A/N: I've done a few fanfics in general, but a first for glee (yes, I separate accounts because I'm weird like that and I love compartmentalizing my cyber space life)

Working idea: Rachel chose to be with Quinn out of sheer guilt after the accident. There's a whole lot of amazing stories right now that was prompted by "On My Way", but the ones I've seen often revolved around Rachel's realization of her feelings for Quinn. I don't know if there's a similar work out there, if there is, I apologize, I'm not writing this in bad faith.

Usual disclaimers apply.

The first thing Quinn did was run to Santana for advice. The Latina lived strategically at Upper West Side; close enough for emergencies, but far enough for her urge to monitor her friend's whereabouts and activities— an apparent misguided display of maternal instinct. The Latina's reaction was predictable. She spewed curses in Spanish and reverted to name-calling. As soon as she calmed down, she offered tentative display of affection and a promise of much needed emotional support.

"So what the fuck are you gonna do with that puta madre?" Santana huffed before lighting a cigarette and quickly stuffing her hands in her coat pockets. Of all days for Quinn to use the best friend card, it had to be the coldest day of autumn, and chose, of all places, Bryant Park.

"Santana," Quinn warned in a half-hearted manner while rubbing her temples and stared blankly at the coffee cup in front of her.

"Rumpelstiltskin," the Latina retorted.

"San," Quinn replied in a sterner manner.

"Manipulative Lilliputian bitch?"

Quinn shot a glare that meant to shut up her feisty friend. With cigarette stuck in her mouth, the Latina raised her hands up as a sign of truce. "I don't need that crap," the blonde drawled. "Besides, this is your entire goddamn fault," she added as she took a cigarette from Santana's case.

The brunette gaped at her for a few seconds as if trying to process the validity of her broken friend's statement. "My fucking fault?" she finally asked.

Quinn dragged out a puff and leaned back holding a blank expression on her face. "Had you not opened your stupid mouth in the hospital, I would not be in this stupid situation." Santana opened her mouth to argue, but Quinn quickly interjected by waving her cigarette vaguely in the air. "And I'm back to smoking, no thanks to you."

Santana gave Quinn a stare of incredulity. "Are you for real? You were about to die in the fucking operating table. I had no intentions of being your secret keeper until kingdom come, and I sure as hell did not want you to carry your unrequited fucking feelings for her to your goddamn grave. So yeah, I opened my sexy mouth and told her you love her. I have no regrets." The Latina raised her eyebrows and added, "And you're very free to stub that cigarette you took from my stash, voluntarily, if I may add".

Quinn rested her chin on her hand. She silently observed people passing by. "Can I stay at your place?"

"What's that? Can I wreck her face?" Santana responded with mirth in her eyes.

Quinn chuckled dryly then sipped her now lukewarm coffee. "You don't have hearing problems, Santana. Don't make me beg. It's ugly and you'll be scarred for life."

"On the contrary, I very much want to witness the stripping down of Fabray's pride in front of me."

"San-"

"I get it, Quinn. My place is yours. Get out of your apartment faster than Finn's prema-"

"Thank you," Quinn immediately quipped. The last thing she needed were thoughts about Finn and everything related to him.

Quinn snapped out of her deep thoughts as soon as the recorded announcement of the next stop rang through the subway. She steadily got up from her seat and swung her bag over her shoulder. She hated the train if not for the fact that she needed this commute on a daily basis from Bronx to Manhattan. The bus system of the New York City boroughs brought comfort in its slow steadiness. On the other hand, she had pure hatred towards the subway station's dark and sometimes sinister feel. She mostly hated the chaos, noise, and sheer speed and force of the train. It was always a struggle to breathe.

She immediately stepped out as soon as the sliding door opened and hastily ran up the stairs. Despite being slightly blinded by the sunlight that spread right above 77th street and Lexington Avenue, Quinn welcomed the change anyway. It was literally her light at the end of the tunnel; a few more blocks to the east and she was home free.

She walked a few streets up then onto a bus to 1st Avenue and stopped by Rachel's favorite local grocer. Quite pricey, but then again, so was everything else within their vicinity. But she was armed with Fabray wealth, mostly from her trust fund and her father's guilt money. And with Rachel sharing the cost of living, they are able to live beyond subsistence that most college students endured.

She couldn't help but smile at herself on the way home at the thought of two suburban Ohio kids living at the Upper East Side. She passed by a French school where a few known children of celebrities were enrolled. Despite her upbringing and economic status, Quinn's father avoided the private school route- perhaps one of the few things she was grateful for to her father. He was a proud Irishman of working class ancestry. He valued hard work and often spoke of his family's long journey from Ireland to New South Wales then finally in the United States. Quinn had often suspected that the much revered Samuel Fabray was a former convict thrown in Australia for a petty crime -stealing eggs or bread- like most convicts in Australia were guilty of. Quinn never bothered to ask. Asking invited trouble as far as her family was concerned. Don't ask so there was no need to lie.

So Samuel Fabray was a family hero, not an egg-snatcher.

And Quinn Fabray was a heterosexual Christian, not a lesbian agnostic.

Thus, for more than three years, Quinn's parents lived in separate but identical delusion: Rachel was her roommate and best friend. Rachel and Quinn were the modern day Hoover and Tolson. Their romantic relationship was an open-secret to the Fabray clan. This worked well because the financial support continued and they have all avoided the much dreaded confirmation of her sexuality and beliefs, and consequent familial exile.

The blonde took a quick glance at her watch while clutching two brown bags in each arm. She had a lot of time. Enough time to make dinner and a few more dishes that Rachel can heat up in the microwave for the next few days. Enough time to clean their one-bedroom apartment before Rachel got home. She glanced at her watch one more time for confirmation.

Quinn had enough time to pack her things, have dinner with Rachel, break up their engagement and move out.

They ate in complete silence, until Rachel could no longer hold her tongue. "I thought it will take longer than this for you to...to move out." The brunette felt like her whole world collapse, or she was doused with a dozen slushies- whichever is more painful. She wrung her hands nervously and tried to maintain eye contact. "We can still work this out."

Quinn slowly put down her spoon and leaned back. "Rachel, I love you too much for me to let you go on like this. There should be no room for what ifs in your life."

"Quinn, if I could just-"

"Rachel, please," Quinn spoke softly.

The young diva briefly wondered if her soon to be ex-girlfriend had taken some form of anxiety pills. Quinn sat directly in front of her with so much calmness that could have been mistaken for apathy.

The brunette knew she had lost and simply nodded a nod of surrender. It took Quinn an hour to pack, 30 minutes to prepare Rachel's favorite vegetable soup and 15 minutes for the blonde to gather her pieces of luggage and duffel bags and another 15 for Santana to pick her up. It took merely two hours to end her life with Rachel; but as Quinn sat in Santana's car, she knew it would take a lifetime to get over it.

She hoped she didn't have to.