok to not be able to take care of the
baby. She wasn’t a Lima loser; she was a human
being who did her best and someone actually thought
she had done something right. When everyone else
was punishing her and taunting her for her mistakes.

“You’re amazing Fabray, you’re fucking amazing.”

She would have laughed – who could say they had

made Rachel Berry cuss twice in five minutes – but
she was busy shaking. It was as if Rachel were
cleansing her, taking all the poison out of her. She
was far from fixed but for the first time in a long time
she began to look at things a bit differently.

“You’ll need some counselling sessions... not with Ms.

Pillsbury but someone else. I’ll talk to father about it.
Not that I’m calling Ms. Pillsbury’s credentials into
question but...”

Quinn began to quiet down, feeling tired but a bit

lighter. Rachel’s soft, commanding voice filled her
ears, talking of schedules. Quietly, she turned so she
was snuggling on top of the brunette, making small
noises of consent. In the morning she would put up a
fight. Counselling sounded mortifying. But deep down
she knew she would do whatever those molten brown
eyes demanded of her.

****

Santana was beyond pissed. Brittany sat next to her

pouting. They were alone at their table in the
cafeteria. Everyone was ignoring them. Technically,
they were ignoring Santana, if Brittany went over to
join anyone or bothered to leave her place by the
Latina, she would have been welcomed with open
arms. Santana – on the other hand – was being
punished.

It happened so quickly Santana wasn’t sure what the

hell had happened. One day she was Queen of the
school and walking all over Quinn, with Brittany at her
arm like a princess. Then the next day she found
herself at the bottom. Even the Glee kids were higher
on the pecking order than she was and she was a
Cheerio. Multiple Slushie attacks within an hour.
Brittany was her one veto card. No one would Slushie
in Brittany’s direction so Santana found herself – to
her horror – glued to Brittany for protection.

And it was because Quinn usurped her and

demanded retribution.

It had started out mildly enough. The blonde started

looking healthier, talked more, and hung out with
Rachel Berry. She was still fairly quiet and kept to
herself. But people were still scared of Quinn because
there was a sharper edge to her, a hardened quality
to her that they instinctively shied away from. They
avoided harassing the brunette in front of her.

Then Santana got cocky.

It wasn’t personal. Rachel was tolerable in small

doses. But the fear surrounding Quinn infuriated her.
Santana had done her best to beat down the girl’s
reputation, to destroy what little Quinn hadn’t
managed to mutilate herself. Yet even at the bottom,
people were scared of her. It wasn’t right. It was
pathetic. So she organized the hockey team to attack
Rachel with ten Slushies when Quinn was there to
witness it.

Santana stood there and watched it herself, ignoring

the sad look in Brittany’s eyes, as Rachel minded her
business at her locker, Quinn at her side. There had
been no warning. Next thing the diva knew, she was
covered almost head to toe with a variety of colours.
Her body went rigid at the icy slop of fluid. But
Santana paid her no mind, focusing on Quinn’s
shocked expression, Slushie shrapnel flecking her
face.

When their eyes met Santana smirked – but only for

three seconds. Then those disbelieving hazel eyes lit
up with understanding and Santana stood paralyzed
as that gaze turned Arctic. It was as if she had been
frozen in her place by those cold, rage filled eyes.
She had overstepped a boundary. And Santana was
normally ok with that. So she ignored the crawling of
her skin that warned her she had screwed herself
over. She forced a smug smile and walked away,
Brittany following shortly after.

She figured the Rachel Slushie shower had been the

straw that broke the camel’s back and had anticipated
many things: mainly physical retaliation. What she
had not expected was Quinn to blaze a trail of fury up
the social echelons. If it didn't mean she was about to
be in some serious shit, Santana would have been in
awe.

Quinn walked the hallways like she owned them and

people began behaving accordingly. She talked of her
pregnancy drama openly, laughing about it, making it
a joke. And people laughed with her. The blonde drew
powerful allies; old charms came back tenfold,
working on old friends. People remembered Quinn.
Puck came to her side immediately, Finn followed a
little more reluctantly – though Santana suspected
that was more Rachel’s doing than Quinn’s.

Sue Sylvester herself had started pressuring Quinn to

come back – though reluctant to admit that the
Cheerios were struggling without her. Quinn refused
and people thought her better for it. Santana’s footing
faltered on top of the hierarchy, a position that had
only been won after Quinn stepped down.

And almost overnight, Quinn was back as Queen.

A few simple rules were implemented upon her

comeback. The first rule was: Rachel Berry is second
to Quinn. People were not allowed in any way shape
or form to cause the girl to suffer. The reason was
simply because Rachel had supported her through all
her drama. Santana was actually shocked at how
everything had effectively changed. No-one Slushied
Rachel. They even offered to help her if she
happened to drop something or couldn't carry
something in hopes of currying favour with Quinn.

The other rule was that Brittany was – in Quinn’s eyes

– a sweetheart and would be allowed to make friends
with Santana. Brittany would remain where she was in
the hierarchy. She was the only one allowed such a
reprieve.

The final rule was: make Santana miserable. So she

got Slushied on a regular, almost hourly basis. Things
went missing from her locker, people ignored her, and
to her shock, people were snagging her Cheerio
outfit, covering it in dirt and shit. Brittany had to keep
offering the use of her uniform which was too long for
her.

Quinn had been very efficient. On her way to the top

one of her main sticking points was insulting Santana.
And she was vicious. Cruel comments about how
slutty the Latina was. How abrasive and violent. There
was an undertone of racism and classism in every
word. Santana knew Quinn wasn’t actually racist or
classist. She had listened to the girl’s frustrated rants
over her parent’s bullshit. But she was a manipulative
bitch and knew how to push people’s buttons. Soon
Santana was overhearing people talk about her.
Whispering twisted things that she knew came from
Quinn’s honeyed words.

“You’d think she was raised in the wilderness. I mean

honestly... do you know many girls raising their fists at
people? We’re afraid of her like we’re afraid of rabid
dogs. Just attacks without thinking. I think it’s got to
do with her parents... She’s unstable. I hear she’s
fucking Puck. Really? I heard she was fucking that
other guy – what’s his name? Who doesn’t she fuck?

She should have seen this coming because back

when they were ‘friends’ and Quinn had trusted her,
the blonde had once given her one very important
little tidbit of information. During a sleepover Quinn
had been tipsy and Brittany had gone to the
bathroom. A dark shadow had passed over her face
and she had leaned into Santana, whispering:

The right way to get to be the best is by destroying

the one already on top.
She had thought she had already done that to
Quinn... but she had forgotten that one detail of their
conversation that could have saved her a lot of
trouble.

But don’t go too far... You just want them quiet. Push
too hard and you’ll either break em or they’ll come at
you Santana... they’ll come at you so hard. Always
remember nothing is permanent.

Now here she was, completely obliterated. Brittany

was sharing her lunch because someone had stolen
hers. She had caught him at it. But where she would
have normally snarled and jumped at him... she had
backed away, because Quinn had truly revoked her
status. He would have fought her back and as good a
punch as she could throw, she didn't want to have her
jaw or nose broken for a sandwich. It was only a small
part of her punishment.

“I talked to her.”

Santana looked up at Brittany slowly.

“You talked to Quinn?” She tried not to sound too

relieved but she had pinned her hopes on Brittany.
Santana – who normally hated asking for anyone’s
help – depended on Brittany, the sweet if somewhat
slow Cheerio.

As much as she cared about the blonde... even loved

her... the fact that Brittany had more clout than she
did left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Yeah.”

Santana sat there and waited. Realising that Brittany

wouldn’t take the hint, she added:

“So what did you say? And what did she say?”

“Umm I told her I didn't like how people were attacking

you. It hurt my feelings and made me sad. She told
me she liked me but she wasn’t going to do anything
about the attacks.”

“Fantastic.” She took a bite out of the apple Brittany

had given her, ignoring the bits of food people were
sporadically flicking at the back of her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Santana sighed tiredly, feeling a

headache growing between her eyes.

“No. It’s your fault. You hurt Rachel.”

“What?!” That was not the response she had

expected.

“Quinn wasn’t doing anything. Even when you were

being mean. Then you hurt Rachel. That hurt Quinn.
So now Quinn’s going to hurt you.”

“Are you serious? This has nothing to do with Rachel.

Rachel was just the last straw. Her newest little
buddy. God. She’s been wanting to put me down
since grade school!”

A piece of muffin hit the furious girl’s cheek and

Brittany watched almost mesmerized as those dark
eyes flared in rage then felt a little ill as all the fight
went out of it.

“I don’t know about that Santana. She picked you as a

friend. If she didn't like you at all she would have put
you down like this a long time ago...”

“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Frustrated by her inability to control things the way

Quinn could, and angry that Brittany would take that
bitch’s side.

“I hope you get used to walking.” Came that familiar

voice, laced with pride and scorn.

“What the fuck did you do to my car you blonde little

cu-“ Her ire died the instant she locked eyes with
Quinn. The blonde leaned up against the doorframe.
She oozed confidence so thick Santana struggled to
breathe. She could see Brittany hovering nervously
from farther away, obviously wary of calling Quinn’s
attention to her. There were limits to Quinn’s kindness
toward the tall blonde.

“I didn't do anything. Don't know who did it. Don't

care. But you’re going to need new tires.”

Santana turned red, wanting desperately to lash out

but held firmly in place by those calm hazel eyes.
Those eyes that looked upon the Latina with simple,
hard truth: Santana would do nothing. She could
almost feel the sickening weight of Quinn on her. The
command she wielded at her leisure. Quinn was still
furious and her rage was cold. An empty frozen abyss
ready to swallow Santana whole and she would
willingly fall forward into it because denying Quinn
seemed unfathomable.

So Santana stood there numb and drowning in her

anger but bound by that hard gaze. A little smirk
arose on Quinn’s lips and Santana knew more vicious
barbs were coming her way.

But they never came.

Instead, Quinn’s eyes darted just past Santana and

went soft. Santana took a breath, unaware she had
been holding it, as the power that had been so tightly
coiled around Quinn seemed to disappear. The Latina
was almost stricken by Quinn’s suddenly releasing
her.
Santana frowned in confusion as something akin to
tenderness flickered over Quinn’s face. Then the
blonde walked away from her without a word.
Santana turned abruptly to find whatever it was that
had stopped Quinn’s warpath – where she was going.
At first she didn't see anyone special, but then her jaw
dropped open.

Rachel Berry’s eyes locked on her own as Quinn

walked over to her. She didn't miss the way Quinn
brushed her finger tips along Rachel’s forearm. Then
Rachel turned away from Santana and the two girls
walked off together.

Santana barely took notice of Brittany walking over to

her to hug her and offer her comfort. There was no
doubt now, what she had done wrong. If anyone had
hurt Brittany, she would have annihilated them. There
would be no mercy and no time wasted. Santana had
hurt Rachel and Quinn was only doing what Santana
herself would have done.

She was amazed and disgusted that they were

together. She was felt ill because now she knew.

The only way out of this wasn’t to send Brittany over

to Quinn, with her puppy dog eyes... or even to
apologise to Quinn. She had to earn favour with
Rachel fucking Berry.

********************
The glee club glanced around at one another, this
would be the last meeting they ever had. Graduation
was a few weeks away. This was the last actual week
of school though, many were holding back tears at the
thought of never seeing one another again. It had
been five minutes since the club was supposed to
commence, Mr Shuester was no where to be found
and neither was a certain brunette diva.

Fifteen minutes rolled around and people were

beginning to worry, just when they were about to vote
someone to go find their faculty member he walked
through the door. His hair was a mess as if he'd been
running his hands through it, his eyes were puffy and
bloodshot, needless to say he was a mess.

Eleven pairs of eyes watched him walk over to his

desk, sit down his leather briefcase bag and take a
deep breath. His gaze fell to the occupants of the
room, a hand moving swiftly through his already
frayed locks.

"Hey everybody," His voice was gravelly and cracking.

"Hey Mr Shue," Everyone responded almost

unanimously.

"I have...some news for everyone." He pauses to take

in another deep breath. "I'm pretty sure you've all
noticed that Rachel isn't here today. I just found out
from her father's that she has joined the Marine's. She
was deployed to basic training this morning at 8 A.M"

Gasps echo across the room, everyone's jaws were

slightly slack. Finn Hudson's eyes start to water as he
thinks of the small brunette with her wide smile and
big doe eyes. One tear escapes and trickles down his
cheek, his father died in the military he didn't want his
friend to suffer the same fate.

Santana Lopez held her girlfriend and fellow cheerio

Brittany Pierce as she broke out into sobs. Artie didn't
seem to know what to do as Tina moved to sit herself
in his lap, she was seeking comfort this much her
knew, he wrapped his arms around her and stared
blankly at Mr Shuester. He expected this to be a big
hoax and for Rachel Berry to bust into the room on a
rant about how they should all continue to meet up
and sing.

Noah Puckerman dropped his head into his hands

and felt a cold shudder of dread run through him, he
didn't want the brunette to do this. But now he, or
anyone else for that matter, couldn't stop her. Mike
Chang had his arms crossed over his chest and
stared at the door like he was waiting for something.

Sam Evans didn't know Rachel Berry that well but he

knew there was a reason for why she chose to do
this, the small girl always carried a fiery passion about
her, so he accepted her decision even though it
seemed to hurt those around him. Mercedes Jones
and Kurt Hummel were looking at one another in
shock not seeming to understand why the girl that
fought for every solo and promised them she'd be a
Broadway star decided on this.

But the worst of all the reaction was that of a certain

blond cheerleader, her eyes watered and she stood
up glaring angrily at Mr Shuester. "What do you mean
she joined the Marines? This has got to be some kind
of joke right?" Her voice was frantic and it made the
naive blond in the back of the room sob harder.

"No, Quinn I assure you this isn't a joke. I thought so

too...until I saw her enlistment papers. I'm sorry." His
gaze held a sympathy for the girl that seemed to be
falling apart before his students eyes.

"No...I refuse to believe this, she would have told

me...SHE WOULD HAVE TOLD ME!" The girl
screams seemingly more at herself than anyone else,
she quickly grabs her backpack and rushes from the
room. Eleven pairs of eyes watch her go, sadness
burning in their gazes.

Quinn pounded on the Berry's front door until a tall

black man answered, a smaller white man standing
directly behind him. They saw the tears running down
the girls cheeks and quickly pulled her inside,
wrapping their arms around her and trying to offer as
much support as possible.
"Quinn, Honey," The tall man said to her.

"Why Henry? Why didn't she tell me?" She manages

between sobs.

"I don't know...we didn't even know she had enlisted

until today when she walked downstairs with a duffel
bag and a plane ticket in her hand." Henry's voice
cracks as he looks to his husband, who has tears
trailing down his face.

"Why did she join...did she tell you?" Her voice is soft,
the tears never seeming to end, her blurry gaze
makes out the man standing behind her.

"No honey she didn't. She just said it was something

she needed to do. I found her letters from Julliard and
NYU...they both denied her." The white man
murmurs.

"I'm so sorry Jim...Henry...I'm so sorry I should have

known something was up...I should have known.."
She repeats over and over as she starts full blown
sobbing once again.

"Oh no baby-girl you couldn't have known, none of us

did. She loves you...you know that don't you?"

"Yes, I love her so much...she shouldn't have left...I

would've found a way to take care of her. We still
could have went to New York, I would have helped
her with her dreams."

"We offered the same thing and she told us no, she
appreciates our offer but this was something she was
adamant on doing." Jim whispers into blond hair as he
hugs her tighter.

Brown hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, a

black t-shirt she had stolen from her father Henry
hung loosely on her body. Her legs are covered by a
pair of worn blue jeans she had shoved in the back of
closet, her indoor workout shoes crunch against
gravel as she follows the Drill Sergeant towards the
bunks, a black duffel bag tossed on her right
shoulder.

She had to do this, she knew that no one would

understand and that they would try to stop her. That is
why she didn't tell a soul until it was time for her to
depart. As they made their way into the housing unit
she would have for the next month or longer she took
a deep breath before sitting her bag on her assigned
bunk. The sign on bonus for the military was
adequate, this would allow her to be able to support
herself and Quinn. That is if the girl would accept her
apology once she returned and take her back.

It had been over two years, because right after basic

Rachel was deployed to Iraq. They finally relieved her
and gave her three months off before she had to
return to the hellish desert, her now hardened brown
eyes took in the Dayton International Airport
searching for her fathers. She had called them to let
them know she was coming home for some off time.

Her body had shaped up over the two year period, her
arms and legs were well muscled. The baby fat on her
stomach had disappeared to be replaced with a four
pack, but this had not come without sacrifices. She
had been shot more than once, she had to be
huddled up in a hole in the sand surrounded by her
dead troop mates to survive when they were
ambushed. There was a long scar running from just
below her ear on her right side and disappearing into
her standard marine's civilian uniform, it was from a
piece of shrapnel hitting her when a helicopter
crashed before her search and rescue group. Her
brown hair now longer was pulled back into a ponytail,
her hat resting on her head causing a shadow of her
face.

She spotted her dads and walked at a faster pace

towards them, she didn't see the flash of blond hair
until her arms were full of a taller warm body. She
was aware of sobbing coming from the girl she now
realized was Quinn Fabray her former girlfriend. The
ex-cheerleader pulled back delivering a harsh slap
across a now darker tanned cheek.

"Don't. .Again." Quinn growled out, her hazel eyes

were alight with anger.
"I'm sorry..." Rachel's voice was raspy, it was caused
by the accident but they didn't know that.

"It's okay...I still love you...I want to be with you Rach.

Your my one, my soul-mate...but you ever leave and
not tell me again...I swear I'll hunt you down and kill
you myself you got it?"

"Yes Ma'am." Rachel responded as the first genuine

smile passed her lips, it hadn't really happened since
she left Lima, Ohio. Now she knew why, this was her
home and it always would hold her heart as long as
one Quinn Fabray lived in the conservative town.

I know it's short but...yeah. It's done. What did y'all

think? Reviews are much appreciated! They make me
=).

**********************

IT'S HARD TO CHANGE THE WAY YOU LOSE (IF

YOU THINK YOU'VE NEVER WON) (1/4)

Rachel pulls the door open and almost shuts it again,

but her dad yells “who is it?” from the living room and
she can’t very well just walk back in there and say
“nobody”; he’d never believe her.

Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and

leans up against the doorframe with what she hopes
is the most menacing scowl she can muster on her
face, tapping her foot impatiently.

“What do you want?” Even if the glare on her face

isn’t threatening, the tone of her voice makes up for it:
low, menacing, angry, and plain bitchy.

Quinn looks up from her feet, briefly, but looks back

down almost as quickly. Her hands, folded together in
front of her, shake a little and even with Lima rush-
hour traffic – honking horns and the sound of
construction two streets over – she can hear Quinn’s
breathing and it’s not regular. It’s shaky and thready
and Rachel thinks, only for a moment, that it sounds
like Quinn is trying to breathe underwater.

Quinn opens her mouth but nothing comes out so she

closes it and opens it again. “I’m sorry to show up like
this.”

Like this, with a duffel bag at her feet, red-rimmed

eyes, and pale, sunken cheeks.

“I just couldn’t think of anywhere else I could go,”

Quinn continues, biting her lip.

Something like fury rages through Rachel’s body.

Who does she think she is? Rachel fumes. How does
she think, after the way she’s treated me my entire
life, that she can just show up here like I owe her
something? Absolutely not, Quinn Fabray. Let’s see
how you like being treated like dirt.

“Keep thinking,” Rachel sneers, “because you’re not

staying here.”

She slams the door shut, looking down at her hands.

They’re shaking so she puts them in her pockets
before she heads back to the living room.

---

“Who was at the door?” her dad asks as she settles

back into her seat, tucking her legs up under her
body. He must see the red in her cheeks and angry
tears forming in her eyes because he presses pause
on the remote, freezing Julia Roberts and the UPS
truck in motion. “Rachel, honey? What’s wrong?” As
soon as he slides close enough to her, she buries her
face in his shoulder and lets out a dry sob.

“Phil?”

“Go check the door,” Phil commands, running a hand

from the top of Rachel’s head to the middle of her
back.

James goes to the door and after a couple of minutes,

he comes back with wide eyes and Quinn trailing a
couple steps behind.

Rachel breaks out of her dad’s hold and rises with her
fists clenched at her sides. “I told you, you can’t stay
here,” she growls.

“Rachel,” Phil warns.

“No, dad,” she throws back. “I’m nice to her in school

and I tolerate her name-calling and her put downs
because I understand where I am and where she is
on the social order, even if she has dropped down a
couple places,” Rachel says with a pointed look at
Quinn’s stomach. “But this is my home. This is where
I live. And she doesn’t get to be here.”

She’s breathing hard when she finishes and blood is

rushing in her ears and her face feels like it’s on fire.
Phil blinks a couple of times; James stands perfectly
still and nothing happens until Quinn lets out a soft
whimper.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she whispers. “I’m

sorry. I’m so sorry.” Quinn hoists her duffel bag back
onto her shoulder and looks at Rachel with wet eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.

Phil steps forward as Quinn turns. “Stay.”

“Dad!”

Phil ignores Rachel’s outburst and motions to James.

“Could you show her the guest room? I think I put the
clean towels in the linen closet.”
James glances at Rachel – who’s standing, furiously,
in the middle of the room with narrowed eyes and
clenched teeth – but smiles when catches he Quinn’s
eye. “I put the clean towels in the linen closet,” he
mumbles as he steers Quinn through the room –
making a wide berth around Rachel – towards the
stairs.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Rachel rounds on her

dad. “How could you do that?”

“Honey-”

“Don’t placate me,” she snaps. “This is my house,”

she shouts, jabbing her finger into her own chest.

“Put yourself in Quinn’s shoes,” Phil tries to reason.

“I can’t, because I’m smart and responsible and not

pregnant.”

“I thought,” Phil says gently, “that you were also a

decent, kind, loving human being.”

Rachel nods defiantly. “I am.”

Phil sighs. “You could have fooled me,” he mutters,

but Rachel doesn’t hear him because she’s marching
up the stairs with heavy steps and slamming her
bedroom door.
Phil sighs again.

---

Rachel doesn’t come down for dinner when her dad

calls her. Food is overrated anyway.

---

In the morning, her daddy – James, with his Rachel-

esque smile – puts a face on her pancake using fruit.
She smiles brightly at him, but the smile fades as
soon as he puts another plate down in front of Quinn
with the same design.

Rachel scowls, peeking a glance over at Quinn in

between bites. There are dark circles under Quinn’s
eyes and red lining the hazel orbs; little lines in her
forehead where her brow is pushed together;
colorless cheeks.

She looks miserable, Rachel thinks, pushing syrup-

soaked pancake bits around her plate. Her dad
reaches across the table quietly and touches Quinn’s
hand for a brief second and Rachel’s resolve – and
angry – is solidified.

“We’re going to be late,” Rachel says tersely, sliding

off the kitchen stool.
“Did you want to go to school, Quinn?” James asks
quietly.

Rachel, with her back to the kitchen, doesn’t hear

Quinn respond, but she must nod because Rachel
can hear the car keys slide off the hook and then two
sets of feet are following her through the door leading
to the garage.

Rachel sits sullenly in the passenger seat and turns

up the radio until she’s sure her ears are going to
bleed.

---

He’s not hard to spot – because he towers over the

student body in a way that’s freakishly disturbing – so
the second she spots Finn, she beelines for him,
lifting onto her tip toes and grabbing him by the collar.

“Come with me,” she commands, almost as if he has

a choice, or can protest. They reach the Glee
headquarters and she all but tosses him into the
room, following quickly and pulling the door shut
behind them.

“Jesus, Rachel.”

“You, be quiet.” His eyes go wide and she can’t help

but think he looks like a puppy when he does that,
with his slack-jaw and his face bunched in thought.
She shakes her head to clear the thoughts and focus
on the task at hand: Quinn. “What is going on with
Quinn and why isn’t she at your house?”

She frowns a little, because she had a whole speech

planned out and there was going to be pacing back
and forth, which she was looking forward to because
with all her pent up anger this morning and waking up
a little later than usual, she didn’t get her usual
exercise routine in. Now, she’s skipped right to the
conclusion of the speech and Finn’s wide-eyed,
puppy look is gone, replaced by a scowl and hard,
dark eyes.

“So that’s where she went? To you?”

Even though she’s wondering the same thing, she

can’t help but be offended by his tone of voice; by the
disbelief in his words.

Finn slams a heavy hand down on the piano. “I

figured she’d go running to Puck, and he’d be waiting
with open arms, because he sucks!”

“What’s Puck got to do with anything?” she asks, and

then realizes that maybe she shouldn’t have, because
Finn’s face gets red and his eyes go blank.

He laughs. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“Tell me what?”
“The baby is Puck’s,” Finn tries to say nonchalantly,
but she can tell it hurts to because he bites his bottom
lip and looks away from and his hands ball into fists.

Rachel knows she needs to close her mouth, but she

just keeps staring at him, blinking. “The baby…”

“Is Puck’s,” he finishes for her, his head falling into his
hands. “God,” he chokes out. “She’s not even my kid.”

She’s not sure what to do, but in the book her dad
bought her – How To Make Friends and Keep Them –
it says something about comfort going hand and hand
with tears, so she sits, cautiously, next to him on the
piano bench and puts a hesitant hand on his back,
rubbing in small circles, the way her daddy did the
first time the Cheerios commented on her MySpace
videos. Finn’s body shudders at her touch and then
he’s putting his head into the crook of her neck and
no, this is not the way she imagined they would end
up, but her neck grows wet from his tears and she’s
helpless to do anything but sit there and rock side to
side and whisper “it’s going to be okay” while all she
can think about is hurting Quinn Fabray and shaving
off Noah Puckerman’s mohawk.

---

Glee is a terribly awkward affair. Puck sits, sulking, in

a corner and Santana sneers at him every few
minutes. Quinn sits, cross-legged, on a chair near the
piano, staring at Finn.

Finn, though, acts as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at

Artie as they talk about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
and laughs when Tina tells a joke that isn’t funny
because she stutters through the entire thing. If his
gaze roams and lands on Quinn, he only looks away
and jumps back into the story Kurt is telling about his
dad trying to bond with him over football.

Rachel watches the group and in her mind, they start

to move, forming clusters and taking sides. A mental
count gives her Finn, Kurt, Tina, Santana, Mercedes,
and Artie as one team; Matt and Mike as a neutral
party; Quinn and the baby as the opposition; Puck
would be the one man front. She can’t figure out
where to put Brittany but then decides to put Brittany
where she put Santana, because there’s more to that
friendship then either girl are letting on and it’s just no
one has been able to pinpoint it yet.

Which leaves Rachel on no one’s team, just the way

she’s destined to be; just the way it’s always been.

“Santana,” she hears on the right, in Quinn’s timid

voice. She turns just in time to see Santana reel back
from Quinn’s outstretched hand as if it’s on fire.

“Don’t you dare try and apologize to me,” Santana

hisses, canting a hip to the left. “I have nothing to say
to you.”

Quinn tries again. “I’m sorry.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “You should have thought of

that before you slept with my boyfriend.”

Rachel watches the whole thing, but doesn’t say a

word. What would I even say? she wonders. Besides,
she decides, I want to be on Team Finn.

It’s clear, by the end of practice, that Glee is a club

divided, and Rachel blushes and pretends, when her
dad picks her up in front of the school and everyone is
watching, that Quinn doesn’t get in the car with her.

---

“Rachel, could you pass Quinn the broccoli, please?”

Rachel can feel her daddy looking at her, but she
keeps her eyes firmly on her plate and pretends like
she never heard a word. “Rachel,” he says in a voice
she’s only ever heard twice in her life – once, when
she broke a lamp during a ‘diva-fit’ and another time
when she shouted that she was nothing but a
talentless loser.

“It’s okay, Mr. Berry,” Quinn says quietly, stretching

an arm across the table.

Before she can touch it, Rachel picks it up and thrusts

it in Quinn’s direction. “Don’t do me any favors,” she
grumbles.

She thinks she sees a spark in Quinn’s eyes – the

kind of spark that usually led to mid-afternoon slushie
facials and snarky comments – but as soon as it
comes, it’s gone and Quinn is pushing the new
broccoli on her plate around, mixing it with the
broccoli she’s hardly touched.

“May I be excused?”

Her father’s both say “yes” before she even finishes

the sentence and her chair almost falls back when
she stands. On her way up the stairs, she hears her
dad apologize for her behavior, and what Quinn says
– something she can’t hear from the landing – makes
her dads laugh.

It should be Rachel down there, laughing and eating

with her parents, but just like everything good in
Rachel’s life, Quinn Fabray is swooping in and taking
over.

It’s just not fair.

---

Rachel regards him coolly before going back to her

homework. Her daddy sighs and moves into the room.
“Rachel,” he starts, but she interrupts him.

“I’m still mad at you,” she announces, tossing her hair

over her shoulder. She thinks she hears him snicker
but doesn’t turn around.

She finally turns back to him and crosses her arms

over her chest – a silent invitation for him to speak.

“I know this isn’t ideal, having Quinn here.” She

doesn’t correct him. “But we raised you to be better
than the silent treatment. And we both know that
you’re a good person. Everyone here knows you’re a
good person.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m tired of,” Rachel says quietly.

James looks at her and gives her an encouraging
smile. “Maybe I’m tired of being the good person. I
just, I’m always the one who gets trampled on. People
make fun of me and they call me names and I know
it’s because they have low self-esteem and bad
hygiene, but even though I’m the one they use to
make themselves feel better, I always say ‘oh, it’s
okay’ and maybe I’m tired of doing that.”

“Oh, sweetheart-”

“I’m just tired of being the bigger person all the time
because people just continue to put me down. And
Quinn?” Her words catch in her throat and she waits a
minute before she speaks again. “Quinn was always
the ringleader. And now, just because she’s suddenly
understanding what it’s like to be treated the way I’m
treated, I’m supposed to welcome her with open
arms?”

He’s quiet for a few minutes, thinking about what

she’s said. “No, Rachel, you’re not supposed to. But
there’s something else you need to realize. You have
people. You have me and you have your dad and
those Glee kids. Quinn doesn’t have that many
people; not anyone that truly cares, at least.” He steps
to her and leans down, pressing a kiss to her
forehead, letting it linger for a moment. “Just
remember that we all need someone, honey. And
Quinn needs someone too.” He smiles down at her.
“Goodnight, baby.”

“Night, Daddy,” she whispers to his retreating back.

---

She wakes up to a noise she doesn’t recognize. Her

back aches, because she’s hunched over at her desk
and her face is sticky from being pressed against her
math book. Touching her cheek gently, she can feel
the lines of the pages indented on her skin and she
runs a hand through her hair, leaning back and
arching over the top of the chair, cracking the sore
spots on her back.

It’s not until she hears the noise again that she
registers it woke her up. Cautiously, she tip-toes down
the hallway, passing her fathers’ room, noting the
door is shut firmly and no light leaks out from the
crack between the door and the threshold.

Which means its Quinn; specifically, it’s Quinn

throwing up.

Rachel nudges the bathroom door open with a foot

and almost wishes she hadn’t. She’s beginning to
realize that she opens a lot of doors with Quinn
Fabray behind them and wants to shut them almost
instantly, and if that’s not a sign, she’s not sure what
is.

Quinn, on her knees, bent over the porcelain bowl,

doesn’t look back when Rachel takes a step into the
small room. If anything, Rachel notices, she grips the
edges of the toilet a little tighter and pulls herself
closer, away from Rachel.

Just as Rachel is about to say something, Quinn’s

body convulses and she dry heaves a few times.
Sighing, because if Quinn doesn’t calm down, her
fathers will be out here soon, she kneels down beside
Quinn and pulls sweaty tendrils of hair off of Quinn’s
face, wrapping them around her finger and tying them
back. Quinn tries to pull out of her grasp, but Rachel
moves with her, one hand pressing low on Quinn’s
back to keep her steady.
“Just let it go,” she whispers softly, the words echoing
off the cold ceramic.

After a few minutes more, Quinn’s body sags a little to

the left, into Rachel, and they sink to the floor,
Rachel’s back pressed against the cool bathtub,
Quinn sprawled across her lap. Rachel’s fingers move
across Quinn’s face, wiping away the sweat and
pushing the errant hairs behind Quinn’s ears.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad,” she feels the
need to announce, albeit quietly. Quinn nods, but the
motion is almost imperceptible. “And,” Rachel
continues, “This doesn’t mean I don’t dislike you. I
dislike you very much.”

“Okay,” Quinn whispers. “That’s okay.”

---

They don’t talk about it in the morning – anyway, what

would they say? Rachel still doesn’t talk at breakfast
and the music is still almost unbearably loud, but she
doesn’t throw dirty looks at Quinn and she doesn’t
sprint out of the car when her dad pulls up to the
school.

It’s a start, Rachel decides.

She’s not a saint, she’s a teenage girl.

---

At dinner, she corners her parents while Quinn is

upstairs.

“She gets one chance. If she messes up, she’s out of

here.” Phil quirks an eyebrow, nodding only after
James elbows him lightly in the side.

Rachel nods resolutely. “I mean it, too. If I say she

goes, and she deserves it, she’s gone.”

James reaches a hand out and touches Rachel’s

temple lightly. “Of course, kiddo.”

---

“You can’t do that,” Quinn protests. Rachel pauses

outside of the band room and lingers by the door.

A chorus of voices rises, but Finn’s stands out – she

would be able to recognize that voice anywhere. “Yes,
we can. And we did. Majority rules.”

She rounds the doorway and sees what the

commotion is all about: Quinn is standing in the
middle of the room, with the Glee kids in a semi-circle
around her, minus Matt and Mike and Brittany who
are all sitting on the risers, pretending not to pay
attention.
“Majority rules,” Santana echoes smugly.

“Majority rules what?” Rachel asks, stepping into the

circle. She thinks she sees something like defeat
cross Quinn’s face, but the blond schools her features
and tries to stand there defiant.

Finn smile excitedly. “We kicked Quinn out of Glee.”

“What?” Rachel sputters.

His smile falters a little, but Finn repeats himself. “We

took a vote and kicked Quinn out of Glee.”

Rachel takes a moment to process. “Well,” she finally

asks,” what were the numbers?”

“The numbers?” Finn asks, tilting his head to the left.

“The ‘for’ and ‘against,’ Finn,” Kurt says, exasperated.

“Six for extermination, one against, three no votes.”

“That doesn’t add up,” Rachel points out, but it clicks

when she see Quinn glaring, specifically, at Santana.
“Santana,” she says wearily. “You can’t vote for
Brittany, especially when she votes for herself.”

“She’s my best friend,” Santana argues.

“The vote is disregarded,” Rachel says authoritatively.

“Who’s the vote against?”
Puck, who she didn’t see in the far corner, raises his
hand. Rachel nods and tucks a loose strand of hair
behind her ear.

“Well, as Glee captain, I veto your vote. Quinn stays.”

Mercedes tosses her hand out as if to say “who cares

about this anyway” and Tina follows suit. Puck smiles,
genuinely, from the corner. Quinn’s shoulders sag –
with relief, Rachel thinks – and a hand strays to her
stomach. Rachel watches it, wondering if Quinn even
knows she’s muttering under her breath and
whispering to her unborn daughter.

Only Finn and Santana remain standing, sneering at

Rachel.

“We voted!” Finn cries while Santana nods furiously.

Rachel shrugs. “I vetoed you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can,” Rachel says slowly. “You both are letting

this become a personal vendetta. I can understand
that, because generally speaking, I don’t like you,
Quinn.” Quinn’s hand freezes on her stomach then
drops and Quinn frowns. “But this can’t be about our
personal feelings,” she continues. “Like it or not, we
need Quinn,” she says resolutely, addressing the
other Glee kids. “She’s the even number. We have six
guys and six girls. If we kick her out, we’re down a
person and we won’t qualify for Sectionals.”

“So we get someone else,” Santana says flippantly.

“On short notice?” Rachel shakes her head. “It won’t

work. Quinn knows the songs and the dance steps
and she has a marginally decent voice. If we want a
shot at winning Sectionals, we need her.”

She sees the gears in Santana’s head turning – the

cheerleader is vindictive, sure, but she’s almost
relatively intelligent and knows that Rachel is right:
they need Quinn if they want to get through
Sectionals into Regionals. Santana meets Rachel
eyes and shrugs. “Whatever. She can stay. But she
better stay over there,” she decides, pointing away
from the group.

Rachel nods. “Done.”

“Hey,” Quinn says, insulted.

She turns to Finn, but he’s staring at her with a blank

look and she knows he doesn’t understand. “So
you’re choosing her over me?” he asks quietly.

Rachel shakes her head furiously. “I’m not choosing

anyone over anybody,” she tries to reassure him.
He laughs, but it’s an empty laugh. “Sure you are.
You’re choosing her. Over me.”

“Finn,” she tries, but he’s pushing past her and then
past Mr. Schuester as they collide in the doorway.
“Finn,” she calls, but he doesn’t turn around and
doesn’t stop moving.

“Everything okay?” Mr. Schuester asks hesitantly.

Rachel steels her shoulders and turns back towards

the center of the room where everyone is looking at
her with wide eyes except for Quinn who won’t make
eye contact with her. She smiles at Mr. Schuester and
he has the common courtesy not to tell her just how
fake the smile is, but says “Let’s get started, shall
we?”

---

Rachel looks up when she feels someone watching

her.

“Thank you,” Quinn says after a moment. “For making

them keep me in Glee.”

“I didn’t do that for you,” Rachel says quickly, harshly.

She sees Quinn flinch and softens her tone. “I did it
for Glee. It’s too late in the year to get someone new
up to speed.
“Okay,” Quinn says, but she looks unconvinced.
“Whatever the reason; thank you.”

Quinn doesn’t hang around for the “you’re welcome.”

---

Finn appears at her locker a week later, his shoulders

hunched over, scuffing the floor with his feet. “I owe
you an apology, huh?”

Rachel pretends like he’s not even there, which is

easy, because from where she’s standing, it’s not like
she can just stare into his eyes. It would require her to
lift her head all the way back so that her spinal cord
would bend ninety degrees, which is uncomfortable.

“Rachel,” he pleads.

“Yes, you owe me an apology. But I’m not the only

one,” she says pointedly, looking down the hallway.

He follows her gaze and immediately begins to

protest. “Absolutely not,” he declares. “She doesn’t
deserve it.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t deserve your forgiveness,

but she does deserve an apology. You tried to kick
her out of Glee, Finn. I’m not telling you to go over
there and suddenly say it’s okay that she’s having the
baby of your best friend, but maybe if you told her that
you were sorry that you let your personal attachment
almost successfully sabotage Glee, it’d be a start.”

He stares down at her. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asks slowly. Down the hall, Quinn

looks at her and raises her hand in a half-wave, letting
it drop when Rachel doesn’t wave back.

“Become a robot. You just, like, shut off sometimes.

Not that it’s a bad thing,” he says quickly, because he
must see the way her eyes widen – she can feel them
widen and burn around the edges.

“It’s a talent,” she says blandly, shutting her locker

quietly and moving down the hallway.

“Damn,” she hears him say under his breath.

---

This time, she’s the one staring. Quinn is lying on her

back on the guest bed, head positioned up at the
ceiling, little white buds in her ears. She can hear
Quinn quietly singing – it sounds like “Black Velvet”
and it’s pleasant enough that Rachel is content to
stand in the doorway and listen to the rest of the
song.

Right before the end though, Quinn turns and her

eyes lock with Rachel. Her voice drops to a hum for
the last few bars and when the song is over, she pulls
one of the earphones out and rolls over and into a
sitting position.

“What’s up?”

Rachel sighs. This was a bad idea, coming here to

talk to Quinn.

“This was a bad idea,” she repeats, out loud.

“Hey, wait,” Quinn calls as Rachel turns back to the

hallway. “What did you want to talk about?”

The words and the look on Quinn’s face – the

genuine-looking curiosity, which could very easily be
attributed to the fact that Quinn used to be a social
butterfly and now she’s just lonely and willing for any
company – have Rachel crossing the threshold and
perching on the edge of the bed.

“Do you think I’m,” she pauses, not sure how to word
it, but then decides that Finn said it best. “Do you
think I’m robotic?”

Quinn snorts and promptly covers her mouth with her

hand, eyes wide with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she says
from behind her hand. “What did you just ask me?”

Rachel takes a breath, purses her lips, straightens her

shoulders and asks again. “Do you think I’m a robot?”
“It would certainly explain a few things,” Quinn says,
but she’s smiling and it doesn’t sting the way Finn’s
words did. “No, to answer your question, I don’t think
you’re a robot. I think you’re,” now Quinn pauses, and
Rachel can see the way she sticks the tip of her
tongue in the corner of her mouth while she thinks.
“Determined,” she finally says. “Determined and
appropriately distanced when you need to be.”

“So I’m pretty much a robot,” Rachel sighs. “You just

made it sound nicer.”

Quinn doesn’t confirm nor deny, but pulls the other

bud out of her ear. “Who called you a robot? Puck?”

Rachel sighs again. “Finn mentioned it.”

“Finn? Why would he call you a robot?”

“It’s not important,” Rachel says, rising to her feet and

giving Quinn a hesitant smile. “Thanks.”

Quinn nods. “I didn’t really do anything,” she admits,

“but you’re welcome.”

---

“What are you doing today?” Quinn asks, passing

Rachel the sugar bowl.
Rachel takes a minute to think about how weird this
is: Quinn Fabray without make-up sitting at the island
in the Berry kitchen, sipping coffee out of a mug with
a five-year-old Rachel in a tutu screened on one side
and a big smiley face on the other.

“Uh,” she finally says, “School.”

Quinn nods. “Right. I mean after school. And after

Glee.”

“Oh.” She goes through her mental planner. Today

was supposed to be a heavy, afternoon workout on
the elliptical, followed by a deep rinse facial, but
Quinn looks eerily nonchalant and her eyes are
darting back and forth between Rachel’s face and her
quickly-draining coffee mug. “I’m not sure yet,” she
lies. “Was there something you needed?”

Quinn waves a hand in the air, like she’s brushing

away invisible lint. “It’s not a big deal.”

Rachel reaches out and grabs Quinn’s flailing limb,

holding it still against her elevated knee. They both
pause for a moment, but Rachel recovers first, still
holding Quinn’s hand. “What do you need help with?”

Quinn laughs a little, but it’s pitchy and dies quickly.

“My second ultrasound is this afternoon. Finn isn’t
coming, obviously. Puck offered, but that’s just, it’s
just a ‘no,’ so I was wondering if you wanted to tag
along.” Quinn bites her bottom lip and flexes her
hands, one of which is still on Rachel’s knee so
Quinn’s nails dig into her flesh quickly before Quinn
realizes what she’s doing. “Sorry,” she murmurs.

On the inside, Rachel is laughing because Quinn

looks so nervous and self-conscious and even though
she’s seen the ex-cheerleader cry more times over
the last two weeks than she’d like to admit, she still is
a little freaked out whenever Quinn doesn’t just
demand something. She thinks it makes Quinn
human; it’s endearing and personable and easier to
see Quinn when she’s like this, all hesitation and half-
smiles.

It’s refreshing.

“I’m your third choice,” she says, trying to act insulted.

She can’t though, because at Quinn’s wide-eyed look
and the useless opening and closing of her mouth,
Rachel breaks into a laugh and doubles over. “I’m
sorry,” she wheezes. “It’s just that you, and then…”

Quinn is staring at her like she’s lost her mind.

“Oh jeez,” Rachel mutters, tossing Quinn’s hand back

at her lightly, grabbing another piece of toast off the
stack on the counter, biting off a generous corner. “I
think I broke you,” she laughs.

“Jerk,” Quinn mutters, following Rachel out of the

kitchen.

Without thinking, Rachel looks back over her shoulder

and winks.

IT'S HARD TO CHANGE THE WAY YOU LOSE (IF

YOU THINK YOU'VE NEVER WON) (2/4)

Rachel fiddles with her hands and glances around the

room, taking in the shiny metal objects, shuddering.

“Are you nervous?” Quinn asks, breaking through the

fog in Rachel’s mind. Rachel goes wide-eyed guiltily
and shakes her head furiously. “Because I’m the one
with my feet in stirrups, so, calm down.”

Adjusting her gown, Quinn flashes a smile and Rachel

tries to take a deep breath.

“It’s the metal,” she admits.

Quinn looks over and quirks an eyebrow. “The metal,”

she repeats.

“It’s just so Terminator, you know? I used to think it

was going to come alive spontaneously.” She claps a
hand over her mouth, horrified. “I never said that.”

Except that Quinn is openly laughing and she really

did just admit that out loud. “Would have thought that
Rachel Berry is afraid of the doctors?”
“I’m afraid of the possibility of Judgment Day,” she
corrects adamantly. “If you’re going to laugh at my
expense, at least take the time to make fun of the
right phobia.”

“You’re right,” Quinn concedes, eyes twinkling. She

opens her mouth, about to say something else when
the door is pushed open and instead of the doctor,
Puck and Finn are standing in the doorway, shoulder
to shoulder.

Rachel recovers first. “What are you two doing here?”

Puck steps forward and frowns. “What are you doing

here, Streisand?”

“I asked her to come,” Quinn says from the table,

clapping her knees together and crossing her arms
defensively across her chest. “I didn’t, however, invite
you two.”

“That’s my kid,” Puck says, pointing at Quinn’s

stomach.

“Yeah, well,” Finn says from the doorway. “I used to

think that was my kid.”

“And you’ve made perfectly clear that you don’t want

anything to do with this baby,” Quinn says in a low
voice. She turns to point at Puck. “And you. I told you
to stay away from me.”

Puck takes another step forward. “And that’s my kid in

that stomach of yours, so I’m staying.” He sits down a
stool, as if to prove his point.

Rachel rises off of her own stool. “She said she didn’t
want either of you here.”

“Stay out of this, Manhands. What do you even know

about boys?” Quinn snaps. Rachel’s head turns back
around towards Quinn, who’s suddenly realized what
she said. “Rachel, I-”

Rachel smiles brightly and grabs her purse off the

floor by her stool. “Just bring her back when you three
are done working through all your sexual tension,
okay?” she asks, directing it at Finn.

Wordlessly, he nods.

---

Things are tense again, and underlying current

running across the table like they’re two opposite
ends of a magnetic, battling for the center charge.

Rachel doesn’t speak at dinner and almost snaps at

her dad when he asks how her day went, but shovels
another forkful of strained cauliflower into her mouth
before she says anything stupid. She isn’t expected to
talk a lot anyway; James and Phil want to know all
about the ultrasound and the little baby girl nestled in
Quinn’s lower abdomen.

She nods and hums in the right places when her

fathers look at her, because as far as they know she
was in that doctor’s office the whole time. Instead, she
hangs on every word surreptitiously, and notices that
Quinn conveniently leaves out the Shrek-like oaf and
the Neanderthal that crashed the appointment.

Quinn follows her up the stairs, but doesn’t say

anything because Rachel’s parents are still within
hearing distance. As soon as they reach the landing,
Quinn reaches for Rachel’s elbow, but Rachel pulls
away right before Quinn touches her, mumbling
something about sleep and escaping to her room.
She leans against the door, listening to the footsteps
in the hallway.

Quinn stands in front of her door a couple of minutes

before moving down the hallway and Rachel exhales
a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

---

“This isn’t a good idea anymore,” Rachel announces

at breakfast, in between taking a sip of her orange
juice and chewing a piece of cantaloupe.

Phil’s hand freezes, hovering above the table; James

drops the corner of the newspaper he was reading
and looks down his nose, through his glasses at
Rachel.

“What’s not a good idea anymore?” Phil asks slowly.

Rachel chews what it’s in her mouth thoughtfully,

swallowing. “Our current living situation.”

Quinn drops her spoon. It clatters against the ceramic

plate, a loud echo in a quiet room. “Rachel,” she says
quietly.

Phil looks at James who shrugs his shoulders. “Girls,

what’s going on?”

Rachel own utensil hits her plate and the sound is

louder than before, mostly because she throws it
more than drops it. “Don’t do that. Don’t say ‘girls’ like
she belongs here.”

“Rachel!”

Quinn clears her throat and Phil falls silent. “She’s

right,” Quinn says softly. “I’ve imposed on you guys
for too long now.”

“Quinn-”

“No,” she continues, cutting James off. “I was, uh,

wrong to expect to be able to stay here.” She wipes
the corner of her mouth with her napkin and pushes
her stool back, dropping to the tile floor. “I’ll get my
stuff together.”

Rachel watches her leave the kitchen and takes

another long sip of her juice, trying to ignore her
parents looking at her like she should do something,
but she can feel their stares so she looks up. “What? I
told you,” she directs at her dad accusingly. “One
misstep and she’s gone. We talked about this.”

“You’re an adult,” her dad says softly. “And you’re

more than capable of making your own decisions, but
I’m pulling the Dad card.”

Rachel’s mouth drops open. “You can’t do that.”

“Ah ha,” he hums, eyes twinkling. “I can and I just did.

That’s the beauty of being a dad.” His smile fades and
his eyes grow serious. “Go. Go stop her from leaving.”

Rachel thinks about pouting, but her daddy is

chuckling light behind his newspaper and her dad is
waiting for her to get up from the island, so she goes,
but she stomps a little when she walks.

---

Rachel pauses with her hand raised, knuckles resting

against the door. She hears the ripping sound of a
zipper and words she can’t comprehend and then
silence. Before she can back away from the door, it’s
pulled open and her hand just hangs uselessly in the
air.

“What?” Quinn snaps, not actually looking at Rachel,

but rather, over her shoulder into the hallway. “Did
you come to make sure I get to the front door alright?”

Rachel shimmies through the doorway, avoiding

contact with Quinn’s body.

“I wanted to,” she swallows hard, “apologize.”

Quinn laughs mirthlessly. “No you don’t’.”

“Yes I do,” Rachel insists, stepping forward with

conviction, eyes ablaze with determination. “I was
wrong to want you to leave.”

“Listen,” Quinn sighs, dropping into the chair at the

desk her daddy brought up from the basement for the
blond. “I know you don’t like this situation and I know
you think I’m invading and trying to take over. I just
can’t go home and I obviously can’t stay at Finn’s
anymore.”

Rachel leans her elbows on her knees. “Why did you

say anything to him? About being the father,” she
clarifies.

Quinn shrugs her shoulders. “Puck already knew and

all of the baby drama was stressing Finn out. I got
tired of lying, I guess.”

“So you just kind of blurted it out?” Rachel’s curious,

because she never heard the story of how Finn came
to know about Puck and Quinn; she’s only heard that
she did and Quinn wasn’t exactly graceful while doing
it.

“Word vomit,” Quinn mutters. Rachel’s face stays

blank; she has no idea if she’s supposed to know
what that means. “You know,” Quinn prompts, and
clearly Rachel should have. “Mean Girls?”

Rachel gives a small smile.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about,” Quinn

concludes, smiling a little.

“No,” Rachel admits sheepishly.

“I have it here, somewhere,” Quinn says, eyes

scanning the room. “We can watch it…”

Quinn’s voice trails off, but Rachel makes a decision

and tries not to dwell on it. “I have too much
homework tonight, but how about tomorrow night?
We’ll watch your movie and then I’ll pick one?”

“Tomorrow?” Quinn asks hesitantly.

Rachel nods, slightly unsure but aware of what she
needs to do. “You should stay. I was…out of line, to
want you to leave.”

“It’s your house. It’s your life,” Quinn says.”And I just

kind of jumped into it without warning.”

“And you need a place to stay. If only for the baby’s

sake,” Rachel adds.

Quinn pulls at the leg of her jeans. “I’m sorry about

the snapping yesterday. And the name-calling.”

“It’s fine,” Rachel insists, blushing. It’s really not fine –

it stung more than usual because she had her guard
down; she’s become entirely too comfortably around
Quinn Fabray and she paid for it in embarrassment
and humiliation. Quinn must see that on her face
because when Rachel looks up, Quinn is blushing
and sucking her cheeks in and biting her bottom lip.

“Well, anyway,” Quinn says in an almost-whisper. “I’m

still sorry. And I really did want you there.”

“Next time,” Rachel promises, heading for the door.

“Next time,” Quinn repeats. She winks. “It’s a date.”

---

She can’t sleep.

She’s tried water and warm milk and she’s turned on
some music – her daddy’s soft rock collection – only
too turn it off again because nothing works.

Rachel can hear restless walking – pacing one way

then the other – and knows that nausea is keeping
Quinn up again. In the morning, the blond is going to
refuse a cup of coffee, gulp down orange juice, flinch
at the smell of the scrambled eggs and insist on
eating plain toast. Rachel is going to outwardly sigh –
just by knowing tonight that Quinn will eat all the
toast, Rachel is going to want some tomorrow – but
inwardly, she’ll grin – more coffee for her.

I haven’t forgiven her completely, she decides. I can’t

forgive her yet, and I can’t let my guard down either,
because I’ll only get hurt.

She turns over and buries her face in the pillow. Girls
like me aren’t friends with girls like her.

---

Except that her guard slips a little more each day,

every time Quinn smiles or makes a joke or adds two
teaspoons of sugar – “It’s the perfect amount” Rachel
argues – to Rachel’s coffee in the morning before
Rachel even gets downstairs.

Quinn sneaks in through the cracks when Rachel isn’t

looking.

---

“We’ve got The Princess Bride…and according to

your facial expression, Princess Bride is a no,” Quinn
laughs, tossing the DVD case onto the easy chair in
the living room. “So,” Quinn continues, holding up
both hands. “Charade, featuring the gush-worthy Cary
Grant, or we can watch Casablanca.”

Rachel tilts her head to the left. “How did The

Princess Bride get mixed up with those two?”

Quinn shrugs and smiles. “Who knows? Just pick one

so we can eat the popcorn already.”

Rule #3 of movie night in the Berry house: no eating

until the movie start, including the pregnant girl – an
amendment Rachel insisted upon adding when Quinn
finished an entire bowl of popcorn before the movie
even started.

She pretends to take her time even though they both

Rachel will pick Casablanca because Humphrey
Bogart, Rachel claims, the only truly honest character
she’s ever encountered in her life. Quinn chooses not
to comment, but decides to agree, she told Rachel
once, only because they get to eat more when they
argue less.
“Casablanca,” Rachel decides, but Quinn already has
it popped out of the case and is just waiting for the
DVD player to open.

Quinn settles into a corner of the couch and then

looks around wildly for the popcorn, but Rachel, at the
other end of the couch, has it planted on her lap and
she’s slowly eating one kernel at a time.

“That’s not funny.”

Rachel smirks. “I’m not sure what you’re talking

about.”

“Berry,” Quinn growls, but her eyes are laughing and

her teeth are clenched in a way that Rachel finds
comical and cute. “You better hand that popcorn over,
or else.”

“Or else what?” Rachel taunts. “You’re going to stare

at me until I die of boredom?”

Quinn flushes. “Fine,” she grumbles. “I’m coming over

there.”

“I’m glad you’re warning me about this,” Rachel says,

pulling back the blanket she’s huddled underneath.
Quinn slides underneath it gracefully, and by the time
the flurry of hot pink jersey cotton settles around
them, Quinn has her hands balled up under her chin
and her ear is pressed to Rachel’s thigh.
“Pass the popcorn,” Quinn mutters.

---

“Hey, Rachel?”

She looks up and pauses. Tilting her head back even

further, she finally makes eye contact with Finn and
gives him a soft smile.

This Finn-crush thing has been running its course,

and in the week and a half that they haven’t spoken,
since he crashed Quinn’s ultrasound appointment,
she had almost completely forgotten about him. She
thinks maybe it’s because she has no one to fight for
his attention – Kurt, really, doesn’t stand a chance –
and she’s been so consumed with school and Quinn
lately that Finn has just slipped her mind.

“Hello, Finn,” she says, closing her locker. She turns

and dives into the morning crowd. He catches up with
her quickly and falls into step easily.

“So, I was wondering something,” he starts, lifting his

backpack higher up on his shoulder. “Rachel, stop,”
he says with a laugh, grabbing her and turning to face
him. One hand covers his shoulder and the other
slides along her jaw line.

Rachel glances around the hallway nervously and

yes, everyone is watching to see what is going to
happen next.

“I was wondering,” Finn says quietly, “If you wanted to

maybe go out with me. Friday,” he adds.

A wave of a murmur goes through the hallway and

with Finn looking down at her with those big, puppy-
dog eyes; she’s not sure what to do. She swallows,
hard, and tries to move her head. It tilts up and down
a little bit and his eyes start to sparkle.

“Sure,” she says, but it’s more a question than a

statement, and she doesn’t really understand this:
she’s supposed to be in love with Finn. He’s
supposed to be her high school sweetheart – the
sensitive jock with a heart of gold and the voice of an
angel. She’s supposed to get a butterfly type of
feeling in her stomach every time he touches her and
when he smiles at her and she’s not supposed to be
able to contain her excitement when he finally asks
her out on a date.

That’s what all the movies say.

Except she’s only thinking about what Quinn will say

when she finds out – even thought Quinn has said,
many times, she’s over Finn and the golden boy
dreams she used to have.

It doesn’t matter to Finn. He smiles and nods

enthusiastically. “Awesome. I’ll pick you up at eight.
We can go bowling again!”

As soon as he bounds down the hallway, Rachel

remembers that Friday is movie night with Quinn.

---

Quinn pauses in the middle of separating the laundry

– “Reds over there, Rachel, and the whites over here.
That’s why all your clothes are pink” – giving Rachel a
look that Rachel can’t put a name to over her
shoulder. “Well,” she says, “that’s nice.”

“You’re not mad?”

Quinn laughs and puts another dark sweatshirt into

the washer machine. “I told you, Finn and I are done,
for good. Have at him, if you really want him.”

Rachel is sure Quinn is trying to sound friendly, trying

to sound happy and carefree, but there’s a hint of
darkness in her tone and her eyes won’t meet
Rachel’s across the room.

“I don’t have to go,” Rachel says softly; so softly she’s

not sure Quinn hears her over the dryer, because the
blond doesn’t say anything for a moment. Finally,
Quinn looks back over her shoulder and gives a smile
that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Of course you do.”

---

She knows the night is going to go horribly wrong the

minute he grabs her hand as they’re moving down the
walkway to the car, because his hand is sweaty and
she knows if she were to turn around, Quinn would be
sitting in the front window, watching them go, holding
a bowl of popcorn that she doesn’t have to share with
anyone.

The whole night, she can’t shake the feeling that

Quinn is watching her.

---

Shutting the door softly behind her, she finally lets out
the breath she’s been holding since the car stopped in
front of her house. Rachel knew Finn would try to kiss
her; it was inevitable. He’d been hinting at it all night,
with his hand on the small of her back and grabbing
her around the waist each time she threw something
other than a gutter ball.

When the car stopped, he smiled at her from the

driver’s seat and then he was sliding towards her
across the disgusting vinyl of the seats and cupping
her face and kissing her.

It was slobbery and he bit her bottom lip in way that

stung and failed to be smooth and she’s almost
positive that Jacob Ben Israel could kiss better than
Finn Hudson.

She sees the light off the TV and tip-toes lightly into
the living room. Quinn is sprawled across the couch,
one arm pillowing her head and the other grazing the
carpet, the remote half-under the couch. Smiling to
herself, she kneels down to pick the clicker up and
when she lifts her head, she lets out a small gasp.

“Jesus, Quinn,” she hisses. The other girl doesn’t

speak or smile or even breathe, just stares at Rachel
until Rachel can feel her face flush. “You should be
sleeping upstairs. The baby is enough strain on your
back as it is. Sleeping on this couch can’t help.”

Quinn finally blinks a few times, as if she’s just

noticing that Rachel is kneeling next to her.

“Hi,” Rachel says softly, reaching forward to brush a

piece of hair off of Quinn’s face. “What do you say we
head upstairs?”

She goes to stand, pushing her palms into the carpet,

but Quinn’s hand is suddenly tracing the same line
that Finn traced along her jaw, starting at the top of
the bone by her ear and ending at the soft dip in her
chin. Quinn says something but it’s so soft that
Rachel has to ask her to repeat herself.
Quinn clears her throat. “Did you kiss him?”

Rachel stills. “Yes,” she whispers, her head dropping.

Quinn’s fingers push up underneath her chin and she
doesn’t have a chance to get an apology out because
Quinn’s eyes are so close and they’re sharing the
same air.

“Quinn,” she says softly, but Quinn’s mouth is pressed

against her own, pulling the words out from behind
her teeth. The kiss is neat and warm and Quinn
doesn’t bite down on her tongue and all the butterflies
in her stomach that didn’t flutter when she kissed Finn
suddenly start filling her stomach at the static
pressure of Quinn’s hand against her face and
Quinn’s bottom lip in between her lips.

Rachel rocks back onto her heels but Quinn doesn’t

follow and Rachel attempts to control her breathing
while trying to figure out what just happened.

In a daze, she lifts to her feet, pulling down the hem of

her shirt self-consciously. “Goodnight,” she whispers,
turning her back to Quinn and climbing the stairs
slowly.

Lying in bed, she can’t fall asleep.

---

On Monday, after two days of avoiding Quinn, Rachel

spends all of the day avoiding Finn who wants to hold
her hand in the hallways and share a lunch with her
for everyone to see.

It’s overwhelming and she knows – because Quinn

really did make her watch Mean Girls – that all that
will result from keeping this bottled up is word vomit.
Which doesn’t even sound pleasant.

The only thing is she has no friends. She has Quinn,

but she can’t talk to Quinn about anything because
this morning she nearly cried “Why did you kiss me?”
at the kitchen table when she was trying to ask her
dad for the milk and so that leaves her locked in a
bathroom stall during her lunch period, picking at the
peanut butter and jelly sandwich Quinn left in a brown
bag on the counter for her.

Before the bell rings she moves through the hallways

avoiding open doors and making a wide circle around
the cafeteria, bee-lining for the only safe place she
can during Spanish – Quinn and Finn in the same
class is just too much to handle right now.

Ms. Pillsbury looks up from her Lysol container. “Is

there, uh, is there something I can do for you
Rachel?”

Rachel nods – more certain than she actually feels –

and sits down, sinking into the hardwood chair. “I was
wondering if you had a pamphlet relating to teenage
sexuality.”

Ms. Pillsbury seems to choke on air, tapping a finger

lightly against her chest as if it will clear her air
passage and Rachel watches the finger for a moment
before her eyes dip lower, tracing the v of Ms.
Pillsbury’s shirt. A subtle cough pulls her eyes back
up to wide – alarmingly wide, really – eyes that are
actually sparkling with amusement.

Quinn wasn’t kidding when she called Ms. Pillsbury

‘Bambi’ and said you could “see almost everything in
those eyes.”

“And by ‘teenage sexuality,’ you mean…”

“Having feelings for members of the same sex,”

Rachel clarifies.

“Oh,” Ms. Pillsbury says lightly. She frowns. “What

about Finn Hudson?”

Rachel frowns too. “What about Finn Hudson?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ms. Pillsbury rushes to cover. “I just

thought that…”

“So did I,” Rachel admits. “He asked me on a date

and I went and it was…nice.”

“Oh.”
“But it was only nice. It wasn’t exhilarating or
stomach-twisting. Or even romantic.”

Ms. Pillsbury’s mouth quirks a little on the left.

“Rachel, you’re only in high school.”

“Yes, but isn’t that when you’re supposed to feel it the

most? When you’re young? Isn’t it supposed to be
invigorating?”

“Well, if you only went on one date, then there’s room

for improvement. One bad date isn’t reason to, uh,
switch teams. Trust me,” Ms. Pillsbury grumbles, “I’m
still trying.”

“His hand was sweaty,” Rachel says blandly.

Like a well-trained mysophobe, Emma Pillsbury

shudders from head to toe and her face twists up in
horror.

“And regardless of his malfunctioning glandular

issues,” Rachel continues, “it wasn’t what I thought it
would be.”

“Maybe your expectations were too high,” Ms.

Pillsbury suggests.

Rachel nods. “It’s possible.” She taps her fingers

together and sighs under her breath. “Quinn kissed
me. In my living room. On the mouth,” she adds
necessarily.

Ms. Pillsbury’s eyes go even wider – if that’s possible

– and she looks like she swallowed something hot.
“Quinn Fabray?”

“Quinn Fabray,” Rachel repeats, nodding. “She lives

with me now.”

“Yes,” Ms. Pillsbury mutters. “So I’ve heard.”

“I got home from my date, and she kissed me.”

Ms. Pillsbury opens her mouth and closes it, like a

fish gasping for air. “Well,” she says softly. Her hands
go into a flurry of activity, opening drawers and pulling
at papers and leaflets but when she looks back up
again, she shrugs regretfully.

“I don’t have a pamphlet on that.”

---

She’s chopping vegetables at the kitchen counters,

swaying to “Only The Good Die Young” when she
feels hands on her hips and then she’s being spun
around, the edge of the counter pressing into the
small of her back and a mouth covering her own,
hands wandering from her waistline to under the
bottom of her shirt. The knife falls to the floor and
she’s being lifted a couple inches off the ground,
sliding onto the countertop and her knees are forced
apart and a body is stepping between them.

Quinn bites down on her bottom lip and her mouth

opens, a tongue that not hers sliding in past her teeth.
Cool hands slide across the front of her stomach and
fingertips dip beneath the elastic waistband of her
sweatpants.

Just as quickly as it starts, it’s over and Rachel’s

sitting on the counter with her hand over her heart,
panting and Quinn is in the next room, asking her dad
if they can check the final score of the UCONN game.

---

Her dad comes into her room and leans up against

the edge of her desk.

“Everything going okay?” he asks.

She nods in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.

“Sure, Dad. Everything is great.”

“Because you can tell me if something is wrong.”

“Of course I can.”

“So, if you need to talk,” he says, trailing off, because

Rachel’s attention is suddenly pulled to the hallway,
where Quinn is walking to her room, and the sides of
the skirt she’s wearing is moving left and right and left
and right. When the blond disappears inside her
room, she turns back to her dad.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “What were you

saying?”

He doesn’t repeat himself, but he hmms under his

breath and touches her cheek before he leaves.

---

Rachel runs into Quinn as she’s coming out of the

bathroom, hair still wet from her shower. The blond
looks genuinely surprised, but before Quinn can say
anything, Rachel is taking a step back into the
bathroom and she’s pulling Quinn with her.

She wants to ask questions. She wants answers. She

wants the who, the what, the when, the where, and
most importantly, the why.

Quinn, thought, doesn’t want the same things,

because as soon as Rachel opens her mouth to
speak, Quinn is shaking her head and backing out
into the hallway.

“No,” she says adamantly. “No, no, no.”

“I just want to know…”

Quinn’s face is pinched together and it looks like
she’s in pain. “I can’t do this right now.”

“But I just want to know what it means,” Rachel

whispers to any empty room.

---

Fine Rachel decides, flipping her phone opening and

hitting keys furiously. She scrolls through her
contacts, finds Finn and hits send. If that’s the way
she wants to do things, then fine.

---

Finn is waiting at her locker when she walks into

school the next morning and as soon as she sees her,
his face lights up and Rachel feels marginally guilty
for this, but she smiles brightly at him all the same
and holds her breath as he gets closer to her.

She can hear Quinn’s shoes slapping against the tile

behind her and Finn is barreling down in front of her
and it’s like an explosion when Rachel meets Finn in
the middle of the bisecting hallways and his arms loop
around her waist and her hands grip the collar of his
shirt.

She sort of feels like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing

and she’s leaping into Patrick Swayze’s arms, but
Quinn doesn’t really fit into the equation, so it doesn’t
make that much sense.

“Hey,” Finn whispers right before his mouth closes

down over hers, and it’s not like when Quinn kissed
her.

When Quinn kissed her, the room faded out and the
noise went with it and all that was left was a sweet
humming noise from the back of Quinn’s throat. When
Finn kisses her it’s like amplification: she’s too aware
of everyone whispering behind their hands and the
sound of sneakers squeaking against the tile is like a
thousand fingernails scratching against chalkboards.

When Quinn kissed her, the blond’s hands were light

against her waist and they weren’t demanding, but
they felt right. Find’s hands press so that she can feel
the waistband of her skirt cutting into her skin.

When Quinn kissed her, it was good and Finn isn’t.

He’s too much too fast and she regrets her whole
“maybe-Quinn-will-be-jealous-if-she-sees-me-making-
out-with-her-ex-boyfriend” plan, because when Finn
spins her in a half-circle, Quinn isn’t even standing
there anymore so this “letting-Finn-stick-his-tongue-
down-her-mouth” idea is really just a waste of time.

She rips her mouth away from his and resists the urge
to wipe away his saliva with the back of her sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, because while he’s “a, tall,
bumbling human made only of shiny teeth and a
fleshy stomach,” or so says Quinn, he’s perceptive
and sensitive.

“I-” but she doesn’t seem to need to say anything

else, because he’s smiling sadly and nodding like he
already knows what she’s going to say. “It’s not that I
don’t like you,” she tries to explain. “It’s just, at this
time in my life, there’s-”

“More important things in your life,” he finishes for her,

incorrectly.

She was going to say “there’s Quinn” but it sounds

better the way he says it.

“Right. More important things.”

“Well, that’s okay,” he says good-naturedly. “Maybe

someday we can try again.”

Rachel looks up at him, really looks at him and thinks,

for a moment, that Finn Hudson is highly
underestimated.

The thought passes and what she’s left with is Quinn,

and the overwhelming need to find her.

---
“Sorry!” She shouts the minute she bursts through the
door, closing her eyes and clapping her hands over
her face. She turns quickly, trying to get back to the
door but she trips over a bench and lands on the cool
concrete floor.

“Oh, gosh,” Brittany says, pulling Rachel up off the

ground. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“What are you doing here RuPaul?” Santana sneers,

crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

It loses some of the effect, Rachel thinks, when

Santana tries to make fun of her and she’s the one in
just a cheerleading skirt and a bra. Rachel quirks an
eyebrow and Santana glances away, but Brittany is
still brushing invisible lint off of Rachel’s arm.

“What are you doing here?” Rachel asks, batting

Brittany’s hand away as nicely as possible.

“Oh, we’re totally not making out,” Brittany says with a

smile.

Santana groans. “Brittany.”

“What? I thought that was what we’re supposed to

say?”

Rachel pats Brittany on the shoulder. “It might be

slightly more convincing if you were wearing
something else other than your underwear,” she says
gently.

Brittany smiles widely. “Oh, right.”

Rachel turns back to Santana and tries to stifle her

giggle, but she can’t when the other brunette’s arms
are stuck inside her elastic top and the only thing
visible from Santana’s torso up is her ponytail.
Brittany, in her sports bra and her spankies, gives
Rachel a wide smile and skips over to Santana,
tugging down the fabric over Santana’s face.

“Thanks,” Santana whispers before turning back to

Rachel with a frown. “Now, what are you doing in here
Smurfette?” Brittany coughs. “Rachel,” Santana
corrects, giving Brittany an “are-you-happy-now” look.
Brittany giggles.

“I was looking for Quinn.”

“And you thought she’d be here?”

Rachel swallows and nods. “She witnessed a mistake

and I wanted to explain what happened.”

“Are you talking about Finn’s tongue down your

throat?”

“H-how did you know about that?” Rachel stutters.

Santana tosses her head. “Puh-lease. I got a mass
text about two minutes before you barged in here and
interrupted us. Speaking of that,” she says, turning to
Brittany. “You can put your skirt back on. And your
top. Berry here ruined the moment.”

Brittany pouts for a minute but redresses and then

slings an arm around Rachel’s shoulders.

“Let’s go find Quinn!”

Santana rolls her eyes. “Yeah, lets.”

---

They don’t find her until the end of the day, in Glee,
and even then, Quinn won’t look at her or talk to her
or even acknowledge her existence.

Rachel stares at Quinn longingly until Santana leans

over during a break.

“Your cheer-sex with Quinn is abhorrent. Can you

stop staring, for like, two minutes, please?”

Rachel’s so shocked at the word “please” that she

forgets to ask Santana what “cheer-sex” means.

ttany is just staring at the nails on her free hand,

nodding when Kurt suggests a darker shade of pink to
offset her pale skin.
Puck is the one who pulls her aside during a jam
session. Finn is pounding away on the drums, Artie’s
guitar sounds like it’s wailing and Tina and Mercedes
are doing a “Total Eclipse Of The Heart” duet and
Puck’s hand slips around her bicep, pulling her to face
him a little.

“Do you think if I went over and talked to her dad,

she’d let me help with the baby?” He asks
desperately.

It’s not Puck’s fault, Rachel knows. None of this is

Puck’s fault, except for the getting-Quinn-drunk part,
but the rest of it – kissing Finn, kissing Quinn, taking
Quinn out on a date, all the feelings in the bottom of
her stomach – as nothing to do with Puck.

Still, she needs to blame someone and Puck is sitting

in front of her asking her if Quinn will let him back into
her life and all Rachel wants is Quinn in her life.

Her hand is already back at her side by the time she

registers that she slapped him.

“What the hell, Berry?”

The room goes silent instantly – the way Rachel

imagines it to be after an atomic bomb drops: pure
silence and stillness and not a single person
breathes.
“If you had just stayed away from her in the first
place,” she says in a low voice. “If you had just left her
alone…” She trails off and stares at her hands.
“Noah-”

He looks up at her and he must see something

because he sighs and takes her hand, the one that hit
him, and cradles between his own. “Yeah, Berry, I
know.”

---

When Quinn doesn’t show up the next day, Santana

starts to murmur under her breath about breaking
some perfect attendance award and Brittany starts
checking her phone every two minutes. Even Finn
frowns when he thinks someone isn’t looking and
Glee is a subdued affair.

Rachel, though, sings and it’s almost like Quinn

Fabray never existed.

---

“Hey, Rachel?” her dad asks, knocking on her

bedroom door.

“Come in,” she says dully, not looking up from her

math homework. The number started blurring on the
page a while ago and she’s just been doodling in the
margins, nonsensical drawings of numbers and
shapes.

She feels the bed shift. “You didn’t want anything to

eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“I know you’re upset that Quinn left,” he says gently

and Rachel snaps to attention, her eyes meeting his
unerringly.

“No, I’m not.” She smiles, but it feels forced and

Rachel knows he can see through it. “In fact, I think
maybe I am hungry, after all.”

“Rachel-”

“Dad,” she snaps. She sighs and tries to soften her

tone. “Dad, it’s sweet that you care, but, really, I’m
fine. It’s a funk. I’ll get over it.”

Except she’s not sure she will.

---

“Okay, we need to do something about this,” Santana

says, leaning up against the locker next to Rachel’s.

Rachel looks around wildly, but no, Santana is really

talking to her.
“Yes, you,” Santana snaps, as if reading her mind.
“It’s been a week. They could have her tied up in the
basement for all we know.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Please. They have a social

image to uphold. Locking your pregnant teenage
daughter in the basement is hardly the way to win any
Christian Fellowship awards.”

Santana grabs her by the elbow, digging manicured

nails into her skin and Rachel winces because it
hurts. She opens her mouth to ask Santana where
her keeper is, but then Brittany rounds the corner and
she looks like she’s about to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Santana asks first, even though

Rachel is thinking it. The taller brunette intercepts
Brittany and holds her face steady, whispering words
that Rachel can’t make out. Rachel takes the cell
phone out of Brittany’s hand and scrolls back up to
the beginning of the message on the screen, reading
words like clinic and forced adoption and nunnery.

“Do you have your car?”

Santana looks over at Rachel and frowns. “Of course

I do.”

Rachel sticks her hand out. “Well, give me the keys.”

Cautiously, Santana fishes them out of her backpack
and drops them into Rachel’s hand. “You’re, like, an
experienced driver, right?”

“Of course I am,” Rachel says over her shoulder,

crossing her fingers and hoping that karma decides
not the bite her in the ass today.

IT'S HARD TO CHANGE THE WAY YOU LOSE (IF

YOU THINK YOU'VE NEVER WON) (4/4)

Mrs. Fabray pulls the door open and almost shuts it

again, Rachel can see the urge to in her eyes, but
puts her hand out and pushes forward, forcing her
way into the Fabray’s house.

It looks like a cold, empty place for a child to grow up,

is Rachel’s first thought.

The second is “where the hell is Quinn.”

She ignores Mrs. Fabray’s protests, which is hard

because the older, Botox version of Quinn is
screeching at her, and takes the stairs two steps at a
time, opening the first door she comes to.

It’s not Quinn’s room, and neither is the next door, but
when she throws open the door to the third room,
Quinn is sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands
on her knees and her back impossibly straight.
Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You’re not Brittany.”

“No,” she says. “But let’s go.”

“I texted Brittany,” Quinn says, not moving off the bed.

Rachel rolls her eyes and looks around, spotting

Quinn’s duffel bag on the ground. She unzips it and
starts pulling out dresser drawers, tossing the things
in each drawer into the bag, shoving clothes and a
couple of pair shoes and some things on the top of
the dresser into the side pockets. It won’t zip shut, but
she doesn’t care.

Quinn jumps off the bed as Rachel unzips another

bag.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. Her voice is

high; almost hysterical. “I told Brittany to come get
me. I told Brittany that if she had to bring someone to
bring Santana. Why are you here?” Quinn looks out
the window, eyes wild. “How did you get here.”

“Quinn, just-”

“Did Brittany steal Santana’s car? Or is Santana out

there waiting?”

Rachel ignores the question and takes a pillow off the

bed, shoving into a ball in the bag she’s holding.
“Rachel,” Quinn says in a low voice.

They hear footsteps on the stairs – footsteps too

heavy to be Mrs. Fabray – and at the look on Quinn’s
face, Rachel crosses the room boldly and slams the
door shut just as a meaty hand reaches out. She
presses her body against the groaning wood and
holds perfectly still.

“You might have to drive back to my house.”

“You drove here?” Quinn practically screams. “You

don’t even have a permit!”

Rachel loses her footing and the door gives a little but
just as quickly she’s pushing back. “I was coming to
get you,” she points out.

“I texted Brittany,” Quinn growls.

“And what was she going to accomplish?” Rachel

asks rhetorically.

Quinn answers her anyway. “She wouldn’t have

driven here illegally for one. And two,” Quinn yells,
“she would have thought to bring Finn! Or Puck!”
Quinn tilts her head to the left. “Well, actually, Brittany
would have showed Santana the text message and
Santana would have thought of bringing the boys,
because Santana thinks things through instead of
flying off the handle with half-assed plans!”
“Well,” Rachel grunts, shouldering the door again.
“Excuse me, for trying to rescue you. You know what?
I’ll just leave. You can stay here and wait for your
knights in shining Cheerios uniforms. How’s that
sound?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid Rachel.”

“Would you help me hold this door?” Rachel shouts,

twisting her face.

“Let the door go,” Quinn whispers so softly that

Rachel’s not sure she hears correctly the first time.
“Rachel, please.”

Rachel pretends like it doesn’t sting, but she must not

do a good job because Quinn steps forward and
traces underneath her left eyes and the tip of her
finger comes back wet.

“I’m not letting the door go. Do you know why?

Because whether you’d like to think this or not, you
don’t deserve this, this, this kind of punishment.
You’re a good person, Quinn, whether people tell you
that on a regular basis or not. I think you’re a good
person.”

Quinn hiccups. “You think I’m a horrible person.”

The door stops rattling against Rachel’s shoulders

and the footsteps recede down the hall, but Rachel
doesn’t move.

“I did,” she says bluntly. “But you’re different now. It

was them. They did this to you; made you who you
used to be.”

Quinn steps back until she’s at the window. “What is it

going to take for you to leave?”

Rachel’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so

Quinn keeps talking.

“What do I have to do to get you to just leave me

alone?”

“Kiss me,” Rachel finally says, and Quinn crosses the

room in three giant steps, pushing so that Rachel’s
back is flat against the door.

It’s not a pretty kiss; it’s a battle for dominance and

Quinn is winning, her tongue pushing past Rachel’s
lips roughly, almost painfully. Hands that used to
graze against her stomach are now gripping her
hipbones hard and Rachel’s mouth opens in a silent
cry when Quinn’s cold, ice-like fingers slide past her
skirt, past her underwear and into Rachel’s body
without preamble.

It hurts and stings and Quinn bites down on her

bottom lip and there’s a sudden flow of copper racing
through Rachel’s mouth but she doesn’t think about it
too much because Quinn’s wrist is between their
bodies and pressing up and just like that, Rachel
Berry isn’t a virgin anymore.

“Quinn,” she gasps, her hips moving sporadically in

an uneven rhythm. “Quinn.”

Quinn pushes again and bites on Rachel’s collarbone

at the same time Rachel feels the ground beneath her
explode and a stinging sensation behind her eyes.

Quinn’s hands leave as quickly as they appeared and

when Rachel’s eyes open, Quinn is in the middle of
her room, clothes strewn everywhere, staring blankly.

“Now,” Quinn pants, “you can leave.”

---

She sits in Santana’s car in the parking lot for a half

an hour, sore and emotional exhausted, before she
walks back into school slowly. Santana is waiting at
her locker, her faced twisted in fury.

“You don’t have a license?” she hisses, snatching the

keys out of Rachel’s hand violently, leaving an angry
red gash across Rachel’s palm.

“Santana,” Brittany says softly, grabbing Rachel’s

hand and rubbing gently at Rachel’s hand. “That was
mean.”

“She doesn’t have license, let alone a permit. What

the hell were you thinking, Berry?”

Rachel looks up blankly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Santana snaps.

“You got your car back, okay? And I got nothing.” She
glares at Santana, pulling her hand out of Brittany’s
grasp roughly. “It doesn’t matter.”

---

Rachel, later that afternoon, thinks about quitting

Glee, but it’s all she has left, so at the very last
minute, when Mr. Schuester asks her what she
wanted to talk about, she launches into a tirade about
how singing “Silent Night” in an upcoming weekend
competition is prejudice against Noah and their
combined Jewish heritage.

---

Her daddy is sitting on the couch, reading the day’s

newspaper, when she gets home from school.

“Hey, honey,” he says without looking out from behind

the page. It’s only when she doesn’t say anything that
he looks past the newsprint and catches her eye.
As soon as he looks at her, with his hazel eyes, she
breaks.

“Daddy,” she sobs, hot hears tracking down her face

and off her cheeks.

He rises off the couch quickly and grabs her around

the shoulders, pulling her into his body and wrapping
her into a tight hug. “Oh, baby,” he whispers into her
hair, over and over again.

They watch Casablanca twice before Rachel lets

herself surrender to sleep.

---

“I think I have our new number for Sectionals,” Mr.

Schuester announces the next day in Glee.

“What about our new member of Glee?” Kurt asks,

pointing at the empty chair at the end of the line.
Rachel doesn’t turn to look at it like everyone else
does and keeps her eyes trained firmly on Mr.
Schuester.

He frowns. “Good point, Kurt. We’ll have to find

someone quickly, see if they can fill in until Quinn
comes back.”

“She’s not coming back,” Rachel scoffs, and she’s not

even sure she said it out loud until Artie asks her to
repeat herself. “She’s not coming back,” she says
louder.

“Now, Rachel, we don’t know that,” Mr. Schuester

tries to say, but Puck cuts him off.

“Yes we do,” he sighs. “Let’s face it; the Baby Mama

ain’t coming back.”

Finn punches him in the arm. “Dude, be a little more

sensitive.”

“We need to be proactive and realistic,” Rachel

continues. “Even if Q-” but she can’t actually say
Quinn, “she were to come back, she can’t do the
choreography. It’s a strain on the baby.”

“Well, who are we going to get on short notice?”

Everyone turns towards Santana and Brittany who

seem to be arguing, whispering harshly. When they
notice they have an audience, Brittany blushes,
staining her cheeks pink, but Santana gives them a
stare that has half the boys shrinking back in their
seats and Kurt just giving a small, unimpressed laugh.

“What?” she snaps.

“Do you think you could get one of the Cheerios to

join us for a little while?” Mr. Schuester asks
cautiously.

Santana lets out a laugh that sounds hollow. “Please.

Brittany and I are shunned as it is. No one else will
join Glee. You wait,” she says smugly. “Tubbers will
be back.”

Rachel pretends like she doesn’t hear the tremble of

uncertainty in Santana’s voice.

---

It’s odd, but one morning in school, three weeks after

Quinn stops showing up, she seems to have fallen
into a sort of friendship with Santana and Brittany.

Rachel likes it, thought she’ll never say it out loud.

Santana is witty and even if more often than not she’s
making some underhanded comment about Rachel
that Brittany doesn’t catch, she has a smile that
makes up for it. And they’re never Santana-and-
Brittany around her, just Santana and Brittany, which
is nice because she sometimes finds that Santana-
and-Brittany can be overwhelming suffocating, but
Brittany is far too considerate and insists that Santana
sits at least five feet away from her whenever they’re
around Rachel.

That’s usually when Santana starts being bitchy, so

Rachel tells Brittany one day, when it’s just the two of
them, that she doesn’t care if they sit next to each, or
if they hold hands or braid each other’s hair, because
not doing any of that stuff makes Santana grumpy.

“That’s never good,” Brittany says with a wry smile.

It’s not the first time Rachel thinks that there’s more to
Brittany than she let’s on.

They walk down hallways together and Rachel soon

finds out that their lockers are actually on the same
stretch of wall and instead of sitting at the table in the
corner of the lunchroom by the kitchen doors, Brittany
giggles – Santana rolls her eyes but let’s Brittany
giggle anyway – and says “now you’re with us, silly”
like it’s something Rachel should have known.

She tells Santana, when Brittany is off trying to figure

out why the Vitamin Water machine won’t take her
dollar coin, that no matter how hard they try, they’re
never going to get Rachel into a Cheerios uniform and
it’s comforting when Santana snorts and mutters
“don’t flatter yourself” before taking mercy on Brittany
and giving her a dollar bill.

---

Rachel thinks stealth is something Sue Sylvester

must teach all her Cheerios because when Rachel
isn’t looking, Santana and Brittany sneak in under her
skin the same way Quinn did.
---

“Here come the three musketeers, late as usual,”

Puck mutters grumpily from his seat, glaring at Rachel
when she sticks her tongue out at him.

Mr. Schuester claps his hands together excitedly and

bobs his head.

Kurt, sitting next to her, leans over with a grimace. “Is

it normal for his hair to not move when he does that?”

Risking a glance at Kurt’s hair, which hasn’t moved an

inch since first period, Rachel shrugs and focuses her
attention on the Spanish teacher in the middle of the
room.

“I have some exciting news,” he says, pausing

dramatically. “Quinn called me last night and she’ll be
back in school tomorrow!”

If he’s expecting an uproar of applause or a cheer,

Rachel feels bad for Mr. Schuester, because the room
goes pin-dropping silent and the only sound is
Brittany’s foot tapping against the riser.

Puck speaks first. “Why?”

Mr. Schuester’s smile drops. “Because she’s ready,”

he says slowly.
Now Rachel snorts. “We were ready weeks ago.”

“Rachel-”

“She’s not going to be able to learn the choreography

in time,” Finn argues.

“What is she go-goes into labor while dancing?” Tina

asks.

Kurt grimaces. “I’m so not up for anyone giving birth

while dancing.”

Mr. Schuester sighs. “Yeah, guys,” he says wearily.

“Okay.”

---

She won’t stick up for Quinn this time, if the Gleeks

decide to kick her out.

Quinn never stood up for her; Santana always says

payback’s a bitch.

---

Brittany is telling Rachel about some weird music

video she watched the night before when Rachel sees
a flash of blond and there Quinn is, staring at the
combination lock on her locker like it’s going to open
itself.
She stops in the middle of the hallway and Brittany
takes another step before she realizes what Rachel is
staring at, but when she does, because she’s Brittany
and she’s bubbly and sweet and genuine, she’s
rushing over to Quinn and hugging her tight and
squealing and patting Quinn’s really large baby bump.

Quinn isn’t even actively trying to hide it, and Rachel

thinks that’s brave and stupid all at the same time.

Brittany waves at her, motioning her over and her feet

almost betray her, but Santana swoops in before she
can take a step, hooking her arm through Rachel’s,
pulling. They walk past the two blonds and Rachel
isn’t sure who’s more shocked when Santana stops
briefly to kiss Brittany in the middle of the hallway like
it’s something they’ve been doing since the first day of
freshman year – Brittany, Santana, Rachel, or Quinn.

Rachel decides that it’s Santana, because as they

walk away, she can hear Santana muttering “oh my
God, oh my God, oh my God” under her breath.

---

“Well, I think it goes without saying, but Quinn,” Mr.

Schuester says with a wide smile, “welcome back!”

Quinn smiles hesitantly but no one does anything.

Finn taps his drumstick against the cymbal a couple
of times; Puck taps his foot; Brittany is texting;
Santana is ignoring everyone; Tina and Mercedes are
whispering about what Tina should wear on her date
with Artie; Kurt is examining his cuticle; Matt and Mike
aren’t even here; Artie is reflexively squeezing his
hand brake, his wheels squeaking against the tile.

Rachel looks anywhere else but Quinn.

“Guys,” Mr. Schuester says disappointedly.

“What do you expect?” Rachel asks, her loud voice a

small explosion in the quiet room. Everyone except
Santana flinches.

Mr. Schuester gets a little red in the face. “I expect

you to be a team, Rachel. I expect you to lead this
team.”

He strikes a chord; and he’s right. If they want to win

Sectionals, then they’re going to need Quinn Fabray
and they’re going to need her now. Mr. Schuester
knows that Rachel knows that and he’s giving her a
look like he wants her to step forward and start
something; he needs her to step forward and start
something.

So she does. She stands in the middle of the room

and begins to delegate.

“Brittany,” she says, but the blond doesn’t look up

until Kurt tugs on her skirt. “Good. Brittany, you’ll work
with Quinn on the choreography and Santana,” she
looks to the left, ignoring Santana’s sneer, “you’ll work
on the singing. Kurt, since you’re going to be Quinn’s
partner, please make sure you find time to practice
with her.”

Mr. Schuester looks relieved, and he claps Rachel on

the shoulder as she goes to sit down.

“So! Let’s get singing!”

---

Quinn is hanging by her locker at the end of the day

and Rachel doesn’t see her at first, but Santana
stiffen next to her – and Santana still feels hurt by
Quinn, no matter what she tells people – and so
Rachel looks up. Quinn is standing there, pulling at a
loose strand of hair, waiting.

“I’ve got it,” Rachel murmurs under her breath.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Brittany offers brightly.

“Oh,” she says, her smile dimming. “Well, Santana will
give you a ride home, because she’s my ride home.”

“Thanks, Britt,” Santana deadpans. “She’s right

though. We’ll get your stuff and give you a ride home.
That way, I can yell as loud as I want when I bitch you
out for making me sing with her.”
Santana always has alternative motives but she
means well.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rachel says, stretching the

smile on her face so at least it doesn’t look fake. “If
anything happens, you’ll give me an alibi?”

This gets a genuine laugh out of Santana but Brittany

frowns and instead of asking what it means, gives
Rachel a hug and says “see ya!” before winking at
Santana and turning back towards the parking lot.

Rachel walks the rest of the way to her locker very

slowly, taking time to consider each step in front of
her. She walks by the water fountain and idly thinks
that it’s been a long time since she’s been slushied; it
feels like it’s been a lifetime and that she’s a new
Rachel Berry now.

She almost sighs in relief when Quinn says something

first. “So, you and Cheerios, huh?”

“What about it?” Rachel asks defensively.

Quinn puts her hands up in front of her and shrugs.

“Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to come back, so I

guess that makes us even.”
“I guess,” Quinn says softly, tucking her hair behind
her ear. “I tried to call you.”

“No you didn’t,” Rachel snaps.

Quinn blushes. “I did. I just couldn’t finish dialing the

number.”

Rachel opens her locker, blocking Quinn from her

view and there’s a small moment where she thinks
that Quinn is going to slam the locker shut, but Quinn
is still for a minute – Rachel is looking down, watching
her shoes to see what she’ll do – and then she’s
moving around Rachel to the other side, leaning her
other shoulder up against the metal.

It gives Rachel a clear view of Quinn’s baby bump.

Quinn follows Rachel’s eyes. “I woke up one morning

and it just was there. I had to go shopping in the
maternity section at the mall.”

“Unfortunate.”

Quinn sighs. “Rachel, can we just talk? Just for a

minute?”

“I believe we have said everything that needs to be

said between us,” Rachel says conversationally.

“I want to apologize,” Quinn protests.

Rachel gives Quinn a steady look, trying to find
something in her eyes, but when she can’t find it, she
shakes her head. “I wanted you to apologize before
you broke my heart.”

It’s the first time she’s admitted to anyone – herself,

Santana, Brittany, her parents – that Quinn Fabray
successfully managed to take her rock-hard façade
and crack it in half.

The weight on her chest that she thought would

dissipate, if anything, get’s heavier.

---

Quinn, of course, pulls it off. Her voice is good –

better, even – and she’s always caught onto the
dance steps easily enough. Mr. Schuester modifies a
few things – no throwing the pregnant girl up into the
air, for example – and the competition goes off
without a hitch.

---

She hiccups. “I’m drunk.”

Quinn stares, unimpressed. Rachel tries to take a

step forward but stumbles over the end of the couch
in the hotel suite and nearly falls to the ground.
Quinn’s arms wrap around her waist and pull her
upright and suddenly, she’s face to face – almost
nose to nose, in fact – with Quinn and all she would
have to do it tilt her head to the side and move maybe
an inch or two forward.

Santana’s voice cuts through her stream of thought.

“Hands off her, Grabby.”

“She almost fell over, because someone,” Quinn says

with a glare in Puck’s direction, “gave her alcohol. I
was helping her stay on her feet.”

“Brittany can do that,” Santana declares, reaching for

Rachel’s elbow, but Rachel retreats and moves her
body, slowly and awkwardly, until she’s half-shielded
by Quinn.

“Everyone needs to stop,” hiccup “manhandling me,

okay? I’m a big” hiccup “girl.”

By the time she finishes speaking, she has her arms

wrapped around Quinn’s waist and she’s standing on
her tip toes with her chin on Quinn’s shoulder,
thankful that she’s still wearing the heels she
performed in and Quinn took hers off.

“Seriously guys,” she whines. “I’m good.”

Santana gives Quinn a once over, starting at her feet

and ending at her forehead and Rachel thinks it’s
possible she feels Quinn shiver against her, but
before she can wonder too long, Santana is leaning in
close, her face almost touching Rachel’s and she’s
whispering into Quinn’s ear. “Upset her and I’ll ruin
you.”

Quinn scoffs. “I can ruin myself, thank you very much.

Come on, Rachel.”

Rachel winks over her shoulder at Santana and the

other girl’s glare softens a little and when she seems
to realize what she’s doing, it hardens again and
Santana whips around demanding more alcohol.

Her head falls against Quinn’s shoulder as they walk

out of the room into the hallway and even if Rachel
has no idea where they’re going, her hand is
practically on Quinn’s ass, so she doesn’t care.

---

Quinn drops her heavily onto the corner of the bed

and she hits it then slide to the side, hitting the carpet.

“Ouch,” she groans.

“Come on,” Quinn says, holding out her hands.

“You could come down here,” Rachel tries to

compromise. “The room spins less down here.”

She hiccups again and Quinn sighs, dropping

awkwardly against the bedside and sliding down.

“I used to be able to do this, you know. I could do

jumps and splits and cartwheels. And now I’m a
beach ball.”

Rachel reaches out and traces an invisible line on

Quinn’s face. “You’re a very pretty beach ball.”

“Santana was right,” Quinn says suddenly. “I should

go get someone else to sit with you.”

Rachel pouts. “But I want you here.”

“You’re drunk,” Quinn says, but Rachel is already

shaking her head no.

“No,” she says out loud. “It’s liquid courage, right?”

Her eyes are wide and hopeful and she can see them
reflected in Quinn’s eyes. “That’s what Puck said. He
said that if I drank some of it, I’d be able to do
whatever I want and I wouldn’t get nervous or, or
mess it up.”

Quinn sighs heavily and shakes her head. “Puck lied,

sweetie.”

“No he didn’t.” She scoots closer. “Because if he lied,

I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

She presses her hand into the carpet uses it to lift

herself up a little, her nose bumping against Quinn’s
before she finds Quinn’s mouth and even though all
she can feel when she swallows is sticky sweet liquid,
Quinn tastes like vanilla and chocolate chip cookies,
courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. Rachel can hear Quinn let
out the smallest whimper and something inside of her
breaks like a slow flood so that she can feel it rushing
through slowly, starting at her toes and ending at her
fingers; finger that she’s thrust into Quinn’s hair and
formed around Quinn’s scalp.

Quinn pulls back first and Rachel takes advantage of

the situation, nipping her way down Quinn’s neck
while her fingers start to unbutton Quinn’s shirt.

“Rachel, don’t,” Quinn whispers raggedly. “You don’t

want this.”

“Didn’t I just say,” Rachel asks, her voice muffled

against Quinn’s skin, “that everyone needs to stop
telling me what to do?”

“Yes,” Quinn agrees. “But you’re drunk-”

“And I want you,” Rachel finishes. “I want this, with

you.”

Quinn shakes her head and grabs the edge of the

bed, lifting herself off the floor. Grabbing the sides of
her shirt, she pulls them together and holds them with
one hand, the other hand over her eyes.
“I can’t. Not with you like this. Not with us like this.”

She’s gone before Rachel can stop her.

---

They say there’s a calm before every storm and that

should be the first sign that things are going to erupt
in a big way and no one will be able to stop them.

---

The first sign, actually, is Quinn not showing up to

school again. After the weekend spent in Cleveland,
Quinn missed Monday and then Tuesday and by
Thursday, they’re all starting to get anxious every time
a phone rings or someone gets a text.

By Friday, Puck has his hockey stick on standby and

Finn has taken to carrying around his helmet.

It’s like they’re preparing for a war; Kurt deems it “A

Holy War” and insists that he should be a tactical
advisor because he’s “a lover, not a fighter.”

Rachel finds it all ridiculous, but if the Fabray’s try to

keep them away from Quinn, she’s going to unleash
Rachel Berry circa 1999 Miss Lima talent contest.

She’s told people still have nightmares about that

pageant.

---

The phone rings in the middle of the night and it takes

her a minute to realize what it is, where it’s coming
from, and that she should pick it up.

Santana is on the other line, clearly annoyed that it

took Rachel almost four rings to pick up the phone at
3:30 in the morning and Rachel thinks about yelling at
her, but then Santana says “Operation Baby Mama
Snatch is a go” and Rachel is too busy trying to keep
the phone to her ear to hear who is picking her up and
trying to put her shoes on at the same time and
yelling at Santana will just have to wait until Quinn is
back in the guestroom at the Berry house, where she
should have been all along.

In the back of her mind, she’s mildly irritated that

Quinn never seems to call her when she needs to be
saved.

---

Mike’s pick-up is already outside of her house by the

time she scribbles a note to her fathers telling them
not to worry, don’t call the police, she’s just gone to
get Quinn and she’ll be back in time for breakfast.

He’s blasting Journey so loudly that the speakers

crackle and she knows they can’t be hitting a bump in
the road every time the cab of the truck jumps,
because the bass is so off. He turns it down when
they stop outside of Tina’s house and Rachel slides
over to the middle seat as they take off into the night.

They park about a block away from Quinn’s house

and shuffle into Kurt’s giant SUV.

He’s wearing a pink shirt that says: “Christ

Crusaders!” and when she raises an eyebrow at him,
he shrugs and tells her he thought it was clever.

“So what’s the plan?” Finn asks from the hatchback.

“The plan is to go in there, get Quinn and get back to

Berry’s,” Puck says in way that makes Rachel think
he’s been saying this all night.

Mercedes waves wildly from the passenger’s seat.

“Hold up. We’re going to break in?”

“We’re going to get Quinn,” Rachel corrects.

“By breaking in!”

“Listen, she’s in there waiting for us and she’s going

to open the door for us, so technically, it’s not
breaking in. What it is, though, is an extraction and it
needs to be done now, so if you don’t have the balls
to go in there and get her out,” Santana sneers, “you
can sit in the car with Kurt.”

By the time they stumble out the car, Kurt, Tina and
Mercedes have opted to hang back, Artie is at home,
connected via Skype and Rachel is tiptoeing up the
front walkway to the Fabray house.

Finn knocks twice. The door whips open and Quinn is

standing there, face flushed, hands on her hips, teeth
clenched.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Finn shrugs his big shoulders and grabs the first

couple of bags by the door, tossing them to Matt and
Mike who agreed to load them into Mike’s truck first,
then Kurt’s car if they needed to. Puck flashes her a
charming smile and starts passing parts of a
disassembled crib to Brittany and Santana.

Rachel, though, bypasses the pile of “need-to-go”

items and grabs Quinn by the chin with one hand.

“I want you to know that I think you’re an idiot.”

Quinn gapes at her, her mouth a very thin oval in

Rachel’s grip. “What?” she asks, her words garbled.

“If you had just listened to me the first time, when I

told you not to leave, we wouldn’t be doing this now.
And I wanted you to know that I think you’re extremely
stupid for it. And that I can’t decide between hitting
and kissing you, so I’ve decided to do neither.”

Puck leers from the doorway. “You could do both.”

“Noah!”

He puts his hands up in surrender and tosses another

duffel bag out the door.

“I thought they meant it,” Quinn whispers, her eyes

shining in the pre-dawn light. Rachel puts her hand
back at her side. “I thought that they wanted me back
because they loved me and that I could stay here and
still have everything.”

“I know,” Rachel whispers back, her need for an “I-

told-you-so” moment gone.

“But then they wanted to make me have an abortion

and I texted Brittany and thought that they needed to
cool down for a couple of hours and if they found out I
mentioned to someone what they wanted to do, they’d
let go of the idea.” Quinn gives a shaky laugh. “I
wasn’t counting on you showing up and going all
crazed-girlfriend on the place.”

“That’s why they let you come back to school.”

Quinn nods as Puck tiptoes down the stairs, carrying

the bedding Quinn boxed up. “For a little while,
anyway. When they realized that nothing was actually
going to happen, that no one was suddenly going to
show up at the door and call them bad parents or haul
them away, it was already too late to,” she pauses
and grimaces, “terminate the pregnancy.”

“Don’t drop that,” Quinn hisses when Matt fumbles

with the box he’s holding. He’s got steady hands,
though, and recovers quickly, despite Quinn.

“You should have told me what was going on,” Rachel

says only half as harshly as she means it.

Quinn shrugs and looks away. “I didn’t want to drag

you into it?”

She looks back when Rachel lets out a loud laugh

that she immediately stifles. “Drag me into it? You
dragged me into this when you showed up at my door
and moved in. You dragged me into this when you
kissed me after I went out with Finn.”

Finn, at the door, opens his mouth to say something

but Puck pushes him back outside.

“You dragged me into this whole thing and it’s been

you taking control of us lately, so now it’s my turn,
okay?” She waits until Quinn nods before she
continues. “I’m in this. You can’t get rid of me.”

“I suppose trying is a moot point,” Quinn says with a

sigh, but she’s smirking and leaning over a little to the
side and placing one of the sweetest kisses Rachel
has ever received in the corner of Rachel’s mouth.

“Jerk,” Rachel mutters, grabbing a teddy bear that fell

out of a box Finn carried outside.

Quinn goes out the front door first, looking back over
her shoulder at Rachel, and winks.

----

If her fathers think it’s weird that Quinn is sitting at the

breakfast table, sipping decaf coffee out of a mug with
seven-year-old Rachel screened on the front playing
the piano, they don’t say anything about it to either
girl.

Phil puts another bagel in the toaster oven and James

takes down four glasses from the cabinet.

“Thanks, Mr. Berry,” Quinn says cheerily, her hand

resting on Rachel’s knee under the hanging counter
of the island.

“Sure thing, Quinn,” James says through a yawn.

“When is Sectionals again?” Phil asks, wiping sleep

out of his eyes. His gaze slides past the girls and
ends up in the living, his eyes going wide at the
mountain of things Quinn and Rachel were too tired to
lug upstairs at four in the morning.

“Two weeks,” Rachel and Quinn say at the same

time.

“We need to make sure we get more film for the

camera,” Phil says, dropping a bagel onto Quinn’s
plate first, blowing at his fingers.

James picks up his cup of coffee. “I’ll get more film for
the camera,” he mumbles before he takes a sip.