Author's Note: Written as a birthday gift for the wonderful Skywarrior108, Queen of Angst. Quinn Fabray is her whipping girl, and this is something she wanted to see. You have been warned.

Unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

The Sky Is Falling

They start slowly.

Rachel uses her Metro North pass to visit Quinn at Yale. She meets her roommate and walks hand in hand with Quinn through the streets of New Haven like it's the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is. They've held hands in the past—so many friendly touches that felt like so much more but never were—but that was before Rachel was aware that every one of those touches was both a gift and a curse to Quinn, cherished and dreaded in equal parts. Rachel takes her hand now with a soft smile that whispers silent promises of affection and endless possibilities. Quinn twines their fingers together carefully—reverently—and stares into glittering, fathomless eyes. She feels her heart skip and stutter and soar, forgetting to be cautious even though they're only taking tentative steps, dancing along the edge of friendship and something more. It's enough to fan the embers of hope that were buried deep under the ash, sparking them into new life—a dangerous thing left unattended, but Quinn isn't careful enough to smother them.

They go on just like this for a time, rebuilding a friendship that they'd both let wither. For Quinn, it had been the only defense left to protect her bruised heart. She'd spent all of high school watching Rachel turn her gaze to someone else and seeing it again in an endless loop—the same show with a different leading man—was never something that appealed to her. But now that gaze is turned toward her, and it feels like a brand new story. Every smile is a little brighter, every laugh a little louder, and every moment a little sweeter.

Their first date isn't a date—at least, that's what Quinn claims. She has two tickets to the Yale Cabaret, and she thinks it's something that they'll both enjoy. Rachel grins and bounces on her toes and gives an eager, "Yes." Rachel doesn't need to know that Quinn had been sure to check that they could get a vegan menu, or that she'd bought a new dress just for the occasion, or that her stomach is filled with butterflies while she gets ready for their not-date.

Rachel looks beautiful, and she smiles as she holds Quinn hand on the way to the cabaret. She smiles when Quinn holds out her chair at their little table. She smiles when Quinn asks to see the vegan options. She smiles as they talk in hushed tones before the start of the performance, and after, when she whispers, "That will be you up there one day," with the same certainty with which she speaks of her own future. Quinn feels that same rush of warmth that comes every time Rachel believes in her.

Their not-date ends with a hug and a, "Thank you so much, Quinn. Tonight was amazing. I'm so glad you asked me to go."

Rachel stays overnight in her dorm room, and they share a bed, but like every time since they'd started to dance this precarious line, they sleep back to back, each content in their own thoughts and respectful of the other's personal space

Their first kiss isn't a kiss—at least, not a romantic one. Not at first. They're in New York, and Rachel is chattering about her last audition and how she has such a good feeling about it. Quinn is playing with the cap of her water bottle and enjoying the rare breeze as they stroll along Broadway. She bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely as she watches the excitement play on Rachel's face.

"It's only a matter of time," Quinn says, nodding up at a nearby billboard that proclaims that it's Broadway's sure thing, "until your name and face is up there."

Rachel's smile is breathtaking, and she throws her arms around Quinn in a crushing hug. Rachel turns her face, pressing her lips to Quinn's cheek—so very close to the corner of her mouth—and everything around them seems to go still. The sounds of the crowd and the traffic in the distance fades away, enough that Quinn can clearly hear the audible catch of Rachel's breath. Her eyelids flutter closed, and she turns her head ever-so-slightly and waits. The kiss that follows is soft and tentative—barely just a feather-light brush of their lips—but it's everything to Quinn. When she opens her eyes, she sees Rachel gazing back at her with a furrowed brow, but then her lips curve into a shy smile, and it's perfect again.

They still take it slowly.

They go on dates, and they talk about films and music and politics. And they kiss. They kiss softly—almost chastely—with bodies close and comfortable. And sometimes, it's not so chaste. Sometimes, Quinn forgets to go slow and lets her passion bleed out in desperate moans and wandering hands and an eager tongue. Rachel lets her—twisting her fingers tightly into Quinn's clothes—until she inevitably regains her senses and reminds Quinn that they need to slow down. "I don't want to rush into something that we're not ready for," she says. Quinn is more than ready, but then Rachel strokes her cheek and smiles that shy smile and tells her, "You mean too much me," and it settles her again.

Their first time isn't their first time—at least, not exactly. They've been dating for months, kissing nearly as long, and Quinn's forgetting to go slowly more and more often. They're on the sofa in Rachel's loft, and they're blessedly alone, and Quinn's hands are exploring under Rachel's blouse. She can feel Rachel's fingers twisted in the skirt of her dress, and she vaguely wonders why Rachel is always so careful not to touch her too boldly when they're doing this, but then Rachel shifts underneath her, raising her left leg in the perfect way, and Quinn hisses in pleasure before she freezes, panting and trembling over Rachel with questioning eyes.

Rachel nods up at her and moves her hands to Quinn's hips, holding her there. "I'm not ready for more," she whispers regretfully, "but I know you are. I want to make you feel good," and her firm thigh pressed against Quinn's center punctuates her words in a way that makes their meaning unmistakeable.

"I can wait," Quinn tells her honestly.

"Let me do this for you," Rachel urges, and Quinn can't say no. She kisses her again, because she has to, but her body is slow and awkward to move. This isn't exactly what she imagined, and part of her is reluctant to take her pleasure this way—it's so much like what her boyfriends used to do—but Rachel's hands and Rachel's leg and Rachel's acceptance wear her down, and soon Quinn is moving clumsily over her.

It isn't romantic. It isn't beautiful. It's raw and urgent and messy. It's Quinn rocking her hips against Rachel's thigh with eyes squeezed shut and fingers digging into the sofa for purchase. It's Rachel holding her steady and biting her lip in concentration as she watches Quinn above her. It's Quinn feeling herself get closer with every movement causing glorious friction against her clit. It's her opening her eyes to see Rachel beneath her and then coming on a breathless groan. It's shuddering above Rachel as her back arches and her hips jerk. It's collapsing on top of her and feeling a comforting arm wrap around her back and a gentle hand stroke her hair. It's hearing a whispered, "You were beautiful," against her ear.

It's feeling Rachel hold her breath when an awed, "I love you," slips from her lips.

It's not hearing it back.

Their first time that is actually their first time happens a few weeks later. Rachel still hasn't let Quinn return any favors, but she has gotten a lot more practice at dry-humping, although she hasn't gotten any more graceful. They're in New Haven, and Quinn's roommate is spending the weekend in Boston with her parents, and Rachel is in her bed. They went to a movie—the latest Avengers film—and then to dinner, and now they're here. Rachel was quiet most of the evening, except to talk about the movie, and Quinn wonders what's been on her mind. Her question is met with a kiss—all teeth and tongue and breathless passion—and for the first time, Rachel seems to be the one who wants more.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asks, hope warring with apprehension, and then Rachel nods.

Her hands tremble as she undresses Quinn, hesitantly slipping her fingers under the material of her dress. Her kisses are soft again—nervous and shy. "You are so beautiful," she murmurs quietly, and Quinn feels her heart swell. She takes her time undressing Rachel—exploring every inch of flawless skin with eyes and hands and mouth. Rachel stops her when her hand grazes between her legs. "Let me take care of you first."

Quinn shakes her head. "You're always taking care of me. I want to make you feel good this time."

"Later," Rachel promises, and then her hand is teasing between Quinn's legs, and Quinn falls back against her mattress in surrender. It's the first time that Rachel has really touched her like this—the most she's ever touched her since they've been together—and it's everything Quinn has been wanting and waiting for. Rachel's touch is sure—almost practiced—almost planned. Her free hand strokes Quinn's breast, lightly teasing the nipple with muted fascination. Her lips graze against Quinn's throat, her shoulder, her chest, but don't linger anywhere for more than a few seconds. Quinn hardly notices anything but that hand—those fingers—rubbing skillful circles against her clit.

Rachel asks if it feels good, if she wants more, if she wants her inside. She gives Quinn everything she asks for until Quinn can't ask, can't speak, can only gasp and shudder and arch beneath her. When Quinn's heartbeat calms and her breathing evens out, she reaches for Rachel, pulling her body flush and kissing her deeply.

"I love you," she murmurs, and Rachel's tearful eyes meet hers for a heartbeat before they flutter closed.

"I love you too," she whispers—so quietly.

Quinn has ached for those words for so long that they're all she can hear. She kisses Rachel again, touches her body, finally presses a hand between her legs and stops there, searching. "Rachel?" she asks with mild concern.

"It's okay," Rachel promises softly, eyes still closed and forehead pressed against Quinn's shoulder. "I...I never get very wet."

Quinn doesn't know what to say to that. There's a heaviness in her chest that's hard to ignore, but Rachel is here with her, Rachel loves her, Rachel touched her and held her and made her come, and it's almost perfect. Almost. So she kisses Rachel again, slowly and thoroughly—kisses her way down Rachel's body, lingering over every curve. She gently urges Rachel's legs apart and kisses her there too—slowly and thoroughly and determinedly. She feels Rachel's fingers twist in her hair, not-gently, but not hard enough to hurt her, and she takes it as a sign that she's doing something right. Rachel's eyes are still closed, and her brow is furrowed in concentration, and her hips are moving shallowly beneath Quinn. It's enough. It's more than enough, and Rachel tastes so amazing, and Quinn could live here in this moment forever.

When Rachel comes, she comes with a quiet moan—so quiet and gentle that Quinn can barely be certain that it happened at all, but Rachel is breathing heavily and urging Quinn away with determined hands. "Rachel?" she asks again, uncertainly.

Rachel bites her lip and whispers, "Come here," and then she's hugging Quinn and holding her close. Quinn relaxes against her, breathing a little easier. She tucks Rachel into her side and closes her eyes. She's hovering on the edge of consciousness when she feels Rachel shift away, but it's too late to force her eyes to open.

Their first morning after is their last morning together. Quinn wakes up alone in her twisted sheets to find Rachel sitting on the desk chair, fully dressed and watching her with red, tearful eyes. "I can't do this," she says brokenly.

Quinn sits up, clutching the sheet. "Can't do what?" she asks in confusion.

"I'm so sorry. So, so sorry, Quinn," Rachel sobs. "I thought I could. I thought...I thought I could make this work. I wanted to...you don't know how much I wanted to, but I...I just can't."

Quinn's ears start to buzz. "I don't understand," she rasps, but she's terrified that she understands perfectly.

"I love you," Rachel says again with such anguish. "I love you so much. I do," and Quinn holds onto that hope—that dangerous ember—until Rachel sloppily wipes her tears and says, "but I'm just not physically attracted to you."

In that moment, Quinn understands what it means to feel like your heart has been ripped out. "But we...last night," she chokes, rubbing absently at her chest.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel cries, and Quinn really wants to slap her. "I thought...I thought I could make myself want you...and then everything would have been perfect...but I...I don't feel any differently now"

"You had an orgasm," but even as she says it, Quinn knows it's a terrible, desperate lie.

Rachel drops her head in shame. "I...I just wanted it to be over."

Quinn thinks about the time they've spent together—how Rachel always wanted to go slow, how that first kiss was barely a kiss and how Rachel had to think about it before she'd smiled, how she'd always been the one to pull away first, and how she'd never seemed to care about her own pleasure, never let her hands wander on Quinn's body, not even last night. Because she hadn't been affected the way Quinn was—the way she is—every, single time they touch.

"Why?" is torn from her in a guttural sob. "Why would you do this to me?"

Rachel shakes her head, eyes wide and wounded and filled with so much sorrow, but Quinn can't make herself care for Rachel's pain. "I wanted to be with you. You...you're so perfect for me. And you love me, and I...I thought if I loved you enough, everything else would fall into place. But it...it didn't. And I...I realize that I...I need that physical connection, Quinn."

"And you couldn't have figured this out months ago?" Quinn spits. "Before you strung me along and made me...made me believe that we could be h-happy. Before you made me hope."

"I'm sorry," Rachel sobs again, and it's the last straw.

"Get out," Quinn snaps.

"Q-Quinn, please..."

"Get out," Quinn growls again, standing from the bed without bothering to cover her nudity.

"I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be," Rachel bargains desperately, "but I care about you so much."

"Get out!" Quinn screams, grabbing Rachel by her upper arms and pulling her up from the chair.

"Quinn, you're hurting me," Rachel whines.

Quinn wants to laugh—she wants to howl in agony—until Rachel understands what true pain really feels like. "Get. Out," she spits in Rachel's face, grabbing her bag from the desk and pushing Rachel to the door before she wrenches it open.

"Quinn..."

"I could never hurt you half as much as you've hurt me," she says angrily, shoving her out the door. "I hate you," and in that moment, it's true. She throws Rachel's bag at her, glad when it knocks her back a step before falling to the floor with a thud. "I never want to see you again," she hisses, and she has the pleasure of watching Rachel's face crumble into ugly tears before she slams the door in her face.

Quinn collapses onto the floor, barely able to breathe around the sobs that wrack her body—every hope that she's had for the future violently smothered. Rachel has destroyed her completely.

She burns the sheets.

She burns her Metro North pass.

She burns every little memento that Rachel left behind, and she wishes that she could burn away her memory, but it stubbornly stays. It stays and taunts her from every bottle of Patron Silver that she tries to lose herself inside.

She traces the green ribbon on the bottle with trembling fingers as the tequila burns her throat, and she watches the world burn through her tears, under the fractured, falling sky.