So here we are - the final chapter for our young idealists. A big thank you to everyone who reads this fic and especially those who review. It is sad to finally be saying goodbye to it - but there we go. Enjoy...!

Chapter 35 – The Young Idealists

New York, 2024. 2 weeks before the present time.

'There is something that I need to do.'

Jasper wondered, briefly, as though the thought had fluttered across his mind like a butterfly, why it was always him that she turned to with that look in her eye. Suspicion crossed his features as surely as the shadow of a passing cloud and it must have shown on his face as she reached out to take his hand.

'I need your help, Jasp.'

Six hours later and he was standing on the Interstate 87, thanking whatever deities had blessed them that it was not raining anymore.

'Careful!' he shouted for what felt like the millionth time, the word being caught and swept up by the wind. Quinn looked as delicate as the skeleton of a leaf in the fall, swaying as she steadily climbed, and if she even heard him, he couldn't tell. It was something that she needed to do; something she needed to do herself.

'If you fall,' he shouted, 'we are both dead.'

This time Quinn glanced over her shoulder, the blonde hair whipping in the wind.

'Don't be such a pussy!' she taunted with a strangled laugh and there was a look in her eyes that reminded him of the girl that she had been when he had first met her, a girl from years ago.

Jasper glared up at her, fleetingly tempted to knock her off the scaffolding himself, though he knew that Rachel would castrate him for even considering it. She would probably castrate him for bringing Q here in the first place. Quinn climbed the last few feet to the platform and blew him a kiss.

'I'll leave you here, Fabray!' he threatened, but he knew that she was no longer listening. Instead, Quinn stood before the image of herself on the billboard, looking up at her own pale skin, glowing with the streetlight. Her slender frame cast a shadow across her lips and her nose, not quite reaching the hazel eyes.

Quinn's breath caught as she confronted the image of herself, wishing that she could claim it to be the harsh wind that seemed to steal the breath from her rather than the haunting look upon her own face. A face that could only look backwards, that dealt only with regret; nothing more.

Blotting out the image, blacking it out, was what she wished to do; paint it black, every inch… but beneath the paint, the truth would remain. It was something she could never erase.

Quinn trembled in the cold, her muscles aching in that almost-pleasant way that reminded her that she was alive. She was weak from weeks of rehabilitation; but she was alive. Tension gripped her as she looked upon herself, upon that face so riddled with regrets; with all that had happened, with all that could happen now, she could not blot it out or forget, she could never paint over the past and live with it. But then, there was something else now… a life that could start, and with it, she had to let go of what had come before.

As the tension melted from her shoulders, she raised the spray can. She was careful, holding the mask over her face as she methodically attacked the image, and when she was done, she looked upon her work and allowed herself a smile.

Jasper watched her with a bemused expression as she carefully climbed down, raising his camera as she set her feet back on the ground.

'Take the picture,' she told him, spreading her arms wide, and he bent to one knee to focus in on the last photograph of her that he would ever take. As the shutter snapped, he felt warmth rush through him.

It would be alright, he knew, with the faith of someone who had to believe; to believe that it would all be alright.

Lima. 1999.

'He tried to kill me, Mickey…'

Her voice was sharp, like a violin string tightened too far and ready to snap; her nerves felt ready to snap.

'I know…' he spoke calmly, and his voice at the end of the phone line felt far away, across the miles of empty space between them. Judy felt the tremors start to vibrate through her body again, the slick anxiety of the adrenaline that had not yet passed.

'No, you don't know,' she replied lowly, 'he put a goddamn bomb under my car, like a little cowardly rat, and tried to fucking kill me. In Chicago; in my town… My town, Mickey…'

'I'll deal with it,' he cut her off, 'I promise.'

Mickey Quinn always kept his promises. Over the years, she had come to appreciate that quality in him; the hardened, moody man that she could not stop loving despite everything that he did. Judy had never chosen him, and she had never allowed him to choose her, but somehow he was always the one first and foremost in her mind, even now, before Russell, it was Mickey that she called.

We'll kill each other one day, she thought darkly, her fingers tightening around the smooth black handle of the payphone, through love and jealousy and being too goddamn similar. We'll love each other and kill each other.

'I don't like being afraid,' she admitted quietly. The silence at the end of the phone was heavy in the way that made her know that he was listening, listening to her intently. 'My family could have been in that car, Mick…'

'They weren't,' the tenderness of his voice tugged at her and she blinked back tears.

'My daughter…'

'Our daughter.'

Across the road she could see Roy step from his vehicle, the fresh bandage across his face from where the shrapnel from the explosion had cut open his cheek earlier in the day; the explosion that had ripped the car apart and killed two men. Her ears still rang from it, with the knowledge of her own fragile mortality, of how close she had come to death. She steeled herself again, felt the hollow strength burn. There was no time for sentimental feeling, not beyond her family, not anymore.

'I have to go,' she said coolly, widening the distance between them as she always did. On the other end of the line, Mickey was silent, but his silences always echoed with what was unsaid and she heard them, she heard them all; these soft unspoken words. Judy hung up the phone before she could say anything more.

She nodded to Roy as she stepped from the phone booth, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she crossed the road away from him towards the school. The heat of summertime shimmered above the ground; it hung heavily in the air, a stifling heat that set a thin layer of sweat upon her smooth skin. She brushed the blonde hair from her forehead irritably, from where the dusty air had swept it as she marched towards the building, her handbag heavy across her shoulder.

She pushed open the door with purpose, marching passed the woman behind the reception desk who tried to stop her.

'Ma'am?' the shrill voice of the receptionist rang out indignantly, 'ma'am!'

She walked on.

Across the walls of the corridor were pinned the colourful paintings of childhood innocence, imperfect circles and stick-drawings. They tugged at her heart a little as she passed, as though innocence were made up of delicate threads all woven into a spiders web, and it took little effort for her to cut through it.

Room 2A was on her left and she knocked once, sharply, before entering. It must have been a period of free-play, as the children seemed to be scattered about underfoot, and she searched them for her small blonde, coiled with purpose to just grab her and get out.

'Mrs Fabray?' the kindergarten teacher was crossing the room with an uncertain smile upon her young face.

'I need to take Lucy home.'

'It's the middle of the day…'

Judy's blue gaze cut back to the girl, an eyebrow rising.

'I know what time it is,' she responded coolly, 'I need to take her home. Now.'

The teacher twitched uncomfortably, pausing just out of reach of the slender blonde. There had always been something so cold and distant about the Fabrays, something unreachable. It wasn't just the society wife designer clothes, or that dangerous air of wealth that seemed to cling to them in a haze, it was something more sinister, just there, beneath the surface.

'She's over in the reading corner,' the teacher indicated hesitantly, 'with Rachel. I'll get her things for you.'

Judy crossed the room swiftly, the tension in her body easing only slightly as her youngest daughter came into view. She sighed, not realising until that moment how much anxiety she had been carrying within her.

'Luce…' she called.

Lucy Fabray, however, did not seem to hear her mother's voice, and Judy paused to watch her for a moment, struck, as she often was, by the sweetness of childhood. Her daughter was small for her age, curled up on the cushions in the little reading corner as she flipped through a colourful picture book with her friend. Her blonde hair, so neatly braided in the morning, was now in disarray, as it always was when the girl was left to her own devices for more than five minutes and Judy felt the faint tremble start again in her hands. The desire to hold Luce close and breathe in her soft, childish innocence was almost unbearable. She was alive, she had to reassure herself, she was alive and her daughter was alive and healthy. A near miss and nothing more.

'Lucy,' Judy called the name more firmly and both the girl and her dark-haired companion looked up from their book.

'Mama?'

'We have to go home, babygirl,' she stated gently, holding out her hand for Lucy to take.

The child, however, made no move, an expression of indecision crossing her face. At her side the pretty brunette curled closer, ducking her head shyly behind the blonde, and it was then, on looking closer, that Judy saw their hands clasped together beneath the picture book.

'I don't wanna go, Mama.'

If Judy had known then the course of life that was laid out before them, before these two innocent children, she may have taken a moment's pause... but she did not. No one could see the twists and turns that they would make, of where life would take them. She held out her hand and raised an eyebrow. The loaded gun within her handbag felt so heavy in this room, so dark, her own fate pulling her down.

'I'm sorry, Lucy, but it is time to go,' she stated, snapping her fingers. 'Now, come on. Chop-chop.'

The girl's large eyes reminded her poignantly of Mickey, and it was probably that association that always hardened her resolve against her daughter's wishes. Even as a five year old, Lucy had mannerisms and traits that reminded her of the girl's father, mixed with characteristics that Judy refused to acknowledge were her own. Her daughters, though similar in appearance, could not have been more different in temperament; Lucy was stubborn where Franny was obedient, adventurous where her sister was shy, she was open and smiling and friendly, and so curious about the world... Where Franny, as a child, had always stayed anxiously by her side, Lucy at the same age was prone to running off, following any random interest that she had. Judy had always known that her second child would be more of a challenge than the first.

'Please, Mama,' the girl tried again; just like her father, she always pushed when she should not.

'I said no, Lucy.'

Judy's patience had frayed at the edges and she bent down to sweep the child up into her arms, resting her against her hip. In fairness, Lucy knew better than to struggle, instead she wrapped her small arms about her mother's neck and pouted sadly at her friend, resting her cheek against her mother's shoulder. Judy took a calming breath, inhaling the sweet smell of her daughter's hair and feeling the warmth of innocent youth; Lucy's strong heartbeat through her shirt.

'They're very close,' the teacher stated as she handed over the girl's belongings.

Judy frowned in confusion, already heading for the door.

'Hmmm?'

'Rachel and Lucy,' the teacher elaborated hesitantly, indicating the small, dark-eyed brunette who looked on sadly as she watched them go, sitting now alone upon the cushions, but Judy didn't turn to look, neither at the dark haired little girl nor at her own daughter as she left the room, Lucy's hand raised forlornly.

Her daughter was heavy in her arms as she stepped outside, but there was something about the violent events of the morning that stopped her from setting the girl down. She needed her close, and real, as though her own dubious connection to reality could be strengthened through the child. Lucy, for her part, seemed to be uncharacteristically subdued, as though she sensed her mother's disquiet.

Judy had rounded the corner and made it halfway to Roy's car when she saw the man in the peripheries of her vision. Her body moved jerkily before her brain could even process the danger, throwing herself and her daughter down behind the nearest parked car at the edge of the road. The first gunshot rang out before she cleared the framework, but it went wide, and the following shots struck the metal body of the vehicle in sharp staccato exclamations.

'Flat on the ground,' she snapped, 'lie flat on the ground…'

Lucy had started to whimper as her mother disentangled her from her arms, pushing her roughly down against the gravel.

Already, another weapon had discharged across the quiet, leafy street. Roy, from his position down the road was firing back and an iciness, full of fear and fury, ran through her. There was a strangled cry and she knew at least one assailant had been hit.

'Stay absolutely still, Lucy,' she instructed her youngest, staring straight into those wide, terrified eyes, 'do not move. You understand me? Do. Not. Move.'

'Yes, mama,' the small blonde replied breathlessly, and Judy squeezed her small sweaty hand in reassurance.

She pulled her hand-mirror from her bag, pressing herself back against the car and sliding up it slowly, using the mirror to view the trees beyond. One figure on the ground, another flitting between the line of trees beyond. Her fingers closed around the handle of gun; clicking off the safety. She waited a heartbeat before swinging around and rising up, firing straight and sure. The noise was loud, and she didn't know which of them struck the winning blow, but between her bullets and Roy's, their target fell.

She ducked back behind the car, waiting cautiously.

'It's clear,' Roy's voice called out in the ensuing quiet and Judy's movements were swift as she stood and stepped out into the road. The noise, she knew, would draw attention, especially in this quiet suburban street, but they were hidden well enough by the mosaic of shadows from the trees so as not to be easily seen.

The chest of the man lying in the road rose and fell as he gasped for breath, a mess of blood and bone. Across, in the trees, Roy flipped over the other body with the toe of his boot. He looked up at Judy, as she approached.

'Dead,' he stated quietly.

She paused by the other who was gasping for breath, stared down at his blood-streaked face without compassion. He was young, certainly younger than she, and was focussing on her with dark eyes. She kicked the weapon out of reach with one sweep of her foot and it clattered loudly upon the road.

'You made a stupid mistake today,' she said softly, the same cold fury welling up in her, it trembled through her body, and she raised the gun in her hand, 'attacking my daughter… my family…'

Words which may have been on his lips vanished as she pulled the trigger, the loud blunted sound of it as it struck him in the gut, penetrating the viscera. She exhaled sharply through her nose, watching him twist and turn on the asphalt.

'Judy,' Roy's voice was closer now, but she couldn't tear her focus away from the man writhing on the ground before her. 'We have to go…'

Of course, every second was important, but her anger, and her fear, had not been satisfied. She watched him move, the heat of the afternoon hot against her skin. He was lost in pain, trying to crawl away from her, and she felt nothing but white hot fury. The sickening fear of what damage he may have caused.

'No one threatens my family,' she whispered, aiming narrowly between his eyes. 'No one.'

The shot rang out, and this time, afterwards, she closed her eyes. The bloody mess sprayed across the road; he lay still.

After a long moment, she turned her back on him, her limbs stiff as she walked towards the bullet riddled car. The asphalt had taken the skin from her knees and it stung as she walked. As she stepped closer to the Chevrolet, she hesitated, her eyes meeting those of her daughter.

'I…' she started, but Lucy's eyes were wide, her breathing fast and shallow.

'I told you not to move,' Judy chastised, the words sounding harsher than she intended as she crouched down before the terrified child. The blonde girl flinched away as her mother reached for her and Judy felt her heart twist. The girl was trembling, a fine tremor that shook her small body like a leaf in the breeze.

'Lucy,' she spoke gently, struggling to get the girl's attention and feeling sick from the guilt of it, 'Lucy…'

Judy wanted nothing more than to pull her into her arms and hold her, but something about the way that Lucy was standing made her pause. The girl's hand was shaking as she reached out, her fingertips brushing against the blood that was damp upon her mother's clothes.

'It's okay, baby,' she whispered, closing the young fingers within her own palm and pulling the quivering child into her stronger arms. It was the quietness that stung her, more than if the girl had been crying or screaming. She cradled her daughter against her, nuzzling down against her soft hair and murmuring reassurances that she knew were barely penetrating the surface. Even as she carried her towards the car she could feel the frightened shallow breaths hot against her skin and guilt muddled with the anger she was flushed with.

'I'm leaving Chicago,' she stated softly as Roy started to drive, 'no more of this… no more.'

Sihanoukville, Cambodia 2023

The waves roared upon the shore; each one crashing down after the last across the golden sands. The deep blue of the sea as it stretched out seemed, to Brittany, as though it would go on to infinity. It made her feel so small suddenly in this world; so insignificant.

'Where do waves come from?'

Nabir looked up at her with dark eyes. Shy and quietly charming, he had slowly come to trust her in the weeks that she had been with Quinn at the hospital, and he now sought her out timidly whenever she was alone. The sharp intelligence in the orphan's large eyes reminded her poignantly of her own son at the same age; her own wonderful child, back in New York.

The beach was empty, but for them; the other children were playing about the campfire that Nous had built further inland. Her long blonde hair was curling in the sea air and she felt as though she were at the end of the world, looking out at forever.

'This feeling,' she replied quietly, taking his small hand in hers and pressing his fingers against his breastbone, 'this powerful feeling, when you want to burst with all the emotion inside of you…'

He looked up at her seriously, his straight jet hair falling down into his eyes.

'…this feeling is what makes the waves.'

New York, 2024. (Present).

A squeal of excitement went up from the crowd as she stepped from the limousine. Their voices rose up, her name on their lips and she forced a bright smile as she straightened, subtly correcting the burgundy DeLaRenta gown.

'You look beautiful,' Kurt murmured to her as he held out his arm for her to take and Rachel met his eyes. She took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable onslaught.

She looped her arm into his, the goosebumps rising on her flesh from the cold wind of the evening. Up ahead, at the end of the red carpet, was the entrance to the Empire cinema and above it, six foot high on a poster twice as wide was Quinn's face. She looked out, beautiful and sad; the image of the woman that Rachel could not shake from her mind.

The shiver that ran though her as she glanced up at those distant hazel eyes was not from the cold of the evening. It seemed that she had spent her life looking for the feeling that this woman inspired in her, and it would not leave her now. Kurt patted her arm reassuringly as they stepped forwards onto the red carpet together, to the reporters and all their questions, to the fan's, and the media and the paparazzi.

Sihanoukville, Cambodia 2023

'He's a smart boy,' Brittany murmured, her eyes on Quinn rather than the child who was playing with wonder in the sand amongst the other orphans they had taken down to the beach. There was a soft look in Quinn's eyes that was so unguarded it made the taller blonde ache. Quinn, who had always claimed to not want children, not after Beth; Quinn, who had wanted so firmly to be independent… alone. Who had left New York, and Rachel, and abandoned her future…

'He's wonderful,' the young doctor murmured, close to her as she stretched out her golden brown limbs across the white sand. She had caught the tone in Brittany's voice and she turned to her with a serious look. 'But he's not my son, B…'

'I didn't say that…'

'I know what you meant,' Quinn cut her off gently. 'He is just another orphan here…'

Quinn looked back to the quiet boy, playing innocently in the sand, but Brittany's eyes remained on her.

'You love him,' she stated quietly, a soft certainty trickling through her like warm water. She knew that look in Quinn's eyes; she had seen it before. 'It doesn't take a genius to see that.'

Quinn didn't reply, her thoughts lost back on those empty days and hours when she had first brought him back to the hospital in Phnom Penh, that first night in the darkness of the concrete shell of the building as she had fought to save his fragile life. She had thrown everything into it, everything she had left. Nous had tried to reason with her; he had warned her that the boy could not survive, but against all odds, against all probability, he had... Nabir had survived, and with him was reborn the hope that Quinn had lost, some strand of faith that all she had given up had had a purpose.

'Francois told me what happened,' Brittany persisted, watching the profile of her friend's face for any reaction, 'that he should have died that night on the rooftops…'

Silently, Quinn's soft hand found hers, squeezing it gently. She gave nothing of her thoughts away.

For years, Q had been an enigma to her; a complicated puzzle with half of the pieces missing. Sometimes, Brittany felt as though she had an idea of the outline, but the detail was lost, so many questions unanswered. Quinn was compelling, in her stillness and her silence, as much now as she had been at fourteen years old. The years had passed since Brittany had tried to understand her, but what she had come to realise was that her life was not complete without Q in it.

'I'm glad you came,' Quinn whispered.

And for the first time in many years, Brittany felt as though Quinn belonged to her as much as she had to Santana and to Rachel; that their friendship was as valid and strong. But watching Quinn, as she, in turn, watched the boy whose life was so precious to her, whose life represented so much, she found herself starting to understand. Not just the pieces of the puzzle that were Quinn Fabray, but the burning drive that kept her here, that kept her pushing forwards against the tide.

New York, 2024. (Present).

The light from the screen reflected upon the faces of the audience, the bright sunshine and ochre earth, the smooth expanse of golden skin, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. A simple soundtrack that flooded Rachel with warmth, the sound of the drums like a heartbeat, and she remembered the sweet smell of Quinn's skin against the cotton sheets, she remembered the sound of her heart as she had laid her head upon her chest.

'…there are some things that you do, that can never be undone,' the doctor replied wistfully to a question that Brittany had asked, 'things that you see that cannot be unseen… they shape you, B; they break and… remake you…'

Brittany's soundtrack had captured the soft timbre of her voice and Rachel twisted the ring about her finger, the emotion choking her as she tried to stay stoic in her seat.

'…from the moment that we are born, we are set on this path; we make decisions, rightly or wrongly, drifting alone on the current…'

Upon the dusty hood of the jeep, Quinn looped an arm around one knee, her other leg dangling over the edge of the car. The landscape beyond stretched out; the dark greens of the foliage, the milky stretches of paddy fields beneath the sun, still high in the sky.

'I've done things,' she said softly, 'that I wish I could undo… but you can never go back, can you? That's the poignancy of it. If I could, I'd be back in McKinley… still watching her from afar, just waiting for it all to happen… for my life to start…'

Rachel felt a soft hand slip over hers and she glanced across at the Latina by her side. Santana's dark eyes remained on the screen, silent tear tracks on her cheeks, and Rachel's hand tightened about the lawyer's, that mutual connection between them for the woman that they had both loved.

'It all went by so quickly,' Quinn glanced across at the tall blonde beside her, ignoring the camera resting on the roof of the car, 'the years, I mean; I feel as though I never saw them as they passed…'

Lima, 2008.

As she glanced back, she caught sight of their fingers intertwining low beside their knees. The soft touch between them; gentle and innocent and unexpected. Quinn felt it twist within her; envy at the wide-eyed wonder on B's face, and the hollow feeling of loss as her hazel eyes fell on Santana. For so long, the Latina had been hers and hers alone, the best and closest friend through darkest of nights and now… now, she knew that time had steadily passed and the safe haven of their shared childhood was gone. She turned away to catch her breath, wondering at how much it hurt to lose something that she had never had. She had been the girl in the middle of the pair; brought them together and stepped away. It shouldn't hurt to be alone but, as she wrapped her arms about herself, it did.

Quinn walked down the metal steps, through the crowds of the students overlooking the pitch. The football players, in their red and white, were milling around below, the rowdy crowd above. The boy on the bleachers was gangly from his adolescent growth spurt, awkward in his tallness and not yet broad; the boy that she was meant to fall for, whose touch she was meant to crave. She dropped her eyes, not wanting to look at him, and she daren't look back, for seeing Santana and Brittany together was hurting her with the spike of loneliness it caused. Instead, her eyes fell, as they often did, upon the flustered brunette who sat alone in the stands. Usually Quinn would look away, for the discipline of turning was greater than that of not seeking her out. Subconscious and repetitive, she didn't know what drew her eyes through the crowds, what always drew her attention. Her gaze lingered. Dark haired and beautiful, anxious and confident and flustered and alone… Quinn warmed to watch her, this unfamiliar burning within her chest. It frightened her, with both its intensity and its implications. She didn't even know her name.

With a frown, Quinn drew herself away. Wrapping the letterman around her, she started down the steps towards the football field, towards the tall frame of the boy that towered over her enough to block out the sunshine. She found his clumsy movements neither attractive nor charming, but eclipsed by her fear, they somehow became so. She touched his arm, a forced smile curving her lips, and pushed all thoughts of the brunette away, back to the place where they would smoulder on; embers of dreams long since forgotten.

Sihanoukville, Cambodia 2023

Brittany slipped the loose shirt over her head as the sun dipped lower in the sky; the pink and golden light spilling across the open ocean. That singularity of purpose crystalized within her as she let the light wash over and through her.

Life, she felt it; purpose.

It were as though she had never seen a sunset like this before; with nature so powerful around her and the waves washing against the shore. She blinked back the tears in her blue eyes, her hand tightening against the camera in her hand. Never had she felt so alone as this, standing against the shore, and with a strange clarity of feeling, she realised how she had changed in just a few short weeks. From the moment that child had died in her arms she had known… she had known that she would never be the same, that she could never go back to the person that she had been before that night.

Again the pair caught her eye, further down the beach away from the campfire, and Brittany felt something else stir within her; an emotion without an obvious name.

Quinn was a silhouette against the sunset, her blonde hair whipping against the wind, but the little boy looked up at her trustingly, his narrow frame sheltered by hers. Their words were lost on the wind and Brittany's hand itched to raise the camera; to capture the moment as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, as Quinn's protective arms encircled the boy whose life represented to her everything good in this world. But some moments were too fleeting to capture on film; some moments can only be experienced, and it was then, as the golden glow glanced off the water, off the woman and child by the ocean's edge, that Brittany realised, with a painful ache, that Quinn Fabray was never coming home.

New York, 2024. (Present).

Champagne was still flowing, but the people were thinning out and, for that, Brittany was glad. The night had been so long already, that all she wished to do now was to go home with her beautiful wife and tuck her son into his bed. Although in many ways it was only the beginning for the documentary, it felt to her as though this was the end, a final chapter in the long struggle that she had taken to make this film.

Jasper emerged from the crowd, a willowy model on his arm. He caught Brittany's eye and sent her a soft smile, leaning forward to murmur something in his date's ear. The model rolled her large doe-eyes and sauntered off across the room.

'This is your party, Brittany,' he said lightly, as he settled into the chair beside her, 'you're not meant to be sitting alone in the corner…'

She smiled easily at him, playing with the thin chain of her bag.

'I'm exhausted,' she admitted, shaking her head lightly, 'it's been such a difficult few months… and I'm just… I'm just exhausted, Jasper.'

He smirked, leaning back in the chair.

'I suppose you are allowed to be exhausted,' he replied, his lips curling in gentle mocking, 'you are a dazzling success, Brittany, your documentary is a success…'

'You think so?'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'You broke boundaries with it… that's what the reviews will say.'

Brittany's eyes fell to the champagne in her hand, the headache that it was giving her.

'I broke a friendship,' she corrected him quietly.

Jasper shook his head gently, pushing the parcel that she had not noticed that he was carrying across the surface of the table to her. Blue eyes met his questioningly.

'What's this?'

'What does it look like?'

She raised a single blonde eyebrow as he nudged it towards her; an oblong wrapped in black tissue paper.

'It's for you,' he said needlessly, as she hesitated to take it. He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'A mutual acquaintance of ours asked me to give it to you tonight.'

Suspicion was replaced by surprise and she took it from his hands, holding it carefully for a moment.

'Quinn?' she asked.

'Open it and see.'

She frowned, running her fingertips gently upon the fragile black paper before sliding her long fingers neatly between the folds to slip the framed picture from within. When her eyes fell upon the image her mouth hung open in a quiet exclamation of surprise.

'When did you…?' she started, running a fingertip along the edge of the frame, 'when did she…?'

Jasper smiled, looking down at the photograph that he had developed, of Quinn in front of the billboard that bore the black marks of her graffiti. Scrawled, down in one corner, was the simplest message that she could have written.

'In the week before she left,' Jasper replied, his eyes drifting down warmly to the photograph. Quinn, scarred and pale and slender, held up the black spray-can in her hand and smiled at him; caught forever in that moment of time. A soft smile came across Brittany's lips as she traced the smooth black line of the graffiti that Quinn had added to the six-foot image of her own serious face, the comedic curl of a black moustache upon her lip beside the large and final 'S' that she had added to the title.

The Young Idealists, she had said to him, only B would have come up with such a title and not realised how pretentious it sounds.

'It's so… illegal,' Brittany stammered, trying to find the right words. Jasper laughed.

'Try telling Quinn that,' he replied blithely.

'And dangerous…'

He sighed, 'it's not that high...'

'For someone who has undergone massive emergency surgery?'

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shrugging his shoulders wordlessly. There was no point in arguing with her; he knew that.

'Rachel's going to kill you.'

He watched as her blue eyes fell back down to the picture; the photograph that, years from now, would hang upon the wall in her house and remind her of how close they had come… of how ambition and purpose had pushed her far from those she loved.

'She climbed up there?' she asked again, a tremulous note in her voice.

Brittany dashed a tear from her eyelashes before it had the chance to drip onto her cheek, and shivered. After everything… through everything.

For B.

She ran her finger over the familiar scrawled writing, feeling the tears try to start again.

Love Q.

****** 4 months later ******

Phnom Penh, 2024. (Present).

'Jess told me that I'd find you here.'

From her position against the wall, in the flickering candlelight, Quinn looked up, rubbing at her eyes. She had been trying to read, but the words on the typed sheets of paper had merged together in the dim light and the rhythmic sound of Nabir's breathing had lured her closer to sleep. It was quiet, strangely quiet in the dormitories of the orphanage, and the night felt dense with darkness.

'He's sick,' she said softly, her voice hoarse with lack of use, 'feverish and frightened… he couldn't sleep.'

Francois hesitated near the doorway.

'Anything I should worry about?' he asked suspiciously.

'Just a common virus,' she sighed, her fingertips gently stroking across the child's back, 'I'd keep your distance, though, and thoroughly wash your hands… I don't want it spreading.'

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow.

'You seem to be taking your own advice well,' he commented dryly.

The young boy was curled into her body, half draped across her with the blue cotton of her scrubs twisted in his small hands, as though he were holding onto her for his life. Whenever she shifted in her position, he would moan and wrap his small body more tightly around her, to the point that she had given up moving at all.

'He's young and scared and has no one to hold him,' she replied quietly, feeling the need to justify her actions but Francois just looked at her knowingly as she stroked the feverish dark head gently, sweeping the jet hair from Nabir's hot brow.

'We must take responsibility for the lives that we save, as well as those that we cannot,' he stated, leaning against the concrete wall.

Quinn looked down at the small dark body twisted against her own; she could feel his heartbeat against her just as she had that night, years before. Back then he had been faceless to her, just another beggar child in the darkness, but now?

Hazel eyes looked up.

'Why are you here so late, Francois?' she asked curiously.

He slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out before him.

'Because of you,' he replied simply as she moved the candle to the floor between them so that the glow of it lit his face.

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

By the warm glow of the candle, the lines of his face seemed deeper and it made him seem so much older. The arrogant UNICEF representative that she had fought with so often when she had first arrived in Cambodia was gone, and now he appeared softer and kinder than his younger counterpart.

'You're unhappy, Quinn,' he stated softly, and though she raised her chin a little higher at his words, she did not contest them. Her hand stilled against Nabir's soft hair and she settled back against the concrete. She had thrown herself into her work as soon as she had returned from New York, and as the months had passed, as the donations had started trickling in, at first slowly and then in greater amounts as Brittany's documentary swept around the globe, Quinn felt the weight of her responsibility grow exponentially. In such a corrupt system, it took an iron fist to keep control and ensure the overseas money ended up where it was intended rather than lining the pockets of each and every person who thought that they could make a quick profit.

'Have you ever regretted a decision you've made?' she asked him finally, meeting the grey eyes in the flickering light.

'You regret coming back?'

'No,' Quinn answered quickly, her mind was firm on that, but still she ached, 'I made promises here, and I will keep them,' she glanced down at the boy curled up against her body, 'I have responsibilities here... but I do regret leaving her,' she replied wistfully, running her thumb against the cool band about her finger. 'I miss her, Francois. I miss her so very, very much… It's selfish, I know, but maybe love is selfish, and I…I just…'

In the flicker of the candlelight she saw the concern reflected on his face. Nabir moaned again in his sleep, his legs kicking against her before he settled once more, her soothing hand upon his back.

'Then you should be with her,' he replied.

'It's not that simple…'

'Yes, it is Quinn,' he leant his head back against the cool of the wall, looking at the woman and child cuddled together on the orphanage standard thick floor mat. 'There is duty, and there is love… It is hard; impossibly hard; but you have to pick the one that you cannot live without.'

Her eyes fell to the boy whose heartbeat was fast against her skin and thought of Rachel, of the woman that she would forever hold to her. She looked to the ring on her finger, and knew that the choice had been made many, many years before.

New York. 2024. (Present).

'So… a cat on a hot tin roof?'

A gentle aroma filled the room; of sandalwood and lavender and the hint of mint from the pot of tea untouched before her. Rachel leant back, squinting her eyes towards the window through which the soft sunlight streamed. She breathed in and out, and sighed deeply.

'I haven't decided,' she replied, and it was the truth. 'On paper it looks great; a great play, a great director, a great co-star… but… it just doesn't feel right.'

She paused, interlacing her fingers as her thoughts meandered, back and forth.

'Somewhere, in the last few years I lost my way,' she smiled sadly at the blue sky outside, the beginnings of summertime in the air. 'I lost who I was for a while, and I think, just now, I am finally piecing myself together again.'

'Lost yourself,' Laura pressed, 'because of Quinn?'

'Yes,' Rachel sighed, 'and no.' She met her therapist's gentle eyes. 'Quinn left, and I let myself fall apart... I had meaningless relationships; I did stupid things. I fell apart. I don't blame her for that, you understand… I know now why she did what she did.'

Laura steepled her fingers, carefully analysing the words.

'There is a big difference between knowing,' she pointed out, 'and forgiving...'

Rachel nodded slowly, picking up the cup of tea and holding it between her hands.

'I forgave her,' she replied softly, 'I forgave her because I couldn't be trapped by all that anger anymore. I love her… I always have, and I think that I always will.'

She absently twisted the plain band that fit snuggly around her finger, until she noticed the habit and stopped herself. The action, however, did not go unnoticed. Laura watched her; seeing both the feisty actress she had come to know so well and the woman that she was becoming. Rachel Berry, she knew, had undergone twists and turns through her life, but none more violent than those caused by Quinn Fabray.

'It would have been so easy to just love her,' Rachel continued, talking in that small voice that barely wavered. 'But I couldn't do that… It all happened so intensely, those last few months. It all happened so fast. I knew that I needed to find myself again, the real Rachel Berry, the person that I am alone, before I could be with her… before I could be with anyone.'

Laura observed her carefully.

'It sounds as though you are finding out who you are again,' she commented finally, and the smile that curved Rachel's lips in return was warm.

The months had been hard, these months since Quinn had left for Cambodia, but it was very different feeling from the first time she had left. They hadn't left each other this time; not really. If anything, they had become stronger through the promise of a future, a future they were both ready to invest in.

'I want our love, our relationship, to be supportive…' her fingers went once more to the ring on her finger, feeling the cool of the metal and twisting it slowly, 'it's the only way for us to survive; I realise that now. We both need to make decisions on our own terms, for our own needs. I need to trust her to do that; and I need to trust myself…'

'Is this why the Broadway plans are on hold?' Laura pushed gently.

'Maybe…' Rachel took a sip of her tea, savouring the taste, 'she always made me feel as though I could do anything, that I was unstoppable. She believed in me more than I believed in myself.' She set the teacup down, once more upon the table, meeting Laura's eyes. 'The problem is… I'm not sure that I really want Broadway anymore. The spark… that spark faded, and now I don't know. The world is open for me to go and do what I please. There is a whole world out there… wider and deeper than the one that I have explored here.'

The words seemed to die on Rachel's tongue, as though her command of language had unexpectedly abandoned her. There were some concepts too abstract to put into words, or at least, too abstract to verbalise quickly. The distant expression that crossed her face was wistful and it was with a startling clarity that Laura started to understand.

'You're leaving?' she asked, unable to hide her surprise, for everything about Rachel had always screamed New York.

'Not forever,' Rachel smiled softly, looking down at her hands. 'I needed to know that it was what I wanted… what I wanted away from the heat of the moment; what I wanted for myself. And though the last few months have been hard… I recognise myself in the mirror again; I recognise the woman that I am, and the person that I want to be. And that,' she shook her head, 'that is a wonderful feeling.'

Laura's expression was twisted with surprise.

'You're sure that this is the right choice for you?' she asked.

'More than I've ever been sure of anything,' Rachel smiled softly to herself, a warm almost-shy smile. 'I'm doing it for me, not for her… I'm ready. I'm ready for the next stage of my life; and I can't wait for it to start.'

Phnom Penh, 2024. (Present).

The heat of the midday sun had already made Quinn irritable before the electricity to the hospital had once again been cut. Outside the concrete clinic building, people had gathered in large crowds, milling about as they tried to find shade in the ever diminishing purple shadows, and though there were many of them, the atmosphere was, for the most part, sleepy and subdued. Quiet expectation; of waiting, and waiting, and waiting…

Quinn had just finished with the latest patient in the never-ending queue, a partially blind leprotic man, when the commotion began. It sounded acutely like shouting. Her eyes met those of her clinic assistant, Seyha, who looked perplexed.

'What the hell…'

Quinn scraped back her chair to get to her feet, crossing the distance to the window in two strides.

'It's the boys,' Seyha stated certainly, by her side, her voice soft.

Quinn's nerves were on edge from the stifling heat, the humidity bringing a thin sheen of sweat to her skin, and she leant through the window, which was simply a square hole within the structure of the wall, with a frown. It barely took a second for her to recognise the cause of the commotion; the mass of limbs and small colourful shirts within the haze of dust drew her attention immediately.

'Oh forgodsake,' she groaned, rolling her eyes, 'that is it.'

Her temper, unusually, snapped.

'Wait here,' she instructed, taking the quicker option of climbing out through the window to reach the courtyard. One of the tuk-tuk drivers was already trying to intervene in the scuffle, shouting at the orphans in Khmer as a young surgeon came to help him attempt to pull the boys off each other. They were making little progress with the mess of tangled limbs.

'Break it up!' she shouted sharply at the group of boys who were busy pummelling each other into the dirt, her hands flying to her hips, 'break it up, now!'

Maybe it was the English language, or the furious tone of her voice, or maybe it was the sudden realisation that there were two men much bigger than themselves entering the fray, but the heated scrabble seemed to subside and within minutes four of the boys were being held up by their shirts, with another two lying on the ground.

She glared at them each on turn, recognising only three of them as orphans from the onsite orphanage, the others unfamiliar. She tried to rein in her anger, noting the scrapes and bruises already forming, the thin trickle of blood from one boy's nostril.

'You do not fight here,' she spoke sharply, her gaze hard. Some of them may not understand the language but they had no difficulty in understanding the tone. 'This is a hospital; a place of healing and peace. You do not fight here…' She hissed through her teeth, the bright glare of the sunlight in her eyes. 'Do you understand me?'

The sullen nods were reluctant and Quinn felt a headache start to come on. It was already shaping up to be a pretty long and tedious day without the added issue of recalcitrant children.

'Good,' she folded her arms across her chest, staring at the boys that she didn't know, 'you three – get out of here... Do not cause trouble at my hospital again.'

As they ran off, she became acutely aware of the crowd that was curiously watching them, the weight of their eyes, of the way that her hair was curling in the heat, and the reddish dust that was sticking to her skin.

'And you three…' she wrapped her hand around Samay's wrist to pull him to his feet, turning her gaze upon the children she knew, '…come with me.'

The boys exchanged uncertain looks as she led them away, Samay by her side and the other two trailing behind.

'They attacked Nabir, Americana…' the boy started and she rolled her eyes. Why was it always the same story no matter where in the world you were? Why were boys always fighting?

'I don't want to hear it,' she replied shaking her head to herself and pausing outside of the orphanage dormitories. 'You don't fight. You know that's the rule.'

She turned to them, allowing herself a hint of sympathy as she took in their dishevelled appearance. Crooking a finger at the youngest she crouched down before him when he obediently stepped forwards. Quinn pulled out a tissue from her pocket and started to dab at the blood trickling from his nose, her fingers gently probing the bony ridge to look for a break. Nabir's dark eyes watched her unquestioningly from beneath his dark hair, tilting his head back when her fingers guided him to do so.

'Why aren't you in school?'

The boys looked uncomfortably between themselves and Quinn let out a frustrated sigh. There was a school at the end of the road that was overrun with children of all ages, another local initiative, and the children from the orphanage, she knew, were meant to attend for at least a few hours daily. She looked at the two older boys seriously, watching them shift under the weight of her displeasure.

'Errr…' One of them started.

'Get to school, now.'

They didn't need to be told twice and ran off quickly, leaving her with the smallest of them. She ran a hand through his dark hair, pressing his nose between her forefinger and thumb to tamponade it.

'It'll stop bleeding in a minute, sweetheart,' she murmured, her tone finally softening. She was crouched at his level, frowning at the blood that had bloomed across his shirt. 'I'm serious about not fighting, Nabir,' she stated firmly, shaking her head and he lowered his dark gaze. 'It disappoints me because I know that you know better…'

'I'm sorry,' he murmured.

'I don't want to find you that you have been doing it again, are we clear?'

She sighed, finally releasing her hold and watching critically for any further bleeding. There was none. As she started to say more, there was a distant rumble of thunder and she glanced up to a sky that was thickening with clouds. Finally, she hoped, the dreadful heat may break.

As her attention returned to the boy in front of her a movement caught her eye; a movement that set her heart racing in her chest, for just across from her, beneath the sagging leaves of the banana tree where the children often played, stood a figure. Her dark hair was plaited loosely, a couple of gentle strands framing her face and at her neck the white cotton shirt was open, exposing the tan skin beneath. Somehow stylish and yet understated, the dark glasses hid her dark eyes. Quinn's mouth was suddenly dry.

She stared at her for a moment, this woman in the haze of heat that rose off the baking earth. She stood so still that Quinn was sure that she was a mirage, and she, herself, was afraid to move lest the image dissolve away.

'Quinn…'

But the sound of Rachel's voice was real enough and clear through the hammering of her heart.

'Oh my god,' she breathed out, a faint tremor running through her as she slowly stood. Rachel slipped the glasses from her eyes and for a moment they simply looked at each other, and Quinn felt the space between them fill with the warmth of her love, with all the times she had sought those dark eyes out amid the crowd.

She crossed the dry and dusty earth between them and all at once she had Rachel in her arms, the brunette's grip tightening about her, swinging her around, and around, and around. Her soft hair, so sweet and fragrant, tickled at Quinn's face, the soft and supple strength of her. Quinn closed her eyes, holding onto this moment; to the feeling of Rachel's heartbeat, so strong and steady, against her own.

Rachel smiled softly, holding her blonde closely to her.

'I needed to see you,' she whispered finally, and Quinn pulled back, concern crossing her features.

'Are you okay?' she asked anxiously, searching Rachel's expression for any hint of distress. 'Is everything alright? You're not hurt or…'

'I'm fine,' Rachel smiled warmly, reaching up to cup Quinn's face softly in her hands. 'I'm fine now.'

Quinn swallowed, totally at a loss, and somewhere within her, spreading outwards, she felt the burning heat of being with Rachel Berry; that glow that she felt from within, the longing that she had tried to deny for so long. Tears stung at her eyes.

'You're here…' she whispered finally.

At her words, Rachel pressed her lips against the blonde's cheek; first the right and then the left. Light kisses across the dusty skin. The world that surrounded them seemed unreal; the balmy heat and the sparse grass beneath her sandaled feet, the geckos that scurried across the white washed concrete of the buildings and the distant rumbling of thunder.

'I'm here.'

Rachel took a breath of the humid air, the unfamiliar smells of the foreign country mixing with the sweet scent of the blonde in her arms. She wasn't sure where the tears came from, but she could feel them well up in her eyes, her vision blurring. For everything that they had said to each other, for all the time that had passed, for the girl that she had fallen in love with and for the woman that she had lost… For all the stargazer lilies, and a name surrounded by gold stars. It had taken her a long time to find Quinn Fabray, but she had loved her from the start.

'You are mine,' Rachel whispered, her dark gaze as steady as her words, 'you are always going to be mine… and I am yours, Quinn. We belong to each other; we were always meant to belong to each other.'

Beneath her hands she could feel the blonde trembling and however wrong it may sound, however jealous and possessive, it was true. Rachel knew it was true.

'I belong right here…' Rachel's voice was low and even, 'by your side, and you belong beside me. I know you love me, Quinn, so the rest of it… the rest of it we will have to just… figure out.'

'We live on opposite sides of the world…' Quinn started until an index finger pressed against her lips.

'We will figure it out,' Rachel reiterated firmly.

'But how…?'

'Just trust me, baby,' Rachel replied, a small smile curving her lips, 'I have thought about this long and hard, over the last four months. I don't want to be without you… I don't want to be without you ever again, Quinn, and I'm not going to be.'

Something in her expression, in her words, struck the doctor squarely and she realised their implication.

'You're staying?' she asked incredulously, her bright eyes wide.

'Until you are ready to come back,' Rachel replied evenly, carefully watching the woman's features, 'a year; maybe two…'

'I can't ask you to do this, Rach.'

'You're not asking me,' Rachel replied with some exasperation, shaking her head, 'I'm telling you. I want you, I need you and I am going to be with you…'

'Your career, Rachel...'

'Will be there when I get back.'

'Your life…'

The brunette raised her chin a fraction, fixing the doctor with a steady look and tightened her grip on her.

'You are going to have to accept that I have made this decision,' she stated finally, daring Quinn to argue with her. The blonde's cheeks were warm with tears, so many emotions crossing through those expressive eyes. 'It's what I want… it's not some spur-of-the-moment choice that I've made, baby. I've thought hard about it in the last four months. I want this… and I want you.'

She took a deep breath of the humid air, of the exotic smells and spices that drifted on the light breeze. It was frightening, and exhilarating, this whole new world that was opening up before her. Already the chaos of the colours and traffic and noises and language had felt almost overwhelming.

'This is madness,' Quinn whispered, hazel eyes shining in the sunlight.

Rachel pulled the doctor towards her, holding her tightly in her arms. She pressed her soft lips against the tearstained cheeks and closed her eyes.

Some part of her had always waited for Quinn, always waited, and in the fragrant warmth of the early afternoon, beneath the shade of the banana tree, she felt that she was coming home; that their life could finally begin, and the warm contentedness of that decision filled her up.

Phnom Penh, 2024. (Present).

'Chuy! Chuy! Chuy!'

The sounds of the children down below as they played in the darkness drifted up and mixed with the steady thud of the drums and the music. Nightfall had come, and the buzz of mosquitoes was in the air around them, the excitement of the festival below.

Rachel flicked the lighter again, watching the flame spring up and holding it to the end of the turquoise coil of moontiger. She glanced up and met Quinn's golden eyes before the flame died, the familiar smell of the incense already starting to curl up into the warm air.

'Is that old woman okay?' she asked as she came to settle down next to the blonde on the roof.

In the first weeks that she had been in Cambodia, Rachel had discovered this spot and decided that it was one of her favourite places in the city. The roof was flat and high enough that on a clear day she could see out across Phnom Penh for miles in every direction. The feeling it gave her was almost indescribable. It was the kind of feeling that starts in the pit of your belly and swells until you feel as though you may burst with it… it was the feeling that music sometimes gave her.

'She's fine,' Quinn replied, passing over a can of beer and shifting on the blanket so that they were shoulder to shoulder. 'We drained the abscess; gave her some antibiotics. Hopefully she will be out of hospital in the next few days...'

Rachel leant forwards, pecking her unsuspecting girlfriend on the lips. Quinn blinked, surprised.

'What was that for?' she laughed and Rachel grinned at her, leaning into the blonde's side.

'For you being you,' she replied lightly, and as she was about to continue, there was an abrupt crash at the edge of the roof. Quinn's brow furrowed as she looked over into the darkness, sitting up straighter.

'Sous-dey?' she called.

There was some scuffling at the building's edge and then a moment of silence.

'Americana?'

The small boy shuffled into sight, holding something indistinct within his hands. Rachel smiled gently at him, beckoning him over even as Quinn's frown deepened.

'Be careful of the edge, Nabir,' she warned.

He came towards them shyly, holding out the object in his hands.

'I… I got you a lantern,' he mumbled, and Rachel carefully took the delicate paper structure from his hands, looking at it closely in the candlelight.

'Thank you, Nabir,' she smiled warmly at the timid child. 'That's very kind.'

While Quinn assured her that he was usually far from quiet, for some reason, since her arrival, he seemed reserved and hesitant whenever he was near her, and trying to coax him out of his shell was proving to be a difficult task. His words seemed to just dry up whenever she was around.

To break the awkward moment, Quinn looped an arm around him and pulled him down into her lap, tickling him lightly until he was giggling and trying to wiggle away from her. She found it charming how fixated Nabir had become on trying to win Rachel's approval, particularly as the boy clearly had no idea what to say to her. She ran a hand through his dark hair, settling him against her.

'Why don't you tell Rachel about the festival?' she suggested softly in his ear, 'I'm sure she'd like to hear about it…'

The boy looked at her uncertainly and then turned his attention back to the brunette, chewing on his lip.

'It's the Children's Festival,' he said quietly, looking at her shyly. 'It comes from Vietnam. Because children are pure, and innocent, and much more sacred than grown-ups…'

'You think so?' Quinn hummed.

'Yup,' he nodded certainly, 'we celebrate 'cause in old times there was a great, great hero called Yi who was really good at shooting and he had a beautiful wife called Chang...'

Rachel smiled encouragingly at him, twisting the ring on her finger as she listened to his story.

'And one day, ten suns rose in the morning – and the whole of the earth would have burnt – but the hero shot the suns down – except the one that we have now,' Nabir continued, his voice growing with strength with each word that he spoke, 'and because the gods were so impressed by Yi, they gave him the potion of im-imm-im…'

'Immortality,' Quinn supplied quietly.

'Yup,' he nodded decisively, 'but he loved his wife so much that he didn't want to ever leave her – so he didn't drink it – he gave it to his wife instead to keep safe.'

Rachel felt Quinn's hand settle over hers, and she glanced up to the woman's face, with the flickering of the candles and the pale light of the full moon above. She squeezed her fingers and saw the curve of a smile at the corners of the woman's full lips.

'But Yi had a nasty student who wanted the potion – and when Yi went hunting the student broke in and tried to force Yi's wife to give him the potion,' Nabir's words were now tumbling over each other at a great rate. 'But she wouldn't – and she drank it rather than give it to him – and then she flew into the sky, and went to the moon because she loved Yi so much she wanted to stay near him, but could not stay on Earth. And he loved her so much that he made big sacrifices and offerings to her. And that's why we light the lanterns – to show her the way back to him, when she is allowed to come back – we show her the way back home.'

He looked at her expectantly after his story was finished, his dark eyes even darker in the night-time.

'Poor Yi,' she said empathetically.

'Poor Yi's wife,' he replied, 'I bet that she didn't know anybody on the moon.'

'And are those lanterns over there?' Rachel asked, pointing out to the horizon where small glowing lights seemed to be rising slowly into the dark sky.

'Yup,' he pushed himself energetically forwards from Quinn's lap to look closer, but she hooked him by the collar of his shirt pulling him back slightly.

'Not too close to the edge,' she repeated her earlier warning more firmly.

'They are starting to light them in the courtyard,' he stated excitedly, and sure enough, the small glowing lanterns were rising up through the air and into the night. As the first few came to pass, Rachel found herself holding her breath, for the sight of Cambodia under moonlight, of the glowing lanterns rising in the sky… she squeezed Quinn's hand and felt the woman's fingers tighten around hers in response.

'Then we should light ours, shouldn't we?' Rachel asked him, carefully picking up the lantern and setting it between them.

'It's a red one,' Quinn murmured to herself as Nabir and Rachel fiddled with the paper and, once again, Rachel flicked the lighter. Quinn watched them; the woman that she loved, and the child who was slowly but surely burrowing into her heart. Whenever she looked up to the sky at night, especially when it was clear like this, she found herself struck for a moment, thinking of her own mother, the woman that she had never really known or understood. Of the circle of events, of children and their parents, of love and innocence and protectiveness. The mistakes that had run through her life, like fault lines...

'Americana,' Nabir's scolding tone snapped her out of her thoughts and she looked at him questioningly, 'you have to hold it too...'

Rachel smirked at her, dark eyes twinkling, and leaning forwards, Quinn reached out her hand to help support the lantern. Gently, and slowly, it lifted up into the air, a glowing red orb against the sky. It faltered once, then gained lift. Rachel watched it go, watched it until it was amongst the others, as they rose high and passed across the pale surface of the moon. That same feeling of warmth hadn't left her; but she swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, thinking of all that had passed, of all the people who had died. But then the moment of nostalgia was gone, and she settled back, leaning into Quinn's arms, the small boy settling between them.

She kissed the blonde on the cheek before resting her head upon the woman's shoulder.

'So, what does the red mean?' she asked softly, having caught the earlier words. Her eyes settled upon the drifting lanterns rising through the night.

She could feel Quinn smile against her hair.

'Good luck,' the blonde replied quietly, 'hope.'

Nabir twisted between them, curling towards Rachel's body, and hesitantly she rested a hand against his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the small protuberances of his spine. Quinn pressed a kiss against her hair.

For the first time in a long, long time, the future, to Rachel, seemed infinite.

She took a deep breath, savouring the moment.

Infinite, and beautiful, and hopeful... and just beyond the horizon.

Maybe later, when it was she and Quinn alone, she would hold out her hand to the woman she loved and they would dance together on the roof, beneath the pale moon and the endless star-spotted sky, but for now she was content to rest in Quinn's arms, sharing this moment as they both looked ahead to everything that awaited them.

The end

Thank you for reading - it has been a long journey, but we have finally reached the end! Hope you enjoyed. Thanks again.