Author's Note: Faberry fans, I'm finally including some Rachel and Quinn interaction. As always, thank you for reading. Enjoy.

Concede

Part Five: Small World

o o o o o o o

"Another one, huh?"

Quinn looked up from her laptop. "Another what?"

Kurt walked into their living room, carefully sipping his tea as he threw his thumb behind toward the kitchen. Her roommate sat across from her, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in his pants. "Another appointment with Santana. I saw it on the calendar this morning. I'm guessing things went well."

Quinn smiled shyly. "You could say that."

"Oh, no. You're not getting off that easily." She just raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Wait," the designer held up a hand, ineffectively stopping Quinn's growing giggles. "You know what I meant, missy. As much fun as you're having at my expense, I'm still adamant about knowing what happened."

The blonde just continued to smile and clack away at her laptop.

"Quinn," he started again, moving to sit beside her. "I'm going to cash in one of my many I.O.U. best friend coupons. That delicate and delightful outfit was paid by yours truly. Please don't make me beg." Kurt slowly closed her laptop and Quinn bit her lip, knowing that if she held out a bit longer she would be rewarded with his dramatics.

"You are going to make me beg, aren't you?"

She turned to him, mischief glinting in her hazel eyes. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"I know that look. It's the same one you had when you asked to borrow my favorite fedora."

"Kurt," Quinn purred, setting her laptop on the coffee table and sidling up to him on the sofa. "Kurt, my wonderfully gay husband…"

"No! I won't have it!" He peeled her arms from around his neck, standing and placing his hands on his hips. "You're not going to get me this time, Quinn Fabray. I know exactly what you're up to and—"

Quinn cut him off and wrapped him in a tight hug from behind. "I'm not the only one who uses that calendar, darling. I just so happened to notice two tickets to your friend's fashion show tomorrow night. Were you ever going to tell me about it?"

"I knew her calendar idea would come back to haunt me someday."

"Kurt, you didn't answer my question."

He readjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if Darren could go. Fortunately for you, he had to cancel at the last minute." Quinn's smirk turned into a full-blown grin. "I was going to offer you the extra ticket after hearing about your thing with Santana."

Quinn squealed and hugged him tighter. "Although you didn't ask me first, I still would've told you about what happened. You know that."

"Yes, well, keeping your best friend on edge and in the dark for even a day is cruel."

She released him and they both fell onto the sofa. "So, does this mean you'll help me shop for something to wear?"

o o o o o o o

Quinn stared at herself, studied her reflection. Soft blonde waves were preened and pinned a second, third and fourth time. She looked and looked and looked, though the blonde was unsure about what she was supposed to find. There was nothing wrong with her dress. Her makeup was flawless. Even the gold Cross shone brightly around her neck. Daddy would be pleased.

Her phone buzzed on her desk. Tearing her attention away from her reflection, Quinn tapped the screen a couple of times to read Puck's text message.

911?

She quickly typed her response. not yet.

who is it?

idk

tell me later. sos if u need.

ok thnx bye

"Quinnie?" her mother's voice sounded through her door. "Your father wants you downstairs."

"Okay, Mom. I'll be down soon." Quinn deleted the message thread and quickly looked over her reflection again before leaving the safer confines of her room. She paused at the top of the stairs. Last night, Daddy had mentioned inviting a guest that he wanted her and Mom to meet. Quinn hoped it wasn't another one of his business clients or old classmates. The blonde shuddered at the memories of older men leering at her like a piece of young flesh or prize to win.

Before Quinn could wonder further, her curiosity was piqued when she heard two male voices laughing in the living room below—one clearly her father's disarming chuckle and the other with a light rasp, a sign of emergence into adulthood. Daddy was setting her up. With a deep breath and hope that Puck would make good on his offered S.O.S., she descended the stairs to be introduced to the Fabrays' guest.

"Oh, Quinnie, there you are," Judy got up to usher the youngest Fabray toward the two men getting to their feet.

Russell Fabray pulled out quite a few stops. The fireplace crackled and popped. Its glow creating a wonderfully warm ambiance and highlighting the winks of her father's Rolex, his wedding band and the Ohio State signet ring adorning his other hand. He'd even managed to part with a finger of his preferred single malt whiskey, which sat illuminated through crystal in front of a young man.

"Finn," her mother began. "I'd like you to meet my youngest daughter, Quinn." Judy subtly squeezed the younger woman's shoulders. Quinn took the hint. "Sweetheart, this is Finn Hudson."

"Specialist Finn Hudson," Russell smiled as he took his seat.

The tall soldier let out a nervous laugh and offered his hand to her.

Quinn just smiled politely and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you, too," he replied.

His Army Green uniform, Quinn mused, did not go well with her favorite yellow dress and his Frankenstein height made him an unfavorable dance partner. Well, undesirable for almost anything. They hadn't spoken more than ten words yet and he was already negative three points. God, she missed Kurt and his extensive criticisms on all things resolutely masculine. Quinn supposed she'd just have to pretend the young Hummel was seated beside her, whispering his comments in her ear.

"Just call me Finn. It's weird when other people call me that. Specialist, I mean. And when I said other people, I meant people who are people not in the military." Another nervous guffaw.

Judy sat beside her husband for a moment before he shooed her away with an uncharacteristically gentle order to refill his tumbler. Without a hitch, Judy took her husband's glass and quietly asked if he needed anything else. A flick of his hand sent her away into the kitchen. Quinn looked over at Finn who just smiled blankly in her mother's direction.

"So, Finn, I heard you played football at McKinley."

The soldier instantly perked up. "Yeah, quarterback actually."

Russell glanced at his daughter. "You know, Quinn was a cheerleader."

"Really? That's kind of cool."

Quinn saw the hope burst in Finn's eyes, the same way other jocks would react when she would look in their general direction. "At Carmel," she commented, begging him to take the hint.

Unfortunately, he did not. Instead, Finn turned more fully toward her. "It's still cool. I wonder if I ever saw you at a game."

"You were probably just focused on the game instead of looking at the rival cheerleading squad," she quickly replied.

"Maybe," he mumbled. Finn swirled the amber liquid and cleared his throat. "So, your dad said you went to U.C. Berkeley." At least he was trying to make some small talk, she thought while rewarding his comment with a smile and nod. "What'd you study?"

"Quinn was a double major," Russell beamed. "Economics and…?"

"Art, Daddy. Economics and Art."

"Ah, yes, Art. Every young lady should learn to appreciate the finer disciplines."

Quinn replaced an eye roll with a forced smile. "That's what I told you, Daddy." At that moment, Judy came back with the refilled tumbler. Her father immediately downed a generous amount of whiskey. "Plus," she continued, "I did it a semester early."

"Wow," Finn complimented. "That must've been hard. I barely got through high school. And that took all four years plus some summer school."

Everyone smiled and chuckled. "Well, I suppose this is a good time to announce that dinner is almost ready. Quinnie, will you help me set the table?"

Dinner was a fairly strained event. Quinn went through the motions and gave the expected responses to the usual inquiries and provided fitting stories with prompts from her family.

What are you doing now? Oh, that's so great your father got you a job at his company. Yes, a good daughter. What other plans do you have? How about children? You'd have such beautiful children. No doubt about that. But Lima's a nice place, too. Isn't it? No, I don't know where else I'd want to go. The food is amazing, Judy. Quinn, do you cook as well as your mother? Well, you'll just have to learn and soon if you're going to keep a husband.

There were appropriate responses for everything. The youngest Fabray had quickly learned that if nothing else worked, a disarming smile and countering compliment always did the trick. Many of their guests were business acquaintances, all of whom were more enthusiastic to express their eagerness to support Russell Fabray. After all, his successes would surely guarantee theirs. The Fabray name bore a lot of weight in Ohio.

"Finn, how's your mother doing?" Judy asked as she returned with dessert—a warm pie. The spiced aroma of apples filled the dining room and Quinn smiled. Not so long ago, the presence of her mother's homemade pie would have been temptation and sin in an aluminum tin. Then, the head cheerleader couldn't afford to try even a bite.

The young man's eyes lit up. Quinn couldn't argue against that reaction, especially when said pie was leaving an enticing steam trail in its wake. "That's looks really good, Mrs. Fabray!"

"Thank you."

"Well, uh, anyway, my mom's doing good."

Ever the gracious hostess, Judy placed a large slice in front of the soldier, an equally large slice before her husband and an appropriate portion in front of Quinn. The former cheerleader was suddenly grateful that Finn had showed up. If it meant a well-behaved father and her mom's cooking, then she just might make a friend out of the tall soldier. "Is it true that she stopped working?" asked Judy.

"Yeah, she quit since Burt's garage is doing so well and I'm not in the house anymore. She still also gets money from my dad's military pension."

"Burt Hummel?" Quinn clarified.

"The one and only. He just expanded his shop downtown. Do you know him?"

Quinn had her brow furrowed. "Sort of," she commented. "I know his son Kurt and Puck, the other guy who works there. How do you—"

Finn shoveled baked apples, cinnamon and flaky crust and crumble in his mouth. "My mom and Burt are married, so I guess me and Kurt—"

Oh, no.

"—are step-brothers."

"Oh," she breathed, finally turning her attention to her cooling dessert. "Small world."

"Totally."

o o o o o o o

"Oh, my god!" Kurt clutched Quinn's arm just as they turned from the bar, drinks in hand.

"What?" she hissed. "You almost made me spill my drink on the dress you picked out." When her best friend didn't respond, instead gaping like a frozen fish, the blonde elbowed him. "What is it?"

He turned wide blue eyes on her. "It's them," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Them!" Kurt gestured toward a pair of guys approaching the bar. Quinn recognized them as a couple of the models from the show earlier. Both were, in her opinion, very cute and it seemed most of the room would agree with her. Many stares were directed their way. She could sense the women scheming to get away from their dates and the men flirting with the idea of intimacy with other men. Kurt's grip on her arm tightened as the two models closed the distance between them. "Oh, dear. Oh, my god."

"Will you let go of me?" Quinn wrenched her arm free, shooting a shy smile at the blonde man and his dark-haired companion. "They might think we're together."

"You're right." Kurt flicked a stray hair from his swiftly sobering face.

She smirked. "You're totally singing Single Ladies to yourself right now, aren't you?"

"I am a single lady, am I not?"

"Kurt, that song is like…thirt—"

"Excuse me," a crooning voice interrupted. Quinn thought she heard Kurt swallow the rest of his cool. The man, the dark-haired model that her best friend had pointed out and was trying not to drool over, and his blonde companion brushed past the two roommates.

"Uh…o-o-of c-course." Kurt's voice actually managed to go half an octave higher. When her friend only smiled, Quinn nearly face-palmed herself.

She fixed a look on her friend that clearly said, What the fuck?

I don't know! I don't know what to do!

Quinn's eyes widened with a crazy glint. Say something!

"Hi!" Kurt shouted at the two models who ever leaning against the bar next to them. "Great show, huh? I mean, you two were great, which, in turn, of course, made it a great show. So, I guess, great job!" She face-palmed herself and stepped from behind her roommate.

"Don't mind Kurt, he goes gaga at events like these," Quinn put on a dazzling smile, letting her internal cheerleader and popular girl instincts take over. She just hoped one—or both—had an eye for women. "He's right on one count. The show was amazing. Congratulations."

"Thank you," the dark-haired man replied. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Miss…?"

"Quinn Fabray," she filled in, shaking his hand. "And this dapper codfish is my best friend, Kurt."

He nodded at Kurt, which caused a mild shiver to run through the blue-eyed man. "I'm Blaine and this," he gestured to the blonde beside him, "is Sam." She shared another quick handshake. "Not to sound forward, but you seem familiar. Were you at Tina's last show?"

Quinn shook her head. "Sorry. This is the first I've been to. Must've been another blonde." They shared a laugh. "I'm more involved in photography and painting, at least, the gallery business side of things. What about you? How did you get into modeling?"

For several minutes, Quinn worked her wonders, steering the conversation to her whims. "Well, I don't want to keep you away from everyone else. Again, wonderful show." She was going to regret this later, but knew she owed Kurt a fair few. If Kurt was going to have any chance at either of the models, she was going to have to whip out her big guns.

Quinn recalled Santana's eyes and the way having that dark gaze fixed on her made her feel. She remembered the calmness that her Mistress brought with her telling smirk and the electricity that burned just under her skin when the Latina would hum. Before the feelings escaped her, Quinn turned her hazel eyes on Blaine's companion. "It was so nice to meet you," she purred.

"L-likewise," said Sam and received a fleeting but pointed look from Blaine. "You know…there's an after-after party a few blocks away."

Blaine quickly picked up. "Yeah, you two are welcome to come."

"Come?" Kurt breathed before taking a long sip of his drink. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed with her roommate's failing so-flustered-it's-kind-of-cute approach. She was going to have to go coy. Quinn bit her lip, looking at the barely touched cocktail in her hand.

"If it's not too much trouble—"

"No," Sam denied. "It's no trouble at all."

"Really?" she gushed. "That's sweet of you to invite us."

An hour later, Quinn was lounging in an armchair, nursing a flute of bubbly while watching Blaine and Kurt dancing in a sea of writhing bodies. The spacious penthouse was already nearly packed by the time she and the three men had arrived. Most of the party goers were recognizable—other models who'd strutted their stuff on the runway that evening, faces she'd seen seated in the front rows and the designer herself who was a friend of Kurt's from his college days. The blonde tipped her glass back, swallowing the remaining champagne. A server, decked out in a tuxedo, was right there to take her glass and offer another. Quinn gladly accepted. If she could drink a few flutes of top-shelf champagne for free, why not?

"Thank you, by the way."

She looked up into Sam's sweaty but smiling face. "What for?"

He nodded toward the dancing crowd. "For giving Blaine a reason to talk to your friend." Her confused look sent him chuckling. "We knew who Kurt was. His name's been coming up in the industry and it always pays to know who's who."

"Wait," Quinn huffed. "You mean I didn't actually have to try so hard?"

Sam only smiled wider. "Nope. Forgive me?"

"Only because you're cute and apparently a good guy!"

The blonde man flagged down a server for a drink before seating himself in the adjacent armchair. Quinn took her opportunity to get a better look over the man beside her. Sam was extremely attractive. His modeling career was testament to his good looks. She reasoned that he was also probably on the brighter side of things. Again, being a successful model required some upper room function. Throughout the evening, he'd been attentive, friendly and respectful. Overall, he had given a good first impression. Quinn still couldn't figure out that one thing about him.

"Sam." He turned to her, sipping his drink. "Are you…you know…?"

He gulped loudly as his eyes widened and bulged. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm not—"

"You're not—"

"No."

"Not at all?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not even…?"

He shrugged and was looking anywhere but at her. "I've never…I mean…living with Blaine and being good friends with him, it's crossed my mind, but—"

"But you've never actually done anything."

"No," he squawked, finishing off the rest of the bubbly.

"Oh." Quinn played with the ends of her hair. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I get that a lot."

"Still, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was none of my business."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

The two blondes continued to sit in their awkward silence, giving those who looked their way tentative smiles. Quinn wondered where Kurt had gone. Sam wondered if he should return her inquiry. He looked at Quinn while she was faced away from him. He knew she was beautiful and could probably make it big in modeling or acting if she chose. Learning briefly about her career, Sam reasoned she was intelligent. The conversations and light banter they'd indulged in earlier brought light to her humor and friendly nature. Overall, she had given a good first impression. Despite all these wonderful and appealing characteristics, he couldn't help but wonder about that one thing she hadn't given any clues toward.

"Quinn." She didn't turn to fully face him, but the sidelong look confirmed she'd heard him. "Are you—"

Without warning, the place was immersed in darkness. Slowly, the dimmers began to brighten the dance area and Quinn wasn't sure what she had done to warrant the universe's cruelty. Spotlights illuminated two figures—one Quinn recognized as Kurt's friend, Tina and the other sent Quinn's heart into V-Fib.

There, not more than thirty feet from where Quinn sat perched at the edge of her seat stood Rachel Berry. Styled in a sequined burgundy peasant dress styled tunic, her dark hair fell in waves over her exposed shoulders. The empire waist cinched her figure perfectly and stopped mid-thigh, giving way to legs toned from years of dance and delicate ankles and feet encased in gold Greek heels. Oh, goddess divine.

Opposite her was Tina whose Gothic-inspired chic wear seemed at cultural and fashionable odds with the other brunette. Quinn wondered if the showcased designer had a death wish. She was all too familiar with Rachel's diva attitude and sometimes over-competitive nature.

"Anything you can do, I can do better."

Of course she would, Quinn thought.

"Ha!"

"I can do anything better than you," Rachel's lilted soprano crooned. Quinn felt her insides melt and turn to mush as that voice flowed through her mind and rang in her heart.

"No, you can't," denied Tina.

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can." Rachel stomped her foot.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. Yes, I can!"

The crowd whooped and laughed as the two singers circled each other in the brief silence. Quinn was impressed. Tina had some power to pack in her vocal punch.

"Any note you can reach, I can sing higher," Tina sang with a flourish of her hair.

"I can sing anything higher than you," countered Rachel.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you caaaaaaaan't!"

"Yes, I…," Rachel scrunched her face up and Quinn braced herself, "…caaaaaaaaan!"

Their audience clapped and whistled, to which Rachel curtsied and bowed. Even Tina was smiling and applauding her mock rival. "How do you sing that high?" the Asian asked.

Rachel flipped her hair and winked. "I'm Rachel Berry." Everyone chuckled.

"Any note you can hold, I can hold longer," Tina challenged again, causing people to start shouting out their bets.

"I can hold any note longer than you," Rachel laughed.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you caaaaaaa—"

Rachel cut her off, "Yes, aaaaaaaa…" Tina had stopped and watched with everyone else. "…aaaaaaaaa…" A number of onlookers were glancing at their watches, keeping time. "…aaaaaaaaa…" Tina began tapping her foot, making everyone giggle when Rachel continued to hold her note. "…aaaaaaaa…." At this point, people were clapping and hollering Rachel's name. "….aaaaaaaye—*gasp*—can," she squeaked the last word.

The room erupted in applause, peppered with whoops and whistles. The designer gave Rachel a pat on the back. Even Quinn clapped a few times. She'd timed Rachel at fifteen seconds years ago, but the blonde was certain the diva had only improved. "Rachel Berry, everyone!" Tina gestured to her fellow singer. Rachel accepted the applause graciously before moving off the dance floor to give Tina the crowd's undivided attention.

o o o o o o o

Lays or Ruffles? Original or Cheddar? What about Sour Cream & Onion?

Standing in the middle of the chips and pop and specialty beverage aisle of the grocery store, the youngest Fabray debated the different merits of potato chips. It was one of the days leading up to the Bowl Championship Series (a pigskin-shaped cookie to who knows what that is) and Finn and Puck had begged her to stock up on snacks for the big games. Like the loving girlfriend and friend that she thought herself to be, Quinn found herself standing beside a few other women looking over the long aisle of chips.

Twenty minutes later, the blonde was pulling up to the Hummel's house where one could already hear the guys shouting and yelling at the TV. With a paper bag full of chips—both brands and all three flavors—Quinn walked up the driveway and held in a groan when she heard her name being called.

"Wait for me, Quinn!"

The former cheerleader kept a neutral expression as Rachel Berry jogged to catch up to her. The brunette's arms were weighed with their own burdens. Quinn eyed the twelve-pack of light beer and twelve-pack of pop in Rachel's hands. "Hey," she greeted the brunette with a guarded smile.

"Hello, Quinn! May I assume that you're also here to partake in the football festivities?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I'll be bored out of my mind."

"As will I, especially because I do not understand why such a sport is called football. After all, none of the players aside from the kicker uses their feet to make contact with the ball. It seems so absurd to get excited about grown men smashing into each other like enraged bulls—"

Quinn cleared her throat. "Don't you want to go inside? It's pretty cold out here and those look heavy," she pointed at the cases of drinks at the brunette's sides.

"Oh! Yes, let's go in."

Inside, Quinn smirked at the scene before her. Finn and Puck were standing in front of the sofa, pointing and yelling at the TV before groaning and collapsing back on the cushions. Burt chuckled from his armchair, readjusting his worn and faded blue cap.

"Quinn! Rachel!" Finn's mom greeted them.

"Hello, Mrs. Hummel," Rachel smiled.

"Please, Rachel," the older woman groaned. "Call me Carole."

"So, where shall we put all this?"

Carole gestured toward the kitchen. "Just put the drinks in the fridge and get the chips settled in front of the boys. Be careful. They may end up throwing stuff."

Not much later, without any acknowledgment or word of thanks from the boys, except Burt, Quinn and Rachel sat side by side on the back porch. Each young woman was bundled tightly with her own fleece blanket and a second thick comforter encasing both together like a pod. Sunlight filtered through the thick clouds, evenly brightening the patches of snow in the backyard. For a moment, Quinn regretted not wanting to take a mug of hot chocolate with her, but Rachel's humming brought her similar warmth.

Although Quinn had been reluctant to spend her free afternoon with Rachel, she was finding the brunette to be more pleasant than she initially thought. Kurt had gotten off too easily, she thought. He'd tucked tail at the first mention of football and scampered off to supposedly meet up with a friend in Columbus for a shopping trip. Hah!

"You must really love this town."

"Huh?" Quinn arched an eyebrow.

Rachel shrugged. "Lima. You must really love it here."

"What gives you that idea?"

Another shrug. "Puck told me you went to Berkeley for college. I've never been to California myself, but it seems like a much more exciting place than this." The brunette brushed her bangs back. "Of course, nothing is actually wrong with Lima. I've been here all my life."

"Me, too," said Quinn. The blonde burrowed deeper into the comforter. "And it is more exciting…Berkeley, I mean. I came back because my parents wanted me back home."

"Was it what you wanted?"

"No."

Quinn turned away from Rachel's questioning eyes, pretending to be interested in the grain of the wooden window frame. She didn't want to tell the brunette about all the arguments she and her father had over the phone and when she visited during breaks about the useless art classes she was taking. She didn't want to talk about how she saved almost every penny from her various under-the-table jobs so her parents wouldn't find out about her secret savings and what she planned to do with it. Quinn didn't want to think about how much happier she had been over two thousand miles away from a place she was supposed to call home.

"My house is just a few blocks away. We could spend the rest of the afternoon there. Watch a movie or something."

Quinn looked over at Rachel. Maybe there was more to Rachel's offer than just an afternoon away from football-crazed males. The girl's eyes were full of hope and friendship and Quinn hadn't really experienced a genuinely good girl friend, even in high school. Plus, Kurt was away in New York and Puck wouldn't really understand. And it was just for an afternoon, just for a few hours.

The blonde nodded her head slowly, reasoning that she and Rachel would probably be no more than fairly good friends. "Okay."

o o o o o o o

It was only when Quinn noticed that Rachel was heading in her direction that she began to panic. Of course she just had to sit between the bar and dance area. The blonde located the exit behind her and shot out of her seat, but not before catching Rachel's surprised and shocked gaze. She hastily muttered something to Sam about needing to make a phone call before securing her purse and pushed through the crowd toward the front door, notably the elevator.

Pushing through the throng of people, Quinn hoped others were stalling Rachel about her performance. She wasn't sure if she could handle a face-to-face confrontation with the brunette, especially without the professionalism that Cara had provided during their last encounter. No, out here in the real world, Quinn would have to make her own means of escape.

"Quinn!"

The blonde cursed under her breath, but continued to plow between guests. The door was open. Light and the promise of space to run were within reach.

"Quinn, wait!"

Bursting from the crowded and warm penthouse, Quinn quickly scanned the hallway for the elevator. Just several strides to her right, seeming an impossible distance away, lay her escape. The blonde damned her heels, which kept her from sprinting across the lavish carpet. Damnation of her heels was instantly forgotten when the elevator dinged its arrival. Quinn cursed again when Kurt and Blaine stumbled out of the opened doors and into the hallway.

"Quinn!" Kurt piped up with a shit-eating grin on his face and Blaine giggling beside him.

"Where the fuck have you been?" She flew by the two men and nearly slammed into one of the elevator walls.

"Quinn! Quinn!" Rachel shrieked as she tore down the hallway past Kurt.

"Rachel?" he gaped at the brunette giving chase.

"Hi, Kurt! Bye, Kurt!" she yelled without looking back.

Again, Quinn damned her short second of being unable to locate the button for the lobby. Instead, she just mashed several buttons near the bottom and held her breath as the large doors began to slide shut. It was in those few fleeting heartbeats that Quinn acknowledged that everything would change again.

In excruciatingly slow motion, as the gears and cables ground and whirred, Rachel seemed to almost soar into Quinn's vision. Her dark hair fluttered behind her and her face, with cheeks reddened from the chase, was set in a worried frown. Quinn grasped at her chest as if she could keep her chest from constricting with those teary brown eyes fixed on her through the closing doors. At the last moment, Rachel threw her arm in the decreasing space, wincing at the painful but brief sensation of having her forearm clamped between the doors.

"Oh, shit!" Quinn grabbed at Rachel's extended arm, helping to pull her through the mechanical vice.

Both women gasped for much needed air as the doors finally slid shut, leaning against opposite walls of the descending lift. When she breathed in the brunette's perfume, Quinn was instantly transported through memories made nearly five years ago, to a time when she'd been chained and freed by love.

The blonde looked up at the woman she'd once vowed to stand beside forever. Time had been generous with Rachel and Quinn could only gaze upon her with awe and a growing need. How was it possible for someone to look so breathtaking—literally—after so much heartache and pain? Her hair had grown out and she'd become a bit more toned, but Rachel's expressive brown eyes had remained unchanged. Quinn had always known what the brunette was trying to convey from her countenance alone; however, in that moment, Quinn couldn't decipher between scared, excited, annoyed, happy, nervous or hopeful.

Quinn didn't have much time to figure out what was running through Rachel's head because the brunette took a step toward her, effectively halving the distance between them. The blonde pressed back harder against the elevator wall, wishing the brunette would look at her with such intensity and longing, with such love.

With a speed Quinn couldn't comprehend, Rachel had taken the remaining steps toward her, grasped her face with both hands and kissed her. Hard. The blonde was shoved against the wall, the low handrail digging into her lower back and the brunette's curves pressing deliciously against her front. And like a perfectly rehearsed and practiced art, Quinn could only respond with a hand at the back of Rachel's neck and an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

She panted against the singer's full lips before surging back in with a hunger she hadn't felt in years. When her fervent kisses were matched and met with Rachel's hand pressed at the underside of her breast, Quinn felt the huntress within her claw its way out of her in the form of a deep moan. Each swipe of the brunette's tongue, push and press of her lips and poorly suppressed whimper stoked the fire that had lay small and dormant.

Quinn tried desperately to remember her reasons for running from the brunette, but could only make out Rachel's smile and eyes as she sang with Tina, laughed at a joke, misted over during a sappy movie and that shone with unbridled joy when looking at her. Those same eyes that she saw every night in her dreams.

"We'll just take the next one."

Wha—? When did they move across the elevator so that she was pushing the brunette against the opposite wall? And when had she gripped Rachel's leg that was wrapped around her waist? The blonde tore her mouth from Rachel's to stare into the wide eyes of another couple. Fuck! Shit!

As the doors slid closed and she looked at Rachel who had a hand over her mouth and the other still clinging to Quinn's neck, the blonde felt her body shaking. Before fear could consume her again, that primal urge swelled. Instead of a fraught need to flee, the huntress within urged her to claim. Quinn recognized the predator's demand and she loved the feeling.

So, when she felt the lift begin its descent and Quinn used her free hand to tip Rachel's face up to hers, she wondered if this is what Santana felt when looking at her. The other woman's brown eyes held a sweet trepidation, as if she'd been caught with her hand in a very naughty place. The elevator dinged its lobby arrival just as Quinn leaned down to press a tender kiss to those lips. Like their last embrace, the blonde allowed herself to lose her inhibitions and worries. The feel of Rachel's mouth and body against hers only helped her to do so.

Running her hands over Rachel's legs and back and chest had Quinn moaning her approval. Rachel answered with hisses and whimpers of her own when the blonde trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses beside her ear, down her sensitive neck and across the hollow of her throat. Quinn looked at the dainty bow that held one side of Rachel's tunic together before undoing it in an instant with her teeth. The blonde didn't think there was a sexier sound than Rachel gasping when Quinn kissed her newly exposed shoulder.

"Quinn," the singer moaned, digging her fingers harder into gold tresses.

The blonde didn't even register what she said until the words tumbled from her mouth. "There's a hotel across the street."

Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiit! Fucking traitorous body!

"My apartment's just a few floors up," Rachel whispered, grinding herself down on Quinn's thigh. When had that gotten there?

Rachel grabbed her face again, ravishing her mouth with those full lips. The brunette pulled away for a second before bringing her mouth back to kiss Quinn languidly and slowly but no less passionately. The kisses were promises. Quinn just let enjoyed them, not thinking about before or what might follow after. There was no moment but the one she was in now…with Rachel.

Quinn leaned back and brought her hand up to caress Rachel's flushed cheeks. "Okay."

End of Part Five

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Constructive feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated.

Songs: Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better