It was after ten when Quinn unlocked the door to the apartment, swinging it open slowly and sighing when she was met with darkness and silence. She flipped the light on, kicking the door shut with the heel of her foot and wincing when it banged louder than she had intended.

She dropped her keys into the bowl on the table by the door and hung her coat on the hook in the wall. Crossing the floor of the living room, she glanced quickly at the answering machine.

The bright red zero blinked at her, mocking.

She headed into the kitchen to pour water into the coffee maker, setting it to turn on at ten the next morning. Ten a.m. What a delicious concept, after two weeks of getting up at seven and not returning home until after the sun was already gone from the sky.

She'd eaten dinner on the way home, hating that it was fast food, but grateful for a burger. She spit her mint gum into the trash can, thumping it quietly shut.

Quinn grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, then turned the light off to the living room, using the soft glow from her cell phone to navigate the hallway of the tiny apartment until she made it to the master bathroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled off her scrubs and dropped them into the hamper. She noticed a small bottle of purple liquid out of place on the vanity table. She smiled and put it back with the other bottles of perfume on the left side of the vanity.

Quinn brushed her teeth quickly, then washed her makeup off and surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked tired. She was tired.

She was almost finished with her undergrad studies. If she could make it through her clinicals that semester, she'd be well on her way to becoming a registered nurse. She'd thought it an odd choice at first, but then realized that she really did like taking care of people. Even if sometimes it got to be overwhelming.

It felt good to put everything away, to let the worries and stress slip off her, to toss her scrubs in the basket and know that she wouldn't have to get up at 7 a.m. the next morning.

At last in a pair of old sweats and a tee-shirt, Quinn pulled her hair out of its ponytail and brushed it free, grateful for the tightness against her head to be gone. Now she could relax, and let go of the busyness of the day.

She was home.

The bed was calling her name, had been for the last three hours, and so Quinn climbed into it, tucking the covers over her and sighing a little too happily when her head hit the pillows.

She heard a sleepy giggle to her left, and she grinned. She reached out until she found softness, then pulled, gently.

A head tucked just under her chin, and Quinn closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of freesia.

"Hi," she said to the girl in her arms.

Another pair of arms found their way around Quinn's waist.

"Hi, yourself," Rachel yawned. She leaned up and found Quinn's lips in the darkness, kissing her tenderly, then rested her head back on Quinn's chest.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

Rachel shook her head, her soft brown hair tickling Quinn's chin. "You didn't. Well, not much. You know I can't really fall asleep unless you're here. I hate your new shift."

"I know," Quinn said, and squeezed her girlfriend tightly. "But it's just a couple more weeks. And I have the weekend off." This was a rare occurrence, since Quinn also worked part-time at a local coffee shop to bring in a little extra income.

Rachel squealed then, and Quinn laughed despite the momentary ringing in her eardrums.

"We should do something. Go shopping. Or go see a show."

"Or stay home. In bed," Quinn teased.

"Sleep sounds good," Rachel mused, yawning again.

"I'm sure we could work a couple of naps around the other activities we should do in bed this weekend."

"Are you propositioning me for your nefarious sexual purposes, Quinn Fabray?"

"Are you accepting, Rachel Berry?"

"Well, obviously," Rachel said drily. "If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd be taking you up on that proposition right now."

Quinn smiled and nuzzled Rachel's cheek. Even with her own classes at NYU and clinicals at the hospital, she knew Rachel worked just as hard, bouncing back and forth between her courses at Juilliard and giving private music lessons to kids part-time.

For a moment she let her mind drift back to that day years ago, to the words she'd said to Rachel as they sat on the couch in the Berrys' living room.

"I'm sorry, Rachel, but I can't let you do that."

"Can't let me do what?"

"Wait for me."

"But, I—"

"I've thought about it, Rachel," Quinn said softly. "I've thought about it a lot, and I just wasn't sure of what to do. I'm… I'm afraid of so many things."

"Like what?" Rachel asked, searching Quinn's face for any sign of the answer that might lie there, beyond calm hazel eyes.

Quinn shrugged. "Of not making it. Of not having enough money. Of you not being able to realize your dreams."

"Quinn, I—"

Rachel was stopped by Quinn's finger, gentle on her lips.

"I'm afraid of something else the most."

"What?" Rachel breathed.

Quinn smiled, trying to stave off the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks, and being mostly unsuccessful.

"I'm afraid of not being with you. I'm afraid of losing you; I'm afraid of you waking up one day and realizing that you could have someone so much better than me."

"Quinn," Rachel huffed, but once again her girlfriend stopped her.

"I've spent my whole life being afraid of love, Rachel. You once asked me how I felt about taking chances. About diving in without knowing what will happen, but knowing that we'd be together. I couldn't answer you back then… but I can now."

Rachel's eyes widened but never left Quinn's face, almost as if she was worried the dream would die if she looked away.

"So… what does that mean?"

Quinn leaned forward and looked into Rachel's eyes, hoping the smaller girl could see the love in hers.

"It means you don't have to wait for me. I applied to NYU, and I got my acceptance letter yesterday."

Rachel's smile threatened to split her cheeks, even as her own tears flowed.

"Let's go to New York, baby."

It wasn't an easy life: two 21-year-old girls trying to make it with nothing but a pocketful of dreams and just enough cash to pay rent and utilities on a tiny apartment, in a less-than-savory neighborhood, and have a little left over for food every month. It was the uncertainty of living paycheck to paycheck, the loneliness of being so far away from the only home they had known, coursework coupled with jobs to make ends meet. It was the reality of two continually tired women who fought so hard the world threatened to crash down around them, but who also built it back up with just a kiss and a soft word.

They'd never once gone to bed mad at each other. It was one of Rachel's "relationship requirements," and Quinn was grateful for it.

Quinn's parents hadn't spoken to her since she'd left Lima with Rachel. Abbie came up from D.C. regularly with her boyfriend, because, as she said "misery loves company, and we're the black sheep, baby sister," which made Quinn smile in spite of the hurt. There were nights when all Rachel could do was hold her as she cried for the loss of her mom and dad, because as glad as Quinn was that she could finally be herself, they were still her parents, and she missed them.

She still went to church, every Sunday taking the subway to the Church of the Holy Trinity, in time for the 10:30 Eucharist. It was an Episcopal church, and unlike anything the previously-evangelical Quinn had ever known, but she'd read on its website that it was accepting of everyone, so she decided to give it a try. It took some effort, learning how to navigate back and forth in the prayer book, and when to kneel or stand or cross herself. But the parishioners and the rector were lovely; the rector had never hesitated to talk with Quinn whenever she had a question about something from the Bible, or something she'd learned as a child. Soon Quinn felt more welcome there, more assured of Christian love, than she had ever felt at Lighthouse Baptist.

Rachel had gone with her, once, and in her nervousness had tripped over a kneeler and as a result had somehow landed in the middle of the aisle. That had been the extent of Rachel's church experience, but Quinn knew her little diva supported her faith; more often than not, it was Rachel who reminded her just what God's love was truly about.

She also knew it wore on Rachel, sometimes, seeing how Quinn would get a haunted look in her eyes when each Christmas or birthday came and went with no acknowledgement of her except from her sister and Rachel's dads. Every holiday was a reminder that Quinn, although her parents were still living, was an orphan.

Most days, though, there wasn't time to think of anything else but classes, bills, and each other.

Their life was hard, Quinn knew.

But it was their life… together.

Rachel snuggled her body closer to Quinn's, and the taller blonde girl had that sense of déjà vu, the feeling that Rachel was trying to get under her skin.

But now, she was already there, and Quinn wouldn't have it any other way.

"How was your burger?"

"Awesome," Quinn responded without thinking, then immediately froze. "Shit."

Rachel chuckled.

"Sorry, Rach," she said guiltily.

She felt her girlfriend shake her head, then tilt her face up and kiss her chin.

"You're so cute the way you try to hide it, even after all this time. Especially since you know I don't mind. Much."

Quinn just grinned.

She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the girl in her arms. Rachel's breathing evened out and Quinn's soon began to match it, as she felt sleep start to overtake them both. She stroked Rachel's hair and sighed again, happily.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, baby."

"I love you so much, my Juliet."

Quinn smiled drowsily and touched her lips to Rachel's once more.

"I love you, too."