AN: Might as well.

AN 2: Guest: Haha, thanks! It's nice to get a critical review once in a while; keeps my ego in check. I'll try to do better next time :)

Quinn is sitting on the school bathroom sink and having a midday smoke when Rachel barges in. Rachel always barges in, wherever she goes, regardless of when and for what reason; she barges into classrooms, she barges into coffee shops, she barges into libraries, she barges into goddamn high school lavatories. She's a girl who even has to pee with panache.

"Berry," Quinn acknowledges her.

"Fabray," Rachel replies evenly.

There isn't malice in her tone, never malice; only dismissal, which is worse.

Quinn stares at her as she fluffs her hair and walks right past Quinn to the furthest stall. She stares at her when she comes out of it and stares at her when she washes her hands. Rachel doesn't even bother to glare.

Quinn makes sure to exhale the cigarette smoke right into Rachel's perfect hair. Rachel doesn't look back.

Lips brush against hers far too briefly, cannot be caught or detained. She chases after them, and for a moment is allowed, but then they are gone again.

"You're very attractive, but," those lips say, and turn down at the corners, "if you ever tell anyone about this, I will make sure there is no bacon to be found within a hundred mile radius."

Gentle hands slip into her hair and tug. The lips graze the sensitive skin beneath Quinn's ear.

"Next time I see you, you'd better not be smelling like cigarettes, either."

And Quinn would promise her anything whatsoever in that moment, anything at all, as long as Rachel doesn't stop kissing her, doesn't stop touching her, doesn't stop rocking into her ever so slightly in that way that makes Quinn's brain stutter and her entire body buzz.

And Rachel doesn't stop, and Quinn does promise, and they almost get caught but then not really. And when they finally stumble out of the girls' bathroom, flushed and giggling, Quinn regrets it exactly not at all.

They are in Quinn's room, still pleasantly tingling but mostly fully dressed, when Quinn finally asks the question she had strictly forbidden herself from asking.

"What is this, even?" She waves her hand between them, as casually as she dares to pretend. "Are we fuck buddies, or what?"

"Don't be crude," Rachel berates her. "Friends with benefits, maybe."

"We aren't friends."

Rachel shrugs. "'Acquaintances with benefits' is a mouthful."

Quinn fidgets with the edges of her skirt, glances at Rachel, glances away. "Maybe we should be," she ventures, lightly, lightly. "Friends."

Rachel smirks and raises her eyebrows. "Wow. Quinn Fabray, would you like to be friends with me?"

"Fuck off."

"That's kind of sweet. But I don't know if I'm ready, you know? I already have playdates scheduled with, like, six other kids. I'm going to be hitting the playground all week long. There's going to be so much sand in my sandals, Quinn, you don't even know."

Quinn purses her lips and balls her hands into fists. She isn't amused. She is kind of upset, actually. "Go out with me," she blurts out.

Rachel stares, looking genuinely surprised. "I – what?"

"Go out with me. On a date. A real date. Not just fucking. Going out. To like a bar or a restaurant or a show or whatever it is you like." She swallows. It is harder to do than she remembers it being. "You're right, I don't wanna be your friend. I wanna be your girlfriend," she states, too calm and too strained. "Go out with me, Berry."

"I – I can't even tell if you're serious right now." Rachel shakes her head, looking bewildered. "I have a boyfriend, Quinn."

"I don't care."

Rachel raises both her eyebrows. "You don't care. Wow. Well, I do."

"Why? Like, what, so it's perfectly fine to have fucking sex with me, but we can't go see a movie and hold hands?"

"Yes," Rachel replies easily, "exactly."

"Do you even like me?" Quinn asks her.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"What's that got to do with anything? Are you serious right now? I'm telling you I want to be your girlfriend, and you're asking me what you liking me's got to do with anything?"

"I have a boyfriend," Rachel repeats.

"Yeah, I know. Does he get you off with just his fingers, too?"

Rachel's eyes widen. "I'm not talking to you about this."

"Yeah? Because I know how much you like to talk. Do you talk to him? Do you tell him just how you like it? Or is all that just for me? Your acquaintance with benefits."

"Where is this even coming from?" Rachel demands, her voice reaching an interesting pitch. "You despise me. You think I'm spoiled and snooty, an annoying good girl with a stick up her ass. Aren't I anathema to your precious baby's-first-anarchy pseudo-neo-punk image or whatever?"

Quinn almost wants to growl. "Oh, grow the fuck up!" she snaps. "I only care about that shit as long as it pisses my dad off and lets me get away with hitting on pretty girls all the time. And, yeah, I do think you are totally spoiled and snooty and annoying and pretending to be perfect, but I also think you are smart and talented and ambitious and amazing and I have just the biggest fucking crush on you, so."

Rachel stares at her, and Quinn forces herself to meet her eyes.

"Please go out with me, Rachel."

Rachel looks away, glances at the clock that hasn't worked in years, glances at her hands, glances at Quinn's knees. Quinn follows her gaze, transfixed. "I…" Rachel takes a deep breath. "I honestly thought you'd be safe. I thought you'd be the absolute last person who would ever, ever fall in love with me. When Finn told me he'd be fine with me sleeping around as long as it was with another girl, I immediately thought… I mean, you're obviously the most emotionally unavailable, personally detached, physically attractive person I know, and…"

"I'm the hottest person you know?"

"Physically attractive, I said. But yes. Anyway. You had 'no strings attached' practically tattooed on your forehead, is what I'm trying to say. This is a… rather unexpected development."

Quinn snorts. "Oh, yeah, the fucking Ice Quinn's got some actual, real-person emotions, isn't it ever so shocking. And now that we've gotten this amazing revelation out of the way, will you, Rachel Barbra Berry, do me the indescribable honor of going out on a date with me?"

And Rachel answers simply, "No."

Quinn blinks, struggles to breathe evenly through her nose, kind of fails. "Okay," she chokes out, and to her relief nothing breaks in her voice, at least. "Sorry for wasting your time."

But suddenly Rachel is smiling. "But you can treat me to some vegan ice cream," she says, almost a little shyly maybe.

"Wait. Um. Really?"

"Not as a date thing," Rachel rushes to clarify. "But as a maybe-friend thing?"

"Yeah." Quinn's lips, which are definitely one hundred percent absolutely not trembling at all, as it happens, slowly form into an almost-smile of their own. "I think I'd like that."

They are probably going to have to give up the benefits, but, if Quinn's perfectly honest with herself, the friends part just might be worth it.