Title: Tripping on Stepping Stones (Falling with Grace)

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

Summary: 5 years apart, Quinn, at 15, had already known Rachel for a very integral part of her life. So falling in love with her just made sense. If only for Rachel it were that easy.

A/N: Hey, guys! I've been incredibly MIA from here and Tumblr for a while now, but I promise I'm still alive! To any and everyone who has commented on this story, thank you. You've all pushed me to keep going and finish this one in particular. I hope this final chapter does this story justice. Thank you for reading.

—K

Quinn and Rachel didn't talk much. Or at all, really.

The fall found Quinn attending Yale, which was a hop, skip, and a jump away from where Rachel was, but Quinn never made any effort. She found herself in her own bubble that consisted exclusively of New Haven.

She studied acting. She studied how to survive on her own. She studied…women. A lot of women, Quinn refused to remember them all. Some were short, some were brunette. None of them were Rachel. But pretty soon even that didn't matter, because Quinn found the longer she went without talking to Rachel, the less she needed her. Which was fine, because Quinn absolutely refused to need someone who didn't need her. Rachel seemed to be doing just fine on her own.

It was Quinn's junior year when she realized that.

They had the television on in the background, and while it had provided a nice bit of background noise at first, it soon proved distracting.

"And now the nominees for Best Lead Actress in a Musical…"

The two lumps underneath the suffocating heat of the bedsheets stopped moving. A voice rang out. "Come the fuck on, Quinn."

Then another, quieter. As if she would miss something pertinent if she spoke any louder. "Hold on."

A sigh.

"And last but not least: Rachel Berry as Sandra Dee, Grease."

Quinn scrambled from underneath the bedsheets. The moonlight danced across her milky skin as she stumbled toward the TV. The next thing anyone knew it was off.

She heard a groan from the bed before the blankets were flipped back. The bedside light was flicked on to reveal the two women staring at each other.

"Quinn…"

"Santana, she's nominated for a Tony." The quiver in her voice made the aforementioned woman sit up straight.

"So she gave a good performance," Santana reasoned, attempting to ignore the ache Quinn had been working to alleviate.

Quinn's jaw clenched. "I didn't even know she had—" She shook her head. "So she left me to rot while she fled to New York and jumpstarted her career?"

Santana's shoulders rocked with a small laugh. "You're at Yale with the hottest bitch here in your bed. I hardly think you're slumming it, Q."

Quinn gripped at her hair, or what remained of it. She had chopped a good five or so inches off. Sometimes—moments like these when she attempted to run her fingers through it in frustration—she forgot. "You're not listening," she accused in a harsh voice.

Santana sighed. Again. There was something about this Rachel chick that always sent Quinn into a tizzy. "I told you to turn that fucking TV off before shit even got started."

Quinn huffed and turned away.

Santana stood from the bed in all her glory. "But no, you just had to watch the Tony nominations, didn't you?"

"Fuck you," Quinn spat over her shoulder. She had watched them every year since she had stopped talking to Rachel—curious, waiting, knowing.

Santana threw her hands up. "Hello? Actively trying to do just that over here." She sauntered over to Quinn, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her around. Their eyes met and Quinn looked away. "You've gotta let this chick go, Quinn. It's been two and a half years."

Quinn's chest heaved. Her mouth twisted in something resembling pain then she finally whispered, "She broke up with me."

"I know," Santana said just as softly.

"To start her career in New York. She didn't do it for me."

"I know that, too."

Quinn slumped in Santana's arms.

She won the Tony, to the surprise of no one. Rachel was the hot newcomer, taking Broadway by storm, the way she always knew she would. Her speech had been short and charming. She had thanked her fathers, her friends, Mr. Schuester, everyone who had ever believed in her. She left the awards show with a hollow feeling in her chest because there was one person in particular that she neglected to thank. Purposeful neglect, but neglect all the same.

Quinn.

She didn't dare utter the name of the woman who actively hated her guts every day of the year. She didn't dare risk breaking down into hysterics on stage because even uttering Quinn's name, all this time later, was hard sometimes. It was her fault, she knew. But it didn't make it any easier.

"You've missed me. Leave a message."

A watery laugh bubbled in Rachel's throat. You've missed me. It was as if even Quinn's voicemail taunted her. "Hey, Quinn. Um, it's me." She inhaled a shaky breath. "I called to say even though I didn't mention you by name in my speech that I am infinitely thankful to you for helping me get here. You were sometimes the only person who still believed in me and still encouraged me to pursue my dreams. And I'll always be indebted to you for that." Her tongue swiped along the tear running along the corner of her mouth. "I just—can we please talk? Please, Quinn, it's been almost two years. Two long years." She hiccupped. "And I—I just want to hear your voice sometimes, Quinn. That's all."

"Okay, we're done," a voice called from behind Rachel. She turned to find Mercedes making a beeline for her and reluctantly handed the phone over. Mercedes ended the call and sat on the bed beside Rachel.

"Rachel—"

"I know," Rachel groaned. She fell back against the bed and clutched a pillow to her chest. "It's just—"

"Just nothing. You're coming off the high of winning a Tony, your first Tony, and this is how you choose to spend your time?"

"Mercedes—"

Mercedes held her hand up. "We're going out tonight to celebrate this amazing victory. And we're not going to think about Quinn."

"But it's been two years," Rachel whined.

Mercedes patted her shoulder. "I know. But that's all the more reason to let go. For one night. You owe yourself that. Especially with how hard you've worked for this Tony."

Rachel considered the offer. She had worked hard for this. Rachel had wanted a Tony long before she had wanted Quinn, and even though she didn't have one, she did have the other. "Okay," she muttered. "Fine."

Mercedes squealed and stood from the bed, jerking Rachel up with her. "First trip, spa. Second trip, dress shopping!"

"But I already have more than enough dresses," came Rachel's half-hearted protest from somewhere behind her.

"Girl, this is retail therapy! You can never have enough anything!"

Quinn moved to New York, with Santana in tow, right after graduation.

It was either that or L.A., and Quinn told herself she had never really been one for yearlong summers.

"We can at least start our TV careers here," Santana admitted grudgingly. "But I'm telling you right now, Quinn, I was made for the big screen. Like, I literally have no pores."

"Noted," Quinn laughed.

Their apartment was a small two-bedroom walk-up in a part of town that Quinn prayed every night wasn't dangerous. Santana was a waitress, and Quinn a secretary. She took phone calls for the CEO of some up and coming company who was a little sweet on her. On their downtime, Quinn and Santana would venture to big wig coffee shops in the better parts of town and hand out their headshots.

The first time Quinn saw Rachel in years, it had both been accidental and purposeful.

Santana shoved her into a nearby row just as Quinn went to complain again. "Shh! It's impolite to talk at one of these nerd functions."

"Screw you!" Quinn whispered harshly. "I already told you I didn't want to be here."

Santana gestured around them with a saccharine smile that looked almost feral. "And yet here we are."

The here in question was NYADA, and Quinn fidgeted with the knowledge. Rachel had returned to her alma mater to give a talk regarding her educational background and her success as an up and coming actress. Santana had insisted she merely wanted to attend to gain professional advice, but Quinn suspected Santana just liked to push the levels of her discomfort.

Quinn bolted from her seat once the talk was over. "Let's go."

"Slow down, roadrunner. I want an autograph."

Quinn remained with Santana up until they filed in line, then made a beeline for the exit. "I'll see you outside." She kept her head low and shuffled toward the exit sign.

"Quinn?"

She felt her entire being seize. It seemed five years wasn't long enough. Body rigid, Quinn forced herself to crane her neck to find Rachel Berry staring at her. Quinn watched for a moment as she quite literally took Rachel's breath away.

"Quinn," Rachel breathed again.

Her head was spinning, and before Quinn knew any different, she was facing the exit and heading outside.

"Quinn, wait!"

It was like nails on a chalkboard, that voice. Quinn fumbled for a lighter and a cigarette as she dashed down the stairs of NYADA's theater. How could she have been this stupid?

"Quinn, please."

Little hairs on the back of her neck stood to full attention. Quinn's feet came to a halt on the final step. Her brain tripped backwards; Santana was still inside. And it was her turn to pay for cab fare back to their apartment.

Quinn lit the cigarette without a second thought amidst Rachel's horrified expression.

Rachel zeroed in on the cigarette with narrowed eyes. I was all she could focus on—the sight of Quinn standing before her nearly five years later too overwhelming at the moment. "You don't smoke." Her tone was almost petulant.

Quinn glowered at Rachel through a white cloud that assured quite the opposite. "How would you know?"

Her voice was low and smoky, and Rachel reared back as if she had been slapped, and retreated half a step when the theater door opened.

Santana came bounding toward them with a miffed expression on her face. "Damn it, Q! I told you not to cause a scene! Now all those theater geeks are getting kicked out the fire exit to give you two some privacy."

Rachel watched color fill her tense face before Quinn turned and began walking down the sidewalk. "I didn't cause a scene," she grumbled.

Rachel's face crumbled as she began descending the remaining stairs in chase. "Quinn, I—"

"I wouldn't waste my breath, Berry," Santana said. "That one can hold a mean grudge."

They watched as Quinn continued to trek the campus for the exit. "But never with me," Rachel said softly.

"If you were as important to Q as I've gathered, then yeah. Definitely you."

Rachel's eyes widened though they never strayed from Quinn. "And just who might you be?"

Santana laughed at her audacity and hopped off the stairs to follow Quinn. "Well, aren't you little miss Curious Georgina?"

Rachel felt her throat constrict at the obvious evasion. Her eyes welled once the two women were out of sight and she wiped her tear away before returning inside.

She had to threaten to fire her assistant, Blaine, to get him to find Quinn's address. And really, there were better ideas to be had than showing up at Quinn's place of residence unannounced, but Rachel lacked that kind of time.

A fan spotted her waiting outside the apartment building and Rachel graciously gave the woman her autograph. When she was done engaging with the woman, she looked up to find Quinn standing several feet away.

"Quinn…hi." Rachel gawked. Quinn was stunning, even when angry. "I-I came here to see you," she stammered, completely overwhelmed.

Quinn bypassed Rachel without a second glance and headed up the stairs of her building.

"Quinn, please."

"Rachel, what?" she snapped, finally dignifying Rachel with eye contact.

"I'm sorry."

Quinn nodded. "Great, thanks. Goodbye now."

"But—"

"There are no buts," Quinn insisted. "It's over. What did you expect?"

Rachel exhaled harshly at Quinn's audacity, tears welling in her eyes. "Did you go to Yale?"

Quinn scoffed. "Really?"

"Did you graduate?" Rachel challenged again.

Her lips curled into a snarl. "Don't pretend you did this for me."

She slammed the door behind her.

The next time Quinn saw Rachel was a month later, and so not in the plans. At least, it hadn't been in her plan.

Her sister had invited her back to Lima to celebrate Quinn's niece's first birthday party.

But… "This is not birthday party attire," Quinn accused as she took in Frannie's outfit. She was wearing a tight, ill-fitting dress and a pair of strappy heels. "At least not for a mother of a one year old for said one year old's birthday party." She then looked to the suspicious lack of party decorations and guests for clues. "So…what time does the party start?"

Frannie bit the corner of her lip. "Okay, so don't be mad."

Quinn's face fell. "There's no party, is there?"

"There is! There definitely is. It's just…tomorrow."

"What?" Quinn shouted. "Francine!"

"Would you keep it down; my daughter's asleep!" Frannie stage whispered, glancing up the stairs to where her daughter rested in her crib.

"You suck," Quinn growled back.

Frannie at least had the grace to wince. "I know, I know. It's just…how often are my two best friends in town at the same time?"

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Two?"

"You and Rachel." Her grin was a touch mischievous at best and downright devious at worst.

Quinn wanted to slap it right off her face.

She hadn't spoken the entire ride, not even when Frannie changed the radio station to death metal and left it there for a solid five minutes until even she herself couldn't take it anymore. They were going clubbing, which was news to Quinn whose sole purpose of coming to Lima was to attend her niece's first birthday party.

Frannie nudged her sulky passenger seat companion. "Cut the shit. We're letting loose tonight. Got two New York babes with me." She winked at Rachel in the backseat through the rearview mirror. "We're bound to get free drinks tonight!"

Muffled laughter sounded from the back, and Quinn sighed. "I'm not flirting with skeezy guys tonight just so you can throw back a couple of mixed drinks."

"Oh, Quinn, be a team player!" Frannie coaxed.

A wise crack about how she didn't particularly bat for that team was on the tip of her tongue, but Quinn instead angled her head toward the window and bit her tongue as she watched the street lights.

Frannie glanced in her rearview mirror. "What bar you wanna hit first?"

Rachel sat up straighter in her seat and squinted as she attempted to remember the names of Lima bars. "What's the one right beside the old cigarette factory?"

"Palace?"

"Yes! That one," Rachel declared, smiling at the fact that she hadn't completely forgotten Lima. "I remember they had phenomenal—"

"—Blue motorcycles!"

"Yes!" She and Frannie laughed together at what Rachel was almost sure was the same fractured memory. Senior year of college. They had gone to Palace as a last resort and by the time they woke up the next morning, all either could remember was throwing up in separate bathrooms.

And… "Remember when you performed the entire Macarena song with that guy who turned out to be—"

"—The owner of the club! Oh my gosh, I was so embarrassed," Frannie groaned at the memory.

Twenty minutes later found Rachel's stomach warm, throat scalding with her first shot. Tequila, also synonymous with trouble. Rachel turned to Frannie, who was already sporting a lively flush to her cheeks. "You…"

"You!" Frannie shouted back. They both shared a laugh while Quinn scoffed. "Don't let the mom hair fool you. I can still drink you under the table."

Rachel's nose crinkled when she smiled. "I'd never doubt that."

Frannie's laugh settled into a warm smile. She glanced up to find Quinn approaching the table with a tray. "Got us more drinks from that hot bartender I introduced you to?"

Quinn rolled her eyes to the ceiling before placing the round of drinks on the table. "Yes, but not how you think. You see, I ordered the drinks. And then I—wait for it—paid for them."

Rachel giggled and grabbed one. "As long as you didn't have to compromise yourself just for a couple of drinks." She squeezed the slice of lime inside her drink in an effort to have something to do while Quinn just stared at her.

"Yeah," Quinn muttered at last.

Frannie grabbed one of the drinks and gestured toward Quinn. "Think you can out last Little Q here in a drinking contest?" she asked Rachel.

Rachel's gaze washed over Quinn. She was just thankful for a reason to openly admire her. Quinn had matured into such a young woman throughout the years they spent without contact. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in waves, just inches short of where it landed in high school. Rachel acquainted herself with sharp angles where baby soft curves used to be. She was a grown woman now and the thought alone was intriguing. "Oh, I don't know. Something tells me I shouldn't challenge Quinn in anything."

Quinn turned to face her just then. Her lips were thin pastel pink, eyes pinched at the corners, highlighting long eyelashes. Her expression—completely unreadable—enthralled Rachel.

"Best not challenge Quinn," Frannie said while slinging her arm around Quinn's shoulders. "She's got that crazy Fabray competitive streak in her." She pushed her drink aside and flagged down a nearby bartender for another round of shots. "What are we toasting to?"

Rachel's lips twisted in thought. "Riley?"

Frannie shook her head. "I'm not a mom tonight."

Quinn cut her eyes at her sister. "Way to sound like Judy."

Frannie snarled then rounded on Quinn. "I'm more of a mother than ours ever was. If I want to take one night off with my best friend and sister for the first time since before that little girl was even conceived then I'm well within my right to. Now you can either—" she paused to take a sip of her drink "—decide to have fun like the rest of us or spend the night miserable. Your choice. I'm going to the bathroom." With that, Frannie stumbled from her seat and ambled toward the bathroom.

The roaring sound of the music around them had never seemed so muted and Rachel used two shots worth of liquid courage to attempt to have a conversation with Quinn. She scooted closer. "I wouldn't take it personally. I think she was just looking forward to this night."

Quinn eyed the empty shot glasses with a sigh. "Maybe she's right. I'm not really in a party mood so maybe I'll just get going."

She made to slide out of her seat when a hand grasped her arm. Quinn glanced up to find Rachel's eyes boring into her own. "Quinn, wait. You don't have to go. Frannie really wants us all to have a great night. And I know that if she can't have us both here, she'd for sure want her sister. So…I'll go." She reached for her purse. "And I'll see you all tomorrow afternoon."

"You can't—" Quinn scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "You can't go. She wants you here."

Rachel cast a glance to where her hand was white knuckle gripping Quinn's arm as if she never wanted to let go. She inhaled a deep breath and steeled herself before asking, "What do you want?"

Her eyes were shockingly open and Quinn hated her sincerity. "I—"

Most people thought it was Rachel who was rarely at a loss for words, and though true, the same could be said for Quinn. So it was mesmerizing to watch her jaw lock with false starts before she finally growled, "That's not fair," and snatched her arm back.

She was striking. Her tone screamed back off and it only fueled Rachel's desire to press harder. But she relented and eased out of Quinn's space just as Frannie returned.

"So I decided while I was in the bathroom that if you were still here by the time I got back, I'd make you drink," she informed Quinn.

Quinn's eyebrow rose at the challenge. "Oh, yeah?"

The night ended around one-thirty when Rachel got recognized by a crazed theater geek who was ruining Frannie's idea of a good time. "But that was arguably my biggest fan," Rachel protested as a slightly soberer Quinn practically pushed her and Frannie along. They fell in step side by side as Frannie and Rachel flanked Quinn, having a lively discussion about just where they parked the car. "Pretty sure it's on Ninth Street," Frannie said.

Quinn gritted her teeth. "Considering we're on Twenty-First Street, I highly doubt that. Who loses their car anyway?"

"It's a Prius," Frannie groaned. "Would you remember where you parked some lame car your husband bought you?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have a husband!" Quinn finally snapped.

Rachel managed to stumble back to her senses long enough to attempt to keep Quinn from an alcohol-fueled confession.

Frannie froze where she stood. "What's that supposed to me—"

"You know what? Why don't we all just sing a lively tune?" Rachel suggested. Her fingers slipped between Quinn's to tug her along as she began to sing. "The sun will come out—"

"I'm a lesbian," Quinn blurted, nostrils flared.

Frannie gasped so hard she nearly swallowed her tongue.

Rachel's song died in her throat. She took an audible breath. Frannie caught her eye for a brief moment and Rachel snatched her hand away from Quinn's as if she'd been burned. She and Quinn both wore twin expressions of guilt for varying reasons that all boiled down to the same: they both never told her. Rachel never told Frannie of the pseudo-relationship she had had with her sister, and Quinn had never told Frannie that she had fallen in love with Rachel when she was fifteen.

"So we're confessing tonight? Huh? Is that it?"

Rachel felt her skin prickle at the pitch of Frannie's voice. Her throat constricted, and Quinn looked away, muttering, "This isn't—it's not confession time."

Frannie scoffed, gesticulating wildly. "Clearly it is, Quinn! You started us off." Her eyes danced around her skull before they found Rachel's. "Your turn. What's your confession?"

She shook her head. "N-nothing," she stammered, briefly meeting Quinn's eyes. "I don't have one."

Frannie seemed to deflate. "I don't have one either."

"Okay." Rachel nodded. "So…taxi?"

Quinn turned to face them just then with her phone to her ear. "Yes, two blocks up from Palace. Thank you. How long?"

Perhaps it was the warm liquor swimming in her veins or the cool breeze passing that made her giddy, but Rachel giggled into the palm of her hand while Frannie narrowed her eyes, because Quinn was being so Quinn. Quinn shrugged and made a face then hung up the phone. "Should be here in 15."

Frannie shook her head. "You are so—"

"Helpful in the face of crisis? Why thank you," Quinn drawled over Frannie's sigh.

The party went off without a hitch. It was quiet, considering the birthday girl could barely pronounce "mom." Quinn sat by the table of unwrapped presents with a pointed birthday hat sitting askew on her head as she bounced a giggling Riley on her lap. Her features were soft, smile easy—she couldn't think of a recent time she had felt this uninhibited.

Last night had been odd to say the least, but at least something had come out of it. She had come out to her sister and Frannie hadn't uninvited her to the party. Quinn would take it.

Her eyes soon found Rachel, however, pinching at the corners. Rachel had been giving her a wide berth for the majority of the party. That much Quinn had been thankful for. Still, a sigh of frustration shifted her shoulders. "Why do things have to be so needlessly complicated, hm?" she cooed to her niece. "Nothing's complicated for you, though, huh? Your biggest issue is making someone change your diaper."

The party ended when the wine stopped flowing, and Quinn soon herself on the bench in Frannie's backyard, a few feet away from the cooler. She nursed a wine cooler while she watched Rachel cautiously approach the bench from her peripheral.

Rachel's hand landed unassumingly on the edge of the bench. "May I sit here?"

Quinn cast a sideways glance. "Sure."

The bench creaked as Rachel gingerly perched atop it so as to not disturb Quinn more than her presence alone already had. "You know, this is exactly like the swing from your parents' house."

Reflexively, Quinn smiled while the memory tickled her brain. "You remember that swing?"

Rachel turned to look at Quinn. She was stunning. "Of course. It was a beautiful piece of furniture." Not to mention the fact that it contained some fond memories.

Quinn rolled her eyes and took another swig of her beer, ignoring the way Rachel was staring at her. "Oh, please, Rachel, just say we made out on it."

Dark eyes twinkled in the night as Rachel stared at Quinn's profile. "For the first time," she added.

Quinn turned to face her then. There was something familiar about the fire in Rachel's eyes that captivated Quinn. She hadn't seen it in so long. Heat unfurled in the pit of her stomach.

The beer bottle smacked softly against the grass. Before Rachel knew anything, questing warm lips were on hers and her stomach was in knots. She gripped the back of the bench, vertigo striking at the feel of Quinn's tongue flirting with her lower lip. Quinn held her still while she explored the inside of Rachel's mouth. Rachel melted, finding she could only submit to the woman Quinn had become. And what a woman she was—confident, passionate, dominant. Rachel whimpered and threw her head back when Quinn pulled her hair.

Quinn just wanted more. The more she kissed Rachel, the more of her she wanted. She reveled in Rachel's moan as her lips ghosted down the side of her neck. There was no logic to this situation, the rational part of Quinn's brain tucked away in a corner of her mind. She could only feel, desire and anger created tension in her body only more of Rachel's skin could quell. She felt how soft Rachel's throat was, how Rachel's body bowed and stretched in an effort for intimacy. Quinn could feel Rachel's desperation, how it called to her to remedy the situation they had found themselves in. She wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist and tugged her closer to kiss her again.

A phone rang. Rachel wasn't sure whose, but soon Quinn untangled herself in search of her phone.

Rachel rubbed her lips together. Heavy-lidded eyes tracked Quinn's movements as she sent the call to voicemail then shifted forward on the bench to stand. "I'm gonna—I have to go."

Rachel lunged forward to grab Quinn's hand. "Quinn, wait." Her voice was raspy; she cleared her throat.

"Rachel," Quinn sighed as Rachel stood to face her. "It's just…too much history."

Rachel's brows knitted. "Since when is that a bad thing?"

"It's too much," Quinn reiterated. She gestured between them with her free arm. "You have to…dig things up, retread old waters—"

"I'm willing to do that." Her voice was so harsh, it shook. She was willing to go the distance. Why didn't Quinn get that?

"I'm not."

The sting was nowhere near the equivalent of being slapped. Rachel felt as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart before ripping it out. Her grip on Quinn slackened, eyes blinking rapidly.

"Okay?" Quinn continued. Her hands balled into fists at her side. "I-I'm not. Goodbye, Rachel."

Rachel found she couldn't bring herself to say anything as Quinn disappeared into the night. The next thing she heard was the fence door shutting and she sank onto the bench in tears.

"Rachel, what happened? Where's Quinn, I just called her phone," Frannie asked as she approached. "And why are you crying?" She kneeled before Rachel and removed her hands from her face. "What the hell is going on?"

"I love her, Frannie," Rachel sobbed. "I love her so much and she hates me."

Frannie sank back onto the ground beneath her, looking as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. "Oh, shit."

Rachel jumped up in bed with a disoriented huff before groaning and clutching at her head. She reached for her phone on the nightstand. It was ten a.m. She had missed her flight by five hours. She immediately got on the phone with her director. "Hello? Pierre? I'm sorry I've been incognito. No, I'm okay." She winced, eyes closed. "But I'm afraid I've missed my flight." His voice exploded over the phone and Rachel clutched her head. "Pierre, Pierre, Pierre," she practically begged. "I'll figure this out. I'll book a flight out of here, and I'll be in New York as soon as I can." Her eyes closed as she listened to him. "Yes. Yes, next thing smoking, I promise. Great. Okay, bye." The phone call ended and only then did Rachel realize she wasn't in her own room.

She took in the small town charm of the room with a warm smile. She had never thought she would see the day that her boisterous, party animal best friend settled down with a family.

The floodgates to the memories of last night finally opened and Rachel was assaulted with memories from last night. Quinn. Sitting beside her on the bench. The flood of arousal that pulsed through her at the sound of Quinn's voice, the smoothness of her skin. The soft feel of her lips. The biting cold of Quinn's rejection, the shame and guilt of confessing to Frannie, finally, after all this time that she had been in love with Quinn for years.

She would have to face the music eventually. Her feet hit the floor and before she knew it, she was traveling in the direction of food being made. She rounded the doorway of the kitchen to find Frannie holding a lit cigarette and the handle of a searing frying pan. Although the smoking was new, Rachel could only focus on how Frannie gave Quinn a run for her money in the scary department.

"Good morning, Frannie," she chirped as she risked walking further into the kitchen.

"Good. You're awake." Her speech was pressured as if she was letting out steam with each syllable she spoke.

Rachel gulped.

"Tea?" Frannie offered.

She slid into the kitchen chair closest to the door. "Sure."

"What kind?"

"I'll have whatever you're having."

"I'm not having tea."

Rachel groaned internally. She tipped her head back and combed her fingers through her hair. "Green is fine, thanks."

Silence enveloped the room barring Frannie's methodical preparation of tea, and for a second Rachel thought maybe she was off the hook. "So did I have this weird ass dream last night or did my best friend confess to fucking my sister?"

Rachel gasped. "I never—"

"Never what?" Frannie interrupted sharply. "Had sex with my sister or confessed to being in love with her?"

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. Where the hell was the tea? "What do you want me to say, Frannie?"

"Oh, I don't know, Rachel. Maybe that you didn't fuck my baby sister?"

"Okay, I didn't fuck Quinn. Are you happy now?"

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes!"

Frannie rounded the kitchen island toward Rachel. "But you wanted to?" she goaded. It was twisted, and Rachel felt twisted.

Still, she was at a loss for words and gaped at the question. "I—"

"Hmm? Speak up, Rachel."

"I—I don't know, okay? I hadn't given it much thought."

It wasn't a complete lie. She had had sexual thoughts of Quinn before, but they were fleeting because by the time Rachel had even began viewing Quinn as a sexual being, Quinn was on the first thing smoking to Yale, never to be heard from again until very recently.

Frannie slammed the mug against the table. Tea sloshed out into droplets against the mahogany table. "This is unbelievable."

"Frannie, I'm sorry," Rachel pleaded. Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her cheeks before she knew any different. She had already screwed up her relationship with one Fabray sister, and couldn't stand to lose the other one, too.

Frannie's shoulders deflated at the sight of Rachel sobbing at her kitchen table. She took a step back toward the middle of the kitchen and began to pace. "When did this even happen?"

Rachel wiped at her eyes. "When Quinn was eighteen," she admitted.

Frannie spun around. "You couldn't even wait."

"Quinn pursued me," Rachel defended hotly. She had spent enough time guilt tripping herself over Quinn. The least Frannie could do is learn the facts before jumping down her throat.

"What?"

Rachel slumped back in her seat. "She's had a crush on me since she was fifteen, Frannie."

Frannie collapsed into the chair opposite Rachel, her expression hollow. "How did I miss this?"

Rachel couldn't help the bitter chuckle in her throat. "That's exactly how I felt when she told me."

Eyebrows knitted, Frannie leaned forward in her seat, trying to make sense of the situation. "And you…feel the same way?"

"Not at first, obviously. But I—" She shrugged a shoulder. "I did. I do."

Frannie shot Rachel a look. "So what happened between you two? Because you and Quinn haven't spoken in four years." Intrigue had replaced the malice in her voice, and for that Rachel was thankful.

"She didn't want to go to Yale in order to stay in Ohio with me."

"What?"

She bobbed her head. "So I ended things because that was the only way to make her go. And now she hates me."

At that, Frannie laughed. "Trust me, that girl does not hate you."

Rachel's expression was dubious at best. "You're joking, right? She hasn't spoken to me in nearly five years, then told me last night she doesn't want to fix things." A memory that stung more than the headache from her hangover. She clasped the tea in her hands to take a comforting sip. It warmed every inch of her body and she sighed.

"You're allowing your tears to blind you to the obvious," Frannie accused, slicing right through her little bubble of comfort.

They were talking about Quinn. And heaven help her, Rachel no longer wanted to talk about Quinn because it hurt more than it helped, but her curiosity and desire for closeness with Quinn had her hanging onto Frannie's every word. "I beg your pardon?"

"Rachel, the girl moved to New York. And just happened to attend the talk you gave at NYADA. These aren't just coincidences," Frannie promised.

"But she told me—"

"Hell hath no fury like a Fabray scorned." Frannie's smile was almost feral. "Quinn is gonna say whatever it takes to hit you where it hurts. But actions speak louder than words."

Rachel took a calming sip of her tea. She felt like she was fraying at the edges. It was too much to hope that Quinn wanted her back after all this time. Yet here Frannie was, pumping her full of courage to get back out there and pursue Quinn again. The fact that this was coming from Quinn's older sister no less, who had just finished chewing Rachel out just moments before, was throwing her for a loop.

She rubbed at her throbbing temples. "So what am I supposed to do?" She sounded a little more defeated than she had intended to.

Frannie shrugged as if it were obvious. "Be her friend. Gain her trust. The rest will follow." She rose from her seat and headed toward the exit. "Now, would you like an Advil?"

Rachel groaned as she clutched her head. The rest will follow sounded too much like hope. Quinn had made it perfectly clear the night before that hope was the last thing Rachel should have when it came to them. "I'd love three."

"How'd it go?" Santana called over the couch as Quinn muscled her bags into the apartment.

Quinn grunted. "As great as one could expect. I came out to my sister and told Rachel I had no interest in rekindling things." It didn't sound as good coming out of her mouth as it did in her head. She needed a cigarette. She caught Santana's incredulous expression and looked away.

Santana sat up on the couch. "And why would you do that?"

Quinn growled and spun around. "Because I was drunk, tired, and it kind of just slipped out." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Not the cliché drunk 'I'm gay' confession." Santana waved her hand. "Been there, done that. I'm talking about Berry. Why'd you tell her that?"

Quinn made a disgruntled face. "Why not? It's the truth."

Santana sat forward in her seat. "Okay, time for some tough love."

"No thanks."

"We've been here for nearly four months now and so far I've gotten more play than a video game."

"So?" Her arms folded across her chest.

"So, how many cookie jars has your hand been in since arriving to New York, Q?"

Quinn's jaw became unhinged at the question, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "I've—"

"You haven't even been on a date," Santana pointed out.

Quinn sneered. "Forgive me if I don't crawl inside every woman I meet like you do."

"You used to."

It was a low blow and they both knew it. "It was a phase," Quinn said lowly.

Santana took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she counted back from ten. She opened her eyes, the picture of calm, and winked at Quinn. "Learned that from Stef—yoga babe."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Anyway—"

"No anyway. Listen. You obviously aren't going to start banging anyone anytime soon. So do yourself a favor and forgive this Rachel chick so she can start cleaning out those cobwebs for you."

"Fuck you," Quinn muttered.

"Been there," Santana sing-songed.

She didn't know what possessed her to brave November winds outside in the light jacket she was wearing, but Rachel feared if she didn't act now, she never would. She was outside Quinn's apartment building on a cool Wednesday afternoon. The sky was overcast, the neighborhood quiet. She shoved her fingers down into the pockets of her jacket, rubbing her lips together for warmth.

If this didn't go well, Rachel was prepared to place the blame on Frannie. After Quinn's terse insistence that there was nothing to rekindle between the two of them, Rachel was fully prepared to return to New York and continue working, tail tucked between her legs. But it was Frannie who lit a renewed fire under her with the promise that Quinn was strictly acting out of hurt and anger.

She heard footsteps slow and come to a stop behind her, and Rachel turned around in her pacing to find Quinn standing before her. She was wearing a dark blue floral dress with a gray cardigan, and brown boots that hugged her calves, and Rachel couldn't help but smile at Quinn's familiar style. "Hi, Quinn."

Quinn was carrying a folder full of headshots and tucked them beneath her arm. She had scored a commercial earlier in the week and felt a renewed fire to double her efforts of landing a TV show. Her mouth hung slightly agape then she licked her lips and tried again. "Rachel—"

Rachel held a hand up. "I know," she said softly, sadly. "I won't hold you up. I just wanted to give you these." She dared to venture closer and produced two tickets from her pocket.

Quinn inhaled a deep breath, gaze flitting from the tickets in Rachel's hand to a familiar pair of warm eyes. "What's this?"

"Tickets for my show." Rachel smiled. "There are two, so you can bring your friend."

The folder in her grasp creased with the tension in Quinn's body. "Rachel," she sighed. "I—"

"I know. You have no desire to retread. And that's fine." Her voice almost sounded like she meant it. "But, Quinn…we were friends once. And your friendship, above all else, was something I cherished. And so I thought maybe we could at least rekindle that much?"

The questioning lilt to her voice made Quinn's shoulders ease. She stared at the tickets then back at Rachel's fragile, reassuring smile.

Rachel outstretched her hand further toward Quinn. "Just think about it. No pressure. No strings. And if you don't attend, I'll understand."

Quinn stared at Rachel's open expression for a long moment. No strings attached. She could do that. She loved no strings attached. It was her M.O. all throughout college. But this was Rachel, the epitome of strings attached. There had to be a catch. But as she stared deep into Rachel's eyes and only saw the same honesty and straightforwardness that she had grown up with, Quinn found herself drawn to it, even curious. Her hand rose, empty, expectant. She hated that she felt expectant. "No strings?"

"None," Rachel promised, though she couldn't bite back her eager smile. "I suppose I'll see you soon. Or not."

Quinn found she had nothing clever to say, and turned on her heel as Rachel bypassed her to continue down the block. At the corner awaited a nondescript black car. A tall man opened the passenger door for her, and in the next moment, she was gone.

Quinn practically ran to Santana's room and threw the tickets onto her bed.

Santana paused manicuring her nails and reached for the phone cradled between her neck and shoulder. "I'll call you back." Her lips curled into a lascivious smile and Quinn sighed, but collapsed onto her bed anyway. "Of course I'm coming over later. So be sure to put on that thing I like. You know the one."

"Get. Off. The phone," Quinn mouthed.

It was met by a freshly manicured middle finger before Santana finally relented and hung up the call. "What?" She looked at the tickets on her bed. "What's that?"

"Tickets to Rachel's play," Quinn explained. "She came by and dropped them off."

Santana grabbed them, twirling them in her fingers. She grinned. "Two, wow. With backstage passes. Girl wants it so bad she's willing to let your side piece accompany, huh?"

Quinn scoffed. "Please." She reached for the tickets, feeling the weight of them in her palm. "What do you think?"

"I think this chick misses you a lot and has put herself out there only to be shot down by your— " Santana took in Quinn's rigid posture, downturned lips, and furrowed brow before returning to her nails "—charming self, multiple times."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Quinn barked.

Santana pointed her nail file dead at Quinn. "Exactly." She watched Quinn fidget with the tickets in the silence that ensued. "Go. She's been a huge embarrassing chunk of your life since you were ten years old, and you never really got any closure. At least allow yourself that."

"Closure?" Quinn tasted the word on her tongue. It was foreign. She had never gotten closure a day in her life. Not from losing Rachel as a friend and something more, not from her parents' divorce, not from the women she had bedded since college. Closure was unfamiliar territory for Quinn. Still, if nothing else had worked over the past several years, then perhaps this was exactly what she needed.

Her first television role came two weeks after Santana landed a small role in an SVU episode as a prostitute from East Harlem. There had always been something about Santana that made Quinn feel ridiculously competitive.

"Next!" a deep voice called. "Number 80421."

Quinn jolted at the mention of the familiar number and stood. "Me—that's—I'm number 80421," she finished with a tiny growl of embarrassment. The sheer volume of women in the room with her, each vying for the same part with more experience, was more than a little intimidating.

She walked into the audition room to find three people staring at her from behind a table. "Name," the man to the far right demanded.

"I'm Quinn Fabray, and I'll be auditioning for the part of the lawyer."

He didn't even look in her direction. "Too young."

She stiffened. "Excuse me?"

He finally dignified Quinn with eye contact. "How old are you?"

She faltered. "Twenty-three."

"No one's going to believe a twenty-three year old lawyer," he sighed.

Quinn didn't budge. "Then put me in make-up."

All three casting directors laughed, and the man to the fair left finally spoke. "Listen, lady—"

"It's Quinn, actually," she corrected.

The man's eyes boggled and the woman to his side stopped writing to meet Quinn's eyes. She sucked her teeth in thought, then reached for the stack of papers on the desk to hand Quinn. "Tell you what, take this."

Quinn eyed the large stack of papers suspiciously. "What's this?"

"An intern role we were initially going to scrap. But…I like your spunk." She smiled. "So read it over then come back and perform it. If you can bring this role back from the dead, then it's yours."

She could barely contain her excitement. "This isn't some type of sick joke, right?"

"We aren't known for our humor."

Quinn smiled. "Good, because neither am I."

They were front row and Quinn could no longer locate her stomach. Everything looked beautiful, the brilliantly colored set pieces, the costumes, the make-up—Rachel. She had never looked more alive than this moment on stage. Quinn could hardly stand to look, far too bright a star for any room. But she couldn't look away either. The niggling thought that Rachel ended what they had to flee to New York to start this very career tickled the edge of her thoughts and caused her smile to dissipate. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs unsure of how this made her feel. How Rachel made her feel.

As soon as the show ended, Quinn approached a security guard hogging the door to backstage. Santana had bolted right after the show, uninterested in the amount of sexual tension the equivalent of cats spraying in Rachel's dressing room once she saw Quinn.

She walked up to the security guard. "Uh, hi."

He towered over her in stature with black sunglasses and an earpiece. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd have thought him CIA.

He barely moved his lips when he asked, "What is it, ma'am?"

Quinn frowned. "Ma'am. Way to make a woman feel old." She fiddled with the remainder of the ticket. "Umm, here. I guess I give this to you."

"Name," the man demanded while taking the ticket.

"Quinn Fabray."

His head shot up, back straightening. "Uh, Quinn, right. Hello." His tone had done a complete one-eighty from cold professional to bumbling fool. He fumbled for his earpiece and began speaking in a low, hushed tone. "Quinn Fabray is here."

Quinn released a bemused exhale at the severity of his voice as a woman replied, "Roger."

The man turned to face her. "Someone will escort you shortly."

"Sure," Quinn drawled, glancing around to the hive of people walking to and fro. They were scattered though they all seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go.

Moments later a woman appeared before Quinn. She was about Rachel's height with twice the muscle. "Hello, Quinn. I'll escort you to Rachel's dressing room."

Quinn followed behind the woman down a long hallway.

"I heard you and Rachel were childhood friends," the woman asked.

The question caught Quinn off guard. "Uh, sure. She's older, though."

"She mentioned you were like a sister to her."

Head tilting to the side, Quinn shot the woman a look. "Did she now?"

The woman shied away from Quinn's gaze. "Look at me running my mouth." They came to a stop near a door and the woman gestured toward it. "Anyway, here's her room." She knocked twice then walked in, Quinn cautiously following. "Rachel?"

"Yes, Margaret?"

"Quinn's here."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Quinn took in the sheer size of the dressing room. It had a bed, dresser, desk, and—a bathroom. Quinn stared as Rachel materialized from the steam of her bathroom in a pink silk robe and dripping hair.

Rachel paused, her heart thumped nervously at the sight of Quinn. She had never felt more naked and exposed. "Quinn, you're—you're here. Hi."

This was a stupid idea.

"Hey." Quinn looked from Rachel to the woman then back to Rachel again.

Rachel caught her discomfort instantly. "Thank you for showing Quinn back, Margaret."

The implication to get lost wasn't lost on Margaret, who was already heading toward the door. "I'll let you two catch up. Have fun!"

The door closed, and Quinn's posture had yet to ease.

Rachel motioned toward a plush chair in the corner of the room, tugging at her robe. "You can sit if you'd like. Sorry, I usually don't have anyone in until after I've showered and dressed."

Quinn gestured toward the door, refusing to plant her eyes on Rachel's nipples poking through her robe. "I can wait outside."

Rachel waved her hand. "No, please. I don't want you to have to wait." She sat at the edge of her bed and secured her robe before gathering her hair over one shoulder. "So what'd you think?"

The question put Quinn at ease. Small talk—she hated it but she could do it. "Honestly…it was amazing. You were amazing."

Rachel ducked her head with a bashful smile. "That means a lot coming from you. A lot of people in my life just know me as a Broadway actress. But you—you knew me even back when I was still a wannabe. So for you to say I did well means a lot."

Their eyes met, and Quinn rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, the familiar warmth tugging at her insides. She shifted her position on top of the desk. "Yeah, well, you were never really some lame wannabe anyway."

Rachel laughed, the sound falling tenderly on Quinn's ears. "Oh, but I was," she assured. "But thank you. And thank you for being my cheerleader back then."

Quinn shrugged, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. "No problem." This all began to have a sense of déjà vu to it. She had always been Rachel's number one fan. Her biggest ally, biggest cheerleader. From the very beginning. Then five years went by without a word. And now Quinn was in Rachel's dressing room, a witness to everything she had ever believed in Rachel come to fruition. It was an intense feeling.

And it was all because Rachel had broken things off between them to start her career. "After all, what are little sisters for?" Quinn replied sardonically.

Rachel blushed and grimaced all at once, and Quinn found herself reveling in her embarrassment. "Well, at one point you were," she defended.

Quinn leaned back against the wall behind her, oddly satisfied by Rachel's fluster. "And then what happened?" she couldn't help but ask. It was in her nature to push, especially when it came to Rachel.

Rachel met Quinn's triumphant glare head on and softly confessed, "Quinn, you have always meant the world to me. At no point in our relationship did that change."

Quinn blinked. Her eyes stung. And for the life of her she wanted to know more, wanted to ask more. But she refused to allow herself. She cleared her throat. "Well, anyway. Good show."

If Rachel noticed Quinn's rapid change in mood, she didn't mention it. "How much do you like it here?"

Quinn glanced around the room. "Here…?"

Rachel giggled. "New York, silly. How much do you like it in New York?"

A shrug. Quinn met Rachel's eyes. "I can't seem to find it's…charm the way others have."

"Then why did you come here?" Rachel challenged at last.

Her jaw clenched, cheeks tinging pink. It didn't feel like they were discussing New York anymore. "To start my acting career," Quinn replied tersely.

"You still blush," Rachel murmured, her insides twisting at the lively flush coloring Quinn's cheeks.

Quinn glared as a vein pulsed in her forehead. "Yeah, well, you still embarrass me."

Rachel scoffed, recrossing her legs. "I do not!"

Hazel eyes fell to the expanse of tan skin peeking out from the pink robe. "Yeah, okay," Quinn replied absentmindedly. She allowed herself a fleeting glance at Rachel's chest then she looked away.

The conversation lapsed into silence that was almost companionable. Quinn admired every inch of the dressing room while Rachel admired her until her eyes landed on the corkboard beside her on the wall. It contained pictures and drawings, long letters of adoration. "Is this some kind of fan board?"

Her tone was incredulous, and Rachel felt her cheeks burn as she approached Quinn. "Yes, it is. I have the nicest fans who say the sweetest things." She came to rest just to Quinn's side, admiring the fanmail she had received. "One day I'll get so much fanmail that I'll have to buy a P.O. Box!"

"Goodie!" Quinn teased with faux enthusiasm.

Rachel's lips twitched in threat of a smile but she pouted instead. "You're always so mean to me."

Quinn shrugged, dangling her legs beside Rachel. "That's just how we work," she replied.

Rachel dipped her head and smiled. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "So where's your girlfriend?"

Quinn guffawed, caught off guard by the question. "Surely that's not the best you've got," she taunted.

She smiled crookedly, unashamed. "Well?"

Quinn slid to the edge of the desk. She crossed her legs at the ankles. "Santana isn't my girlfriend," she admitted at last.

A nod. "I see."

"Why would you care?" Quinn challenged before she could think better of it.

Rachel stood to her full height to meet the woman before her. "Quinn, I think we're both aware of just why I care."

A blonde eyebrow arched along Quinn's forehead. And she wasn't sure when their banter had turned from passive-aggressive to flirtatious, but perhaps the two were related. Rachel's proximity was doing dangerous things to her head, and she began to wonder if she had miscalculated. "Are we?" It was little more than a breath.

Rachel felt adrenaline course through her. For whatever reason, Quinn was deciding to play. She was unsure whether to press her luck or relent, conceding to Quinn's victory in this twisted game of chicken that made her heart race and her body antsy. Her throat bobbed with a tight swallow, and for once she was close enough to Quinn to watch sharp eyes track the movement with interest. "I think I have made my feelings for you quite clear."

"They are, are they? Then riddle me this." Quinn leaned closer, licking her lips. "If you supposedly have all of these…feelings for me, then why the hell did you break up with me to move to New York and start this fancy career of yours?"

Rachel's eyes widened. It felt like a bucket of cold water had just rained down on her. She jerked backwards several steps until she was in the center of the room, Quinn following. She exhaled roughly. Quinn was all around her, and she felt in a daze. "Is that—is that what you think?" she asked. "That I broke things off with you so I could move to New York and start my career?"

"Is that not the truth?" Quinn shot back.

"No!" Rachel defended vehemently, daring to step even closer, daring to challenge the only truth Quinn had known for five years. "Of course that's not the truth."

They were face to face and all Quinn wanted was to turn around and storm out. But storm outs were more of Rachel's thing, and she had always had this pull on her. They were opposites, and like magnets, tended to attract.

The fire in Rachel's eyes called to her to do something, anything to quell it. And it only served to terrify her.

Her hands cupped the sides of Rachel's face and she leaned in before she could lose her nerve. Rachel allowed a brief press of their lips, allowed herself to melt into the soft brush of Quinn's thumb across her cheek before she forced herself to pull away. "I don't think we should do this," she protested in a thick voice.

Thin blonde eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "What do you mean?"

Rachel slid her fingers over Quinn's hands against her face, grasping thin wrists. "I mean, I think that we should be friends." Quinn attempted to jerk away, but Rachel held fast. "Listen to me for a second, Quinn. Stop reacting."

Quinn forced herself still though she looked wholly displeased.

"I've been doing some thinking," Rachel prefaced, biting her lip. "And I think a key component missing between us right now is trust." When Quinn didn't immediately jerk away, Rachel continued. "Trust is something that is not easily given and often easily shattered. I'm really sorry to have betrayed your trust. And I can only hope that honest and transparent friendship can repair the rift between us."

She was unsure if her words meant anything anymore, but Quinn didn't pull away, and that had to mean something.

She was riding off the high of her very first day of shooting the pilot for her lawyer show when Quinn meandered towards Rachel's doorstep.

"Hey."

"Quinn." Rachel blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight of her. "Hi." She twisted the door handle now pressing into her back while she stepped socked feet into the hallway. Rachel bit her lip, equal parts curious and nervous.

Quinn extended her hand, her mouth neither smiling nor snarling. "I'm Quinn. I moved to New York almost a year ago to start my acting career."

Rachel's eyebrows rose. She hesitated then took Quinn's hand for a firm handshake, mystified. Still, she could play along. "A pleasure to meet you, Quinn. I'm Rachel."

Quinn stared at their joined hands then met Rachel's gaze through her eyelashes. "I assure you the pleasure is mine."

"But you haven't met me yet," she reasoned, still playing their game.

Quinn inhaled deeply. "On the contrary, I think I've been in love with you since I was fifteen." She rubbed at her forehead with a mild frown.

Rachel's heart thundered. "What brings you to New York, Quinn?" She couldn't help but ask again.

She was rewarded with a mischievous grin. "I hear it's the land of opportunities."

It probably shouldn't have worked, but it did and Rachel felt weak. She invited Quinn in. They talked.

And talked.

And talked more until they finally ran out of words. Five years were condensed into four hours of highlights and lows.

Quinn was the freest Rachel had seen her since she was a teenager.

The night drew to a close with Quinn once again at the threshold of her door. Rachel already felt her heart ripping. "I'm having a small gathering next Friday, you should come."

Before Quinn could even get a word out, Rachel beat her to it. "I just—tonight was so great. Wasn't it?" She fretted with her hair self-consciously. "Unless you didn't enjoy—"

"I did," Quinn assured. Amusement tugged at the corners of her lips before she licked them. "And I'd love to come."

Rachel sagged against the doorframe in relief. "Great. Santana is invited, too, of course."

"Swan-ky!" Santana observed. She gawked at the spacious high-rise that was Rachel's apartment. "Who knew Broadway paid this well?"

Quinn said nothing. Her eyes washed over the multitude of people occupying every inch of the apartment. "So much for a small gathering," she muttered. Rachel never did anything small. She felt a small stab of disappointment twist in her gut and stomped it down, confused.

"These are celebrities, Q. They don't do anything small," Santana replied, voicing her earlier thoughts, though for different reasons. Because that was just it: Rachel was never a celebrity. At least the Rachel Quinn knew. Used to know. Whichever.

Quinn walked away. "Let's get a drink."

"Already peeped the pre-made margaritas."

The air above the dozens of margaritas smelled of alcohol, and Quinn barely resisted the urge to double fist.

"Hey, girlfriend!"

Her arms prickled with goosebumps. Quinn and Santana turned to find Rachel standing before them. She wore a tight black dress that looked to cost three times more than the white dress Quinn plucked from her closet.

She felt fourteen again.

"Hey," she replied lamely. And in no universe was she ever the dork to Rachel's cool but there was always something about Rachel that made Quinn feel so callow. Perhaps it was simply her age. Perhaps it was Quinn's feelings for Rachel, or perhaps it was a combination of both that currently made Quinn want to crawl out of her skin more and more with each second that ticked by while she forced herself to meet Rachel eye to eye.

"Bangin' party, Berry." Words hadn't seemed to have failed Santana quite the way they had abandoned Quinn.

"Yeah…awesome party."

Rachel eyed Quinn critically, eyes flicking from head to toe. This Quinn was a far cry from the one who stood on her doorstep just days ago. "There are a lot of people," she agreed with Quinn's unspoken complaint. And why would Quinn ever need to speak when Rachel could read her rigid posture like an open book with highlighted text? "I truly had anticipated only a few guests but of course no one ever follows the plus one rule. Even Kurt invited three," she laughed.

Despite it all, Quinn felt herself smile, easing the tension in her shoulders. "It's no problem."

Rachel's hands fidgeted in front of her. "So, listen, I'd love if you could meet my friends. Especially Mercedes since this party is in her honor."

Santana's head whipped around from judging the attire of Rachel's guests. "Mercedes? As in the Mercedes Jones?" Santana slapped Quinn's arm. "Quinn, you didn't tell me this party was for her!"

Rachel bit back a laugh at Quinn's visible ire while she rubbed at the sting on her arm. "This is for her album release," Rachel explained to Santana.

Santana nearly fell out. "I want that album! Berry, you gotta introduce us."

Quinn rubbed her lips together, eyebrows knitting. She wasn't sure she was willing to rub elbows with Rachel's friends this early.

If Rachel felt her discomfort, she said nothing. "Of course. Follow me."

She turned to walk away and Santana slapped at Quinn's arm once more in excitement before being shoved away to follow behind Rachel. Quinn guzzled her first margarita and grabbed another before following.

"Guys, this is Quinn and her dear friend, Santana. Quinn, Santana, these are—"

"Mercedes Jones," Santana interrupted, entering the circle. Mercedes, Kurt, and Blaine all sat along a beige wrap-around sectional that formed a semi-circle in one corner of the living room. Santana made a beeline for Mercedes and sat down. "It's an honor and a pleasure to finally meet you."

Mercedes, Kurt, Blaine, and Rachel shared a laugh while Quinn took another gulp of her margarita.

"Quinn, these are Kurt and Blaine—two of my best friends along with Mercedes."

"Once a gleek always a gleek," Blaine chirped.

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "I regret ever teaching him that word." He rose with a smile and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you Quinn. It's great to finally be able to put a face to the infamous name."

Quinn extended her hand across a blushing Rachel. "Nice to meet you as well." Quinn glanced at Rachel then toward Kurt. "Infamous, huh?"

"We've heard so much about you," Blaine gushed, unaware of Rachel's growing mortification.

Quinn fidgeted and looked to Rachel again then back to Kurt and Blaine. "Good things, I hope."

Rachel's head shot up. She looked to Kurt and Blaine.

But Blaine smiled. "Of course. Nothing but positive things from Rachel."

Quinn sat beside Rachel. "Like what?" she needled.

Rachel exhaled a long breath.

Kurt caught her eye with a playful smile at her discomfort. "Well, Rachel said you're pursuing acting. How's that going?"

Quinn blinked at the unexpected question. "Well, actually. I landed a role on this new lawyer-type show that we're hoping will get picked up for next fall, so fingers crossed."

Rachel looked proud.

Kurt nodded. "That's really exciting. I remember when I called Rachel about Sandy for Grease." He laughed at the memory. "She was excited."

Quinn's head canted to the side. "I'm sorry, what?"

He cast a quick glance to Rachel's frozen posture, hesitating. "Yeah, I called her and gave her a head's up about the part of Sandy. That's all."

"When?" Quinn demanded suddenly, all cordiality devoid in her tone.

Kurt's mouth hung open a second too long, and Quinn turned toward Rachel.

"Late September," Rachel said quietly, attempting to coax Quinn into matching her tone.

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "But I thought—"

"I know what you thought. Perhaps we can talk outside?" Her words came slow and cautious lest she scare Quinn off. She stood and offered her hand. Wordlessly, Quinn took it and followed Rachel outside.

Quinn ventured onto the balcony. Rachel lived on the zillionth floor. She was so high up Quinn could barely see the ground. And she was almost positive she could reach out and touch the moon if she wanted.

It was a romantic setting, Quinn noticed; she couldn't help but wonder if Rachel had ever seduced any suitors on this balcony.

She heard the clack of Rachel's heels behind her, and waited.

Rachel came to rest against the balcony railing within arm's reach of Quinn. "It's beautiful, isn't it? If a little daunting." A corner of Rachel's mouth ticked upward as she stared into the night sky. Quinn in a nutshell.

Quinn nodded and cast Rachel a sidelong glance. "It is." She stared down at her hands gripping the banister. She hadn't felt this uncertain and insecure since she was fifteen confessing her love to Rachel. "What Kurt said in there…"

She trailed off at the end of a statement with a loaded beginning, but Rachel felt this was her only shot. "What would you like to hear?"

"The truth." Quinn's jaw clenched. It had been a long time coming. "Why did you break things off?"

Rachel turned to face Quinn fully. "I ended things because you had the opportunity to go to Yale, Quinn. I wasn't about to let you throw that away just to stay with me in Lima forever."

"Except you didn't stay in Lima forever," Quinn needlessly pointed out.

Rachel braced herself for the full brunt of five years of resentment. "No, I did not," she conceded quietly.

"When did you get that phone call from Kurt?"

"I already told you, a month after we ended things."

Quinn felt her hackles rise. Her head whipped around on its own volition. "No, you're the one who ended things," she hissed.

Rachel inhaled a sharp breath at the sheer force of Quinn's vehemence. Without warning, Quinn had entered her personal space. And it drove Rachel mad. She felt heat unfurl in the pit of her stomach at Quinn's proximity. It was more than the most inappropriate time to familiarize herself with the woman Quinn had become. There was something to be said for women who looked beautiful while angry. Her lips were pressed into a thin red line across her face, her cheeks tinged with fury, narrowed hazel eyes, murky with the hints of alcohol flowing through her bloodstream. Rachel swallowed, hard. Her fingers itched at her side to touch, but she found herself immobile under the oppressive force of Quinn's glare.

As if reading her very thoughts, Quinn's eyebrow nudged upward, the corner of her mouth curling. Rachel bit her lip.

They both jumped at the sound of someone clearing his throat. Rachel clutched at her chest, feeling her heart thumping against her ribcage. Her eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath, and when she opened them, she was staring at Quinn's back.

"Pardon me for intruding, ma'am. But I wondered if you needed anything?"

At the door of the balcony stood a slender man holding an empty tray. He was dressed in all black with salt and pepper hair.

Rachel looked to Quinn, skulking to the far edge of the balcony. Her eyes smoldered as they burned a hole through the back of her white dress. "A bottle of Belvidere would be great, Jasper, thanks," Rachel said, finally peeling her gaze away from Quinn pacing in a corner of the balcony like a jungle cat.

"Coming right up, ma'am," he promised with a smile.

Rachel flashed a gracious smile. "Thank you, Jasper." She turned to follow Quinn while Jasper saw himself out. Or in, rather. She approached the couch Quinn was pacing in front of and sat down, following Quinn with her eyes. "Want to sit?"

Quinn stared at the offered spot beside Rachel. She took two measured breaths of fresh air to clear her head then joined Rachel on the couch.

"Okay." Rachel angled her body toward Quinn, but stared down at her lap. "I ended things," she admitted after a moment. Though it was an irrefutable truth, Rachel preferred to remember their parting as something amicable, a mutual decision for Quinn's future.

Quinn sighed, like she had waited a lifetime to hear those words. "You did." Her shoulders eased into the couch cushions.

"Uh, miss Berry?" Jasper called as the balcony door slid open. Rachel watched Quinn's face smooth over into impassivity before she looked away. Rachel sighed, and looked over her shoulder with pinched features to find Jasper approaching. He placed the bottle on the table beside the couch and popped the cork before handing it to Rachel.

"Thank you, Jasper."

He smiled again. "Quite welcome, ma'am."

Rachel cast a sheepish glance toward Quinn when Jasper disappeared. "Rich, huh?" Quinn asked.

Rachel laughed. "Hardly. Jasper is charging ten an hour for a four hour party."

They shared a quiet laugh under the stars. Rachel leaned over to nudge Quinn, then handed her the bottle. Quinn's expression was incredulous. "No glasses?"

"You've never taken a bottle to the head?"

Quinn shot Rachel a look that clearly meant are-you-fucking-kidding-me. "I almost double fisted two margaritas tonight when I first walked into your apartment. Please." She grabbed the neck of the bottle and threw it back.

Rachel smiled in amusement as she watched Quinn's throat bob with each swallow.

Quinn released the bottle with a contented sigh, licking the lower lip. She handed it to Rachel. "Your turn."

Rachel threw her head back for a sip and opened her eyes to find Quinn staring at her.

"Wuss."

"Whatever." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and Quinn just stared for a moment. A small smile crossed her features.

Rachel couldn't help but smile in kind. "What?"

"Nothing." Quinn looked away and took another swig of the bottle.

"Hey."

She shot Rachel a sideways glance.

Rachel licked her lips and leaned in as if she was prepared to tell the century's best kept secret. "I'm sorry. About everything."

Quinn released the bottle and turned to face Rachel more fully. "Go on."

Rachel shrugged as she thought of something, anything to say on her own behalf. She had imagined herself before Quinn pleading her case many times, but something about Quinn's presence always left her at a loss for words. "I never—gosh, this is hard." She bit her lip. "Robin—you met her. My friend from State? She does this thing where she always psychoanalyzes me—" An inhale, followed by a long exhale. "I think I—I do this-this thing, where I convince myself that in order to achieve anything or grow in some significant way, you have to cut off romantic ties with people to accomplish them."

She watched Quinn's face begin to crumble and scrambled to continue. "I thought that in order for you to make it out of Lima, for you to grow and achieve so many great things, you had to get rid of me."

Quinn's voice was thick and heavy. "Rachel—"

"And you can't hate me for helping to send you on your way. Please." Her breath came in hiccups as Quinn became lost in her tear-blurred vision. "I never meant to hurt you, and I certainly didn't mean for us to go five years without talking."

Quinn looked away guiltily. "I'm sorry I'm the reason we did," she murmured, finding Rachel's eyes. "I didn't-I didn't know. And I've spent the past several years acting…well, like a child." She laughed in self-deprecation and looked down.

Rachel grasped her trembling chin and then they were face to face. She searched Quinn's eyes on the dimly lit balcony. They were vibrant with the shine of tears, bursting with emotion. "Before we were anything romantic, we were best friends, Quinn, and I miss that." Her heartbeat was picking up again; she could hear the blood rushing through her head, but she couldn't stop now. "I miss you, Quinn. A lot. Everyday." She exhaled. "And I don't want to keep pretending we—"

Quinn kissed her.

It felt like Rachel had finally washed back to shore. Every stormy emotion that had consumed her for the past five years paled in comparison to how complete she felt in this moment. Her hand searched the space between them in search for contact. Warm fingers grazed Quinn's knee and she felt her stomach jump into her throat. Rachel's thumb slid over her knee rhythmically, maddeningly. Quinn gripped the back of Rachel's head and tilted her own to slide her lips over Rachel's.

She felt like her insides were on fire. It had been so long since Rachel had desired anything quite like the way she desired Quinn. She could no longer ignore the goosebumps, the nervous energy, the butterflies. Quinn did things to her that made her want to crawl out of her skin. At times it was nothing more than a look, an inflection, a glare, and Rachel would feel nothing but heat.

Tingles fanned out along Quinn's body, and she scooted closer in an effort to feel Rachel everywhere. Before either of them knew any better, Quinn had wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist and laid her out across the couch.

"Quinn," Rachel panted at the first press of Quinn's body against the length of hers.

Quinn rose on her elbows to stare down at Rachel. "Let me guess. If I keep going, you won't be able to stop?"

She squirmed at the rasp in Quinn's tone. "Precisely that. Also, I'd rather not—while under the influence of alcohol."

"You want me sober?"

Rachel rolled her hips, stifling a frustrated groan. "I want you. For more than just a drunken romp on my balcony."

Quinn snickered. "Romp? How old are you?"

She smoothed back blonde locks behind Quinn's ear before cupping the side of her face. Her smile radiated affection. "Five years your senior, sweetheart."

It was out of Rachel's mouth before she could think better of it. It was the first time she had called Quinn that in years. She stopped moving all together, watching Quinn's face with caution.

But Quinn just burrowed into Rachel's neck. She placed a gentle kiss there. "Yeah."

Rachel resumed stroking her hair as she stared up at the stars. Her luck had finally turned around. After several months of attempting to be Quinn's friend again, she had gained so much more. She shut her eyes against the niggling thoughts of dread in the back of her mind that wondered what if this didn't work out for any of hundreds of reasons. She contented herself with the knowledge that at least for one night, she had her person.

"Hey," she murmured softly.

Quinn rose to look down at her with the most open expression Rachel had seen in years.

"Wanna go inside?"

Quinn nodded. She rose from the couch then extended her hand to Rachel.

Quinn awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. She groaned at the pain before forcing her eyes open. She was sprawled out on her stomach on satin sheets. She knew exactly where she was. She knew whose bed this was despite having no recollection of falling into it last night. She knew whose scent she was wrapped up in, despite having not been intimate with its owner in five years. Quinn sank further into the bedsheets, in no rush to leave.

The door swung open, thudding loudly against the wall and Quinn groaned.

"Wake up, Q! Berry's made us grass pancakes."

Quinn's eyes cracked open. Santana.

"They're vegan!" Rachel insisted from somewhere down the hallway.

Santana shot a weird look to Quinn's prone form. "Are you naked?"

Quinn took a moment to feel the sheets press against…her bare ass. Headache forgotten in favor of modesty—or lack thereof—Quinn scrambled to pull the sheets about her form as she stumbled out of bed. "What the hell?" she shouted. She certainly didn't recall this.

Rachel emerged from the hallway with a concerned look pulling her features. She took one look at Quinn and nearly guffawed. "What is happening?"

Quinn clutched the sheets tighter. "That's what I'd like to know!"

Amusement colored Rachel's tone. "Surely you aren't blaming me for your current state of undress."

Quinn blinked. Rachel wouldn't take advantage of a fly (unless they were competing for a solo). But the fact remained Quinn had to have gotten naked somehow. "Well, someone had to do it! I'm-I'm—"

"Nude?" Rachel suggested.

Quinn felt her cheeks color. "Yes." Her eyes cut to Santana laughing at her expense. "And I don't want to talk about it with her here."

Santana stopped laughing immediately. Her shoulders tightened. "Been there, done that. I'll be in the dining room eating Rachel's grass pancakes."

Rachel flashed Santana an amicable smile as she left the room. She walked over to the door to close it. "'Been there, done that?'"

Suddenly her state of undress paled in comparison to the words that had just come out of Santana's and now Rachel's mouths. Quinn gathered the sheets about her ankles and walked toward the edge of the bed to sit. "It was in college," she admitted to the carpeted floors of Rachel's bedroom.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Wow. I—" She forced a laugh. "I mean, I took a stab in the dark, and—"

"And you were right." Quinn stood to face Rachel, though she fidgeted under her scrutiny.

Rachel appeared shocked, though an enigmatic smile cracked her façade. "Quinn Fabray, you are going to have to tell me all about this."

Quinn's look was incredulous at best. "Sure. But right now, I want to know why in hell I'm naked."

Rachel sat on the bed, her smile turning wicked. "Because you decided to give me an impromptu strip tease last night before bed."

Quinn's jaw dropped. "I did not!"

Rachel threw her head back with a laugh. "You didn't, you didn't!" she surrendered. She looked Quinn up and down. "I don't know, Quinn. You came in here last night talking about how hot you were while I was turning down the bed for you. Next thing I know, I'm turning around to tell you to get ready for bed, and you've started stripping."

Quinn clutched her face in her hands. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered in mortification.

Rachel smiled in amusement. "I didn't really know what to do, so I left you to your own devices to preserve your modesty."

"Oh, my—" Quinn scrubbed her hands down her face. "You must have been completely and utterly done with me."

"It's funny because I gave you wine for the first time when you were fifteen years old and you handled yourself so much better then than you did last night."

"Very funny," Quinn deadpanned with a frown.

Rachel rose from the bed. "I placed your clothes in the drawer by the nightstand. When you're finished getting dressed, come out and have some pancakes with us."

"And that's another thing," Quinn said as Rachel was heading toward the door. "What's Santana doing here?"

Rachel shrugged. "You were in no position to drive, and neither was she. I had a spare bedroom—she needed one." She grabbed the doorknob and saw herself out. "See you in a bit."

Her pancakes were to die for, much like everything Rachel tried her hand at making. Afterward, Rachel stood, grabbing hers and Quinn's empty plates. She sauntered toward the kitchen and Quinn's eyes followed. She had a clear shot of Rachel at the sink from where she was sitting, and drank in the sight of long tanned legs disappearing mid-thigh under a pair of dark shorts. She wore a black tank top that clung to her waist and her hair was pulled up into a bun atop her head. Wisps of dark hair trailed down the back of her neck, and Quinn rubbed at the back of her own neck. She leaned back to balance her seat on two legs in an attempt to get a better view.

"Quinn, quit eye-fucking Berry, and let's get a move on. Our shifts start in three hours and I still need to wash my pores free of last night's alcohol-sweat."

Quinn lurched. She windmilled her arms to regain balance from falling amidst Santana's raucous laughter. She reached for the table and curled her fingers around the edge before righting herself on four legs. Her heart was going to explode. Either it or her eardrums from Santana's continued laughter at her misfortune. She peeled her eyes open to find Rachel eying her from the kitchen, and couldn't force herself to meet her eyes. "I thought you didn't have any pores, ass," she grumbled.

The next time they were alone again was two days later in Rachel's apartment again. It was either that or suffer through Santana's endless barbs with Quinn self-consciously apologizing. Instead they hung out at Rachel's where Quinn made this vegan dish she had been perfecting since Yale on the off chance she ever dated a vegan—or Rachel—again.

Rachel had enjoyed it, and Quinn had enjoyed watching her mouth move. They had crashed on the couch some time later, lazily catching up on their day. And it felt so high school for Quinn that she had butterflies in her stomach. The temperature had dipped and Rachel had stepped into knee socks, legs tucked underneath her, entire body facing Quinn. She sometimes likened herself to a broken compass.

Quinn's entire body stretched languidly. She would steal glances at Rachel every now and again, especially when her head was thrown back with laughter.

Rachel brought her head down to stare at Quinn. She ruffled blonde curls. "You cut your hair."

Red lips ticked upward at the accusation in Rachel's voice. "Do you miss it?"

Rachel smiled quietly though she didn't dignify Quinn with an answer.

Quinn ruffled her own hair on the other side of her head where Rachel wasn't stoking her neck under the guise of playing with her hair. "It was a lot shorter than this."

"When?"

Quinn shot her a sideways glance. "Freshman year. I barely resisted dying it pink."

Rachel snorted. "Pink? How punk rock of you." The backs of her fingers kept gliding down the column of Quinn's throat ever so often, and Rachel felt sparklers alight through her knuckles. She ran her eyes from Quinn's profile down the length of her body, debating how easy it would be to mount her. "Why did you sleep with Santana?" Her eyes widened a fraction, fingers stuttering before she forced herself to continue playing in Quinn's hair. She hadn't expected herself to ask that question.

Quinn hadn't expected the question either if the now rigid muscles in her neck were anything to go by. Rachel felt her swallow. "It was years ago, back during my sophomore year."

Rachel nodded, silent, and went about massaging her thumb into the base of Quinn's neck, all pretenses forgotten. Quinn's eyes fluttered. "That feels good," she mumbled.

"Does it?" Rachel teased.

"Wise ass."

Rachel's smile thinned as her thoughts drifted toward Santana. She would been lying if she denied the fact that she had thought about hers and Quinn's coupling over the past two days. Rachel had turned it over in her mind again and again in an effort to understand just how exactly the pair felt about each other today. They were obviously close, and Santana clearly didn't mind Rachel being in the picture or hitting on her. But to not know how Quinn felt troubled her. "Did you sleep with her once?"

She felt Quinn tense again, then pull away. Rachel sighed and straightened, one foot unfolding from beneath her to tap against the floor. She was ruining this and she knew it.

Quinn turned on the couch to face Rachel fully. "I slept with her off and on until the end of my junior year."

"Do you love her?" Rachel asked.

She shrugged a shoulder. "As a friend, yeah."

They were on Rachel's couch again. They had gone out for late coffee two weeks later after Rachel's show. Rachel had this half sleepy, half aroused look in her eyes that settled warmly in Quinn's chest. "So how do you like Broadway?" she asked.

Rachel perked up at the question. "Well, I think you already determined how I feel about Broadway from that talk you stalked me at last June."

"I wasn't stalking," Quinn defended dryly.

Rachel's laugh was languid. She slid her arm along the back of the couch, lying her head on her arm. "So you say." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, watching Quinn watch her. "I love it. It's everything I could have ever imagined it to be and so much more. But enough about me. You've already seen my show. How is acting for you? How's getting your feet wet been?"

Quinn tossed the question over in her mind. Acting was nothing new to her. She had pretended her whole life. Pretended to be straight, pretended to be the good girl, pretended to be the popular girl. When in actuality, she was just an introverted bookworm who thrived on the attention of people as much as she loathed it. So really, acting was—

"It's not so bad," Quinn answered. "I don't know. I'm enjoying this role in front of the camera, but I'd also be interested in more of the behind the scenes jobs. Like directing, filming—"

"I could totally envision you filming some indie."

Quinn groaned. "Why does everyone say that?"

Rachel laughed. "Because it's true!" She reached out to clasp Quinn's hand, caressing each finger. "You know I was really surprised you came to my dressing room that day."

The way Rachel was playing with her fingers proved to be the single most distracting, erotic thing Quinn had ever felt. "Yeah?" she breathed.

Rachel nodded, transfixed by the smooth skin beneath her fingertips. "You were stunning in that dress, by the way."

Quinn met Rachel's eyes. "Glad I didn't disappoint." She turned her hand over to grasp Rachel's, rubbing at the throbbing pulse in her wrist.

"And that kiss..." Rachel exhaled then shook her head as if clearing her thoughts.

"Did you enjoy it?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "You were in my dressing room, and I was barely dressed. And all I kept thinking about was how badly I wanted to kiss you," Rachel sighed. "And then you kissed me." She bit the inside of her cheek. "It was hard to pull away."

"So don't pull away this time," Quinn dared, leaning forward.

The next thing Rachel knew, Quinn had smoothly laid her along the length of the couch before climbing on top of her. Quinn had worked a hand under Rachel's top to palm her breast, and Rachel had a handful of Quinn's ass. It was silent, save for the heavy breathing. Her newfound prowess wasn't lost on Rachel, who quivered at the first touch of Quinn's warm palm on her hard nipple. She arched with a gasp and moaned when Quinn descended on her mouth. Quinn kissed her like she was reclaiming five years of frustration and heartache, and Rachel was all too happy to oblige her.

Her hips rolled subtly underneath Quinn for minutes on end until she felt she'd go mad. "Quinn?"

Quinn's hand stalled where it had been trailing up Rachel's thigh. Her lips ghosted over a flushing ear and Rachel gripped Quinn tighter and rolled her hips. She was rewarded with a low growl beside her ear. "Rachel." Her voice was thick, yet smooth as honey, and Rachel felt heat pool between her legs.

Her breath hitched, then she murmured, "I want you naked in my bed."

Rachel had Quinn naked and waiting for her sooner than Quinn would ever care to admit. But this was Rachel, her Rachel, still after all this time, and pretenses kind of went out of the window now that they finally made it here. Quinn could no longer hide behind her lifelong sculpted mask. She wanted in this moment more than she ever had in her entire life, and she couldn't pretend otherwise.

Rachel released her nipple with a small moan at the sight of her. "Quinn," she breathed.

Quinn squirmed under her scrutiny. Rachel had a way of looking at her sometimes that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. She rocked her hips, in a not so subtle hint of just where she wanted Rachel.

Rachel's laugh was languid and warm. She scooted further down the bed and placed a kiss to Quinn's navel. "Do you know how long I've waited for this?" she crooned against her skin. "Give me time, Quinn."

"Fuck," Quinn whispered into the thick air. Her arms stretched out at her side. She felt like she was crawling out of her skin. The sight of Rachel lowering herself between her legs was something she had only fantasized about since when she was a teenager. To experience it was something else entirely.

Rachel placed a tender kiss to the inside of Quinn's thigh before placing it on her shoulder. She parted Quinn gently and placed the flat of her tongue against her. Quinn threw her head back, eyes screwing shut. Her fingers combed through dark hair before gripping the back of Rachel's skull.

She didn't last long, and Rachel emerged from between her legs with a victorious smirk and shiny lips. Quinn pounced on her, moaning at the taste of herself. She pinned Rachel to the bed by her wrists and ran her tongue up the length of her throat. Rachel's back bowed as Quinn slid into her, plied her apart, tugged at her desires until they spilled over. She came with a broken cry of Quinn's name and held her close.

Things were great.

Quinn's pilot got picked up by NBC, and she had since began shooting for the season. Rachel still spearheaded Funny Girl the way she was always meant to. Kurt and Blaine had finally popped the question to each other—at the same time. A secret both Rachel and Quinn were aware of, but didn't dare pass up on the hilarity.

But according to Santana that wasn't even the most interesting part of their short time in New York. The most interesting part was that she got the opportunity to open for Mercedes for the latter leg of her tour. She called Quinn nearly every night going on and on about how she needed a career change.

But to Quinn, the most interesting part of the past year was that after five years, she and Rachel were still inseparable. They had moved in together. Or rather, Santana had kicked Quinn out of their shared apartment because in her own words, It's about damn time. I was about to call the U-Haul myself! It was kind of sickening, really. Quinn had always considered herself a bit of a lone wolf, but something about Rachel had always made her want to be a part of something special.

They fought, pushed each other to be better, and fucked until neither could move — there had been so much time lost.

And a lifetime to make it all up.

"And the Tony winner is: Rachel Berry!"

Rachel stood proudly on the stage in a sea full of people a whole year later.

"I'd like to thank a very special woman here with me tonight. Quinn Fabray."