Surprise! Here we have the second half of Chapter 13! Shocked? I know I am. I swear, I had no idea how massive this would become when I first kind of wrote it out. I guess this was to make up for so long between the last two updates.

Just as a warning, neither CJ nor I are Jewish and are therefore are not well-versed in Judaism practices. We tried to do the best we could with the research we had, but we both apologize if anything is glaringly inaccurate. Please let us know if we need to change anything, we definitely do not wish to offend our Jewish brethren. Thanks!

But anyway, here we are with the second half. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 13

PART II

Rachel Berry, a hand in each of her fathers', stood at the steps to the Temple as they left morning services and adjourned to the garden area where brunch was always served. She always loved going to prayers, if only because she got to wear her prettiest dresses and got to sing at the top of her lungs.

Isaac lifted a hand, waving a woman with dark brown hair over. "Sara."

Rachel watched as a pretty, petite woman made her way over, a young boy at her side. She looked curiously at the boy, taking in his tanned face and sullen eyes. He was fidgeting at the woman's side, clad in a black cut-off shirt with a weird sort of skull on the front, his scrawny little arms poking through the ragged sleeves, and a pair of worn jeans jeans. His eyes kept flicking to Rachel, looking at her curiously. Miles stooped down to Rachel, gesturing to the woman and the boy. "Rachel, this is Sara Puckerman and her son Noah. He's your age."

Rachel stepped forward, holding out her hand. "Hello, Mrs. Puckerman. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Rachel, why don't you and Noah go play?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes, Daddy." As she and Noah moved away from the adults, Rachel introduced herself properly. "Hello, Noah. I am Rachel Barbra Berry, future Broadway star."

Noah grunted and stuck a thumb into his chest. "Puck."

Rachel tilted her head. "Excuse me?"

"I like Puck better than Noah," Noah corrected. "Puck is awesome. Noah is sissy."

Rachel frowned. "But Noah is so pretty. Did you know that your name means 'rest' and 'peace'?"

Noah thought about that for a moment. "No. That's kind of cool my name means something, I guess." Noah seemed to reconsider. "You can call me Noah. But only you…and my Mom."

"I'm honored." Rachel looked to the top of his head where the spikes were pushed together at the center. "What did you do to your hair?"

Noah brightened, pointing to his hairstyle. "It's a mohawk! It's supposed to be cool!" Noah frowned, using his palms to sharpen the spike. "I'm supposed to shave off the sides, but my mom won't let me until I get older."

Rachel surveyed at the curious style, wondering how it stayed up like that. "Can I touch it?"

"Sure," Noah nodded, ducking his head down. "But be careful." Rachel giggled as she ran a hand over the center strip of spiked hair. It was prickly to her touch. She looked over his shoulder as a tall thin man made his way through the tables.

"Oh, look, Noah, there's Rabbi Schram!" Rachel lofted a hand to wave her arm at the approaching man.

"No!" Noah blanched, tugging at her arm. "Don't call him over here!"

Rachel dropped her hand, frowning at Noah. "Why not?"

"He's scary." Noah's amber eyes widened as he realized what he had just revealed. "It always seems like he's watching me. Like he knows I'm gonna do something bad."

Rachel tilted her head. "Do you do anything bad?"

"No…I mean, I move around a lot, but that stuff is so boring." Noah shrugged. "I can only pay attention when the band goes. They look so cool playing the music and stuff." Noah lifted his arms, rocking on an air guitar. "I like the guitar the best."

Rachel laughed as he hopped around, dropping to his knees as he strummed his pretend instrument. "My Poppa knows how to play the guitar. Maybe if you ask him, he'll teach you. Then you could join the youth band. That might make service more bearable."

"Really?" Noah brightened and clambering to his feet. "Man, that would be so cool!" Noah's face fell as he saw Rabbi Schram. "Aw, he's coming over here…" He shot a look to Rachel, ducking his head and kicking at the ground. "And you can't tell anyone. I don't get scared…it's just him."

Rachel held out her hand, leaning in. "You can hold my hand if you need to."

Puck's eyes widened, and he looked at Rachel's outstretched palm. Shyly, he nodded and slipped his hand into Rachel's. Rachel smiled widely and Puck grinned bashfully back.

Rabbi Schram stopped in front of the two kids. He was a tall, wiry man, boasting a head of salt and pepper hair that was slightly thinning. He had a quiet authority about him, punctuated by a pair of dark brown eyes that pierced out from behind a pair of square glasses. "Hello, Noah and Rachel."

"Hello, Rabbi Schram," both of them chorused.

He smiled down at Rachel. "Rachel, I heard you singing quite enthusiastically during prayers. I think even God heard you."

Rachel blushed. "Thank you, Rabbi. I hope to join the youth choir next year. Noah wants to join the youth band, too."

Rabbi Schram cocked an eyebrow, gazing down at the little troublemaker clinging resolutely to Rachel's hand. "Is that right, Noah?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Noah merely nodded. Rabbi Schram smiled and patted both on their heads and moved to the next table to greet its occupants.

"Thanks," Noah mumbled. "That was cool. I didn't feel as weird with you there."

Rachel beamed. "You're quite welcome, Noah. I'd be happy to do it whenever you need me to."

"Awesome. Jews stick together." He held out a fist.

Rachel looked at the offering questioningly.

"You make a fist too and we bump our knuckles together," Noah explained. "It's like a high-five."

"Oh!" Rachel complied, daintily tapping Puck's fist with her own.

"Now, we're friends for life," Noah asserted. "You don't mess with the bonds of Temple Buddies."

Rachel beamed. "I'd like that."

Puck and Rachel's friendship began with a simple gesture in a place only they shared, but it ran deeper than people realized. Even back then, Rachel saw something in Puck, saw something there that people often overlooked. And it turned out that through Rachel's guidance – both directly and indirectly – Puck would become the man he was meant to be. Through Rachel's direction, Puck learned how to treat women, how being a badass came second to being a gentleman, and how he could become more than just a Lima Loser through a solid set of goals and a solid work ethic. In turn, Rachel learned how to cultivate her badass side, how being a diva came second to being a friend, and how she could become more than just that Broadway geek with a little bit of an edge.

There had always been a give-and-take to their friendship, always a reciprocal aspect. But Rachel had always been the most important woman in Puck's life. The fact that she now had to share him was something wholly foreign to her. Honestly, she wasn't sure how she was going to handle that.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Quinn grinned as she rotated her head, treading on the sideline of the Edward Jones Dome in St. Louis, Missouri. Puck had invited all of them out to the final practice before the game, and all of them were quick to accept and were now walking towards the team gathered for now in the endzone.

"Guys, over here!"

Quinn's head snapped over to the call, which came in the form of an unfamiliar voice. The voice wasn't unfamiliar to her other three companions, however, as they all brightened, waving happily.

"David!"

Quinn couldn't help but smile as Rachel scampered forward and threw herself at the massive bear of a man clothed in gray slacks and a light blue dress shirt. Meaty forearms and biceps bulged beneath the sleeves rolled to the man's elbows as he ducked down, catching her over his shoulder, and twirled Rachel around, a wide smile on his round face. Quinn perused him for the barest of moments. He had dropped his matching suit jacket and navy blue tie on the turf to catch the woman draped over his shoulder. An impeccably manicured moustache and goatee sprinkled his chin and upper lip with the barest of facial hair.

Quinn chuckled, sidling up to the man. "Hi, I'm guessing you're David."

"That's Quinn!" Rachel piped up, her voice muffled from behind David's back.

David laughed. "Nice to meet you." Still holding Rachel over his shoulder, he stuck out a hand with a smile. "Dave Karofsky. I'm Puck's agent. I went to school with all of these fools."

Rachel kicked her feet, drawing the attention back to her. "David!" she whined. "Let me down, you big lummox!"

Dave jiggled her up and down. "That's what you get for jumping on me." He smacked her playfully on the ass. "Didn't you learn the last time you tried to catch me unawares and fell?"

They didn't have to see Rachel's face to know she was pouting, and her voice was equally as petulant drifting up from behind Dave. "You should have caught me then. I was lucky I didn't bruise my talent."

"News flash, Tiny Tim. No one quite cares if you bruise your talent as long as you don't break it," Santana quipped wryly. She reached out, smacking Dave on the shoulder. "Hey, Karofsky." She smirked, hands to her hips as she surveyed their company. "Well aren't we just a big gay pride parade…"

Quinn cocked an eyebrow, looking to the big man. "I see you're family?"

Dave rolled his eyes as he nodded. "Nothing is sacred, apparently." He leaned down to press a kiss to the Latina's cheek. "As succinctly blunt as always, Lopez."

Santana chuckled. "Aw, c'mon, Dave. Don't go slinking back into the closet at the sight of a hot blonde!"

He reached out and poked the Latina in the forehead. "Too bad it took you so long to come out of the closet even with the hot blonde."

Santana threw her head back and laughed. "Touché, Mountain Man," she conceded with a grin.

As if on cue, said blonde bounced forward. "Dave!"

Dave stooped down, slinging Brittany over the other shoulder and spinning around. "Ducky!"

Quinn laughed at the clear height difference between the two women in the way their legs dangled down from Dave's shoulder before he ducked down to set both on their feet. Slipping an arm around Rachel, Dave grinned.

"Got a surprise for you."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "A surprise?"

Dave took her by the shoulders, gently turning around. Rachel's eyes widened as she saw her fathers walking towards them, followed by Puck's mother and younger sister. Miles Berry was standing tall beside his husband, moving completely unhindered. The only stiffness came from his right side where he was shot. It was clear he hadn't regained all of his strength and still had limited range of motion at the spot where the bullet was impacted, but he certainly looked much better than he had when they had seen him last.

"Daddy!"

Miles bent down, accepting Rachel's hug, kissing her tenderly. "Hey, baby."

Rachel backed away from the hug, fussing over her father as she looked him over. "What are you doing here? How are you feeling? Are you sure you should have traveled? I've heard that gunshot wounds are notoriously susceptible to infection. I wouldn't want you to contract feverish symptoms or worse, the possibility of an amputation!"

"Rachel, honey, relax." Miles laughed, clasping a large palm over his daughter's mouth. She glared at him from over his pinky.

"I'm fine. Your Auntie Helena cleared me and even got a second opinion from an unbiased third party. I'm at about eighty-percent health right now."

Rachel thrust indignant fists on her hips, stomping a petulant foot as Miles retracted his hand. "Well excuse me, Daddy for being so concerned about your well-being."

Unwilling to subject everyone to another long-winded Rachel Berry rant, Quinn sidled forward, sticking out her hand. "Nice to officially meet you, Mr. Berry."

Miles Berry surveyed her with piercing dark eyes before his face split into a grin that told exactly where Rachel had inherited her own beaming smile. He grasped the offering, shaking strongly with a short nod.

"A pleasure to meet you, Quinn. I'd be honored if you called me Miles. Thank you for taking care of my Star."

Quinn could hear the seriousness in Miles' tone that belied his wide grin. She inclined her head. "She doesn't need me, sir. I'm just helping reign her in every so often."

Miles threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh. A long arm snaked out and hugged Quinn to him. Being around all incarnations of the Berry family, Quinn had long ceased being surprised at the easy affection willing to be shared between friends and strangers alike. "Momma said she liked you. I understand why." He winked at her as Rachel scowled, poking Quinn in the side for the mildly disparaging comment.

"I don't appreciate being picked on," Rachel remarked, crossing her arms.

Miles reached out and flicked her protruding bottom lip fondly. "Don't pout, Star," he chided fondly. "The cameras are around; you might get caught showing your not-so-good side."

Immediately, Rachel's face transformed into a more neutral expression, but her eyes still sparkled with her displeasure. Her gathered friends and family merely laughed as they continued on closer to the Chargers' practice.

The group halted at the sideline as the Chargers broke, dispersing to their respective areas, the offense heading to the far endzone with defense staying put. Rachel turned her attention to the practice, her hand firmly ensconced in Miles's as the tall officer chatted with Dave about the season. She quickly found Puck amidst the crush of bodies. Her head tilted as she observed her best friend amidst his teammates, taking in the familiar white helmet emblazoned with the lightening bolt on the side. His amber and gold eyes peered out from the clear visor affixed to the navy blue facemask as he went through the footwork drills, following the brown pigskin of the football in the hands of his coach as it moved to prompt a change in direction. She noticed something different about him, more specifically his helmet. For as long as she had known, he always wore what she believed to be the most standard helmet: a simple round dome with rounded extensions that protected the ear. It certainly wasn't the model he was sporting currently. This new helmet seemed almost sleeker, more contoured, with two oblong squares at the ear-hole rather than a circle.

"Hey, San," Rachel prodded the Latina. "Does Noah look like he's wearing a new helmet?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah." Santana cocked her head. Her eyes found Puck as he worked with the starters, finding the familiar number 69 on the white practice jersey. "He usually wears one with a round ear-hole."

Rachel frowned. "Weird that he changed it…"

She shook off the confusion when Dave turned to address two men in suits approaching them from the side. "Mr. Spencer, Mr. Commissioner," Dave greeted them.

Aaron Spencer sported a broad grin as he shook Dave's hand. "Dave, how's our star looking?"

"He's pumped, sir," Dave answered, nodding out to Puck as he jogged to the opposite sideline, taking a sip of water. Dave turned to the group and introduced everyone, stopping specifically at Quinn and Rachel.

"Rachel Berry and Quinn Lucas, Aaron Spencer, the owner of the Chargers, and Rick Goodson, the Commissioner of the NFL."

The Commissioner smiled, shaking both hands in turn. "Miss Berry, Miss Lucas, a pleasure to meet you both." He turned to Rachel. "Miss Berry, if I would have known you were going to be in attendance, I would have extended an invitation to sing the National Anthem."

Rachel blushed prettily. "Oh, Mr. Commissioner, I'm flattered, but I've shied away from honoring our country until I've perfected my version of Whitney Houston's vaunted rendition."

The Commissioner simply stared, unsure if she was serious or not. He certainly couldn't tell from her wide, beaming smile and big doe eyes. He chuckled shaking his head. "Miss Berry, I'm sure you will bring the house down singing the phone book, but I'll keep that in mind." He chatted with Dave for a few more moments before continuing down the sideline and towards the other end of the stadium.

Dave leaned down to Rachel with a frown. "Uh, Rach, that's not true. You sang at the Yankees' Opening Day last year. You're not serious, are you?"

Rachel snorted and brushed her hair behind her shoulder with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Certainly not, David. I have long resigned myself to the fact that attempting to duplicate Ms. Houston's celebrated performance is an endeavor simply beyond my capabilities. Commissioner Goodson has levied many a fine on Noah for petty indiscretions in what I deem a gross exploitation of the Commissioner's authoritative power." Rachel shrugged. "I simply dislike him and wished him to go away."

As the laughter rang out around her, Rachel shrugged again. What? It was the truth.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Rachel stood at the curb in front of the restaurant, squaring her shoulders and staring down the entranceway in front of her. The way Rachel was psyching herself up, one would think she was about to perform in front of Barbra Streisand. In a way, the weight of the situation was similar. This would be the first time she met Puck's fiancée Brooklyn. Puck had caught up with them after practice ended and proposed an outing for dinner so that Rachel, Santana, and Brittany could meet Brooklyn. A dinner setting would be fitting, but perhaps he also figured the public atmosphere would deter his three best friends from causing a scene.

Rachel once again fixated on the entranceway. Her eyes were narrowed, piercing into the door in anticipation to what waited to her behind it. In a way, it was like going to battle. There certainly was a lot at stake. Smoothing down her dress, she nodded to her two companions, and they made their way into the establishment.

"There she is," Rachel murmured as they approached Puck and Brooklyn, security around them giving the pair a wide berth to the gawking patrons milling in the lobby.

It was the first time they had all seen Brooklyn up close. She was tall, perhaps an inch or so shorter than Brittany, with a willowy build, all lean arms and legs, and she definitely had a girl-next-door sort vibe about her.

"She's pretty," Santana murmured, taking it Brooklyn's wavy golden hair and light blue eyes. "I'd do her."

Rachel rolled her eyes, appealing to her lithe personal assistant. "Britt?"

Brittany looked at the woman, catlike eyes scanning Brooklyn from head to toe as she interacted with Puck. "Blue."

Rachel considered that for a moment. She had never questioned Brittany's innate ability to read people just based on a few moments of observation, and they had used that ability to implement a system when it came to the women Puck brought to meet them. "Gold," naturally meant the woman was a gold-digger, only after Puck for his multi-million dollar contract. If a woman was "red" it meant that their relationship was purely sexual. "Green" signified the woman would probably be envious of and threatened by the trio's relationship with Puck, and "black" meant they had to get Puck out of the woman's clutches as fast as they could. The fact that Brittany labeled Brooklyn "blue" meant that as far as Brittany's initial read went – and they were usually hauntingly accurate – she could find nothing glaringly wrong with Brooklyn.

Rachel made her own assessment as they drew closer. She watched Brooklyn's body language and how the woman interacted with Puck. Brooklyn was standing close, but not too close in deference to their public setting. Puck had an arm around her, his palm curled against the crook of her neck, his thumb rubbing against the nape. She leaned into him with a small smile and fixed the collar of his shirt, whispering something to him that made him smile. Puck shook his head with a laugh and craned his neck downward to accept the kiss on his cheek.

Rachel sighed, smoothing the skirt of her dress down. "Alright, ladies." She squared her shoulders. "Let's do this." She raised her voice, calling out to Puck.

"Noah!"

Puck looked up with a wide grin, greeting his three best friends with hugs and kisses. Moving back to Brooklyn, he placed an arm around her. "Guys, this is Brooklyn Ross, my fiancée."

As three pairs of eyes snapped to her, Brooklyn couldn't help but gulp. That was intimidating. She looked at the three women, all of who played such an important role in her fiancé's life. These were the women responsible for the man she agreed to marry.

It was easy to see how the group dynamic worked. Santana was the first person she saw, protectively placed in front of the other two women. Eyes covertly scanning the area for any sign of trouble in their immediate vicinity, Santana paved the way for her companions. Right away, Brooklyn sensed a powerful aura about the Latina, easy to see in how Santana carried herself with shoulders drawn back and her chin tilted upward. Santana was an effortless beauty, however, wielding her weapon of almost natural sensuality and pure sexuality that radiated from every pore of her body from the gentle sway of her hips to the casual flick of her hair.

The blonde to the left seemed to be staring vacantly out into space, but Puck had warned her against underestimating one Brittany Susan Pierce. He said that Brittany could get a scarily accurate read on any person within seconds of meeting them. He also warned against insulting Brittany's intelligence. He swore that despite her sometimes-vapid comments, she was probably some sort of Mensa genius who conveyed her intelligence through a paradox of random yet terrifyingly true analogies and valley girl vernacular. To disregard Brittany, Puck remarked, was to sign their relationship death warrant. Period.

Brooklyn's gaze settled on the tiny brunette in the center, flanked by Brittany to the left and Santana to the right. The aggressive Latina may have been the loudest, the most brash, and certainly the most physical presence between the three, Rachel was clearly the driving force behind the group dynamic, the one the other two turned to for the final decision. In high school, Santana may have been Sue's enforcer, the fearsome, epitomized personification of the Sue Sylvester's ruthless regime, but unconsciously, the squad fell in behind Rachel and her unwavering confidence; she was the one they looked to for instruction. Brooklyn remembered what Sara Puckerman had said to her when she had met the woman for the first time:

Brooklyn drew away from the tight hug, a bright smile on her face as she released Sara Puckerman. "Your blessing means so much to me."

Sara smiled, her dark eyes shining with pride, hands clasped over her chest. She had waited so long for her Noah to find his match. For as much as she desperately wished Noah and Rachel would have worked out way back in high school, she was very much happy with Noah's choice in Brooklyn.

"I'm happy to give it," she answered. "Have you met the girls yet?"

Brooklyn shook her head, fiddling with her engagement ring. She had heard about Puck's three best friends, how important they were to him. Anecdotes about "San", "Ducky", and "Star" littered their conversations as he explained their bond. There were no three people more significant to him, had no bigger impact on him than Santana, Brittany, and Rachel. That importance was evident in the distinct honor Rachel held, outside of Puck's immediate family of course, that allowed her to call Puck by his much-disliked first name.

"Oh, my dear," Sara chuckled, patting Brooklyn on the arm, "I may have raised Noah, but Rachel made him into the man he is. My blessing means nothing if you don't win her over."

She studied that final member of the group, indisputably the most important. For someone so tiny, Rachel Berry had such magnetism about her. The moment the three women entered the restaurant, every single eye had been drawn to her like a beacon. She was just as tiny as Puck had described, barely eclipsing five feet, but her aura, her presence, her force was so much larger than life. Rachel Berry wasn't the most conventional beauty, but the unconventional features seemed to suit her perfectly, and she carried such an air of confidence about her that it made her so captivating and quite intimidating if Brooklyn were being honest.

Rachel crossed her arms, forcing a tight smile one her face. She stuck out a hand. "Brooklyn, so nice to meet you. I would say I've heard a lot about you but someone," she leveled a sharp look to Puck, "kept you very close to the chest."

Brooklyn took the delicate hand gracefully, not surprised at the strength in Rachel's grip. "It's nice to meet you too. I'm glad we could finally get together."

Rachel didn't respond at that, merely nodding. She looked at the gathered party, noting that no one was making any move towards the dining area. "Are we all here?"

"We're waiting for one more," Puck answered. His eyes flew over Rachel's shoulder as he lifted up a hand. "Hey, Q! Right on time!"

Rachel whirled, eyes snapping towards the entrance. Sure enough, the sleek blonde head of her costar was bobbing through the crowd in their direction. Quinn grinned as she came to a stop beside their party. "Hi, sorry to crash, but Puck insisted." She held out a hand. "Quinn Lucas."

Brooklyn's eyes had widened at the sight of the television star, and she jolted forward to grab Quinn's offering eagerly. "Hi," she breathed out. "Wow…I'm…just…hi."

Rachel frowned, eyes narrowed as she fixated on her costar. "Quinn? Why are you here?"

Quinn shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Puck asked me to regulate."

"Regulate what, exactly?" Santana asked with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

Quinn smirked, gesturing with a finger. "You three."

For such a fearsome, intimidating force on the football field, Puck was sure quick to cower when two glares were shot his way from two equally incensed brunettes. He didn't take much comfort in the wry smirk that appeared on Brittany's face either.

"Explain," Rachel drawled, clearly not amused.

"Look, I love you guys, but you get all rabid dog-like when girls come around and you have to meet them." Puck pointed at Brittany. "Even Ducky gets fierce, and she's…Ducky." His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't remember you guys had Desiree DeGrande running for the hills within five minutes of meeting her back in college."

"That's because she had an eye on your prospective multi-million dollar contract and accompanying signing bonus," Santana remarked nonchalantly inspecting her nails.

"And she was wearing a Texas A&M shirt when we first met her," Brittany commented absently. "Not cool. The maroon doesn't go well with orange."

Rachel leveled Puck with a stare, eyes narrowing and brows drawing slightly together. "Sit."

Much to his everlasting chagrin, Puck's legs automatically bent, his butt plopping firmly into the cushioned seat of their table.

Brooklyn's eyes widened as she slid in beside him. "Wow, you totally have to teach me how to do that."

Rachel didn't answer, merely settling down into a seat across from Brooklyn. She returned her attention to Puck. "So, since we know absolutely nothing about her aside from the fact that you're marrying her, why don't you start with the basics?"

"She's Brianna's older sister," Puck offered as an explanation, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Bri introduced us."

Rachel nodded in recognition. They had met the Charger Girl before, strangely a good friend of Puck's who was married to an agent in David's firm. They paused to give their attentive waiter their drink and food orders before turning their attention to the conversation at hand.

Santana started them off, leveling Brooklyn with a look. "So, Brooklyn, what do you do?"

"I'm a writer," Brooklyn answered. "Novels, biographies, mostly non-fiction stuff."

"Interesting. Anything with pictures?"

Brooklyn shook her head. "Not really, just photographs. I deal mostly with historical people, not exactly the most exciting stuff. I've done the occasional famous person, but more of the Prince William variety than like Madonna."

"So nothing I probably have read," Santana drawled.

Again, Brooklyn shook her head. "Probably not unless you're interested in General George Armstrong Custer and his rather controversial legacy that culminated in 'Custer's Last Stand' at the Battle of Little Bighorn." Brooklyn frowned thoughtfully. "The name 'Custer's Last Stand' is actually quite ironic. The general wasn't the only Custer to die in the fighting. His brothers Thomas and Boston, his brother-in-law James Calhoun, and his nephew Autie Reed also died during that battle."

Santana blinked. "Ah…yeah, no."

"How'd you get into something like that?" Brittany asked.

"Well, I've always been a bit of a history geek," Brooklyn admitted. "I got my Master's degree in history, and I've always liked writing so…" She shrugged. "It kind of evolved from there. My first book was on President Kennedy. Incidentally, until President Kennedy's assassination, it was not considered a federal crime to kill the president."

Brooklyn saw the wide-eyed looks directed her way and blushed. "Sorry, I tend to spew random historical facts. I can't help it most of the time."

Puck beamed, leaning over to kiss Brooklyn's cheek. "She's like Google, but better!" He nudged Brooklyn. "Tell them another."

Brooklyn blushed again under the praise. "Uh, sure…how about another one about the military, since, you know," she gestured to Quinn and Rachel, "you two are doing that Chris Keller military film?" She cleared her throat. "Many historians have differing views about the origins of the modern military salute, but some believe that it evolved from medieval times when knights would raise their visors with their right hands when meeting another knight."

Puck smiled widely, slinging an arm around his fiancée and squeezing her shoulder lovingly. "Isn't that awesome? I swear, she's knows everything! I'll never have to pick up a book again."

"You're like super smart," Brittany commented. "Where did you go to college?" she asked. "We were all in New York." She pointed to each woman in turn, "Ray was Tisch, San was NYU, and I was Julliard."

"Princeton," Brooklyn answered.

"What the fuck are you doing with numbnuts over there?!" The question flew out of Santana's mouth before she could stop it.

"Hey!" Puck puffed up defensively, only to shrink back down at the two glares directed his way.

Brooklyn laughed, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "Well, he's kind of cute, so I guess that makes up for it."

Santana took a sip of her wine. "Why Princeton?"

"Well, I was born in Lake Crystal, Minnesota," Brooklyn answered. "It's a really small town about an hour and a half away from Minneapolis, so I definitely felt stifled. I had to get out of there. I had a pretty good pick of places, but Princeton was as far as I could get."

"We can sympathize with that," Santana spoke up for the whole group. "Lima wasn't exactly a metropolis."

As the conversation continued, Puck whirled to Quinn sitting on his other side. "What the hell, dude?" Puck hissed. "You're supposed to be regulating!"

"Regulating what?" Quinn muttered. "So far, they're asking pretty basic questions."

"You just don't want to get on Rachel's bad side," Puck accused with a sharp glare.

"Self-preservation, Puckerman," Quinn retorted, shoving him with her forearm. "You're not the one I enjoy kissing on a regular basis."

Puck barked out a laugh. "Haven't you heard, Lucas? I've already got myself a hot blonde."

Quinn shook her head with a smirk as Santana continued their interrogation. "So you and Puck met through Brianna?"

Brooklyn nodded. "I had been in Pennsylvania working and recently moved to San Diego for a change of scenery. Bri got me tickets and after the game, she introduced me to the players. Puck kinda made an impression." She shot a smile to her fiancé. "Mostly because he was a moron."

Brittany nodded sagely. "He did his 'Fuck a Puck' dance, didn't he?"

Brooklyn giggled, remembering the rather ridiculous form of a mating dance Puck often utilized. It was hard to explain, but needless to day, it involved a lot of hip gyrations.

"He started that way back in middle school when he started swearing and realized 'fuck' rhymed with 'Puck' and it kind of went from there." Santana shot him a look. "Kinda says a lot when he's still using it in his twenties." She returned her attention to Brooklyn. "So I'm guessing you're a football fan if you're willing to suffer through his mood swings during the season?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "Uh, I mean, football's okay, but I watch it mostly for Puck. Hockey's more my cup of tea. It's pretty big in Minnesota, with the U and the Miracle team and all that." Brooklyn brightened. "By the way, the first Stanley Cup was only seven inches tall."

Santana's eyes bulged. "What do you mean it's only 'okay?' It's, like, un-American to not like football."

"I guess, it's pretty tame in my eyes," Brooklyn answered. "Football's cool, but hockey's constant action. Nothing's better than seeing two players drop the gloves."

"Guys get hit all the time in football," Santana countered.

"Yeah, but you never see a good fight," Brooklyn reasoned. "Football players shove and jaw, but punches are very rarely thrown. You know, a lot of things would be solved if the guys just drop their gloves and have at it like they do in hockey. Let them swing it out for a few minutes then break it up when someone hits the ice…or turf, I guess."

Santana wrinkled her nose. "You don't have any psycho violent tendencies that we should know about, do you?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" Brooklyn shrugged sheepishly. "It's just with sports. And as long as they're sufficiently protected."

Rachel had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entire exchange, merely observing the conversation. It was slightly unnerving. Her first words were directed to Puck. "Noah, was that a new helmet I saw you sporting during practice today?"

Puck swallowed his bite, nodding in response. "Uh, yeah. Changed it before we left."

Automatically, Rachel's eyebrow raised skyward. Puck, like many athletes, was extremely superstitious, and a main one had always been a reluctance to change his helmet. It was a superstition that dated back to high school and continued through his playing career. Once he had been issued a helmet, it stayed with him through all four years, without fail. If it somehow became unsafe to use, his new one went through a rigorous ritual to make it "worthy" – whatever that meant – but that rarely ever happened. Rachel had long ago learned never to question Puck's rather peculiar quirks when it came to athletic competition.

"I made him," Brooklyn piped up. "My older brother played college ball. He was never good enough to play the pros, but he played more to be able to go to school. After he left school, we found out he was suffering from a neurodegenerative disease that came from the concussions he sustained while playing. They said part of the reason he suffered so many concussions was because the helmet he was using wasn't as protected against brain injury as other brands."

"That's rough," Santana commented. "And you think the same thing is gonna happen to Puck?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "I mean, it's a possibility. There's no shortage of roughness in the game. Puck does most of the hitting, but that doesn't make him any less susceptible to a concussion."

"But why now?" Santana continued.

"I've been at him for awhile to change it," Brooklyn revealed. "I would never stop him from playing, but I just want him to be safe. When he proposed properly," Brooklyn shot a wry glance to her fiancée, "it was the one condition I had before accepting."

Puck shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention fixated on him. "Being safer doesn't make me any less of a badass. The new helmet looks cooler, anyway. Patrick Willis wears the same one."

"Yeah, the fact that it keeps your brain from being scrambled like an egg has absolutely nothing to do with it," Santana drawled.

xxx-xxx-xxx

As dinner wore down to its natural end, dishes cleared and the check paid, leaving the tables occupants with just lingering sips of alcohol, Rachel turned to Puck gesturing with a hitch of her head.

"Noah?" Rachel's tone, as polite as ever, said everything in that single mention of his name. She brokered no room for argument, and Puck rose without question, ushering the three girls with him, leaving Rachel and Brooklyn alone.

Rachel didn't speak for a long moment, merely lifting her wine glass to her lips, taking a sip as she studied the blonde.

"I am going to be frank with you," Rachel began. "I admit to being rather unimpressed at Noah's rather spontaneous proposal. The fact that Noah proposed to you before bringing you to meet us means either one of two things: First, that he is so enamored with you he didn't want to risk us scaring you off, or second, that he just wasn't thinking, which he is wont to do." Rachel straightened. "Due to the circumstances of your proposal, I'm inclined to believe the latter of the two."

As Brooklyn opened her mouth to respond, Rachel held up a hand. "However, I know Noah better than even his own mother – no disrespect to Sara, of course. She is just as quick to claim the same – and I know that when it comes to love, he is very careful to whom he commits himself."

Brooklyn wisely didn't respond, merely waiting for Rachel to finish.

"I have no questions towards your character," Rachel continued. "You are quite unlike many of the women that have come before you. You are mature, obviously very intelligent, and hold a steady job that provides you with financial self-sufficiency. However, I have witnessed even the most level-headed, confident people fall prey to petty bouts of jealousy."

Brooklyn nodded, seeing where the conversation was going, a notion only affirmed with Rachel's next words.

"You know of the relationship Santana, Brittany, and I share with him. I have no doubt he has explicated exactly what we mean to him." Rachel fixed a significant look to the blonde. "I'm even more certain that he has enlightened you to the extent of the bond he and I share with one another."

"'The bonds of Temple Buddies runs deep,'" Brooklyn recited.

"Yes," Rachel murmured fondly of the doctrine Puck installed as a child concerning the scope of the beginning of their friendship. Her eyes leveled a meaningful gaze at Brooklyn, peeling back the layers of the blonde with a simple look. "What do you see when you look at Noah?"

Brooklyn frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"If someone were to ask you to describe Noah, how would you respond?" Rachel edified.

Brooklyn seemed a bit thrown at the question, but she recovered quickly. A thoughtful expression crossed her pretty features, and her teeth snagged a corner of her bottom lip.

"You know, I don't think anyone has asked me that before," Brooklyn mused softly. She seemed to think, carefully crafting her answer.

"Well, he's an idiot," Brooklyn began with a fond smile. "That's for sure. He finds humor in the stupidest things, when he's not in front of a camera, he doesn't think before he speaks, he swears way too much to expose him to polite company, sex is constantly on his mind; he has no filter when it comes to it, and sometimes I question if he's really matured the way he's supposed to when he doesn't stop giggling at fart jokes…"

Rachel kept her face straight, letting Brooklyn continue to talk. She still fought down a smile. She certainly couldn't argue with that analysis; it was actually very much true. Noah Puckerman had matured through the years…but only just.

"But he's also a sweetheart and even when you're mad at him, you can't be for very long. He's like that little kid who's a bit of a rascal and a bit of a troublemaker, but you only get exasperated at him because he's so adorable when he's getting into trouble. Plus, he always gets that cute look on his face when you catch him."

Rachel laughed at that. She knew exactly what Brooklyn was talking about. When Puck got caught with his proverbial hand in the cookie jar, which was often, he sported a very distinct expression, knowing he was in trouble. His eyes got wide, his eyebrows drew together, and his mouth formed a small 'O' as he curled into himself as though making his body as small as possible would diminish his chances of being punished.

"He's strangely perceptive, too and he's very good about doing the little romantic things. I swear he has like ADD or something because he has the attention span of a five year-old, but when I don't think he's listening, he really is, and he never stops surprising me with how much he actually does pay attention." Brooklyn looked down at her hands, twirling the diamond ring around her finger. "When you're with him, you know you're safe because he's there, and he would never let anything happen to you. And when he looks at you…you're the only one."

Brooklyn looked at the woman across from her. "I know you two are close. I get what you mean to each other, really, I do. I'd never do anything to jeopardize that. If anything, I just want to know I have a place in the midst of all that."

For the first time, Rachel smiled at Brooklyn, and the blonde could definitely see what drew people to the tiny diva. It was illuminating, warming her to the toes. Rachel reached out, placing a hand over Brooklyn's. "Looks like we're going to have to make a place for you."

Brooklyn returned the smile. "Thanks."

"You know, Noah's faith is very important to him. It's one of the things in which he takes a substantial amount of pride," Rachel hedged. "Might I inquire towards your religious preferences?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "I'm Catholic, but I'm pretty bad when it goes to actually attending church, just the Easter and Catholic masses." She looked hesitantly over at the other woman. "I do want to know more about Judaism. Maybe you could teach me?"

Rachel smiled with a nod. "I'd like that." She studied Brooklyn, satisfied with what she was able to glean from the blonde and fell victim to her more basic instincts. "May I see the ring?"

Brooklyn laughed as the once wholly intimidating force that was Rachel Berry regressed to an eager girl excited about her best friend's prospective wedding. Brooklyn extending her left hand, and Rachel brought the ring into the light with a dreamy sigh. The design itself was simple: a large round-cut diamond flanked three smaller diamonds, each set within a square, coin-cut frame embedded in the shoulders of the flat platinum band. It wasn't extraneous, as some would expect a superstar of Puck's caliber to purchase, but it suited Brooklyn perfectly.

"It's absolutely gorgeous!" Rachel giggled, shaking her head. "Who knew Noah would be so proficient in choosing a ring?"

Brooklyn agreed with a laugh and a nod. "Especially when the only jewelry I've ever seen him wear are those yarn friendship bracelets."

Rachel smiled. "I gave him one when we were kids. He loved it so much he made me keep making them whenever the last one got so old it would fall off." Rachel squeezed Brooklyn's hand in reassurance. "It may be the only jewelry he wears for now, but he'll be wearing something else soon, and I'm pretty sure his wedding band will trump any friendship bracelet I've ever given him."

The two women shared a moment before Brooklyn ventured another question.

"So, uh, do you give your blessing? Because Mrs. Puckerman – Sara," Brooklyn corrected herself, "said that your blessing trumps all."

Rachel laughed, laying a hand over her chest. "Oh, she would say that." Rachel composed herself, turning fully to face Brooklyn.

"Yes. I give you my blessing." Rachel reached out, drawing the taller blonde into a tender hug. "I'm happy he found you."

Brooklyn smiled. Suddenly, her expression grew pensive, and a flash of white teeth appeared as she snagged her bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"And feel free to ignore the question if you're uncomfortable answering," Brooklyn hedged. "There's something going on between you and Quinn, isn't there?"

"Caught that, did you?" Rachel mused.

Brooklyn blushed, shrugging sheepishly. "You guys are kind of obvious…"

"Or you're acutely perceptive," Rachel countered.

"Maybe," Brooklyn conceded. "But I guess there's something different about the way she looks at you than if she was looking at, say, Puck or Santana. It's sweet." Brooklyn smiled. "I do have to be honest with you, though," she confessed. "I have, like, the hugest girl crush on Quinn…I've been restraining myself from completely fangirling in her presence the entire time."

Rachel threw her head back and laughed. She reached out, patting Brooklyn on the hand. "Oh, honey, I don't blame you. Not in the slightest."

xxx-xxx-xxx

As Brooklyn and Rachel exited the restaurant, both women were amused to find Puck pacing in front of a seated Quinn, Brittany, and Santana and mumbling to himself, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. The three women watched him with amusement. Brittany held out a hand to placate him, pointing back to the direction from where Rachel and Brooklyn were approaching.

"Oh, thank God." He looked Brooklyn up and down. "You're all in one piece."

"I resent that," Rachel drawled wryly.

Puck turned his attention to Rachel. He slung an arm around her neck and hitched his head. "You and I are gonna take a walk." This time, he was the one who brokered no room for argument as he rotated her around and steered her towards the small park adjacent to the restaurant.

"But what about…?" Rachel gestured back to Brooklyn. She had to admit it was a little funny to see the tall blonde look so flustered while talking to Quinn.

"I think she's cool with Ducky, Satan, and Q," Puck answered. "You and I need to talk."

He directed them to a small bench and plopped down, patting his lap. She sunk down and curled into him.

"What's up, Star?" He asked. "What's wrong? Why were you so hostile?"

Rachel shook her head.

Puck smirked. "You're not still hot and bothered for the Puckerone, right? I mean, I don't blame you. I'll never stop being a hot piece of ass."

Rachel's head shot up, and she glared at him. "Idiot."

Puck laughed, ruffling her hair. "Seriously, though. I mean, it's not like you've still got your lady boner for me, right?"

"Noah," Rachel sighed. "You and I…we were explosive and fiery, but we were never meant to be forever. I love you with every bit of my heart, but I'm not in love with you and I know you're not in love with me."

Puck chuckled, resting his chin on her head. "Yeah, I know. It was just weird, you know? I can't remember any girl you've actually liked that I've brought to meet you guys, but you've never been so openly hostile to anyone in your life."

"That's because none of the girls in the past were particularly good choices, Noah," Rachel scolded. She sighed heavily again. "I could tell Brooklyn was different, and I was scared that I was no longer going to be your best girl," she murmured, snuggling into his chest. Rachel sniffled as she was engulfed by the familiar scent of his cologne. Puck had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. The bond she shared with him was different than the one she shared with Santana and Brittany. No disrespect to her two other friends – she especially cherished their friendship – but she and Puck had always meant, for lack of a better word, more.

"Aw, come on, Star. Don't be like that. You'll always be my best girl," Puck offered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Rachel smiled sadly. "Oh, that's sweet, Noah, but I have resigned myself to the fact I'll have to share that title with Brooklyn and any mini-Pucks."

Puck nodded, a small smile on his face. "It doesn't change things, you know," he commented. "You're always gonna my best friend. I want you to stand up for me. I don't care what anyone says, I want you right beside me at the wedding as my best…" he thought about the correct terminology. "Woman?"

Rachel shrugged. "I'm not sure of the parlance used as it would be a rather unconventional set of circumstances, but I'd be honored nonetheless." She beamed, wrapping Puck in a hug. A thought occurred to her and she drew back and wrinkled her nose. "Will I have to wear a tuxedo? Quinn may be able to pull off one, but I don't believe such an ensemble will be particularly flattering to my figure."

Puck laughed. "No, we'll figure something out, I promise." He turned serious again. "I mean it though, Rachel. Anytime you need Puckzilla, I'm so there, no questions asked."

"I know," Rachel sighed. "I'll just have to get used to another woman in your life." She tried very hard not to sound too petulant.

"That's generous of you," he teased, poking her side. "You never did share well."

Rachel snorted, batting his hand away. "Yeah, well, I've never felt threatened by your past girlfriends. I knew exactly where I stood compared to them."

Puck grinned fondly, adjusting his hold around her. "They never held a candle to you."

"I really do like Brooklyn, Noah," Rachel informed him. "She's a wonderful woman and a great complement to you. I know you want my blessing, and I'm happy to give it."

Puck beamed, and Rachel couldn't help but feel a pang in her heart. She had never seen him so happy. He hugged her tight. "Thanks, babe."

Rachel smiled. "Of course, Noah. I just want what's best for you. I see that Brooklyn is just that."

He offered out a fist. "JBs for life?"

Rachel giggled, tapping his fist with hers and throwing her arms around his neck. She drew back and cupped his face, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his lips. It was chaste and affectionate, but completely and totally innocent, an expression of the depth of their platonic love. Puck would probably be the only man aside from her fathers she would truly love unconditionally. She knew he reciprocated that sentiment, but it wasn't enough for him. He deserved better than just that fierce platonic love they shared. He needed romance and passion and lust; he needed that all-encompassing sort of love. Brooklyn could give him that. That sort of love had eluded them, but he found it in Brooklyn. Rachel was okay with that.

She ran a hand lovingly over his hair, starting to grow back from when he shaved off his faux-hawk during the AFC Championship game. "I love you, Noah."

He wrapped strong arms around her, securing her in a firm embrace. "I love you too, Rachel."

They stayed there for a moment before rising again and returning to their friends. Puck immediately went to Brooklyn and slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his embrace. Rachel watched their interaction and saw how Brooklyn unconsciously leaned into him, her face lighting up as she affectionately cupped his cheek and stretched up on her tiptoes for a kiss. They looked right together, Rachel observed. Right in a way that she had never achieved with Puck.

A thought occurred to her in that moment: She wanted something like that. That easy affection, that irresistible pull that compelled her to gravitate to her chosen person.

Rachel jumped as she felt a hand slide onto her shoulder, and she lofted her gaze to lock on a pair of twinkling hazel eyes, to find her body snuggled into Quinn Lucas' side. She glanced around at her surroundings. No one else had moved, but she had somehow meandered unconsciously to Quinn…

Oh…

xxx-xxx-xxx

NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY, NOAH!

Noah Puckerman caused a stir in the wake of his AFC Championship win by proposing to girlfriend Brooklyn Ross after the game, but it seems he may be causing an even greater stir with longtime friend and one-time love, Rachel Berry. Sources spotted the luscious linebacker exchange this kiss with the Broadway-turned-Hollywood star outside of a St. Louis restaurant with Ross mere feet away with Berry's entourage, including Duty and Honor costar Quinn Lucas.

Perhaps fidelity is not in the cards for this pair. Naughty, naughty, Noah Puckerman.

Rachel laughed as she read over the article, noting the ridiculousness behind it. She rooted around her bag for her phone, immediately sending a tweet to Puck with a link to the article.

MsRachelBerry
*Gasp* NoahPuckerman69 They're onto us! Hurry and run away with me before MrsHitManBR catches wind!

She wasn't surprised when he tweeted back almost just as fast.

NoahPuckerman69
MsRachelBerry Too late. MrsHitManBR put me in time out for being a bad boy =(

MrsHitManBR
MsRachelBerry Lol, you hussy! Lull me into complacency with friendship and steal my man?! =P

MsRachelBerry
MrsHitManBR Bwahahaha! My evil plot has come to life!

ItzSantanaBitch
MsRachelBerry MrsHitManBR You're both wrong! If NoahPuckerman69 were stepping out with someone, it would be ME! xD

TheRealBrittanySPierce
MsRachelBerry MrsHitManBR NoahPuckerman69 ItzSantanaBitch But San, what about me?

ItzSantanaBitch
MsRachelBerry MrsHitManBR NoahPuckerman69 TheRealBrittanySPierce Just kidding, baby, promise. It's always just you!

MrsHitManBR
TheRealBrittanySPierce ItzSantanaBitch Whipped!

NoahPuckerman69
TheRealBrittanySPierce ItzSantanaBitch Waaaa-pssssh!

MsRachelBerry
TheRealBrittanySPierce ItzSantanaBitch Careful, San. Your whipped side is showing…

ItzSantanaBitch
MsRachelBerry NoahPuckerman69 MrsHitManBR TheRealBrittanySPierce SHADDUP ALL OF YOU!

TheRealBrittanySPierce
MsRachelBerry MrsHitManBR NoahPuckerman69 ItzSantanaBitch Sanny… =(

ItzSantanaBitch
TheRealBrittanySPierce Not you, B!

QuinnLucas
ItzSantanaBitch TheRealBrittanySPierce Aaaaand…case closed.

ItzSantanaBitch
QuinnLucas TheRealBrittanySPierce Where the hell did you come from, beezy? Lol.

TheRealBrittanySPierce
QuinnLucas ItzSantanaBitch Hi, Quinn!

Well, Rachel mused, if Brooklyn could have such a good humor about the mess the media tended to dump on their doorstep, perhaps she really was perfect for Noah.

xxx-xxx-xxx

The Puckerman contingent occupying one of the skyboxes in the Edward Jones Dome stood huddled at the window affording a few of the field below where the New York Football Giants had one play and just over forty seconds to get the ball over midfield and into field goal range. Rachel stood flanked by the rest of Puck's friends and family. This was a redeeming moment for Puck, a stringent 'fuck you, thank you very much' to anyone who thought he would never amount more to the disparaging stigma of a Lima Loser, and the final play came down to him and his stringent defense.

Throughout the game, Puck had played like a man possessed. If there was a gap, he was busting through it to disrupt the play, harass the quarterback, wrap up the running back, or cause general havoc to the Giants offense. If someone had managed to squeak by the defensive line, he was hot on his heels, chasing him down, and the Giants quarterback Evan Marshall had stayed away from slant passes that would bring his receivers in Puck's direction, and the electric Giants running game had been absolutely stifled by the Chargers' front seven.

Marshall, inside handoff…Whoa-ho-ho!

The group in the box whooped as Puck crashed through the gap in the defensive line and drove the running back into the turf before he even had a chance to take a step.

Ouch…

They looked up to the big screen where the network replayed the hit. The color commentator was drawing circles and lines over the screen:

Look at this. Classic Hit Man, beautifully executed. Puckerman in the run blitz, blows through the line, not even close to being blocked, and absolutely destroys the back.

The stadium exploded as Puck scrambled up, dropping to the knee and slashing the air as he denied the run play with authority.

But the game wasn't without its fair share of scares. The Puckerman box had gotten quite a shock when Puck had been absolutely flattened following an interception return.

Marshall drops back, Puckerman is there! Snatches the ball out of the air. Puckerman on the move…Oh! Absolutely pummeled, and the Hit Man is down.

He lay spread-eagle on the turf, following a hit that had folded him in half upon impact, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wasn't moving save for that. For a few tense, moments, nothing happened as the training staff crouched over him, questioning him intently. Finally, he stretched a hand up, grasping the trainer's hand and hauled himself up.

"He's getting up," Rachel breathed out.

Puck reached up to take off his helmet, walking off on his own power to a roar from the crowd. He went to the sideline and took a seat, talking to the trainers.

News from the sideline is that Chargers linebacker Noah Puckerman is fine. They've run extensive tests to make sure he isn't exhibiting signs of a concussion, and he's okay. He's alert, aware, and maybe just a little ticked off. "Just got the wind knocked out of me," the Hit Man commented. "Just a little taste of my own medicine."

Rachel's eyes found Brooklyn's across the box. They shared a significant look, one of complete understanding and solidarity. It was obvious the conversation they had shared during dinner resonated, and Rachel had never been more thankful for another woman in Puck's life until that moment.

The Chargers offense had been on fire with quarterback Drake Benson at the helm, the surefire MVP, but Puck was certainly making a case for himself when he collected his second interception of the night.

Marshall drops back, looks left, looks right, flushed out of the pocket, has to hurry the throw…TIPPED! Puckerman has it, and it's off to the races. Big block up front by Graham! Puckerman cuts to the inside…HE'S GOT ROOM TO RUN! THIRTY…TWENTY…TEN…FIFTEEN…SAY GOODBYE! TOUCHDOWN, CHARGERS!

But now, here in the fourth quarter of a back and fourth game, with the Chargers clinging to a precarious 35-34 lead, once again, the game came down to Puck and the Chargers defense to stop one of the top quarterbacks in the league.

Third and ten. The Giants need to get over midfield to just be in kicking range. Evan Marshall in the shotgun, pointing out Puckerman, they've got their eye on him. Empty backfield. The snap, Marshall looking…the pocket collapsing…MARSHALL ROLLING OUT, PUMPS…DEFENDERS DON'T BITE…HE'S GOT NOWHERE TO GO, PUCKERMAN SHEDS THE BLOCK, GIVING CHASE, MARSHALL TOWARDS THE SIDELINE, TRYING TO GET OUT OF BOUNDS…PUCKERMAN'S GOT HIM! WRAPS HIM AROUND THE ANKLES…THAT'S IT! TIME HAS EXPIRED! CHARGERS WIN, CHARGERS WIN!

Complete and utter chaos was the only description fitting for what happened as soon as Evan Marshall's knees hit the turf of the Dome. Puck scrambled up from where he had tackled the Giants quarterback, rushing towards the team bench where he was mobbed by his fellow teammates, already sporting t-shirts and hats proclaiming them Super Bowl champions.

Rachel turned as a security team appeared to usher them down to the field, quick to get down and celebrate with Puck. Once at field-level, Brooklyn was the first to reach Puck, questioning him anxiously before he nodded with a smile. A relieved look on her face, she gave him a smacking kiss and a long hug. He asked her a question before she pointed back into the crush where Rachel was trying to make her way towards him.

Security kept the celebrating people back, giving Rachel a wide berth until she found Puck and jumped into his arms.

"We did it, Rach!" he whooped. "Super Bowl!"

Rachel threw her arms skyward, singing, "We Are the Champions" at the top of her lungs. She leaned down and thumped her little fists on his shoulder pads.

"Guess what, Noah?"

Puck grinned. "What, Star?"

"You're not a Lima Loser anymore."

Puck threw his head back and laughed, twirling her around in a circle as the confetti rained down.

xxx-xxx-xxx

The euphoria that surrounded them in the wake of Puck and the Chargers' Super Bowl win, but as soon as they returned to Los Angeles, it was back to reality, and Rachel was faced with a rather interesting conundrum that had revealed itself upon their return.

Jesse had called her, saying that he had gotten the green-light to start production for the pilot he had developed and wanted her to come in and read for Becca Bly. He had told her to think about it, but he wanted an answer soon so that he could start casting her costars.

Rachel worried her lip as she gazed down at the thick sheaf of papers before her, making up the script to Jesse's new project, a scripted television comedy that represented his foray into a new medium of entertainment. If she were to accept, it would be quite a step for her two, a further expansion of her resume to yet another medium. Still, she felt a pull to this project, one she hadn't felt since she had heard of the Millie revival. It was compelling her to take this opportunity. She looked at the script, the character Jesse wanted her for practically jumped out of the page.

REBECCA "BECCA" BLY (SOPHOMORE): Main cast. Provides the cynical, yet insightful narrative to the off-color hijinks of Millard Fillmore High School.

Even the first scene of the pilot was so engaging, so visually stimulating, that she could see it form in her mind. She could see herself inserted in Becca's head, seeing what the girl saw and observing what went on around the fictional sophomore.

School sucks.

That's really all there is to it.

A bad teen movie – not one of John Hughes' because let's face it, he's pretty badass – would wax nostalgia on the issue and tritely state that the four years spent in high school are the best of your life.

I say if high school were the best years of your life, you've led a sad and miserable existence of failure and broken dreams.

In high school, one is subjected to the banal social hierarchy that glorifies untenable standards of beauty, scoffs at intellectuals, and pokes fun at those who stumble through puberty and adolescence like normal people.

Sure, I guess there's value in high school. These years could be used as preparation for the advanced education that's supposed to prepare one for the "real world." But, come on…who really uses it as that?

Me? I just use those eight or so hours to piss off as many people as I can and get my kicks while doing it.

Because let's face it. You prepare for the real world by living in it.

The first morning of the new school year at Millard Fillmore High School in Belleville, Illinois seemed nothing out of the ordinary. The general population milled around the grounds, idling until the bell rang to start the day. The jocks, led by football quarterback Tyler Dixon and his best friend Tucker "Tuck" Cohen were tossing some loser into a dumpster, high-fiving each other with delight. The cheerleading squad occupied the quad, designated to be the veritable throne room of the Fillmore elite, that surrounded the statute of Millard Fillmore, some chatting, some absentmindedly going through their new routine under cheerleading captain Taylor Bradshaw's watchful eye.

The bustling activity didn't even pause at the sound of a rumbling roar that only grew more deafening with each passing second. Those new, freshmen eyes turned to the entrance of the parking lot as a sprawling motorcycle knifed through the pavement. All black with accents of purple and white, it shone in the mid-fall sun. The machine was dark and imposing, a complement to the rider perched on the seat. All eyes followed the bike as it eased to a stop in the few motorcycle parking spots the lot offered, and the rider dismounted.

The rider wasn't tall but cut a striking profile, and it was clear the figure was female, the snug leather motorcycle jacket highlighting a pair of pert breasts. She dipped her head down, removing the full-face helmet, and shook out a wave of dark chocolate hair streaked with royal blue.

Becca Bly was famous …or infamous, depending on whom you asked. She was a loner, the James Dean-like paragon of teenage rebellion and apathy, often huddled in the back corner of the classroom, staring disinterestedly at the wall, and no one knew where she spent her lunch periods. She kept to herself and had a habit of bucking the common norms of the school, which never failed in irking the strict social hierarchy in place. They knew better than to cross her, however. One made the mistake of attempting to do so and paid for it rather dearly. It was rather funny to see a large nose tackle handed his ass by the relatively tiny misfit. Becca went out of her way to antagonize the popular elite of MFHS, mocking their pretentious ways, if only just for kicks. Everyone else, she regarded with quiet apathy.

In this school, the social lines are pretty clear.

Becca passed a group of boys huddled together, the navy blue, gray, and white of their jackets worn as a symbol to their place among MFHS's elite. The quarterback, Tyler Dixon, lorded over his minions. His long, lanky arm was draped over the shoulders of his girlfriend, cheerleading captain Taylor Bradshaw.

The jocks and the cheerleaders are at the top. Which makes absolutely no sense to me because I don't think there has ever been a year where we've had a winning season in any sport. And of course, football rules supreme…another weird paradox. I can count the number of wins the football team had in the last two years on one hand. On average, Dixon gets sacked more times a game than he throws completions.

The cheerleaders are the undisputed royalty of Fillmore High…mostly because they're the only athletic team that have done anything, like, at all. It's hard to argue with six consecutive cheerleading national championships. Their coach is like a legend. Sandy Sanderson. She's psycho. Like, legitly…

Becca jumped as she heard the screech of reverb, and she backed away against the lockers as the tall, blonde woman stormed through, a bullhorn firmly pasted to her lips. Students scurried out of her way as she charged through, hollering out to her cheerleaders who jumped to attention and fell in line, scampering in her wake to the football field.

The middle is clogged with everyone else, mostly the people who don't really fit into a category. They're neither losers nor elite, but not safe from some jock's homing device…just safer.

Becca stopped by the bulletin board, noting the school announcements, scanning for anything remotely interesting. She scoffed at the flyer advertising auditions for the school's competition show choir, a signup sheet attached to the bottom. She wasn't surprised to see Reid Kingston's name atop the list. The boy was the king of the theatre geeks, awash with a hipster vibe and dramatic swagger that dropped him quite low on the totem poll of popularity. He had talent, though; she would give him that.

And the artsy kids occupy the basement. But they like it there. Something about bucking the oppressive hold of a traditional, stringent society set out to repress their creative drive.

Whatever.

Last year, the history teacher Mr. Schuman tried to resurrect the school's competition show choir when the previous director was fired for inappropriate relations with his male lead. I'm sure that explains why there were only five members to start with…and most of them were girls.

Apparently, the show choir used to be huge, winning national competitions and all that. But that was when disco was "retro-cool". I have no idea how he did it, but Schuman managed to get Tyler Dixon, Taylor Bradshaw, and their cronies to join, which brought a couple more jocks and cheerleaders. I say blackmail was involved.

Becca looked to where Reid and his female lead, Portia Knolls, were squabbling, gesturing emphatically to a page of sheet music. Knowing them, it was who would sing the lead for whatever song was being waved around. They glanced up as Mr. Schuman walked past, and immediately the pair chased him down for his opinion.

Even with more people, they pretty much sucked. They don't have a strong bass singer, just a mishmash of first and second tenors, with a singular baritone who needed to work on his lower register. The girls carry the group though. Portia is pretty good; girl can belt it out like no other. Taylor Bradshaw has this pleasant, lilting voice, really soulful, like a Sara Bareilles or someone. I saw them perform once. They were sloppy and all over the place. They had heart, I guess. It's not much, but…

…But not like I, you know, watched them or anything. I don't even know what I'm talking about…

Becca shook herself from her thoughts, continuing down the hallway. The masses parted for her, some curiously eyeing her as she passed, probably wondering what the big deal was about the little brunette who everyone pointedly stayed away from.

Me? I don't like boundaries. I occupy a social stratosphere all my own, and I don't like –

Becca gasped as what could only be described as a wave of frigid sweetness struck her face. She could feel her eyes sting with a paradox of ice and fire. There was only one thing that could induce that sort of feeling. It was the jock's ultimate method of relegating someone to 'loser' status: A Super Gulp Slushie Shower.

Becca swiped a hand down her face. Immediately, she felt her anger swell, and she puffed up, turning to the idiotic jock who looked at his handy work with smug pride.

Oh hell no…

"What are you looking at?"

Rachel started, nearly upending the script in her lap. She was confused to see the glimmering hazel eyes of one Quinn Lucas staring curiously down at her from over the back of the couch.

"What are you doing here?"

"Santana let me in." Quinn leaned over, dropping a kiss on her lips before vaulting over the back and plopping down on the couch. She peered down at the script on Rachel's lap. "New script?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes, a pilot my friend Jesse St. James is developing."

"A pilot…as in for a TV show…" Quinn cocked an eyebrow at the deduction she quickly arrived at. "Are you thinking of making this LA jaunt a bit more permanent?"

Rachel bit her lip, playing with the corner of the script. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "My heart is first and foremost with Broadway; it will always welcome me with open arms. But who knows how long my novelty will last in Hollywood? Perhaps it is in my best interest to capitalize on my recent exposure and milk it while I am a commodity here. I believe the saying is 'strike while the iron is hot'?"

Quinn chuckled. "It would make sense," she conceded.

Rachel seemed to hesitate even further. "What do you think? Could you handle having me around all the time?"

Quinn glanced down at her, a slow smile melting across her features. "Yeah," she answered softly. "I could deal with that." She settled herself into a comfortable position and turned towards Rachel. "So what's it about? Your pilot," she clarified.

"Essentially, it's a dramatization and satire about our combined high school experiences," Rachel answered, passing over the script for Quinn to read through. "It centers on the high school's competitive show choir and the hijinks they get themselves into during a bid for a national show choir championship."

"How real is this?" Quinn asked, flipping through the pages.

Rachel chuckled. "The events it's actually based on are pretty accurate, if not sensationalized. There are similarities and references to actual persons, but most of this is fictionalized."

"Like these," Quinn peered down at the script, "Super Gulp Slushie Showers?"

"Oh, no, those are real," Rachel lamented. "It was the crowning indication of ones 'loser' status at McKinley."

Quinn's nose wrinkled. She remembered Rachel saying both McKinley and Carmel had similar breeds of Neanderthal, but she never knew exactly how similar. "Have you ever been…?"

"'Slushied' was the term," Rachel supplied. "And yes, I have."

Quinn shook her head. "How was that?"

Rachel cocked her head. "I believe my friend Kurt Hummel described the sensation as being, 'bitch-slapped by an iceburg.'"

Again Quinn shook her head. "That's barbaric…"

Rachel chuckled. "That's high school," she corrected, nudging Quinn. "I'm sure you remember."

"Painfully," Quinn drawled wryly. She leaned over, tossing the script onto the coffee table. "So, I'm guessing since this show revolves around a high school show choir, there will be singing involved?"

"Certainly," Rachel answered. "One of our staples during glee club was our spectacular musical numbers." She cocked her head. "Well, they didn't start as spectacular in our infant years, but they got better. I'm sure Jesse will also highlight that evolution."

Quinn chuckled. "So the television mainstream masses will now be subjected to your voice in prime time." She shook her head. "This must be like a dream for you."

Rachel tossed her head primly. "I admit the notion of utilizing all facets of my considerable talent is extremely appealing."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure I'm going to like the direction this is going to take your ego should you take this job…"

Rachel laughed, snuggling into the other woman. "It's not ego to have confidence in ones strengths, Quinn. My voice is the cornerstone of my talent. Without it, I'm merely an overdramatic, high-maintenance actress with a profoundly Jewish nose."

"And with it?" Quinn prompted with a grin.

Rachel canted her head with a mock-superior look. "I am a diva in the best of ways." She reconsidered that point. "Perhaps in the worst of ways as well…but those instances are not prominent in my history."

Quinn chuckled. "Conversations with you never cease to be entertaining." She contemplated a thought for a moment. "You know, I was thinking…"

"That's dangerous," Rachel quipped.

"Har-dee-har-har," Quinn retorted. She raked her fingers tenderly through Rachel's hair. "I want to take you out."

"Out?" Rachel's head bobbed up from its spot on her chest. "Like on a date?"

"Yeah."

The slow melting smile curved Rachel's mouth, and she plopped her head back down on Quinn's chest with a contented sigh. "I'd like that. As soon as possible, please."

Quinn smiled against Rachel's hair. "Well, I have an interview with Johnny Keane, but maybe after that? You could come with me?"

"Deal."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Johnny Keane could be described as a fortunate victim of circumstance. He wasn't the best looking guy, not particularly handsome but not completely unfortunate-looking either. What he lacked in aesthetic appeal, however, he made up with humor and affability. His debut to the masses had been on a guy's show, aptly titled It's Bro Time, talking about sports, alcohol, and hot women, cracking inappropriate fart jokes as he lazily reclined in an overstuffed armchair, his hand permanently attached to a beer koozie housing a Bud Light. One would have never thought he would go beyond that show, but his genial personality and surprisingly insightful questions had landed him the prime gig of hosting a late-night talk show.

Currently, Johnny sat behind a desk in a suit and tie – a long call from his jeans and t-shirt days of It's Bro Time – grinning lopsidedly out to the camera as he introduced Quinn.

"My next guest is best known as Lizzie Nichols on NBC's Queen of Babble but coming soon, she will make her way onto the big screen as First Lieutenant Sloane Gerard in Duty and Honor. Please welcome Quinn Lucas!"

The cheers were electric as Quinn entered. There was just something about the way she moved, the way she walked. It wasn't overt, it was completely subtle, a sensual sway of her hips that promised everything and nothing at the same time. The slim white jeans moved with every step of her long, lean legs, a pair of awesomely loud red pumps at her feet. A cropped leather jacket covered a shimmery gray top, the sleeves of the jacket pushed to her forearms. Her hair was wild and unruly, framing the features of her face highlighted with subtle, smoky makeup. She looked stunning, edgy yet elegant at the same time. Quinn stopped in front of Johnny and greeted him with a hug and a kiss before sinking into the chair beside his desk.

"Hello, Quinn Lucas."

Quinn flashed a grin of straight, white teeth. "Hello, Johnny."

"So, I hear your week's been pretty great. You were recently spotted at the Super Bowl, did you have a good time?"

"Oh, that was epic," Quinn enthused, crossing her legs and reclining comfortably in the chair. "A great game, all the way down to the wire, and of course, best thing yet, my team won!"

"Congratulations to the San Diego Chargers." Johnny shook his head. "I wish I could muster up more enthusiasm, but they beat out my Bills during the Wild Card round." As Quinn shrugged her deference, Johnny leaned forward onto his forearms.

"So how did you manage to swing tickets for that game?"

"My costar, Rachel Berry, is Noah Puckerman's best friend," Quinn answered. "I was just lucky enough to be along for the ride."

"Speaking of Rachel Berry, she is starring opposite you in Duty and Honor coming out pretty soon. How has that been?"

Quinn smiled. "It's gone very well. She's a joy to work with. Probably everything hilarious that happened on set was Rachel's doing."

"So this new movie of yours, you play a Marine."

"I do."

"Now, I gotta ask…" Shouts and catcalls sounded when a photo appeared up on the screen of Quinn posing in her costume of just a sports bra and form-fitting sweatpants, her chiseled abdominals on display and her lean arms flexed to show the bulge of bicep muscle. Quinn ducked her head down, shaking it in amusement. "How does one achieve this?" Johnny inquired with a smirk. "I mean, the only six pack I can lay claim to is the one of Corona in my fridge at home."

"It wasn't easy," Quinn affirmed. "When I heard I got the part, I sat down with Chris Keller to talk about the character, and we were like, 'Well, she's been part of the military in some form or fashion since she was eighteen, so she's gotta be fit.' Then I could tell both Chris and I were thinking of my body shape and how I was built at the time – which was definitely not like that – and we were like, 'Yeah, that's not gonna be convincing…'"

"So you hired a trainer?"

"I hired a trainer who basically kicked my ass for the better-part of two months prior to us filming." Quinn gestured to the photo. "Mini She-Hulk was what came from all that."

Johnny shook his head. "Well, I'm impressed." He looked down to his notecards. "Now, the Internet has been buzzing about this movie, and a good amount of it has been about you. I mean," Jimmy read off a few headlines. "Some of this stuff is pretty out there."

"Because everything you read on the Internet is true," Quinn drawled wryly.

"So you are not engaged to Code Blue star Logan Hawthorne?" Johnny asked, naming one of the core group of detectives in the police procedural that aired in the same timeslot as Queen of Babble on a competing network.

"That's a new one," Quinn mused with a sardonic smile. "I can honestly say that I have never met the guy in my life." She shrugged. "Besides, we battle with them weekly for ratings. I can't do it on principle. And I'm, you know, gay…"

Johnny laughed, nodding. "Yes, there is that. Rival networks and completely wrong gender. And you're also not two-timing him with pop star Trisha Steele?"

"I have no idea where they get these ideas," Quinn commented, shaking her head. "I mean, you present an award with someone and all of a sudden, there's a top-secret relationship. I mean, if it was that easy, someone find me Olivia Wilde!"

"But you do know Trisha Steele?" Johnny clarified.

"I do," Quinn affirmed with a nod. "We met briefly during the award show before we presented. It was a 'Hi, I'm a fan,' 'Oh, you are, so am I!' sort of conversation and that was it." Quinn shrugged. "I have no idea how that two minute exchange became a torrid love affair."

"Well, we know all about your fake love affairs," Johnny hedged. "Can we know about any real love affairs?"

Quinn merely smiled. It was a dazzling smile, but not a single syllable escaped from her lips.

"Nothing?"

The only response was a leisurely rising eyebrow.

Johnny sighed good-naturedly. "Only you can say so much by saying nothing at all." He tore up his note cards, flinging them away in mock exasperation. "Is there anything you can say?"

"I can say that I am excited for the movie," Quinn quipped.

"Can we put that on record?"

"No comment," she responded cheekily.

Any other host would have probably been supremely frustrated with the lack of response, but Johnny took it all in stride and with good humor, playfully cajoling Quinn for any little nugget for him to work with. He laughed, shaking his head.

"I hate you, Quinn. You know that, right?"

Quinn merely grinned widely, and no one could really stay mad at her. It was just a Quinn Lucas thing. Everyone knew it.

Johnny slapped his palms on his desk. "Watch Quinn Lucas in Duty and Honor, out soon."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Rachel walked down the street, her arm threaded through her date's, eyes scanning the general area carefully for any wayward paparazzi. She felt classy but sexy in a mini dress and her best pair of Jimmy Choos. She looked over at Quinn and bit her lip. The blonde was clad in form-fitting black slacks with a double-breasted black vest, the unbuttoned collar plunging to scandalously reveal a good amount of skin. Quinn loved to rock slightly androgynous style, effortlessly molding her feminine and masculine energies together, but no one could deny Quinn Lucas was a women. Especially not with that ass.

The restaurant Quinn chose was classy and elegant, affording them sufficient privacy away from the rest of the patrons. Rachel was surprised that it was a vegan-friendly Japanese restaurant, something she had no idea existed. She wasn't sure exactly what sorts of dishes were offered, so she deferred their choices to Quinn. As they were served, Rachel snuggled in close in their circular booth situated away from prying eyes and guarded by their combined security teams.

She tried the spinach salad with sesame sauce, surprised at the amount of flavor in the seemingly simple dish. "Okay, I get it. You and I really do approach these interviews differently."

Quinn nodded. "Basically, my philosophy is deal with only facts."

Rachel took a bite of the barbecue eggplant, frowning slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a fact that I star on a show called Queen of Babble, it's a fact I'm playing Sloane Gerard, and it's a fact I'm gay," Quinn explained. "If it's been out there for awhile, if it's something confirmed by either myself or someone associated with me, I'm okay with talking about it. Anything concerning speculation, I refuse to talk about unless it pertains to work."

"You know, I'm surprised you're so candid with your sexuality," Rachel commented. "One would think that facet of your life would be something you'd be the most tight-lipped about."

"That's fair," Quinn admitted. "I know I'm a vault when it comes to stuff about me, but this is the one thing that I will never hide. It took awhile for me to be comfortable with who I am, there were a lot of obstacles I had to go through." She shrugged. "I'm not going back in the closet when it took me so much to even peek out."

"And now you've unleashed Quinn Lucas, Lesbian Lothario to the greater female population of Hollywood," Rachel cheekily. She sighed dramatically, fanning herself with a hand. "The ladies of WeHo are better for it…"

Quinn scowled. "I'm not a Lothario."

"Tell me, then, Quinn," Rachel teased. "If I were to travel to the bowels of the lesbian population of the greater Hollywood area, how many would I find who have dropped their panties in the midst of one Quinn Lucas?"

Quinn frowned. "I'm not sure I like you knowing all of my dirty little secrets," she mused deprecatingly.

Rachel laughed, sliding in closer and propping her chin on Quinn's shoulder. "I don't know. Doesn't that sound…enticing…?"

Quinn craned her neck down to meet Rachel's eyes, her own gaze burning with a smoldering fire that immediately sent a tremble skittering down Rachel's spine. Slowly, she lifted up her hand loosely curled into a fist. Quinn retracted her index finger in to brace on the inside of her thumb. Placing pressure on the digit, she used the expended tension to send her finger shooting out to flick the end of Rachel's nose.

The little diva squeaked, recoiling back and clapping her hands over her nose at the slight sting. Her eyebrows drew together in consternation, and she glared at Quinn over her hands.

"You could have just said no," Rachel whined.

Quinn merely laughed, leaning forward to press a consoling kiss to Rachel's nose.

"Some buzz out of Hollywood, Rachel Berry's been coy about who her new romantic interest is following much speculation that perhaps her Mr. Right is a Miss Right. Dale Miller has more."

"Thanks, Michael. Quinn Lucas is notorious for her reputation as an Ice Queen. But as the stars left Johnny Keane's studio following Lucas' taping, this picture was snapped. A rather cozy sight for two costars that are reportedly 'just friends.' Sources tell me that Lucas and Berry have developed quite a close relationship during their filming of Duty and Honor, and with the amount of affection exchanged between the two, it wouldn't be hard to believe a romance has blossomed."

"Could Quinn Lucas be the mystery lover Rachel Berry's been dangling? Looks like we'll have to keep an eye on that."

xxx-xxx-xxx

They cuddled on Quinn's couch, nursing a bottle of wine between the two of them. Quinn's vest was looped over the back of the couch, her shirt untucked and heels kicked off beside Rachel's by the door. Rachel sighed, leaning up to brush a tender kiss on Quinn's lips.

"That was nice. Thank you, Quinn."

Quinn smiled, returning the kiss. "It was my pleasure."

"I do have to ask…" Rachel hedged, playing with the buttons of Quinn's dress shirt. "What are we? I don't make a habit out of bestowing such amorous attentions on my friends, and I certainly don't do casual relationships."

"Well," Quinn cleared her throat. "I guess we're…you know…uh, girlfriends."

Rachel contemplated that for a long moment before acknowledging Quinn's assertion with a firm nod. "I accept this designation."

Quinn scratched her head. "That was the most unromantic ask and acceptance ever."

Rachel chuckled, burying her face in Quinn's neck. "It's not a proposal, Quinn." She laid a kiss to the skin before resting her head on Quinn's chest. "This isn't gonna be easy, is it?" she mused.

"No," Quinn answered honestly. "But you're not a stranger to the challenges homosexual relationships face."

"That's true," Rachel conceded. "Lima wasn't the most open-minded place to grow up, and my fathers were not always readily accepted by the general community."

"I guess you gotta figure out what's most important to you," Quinn answered. "Your career or…" She left the alternative open-ended.

"You know, my fathers never hesitated to be anything other than who they were," Rachel commented. "Even when they were threatened, even when people ostracized them, they never let anyone else dictate how they should love one another. I don't know…I feel like I'd be doing them a disservice if I chose to not be true to myself and to whom I choose to show affection, regardless of gender or expectations, or whatever…"

"They would understand," Quinn comforted her. "This business is notorious for being judgmental. It's good to be principled, but you do have your livelihood to think about."

"Yeah, but I've always prided myself on going after what I want." Rachel rose slightly from her reclined position. "I want you, Quinn."

Quinn nodded. "I'm glad."

They stayed that way for a moment before Quinn rose, taking their empty wine glasses to the kitchen. Quinn rinsed them out and placed them in the dishwasher, turning back to Rachel. "You wanna stay?"

Rachel shot her a mock-scandalized look. "Lucy Quinn Fabray, was that a proposition?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "How quickly she jumps to sex," she teased.

"I can't help it," Rachel whined, nuzzling into Quinn. "You're hot."

The blonde laughed, slinging an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "And you're adorable, but no that wasn't a proposition."

Rachel propped her chin on Quinn's chest and pouted.

"Just to sleep, Rachel," Quinn chastised lightly.

"Fine," Rachel conceded with a huff. "Just to sleep." Rachel raised her palms, wiggling her fingers. "I'll keep my hands to myself, promise."

"Well, that's not enticing either," Quinn cajoled.

"Fine, I'll keep my hands in respectable places," Rachel amended.

Quinn chuckled and stretched out a hand to lead them up the stairs. "Alright, Berry. I'll hold you to that."

As they readied themselves for bed, sliding beneath the covers, Rachel turned to Quinn.

"For what it's worth, if I had to choose a woman with whom to share an open relationship, I'm glad it's you."

Quinn smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Rachel's ear. "Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

Rachel rotated, fitting herself into the natural curve of Quinn's body. She blindly groped for the blonde's hand, tangling their fingers together and holding their joined hands over her heart.

"Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know there are still things you are hesitant to tell me." Rachel snuggled in closer. "I just wanted to let you know that you can trust me. Whatever you tell me will be kept in complete confidence. I would never betray your trust."

Quinn contemplated that for a moment. She didn't answer, merely buried her face in Rachel's hair and drew the little brunette closer. She knew she could trust Rachel, she knew that her secrets were safe with the tiny diva who had quite methodically picked apart all of her defenses, but this was something she had buried deep inside her for so long. The only people that had knowledge of this were Declan and her family. There would be time to tell Rachel everything; there was no doubt in Quinn's mind that it would all come out eventually.

But for now…

For now, this was good.

And there we go. I hope you guys enjoyed it all. Don't worry, the Babygate issue is NOT done, we will touch more on it and how it impacts Quinn and Rachel. The media storm also gets more intense with Rachel's revelations, much to her chagrin, but one of the gang helps Rachel put everything in perspective. And, of course, I have opened up the possibility of Rachel sticking around LA…wonder if she'll take the opportunity?

As you can see, this story is starting to wind down, but don't worry. There is more to come in the form of a sequel. As usual, let me know what you guys think here, at Twitter, or over at Tumblr, and don't forget to leave a few words to the other half of Team P&K, CJ, CJersey82 over at Twitter and Tumblr! See you guys next time.

*ISP