Author's Note: Written for the Faberry Week, Day 1 - Reunion. The long awaited follow-up to the Acceptance/Remembrance oneshots. I've broken this into two parts for ease of reading.

I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta.

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

Convergence

Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice.
It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.
~William Jennings Bryan

Part I: A Matter of Choice

The first time she sees Rachel Berry (not Hudson) after high school, Quinn Fabray is not quite twenty-eight years old, wearing a brown wig and square-rimmed eye-glasses, and gazing nervously at the stage of the Westside Theatre. It's technically spring, but the temperature outside hasn't quite gotten the memo yet, and the New York weather feels particularly frosty to her thinned-out California blood. Her body is nearly as hidden as her face under a few extra layers of clothing, although she thinks that she might regret that since the theater has gotten progressively stuffier as it's filled with people.

She surreptitiously glances around to make sure that she hasn't been recognized, and she's both relieved and a little annoyed that no one sees past the surface to the person underneath the disguise. For the moment, she's only Lucy. Academy Award winning-actress Quinn Fabray is nothing more than an airbrushed face in the magazines that would never be caught alone wearing comfortable, non-designer jeans and an oversized sweater in a small Off-Broadway theater that houses a little known show. Satisfied that her anonymity is intact, she relaxes in increments, sitting back against her seat with eyes once again fastened to the stage.

The show hasn't started yet, but it's about to. She'd missed the opening night thanks to obligations that she couldn't get out of—her agent is still pissed at her for the fit she'd thrown about it and the dozen appearances that she'd made him cancel—but it's been years since she last heard Rachel Berry's voice, and she couldn't wait one moment longer. Quinn's original plan had been to find a project in New York, get settled in the city, and then make a few discreet inquiries to the whereabouts of Rachel Berry so that she could accidentally run into her somewhere, but when Santana (who'd heard from Mercedes who'd heard from Kurt) had casually mentioned that Rachel had gotten a role Off-Broadway, Quinn had immediately regrouped. There are some early talks in the works about a potential project, but Quinn wasn't about to delay her move to New York until she had a signed contract and miss seeing Rachel on a stage.

She glances at the playbill in her hand, smiling softly as her eyes trace over the grainy black and white photo of Rachel before picking out words like Off-Broadway debut and rare vocal talent. Quinn willfully forgets that Rachel should have made her Broadway debut years ago and that her name and image should be on one of those billboards in Times Square. Her career might be a few years behind schedule, but there's no doubt in Quinn's mind that Rachel Berry is going to be a star.

She's already on her way. She's gotten nothing but positive reviews in the two weeks since Reunion has opened, and there was even one particularly glowing blurb revealing how Rachel had stepped into her current role just a week before opening night when the female lead had unexpectedly quit the show. That's the Rachel Berry that Quinn had known in high school—the girl who could nail an unrehearsed performance on the fly and bring an audience to its feet.

A hush falls over the theater as the curtain rises on a sparse set, and Quinn holds her breath as she waits to discover the world that will unfold upon the stage. It takes thirteen minutes for Rachel to appear, and from that moment forward, Quinn is lost. She's sixteen again, sitting on the risers in the choir room in awe of a powerful voice and bright, shining presence. The show itself is funny and sassy and occasionally heartbreaking, and the irony of it being centered on a group of friends who haven't seen one another in years certainly isn't lost on Quinn. It's almost too easy to imagine herself into the ensemble, sharing scenes with Rachel that aren't really scenes at all. She's the pining childhood friend, the hopeful ex-lover, and the bitchy rival all rolled into one.

As the final act begins to wind down into a series of unsatisfying resolutions, Quinn nervously taps the instep of her boot against the oversized bag on the floor between her feet, careful of the small bouquet of pink roses that she'd strategically propped up against it. She's not completely certain what the protocol is for congratulatory flowers, but roses seemed like a safe bet and pink seemed like a safe color. She just wants a chance to know Rachel again—to thank her in person for everything that she'd unknowingly done to inspire her.

When the spotlight fades on the cast, the audience around her erupts in applause. The man next to her jumps up from his seat, applauding loudly and adding in a wolf whistle for good measure. Quinn smiles as she rises, adding her own applause to the hum of appreciation. A warm rush of pride swells in her heart because Rachel was every bit as amazing as Quinn remembers.

The curtain opens again as the small orchestra continues to play and, one by one, the cast jogs out on stage. Rachel isn't the last one out—the two male leads get that honor—but she does get the loudest round of applause, and her male costars drag her forward after they take their own bows and dramatically bestow kisses on the backs of her hands. Quinn laughs and claps harder.

The curtain closes for the final time, and the house lights come up. Quinn waits until the rows around her clear before gingerly collecting her bag and the flowers. She didn't want to be noticed in the audience, but she certainly isn't above using her fame to get backstage, so she seeks out an usher and asks about seeing Rachel Berry. He looks her over warily and tells her to go wait outside the stage door like everyone else. Quinn huffs and asks to see the stage manager instead. The usher rolls his eyes and refuses. She scowls at him and spins on her heel to storm away before realizing that she's still wearing the glasses and wig, and she shakes her head at her own forgetfulness. She turns her back to the few dozen people still lingering in the auditorium and discreetly pulls off her wig, fluffing her blonde hair as best as she can before she finds another usher, a young woman who looks to still be in her teens. Quinn drags the glasses down her nose and neatly folds them, tucking them into her bag as she approaches the girl with a charming smile—her Hollywood smile. The moment the girl sees Quinn, her eyes widen in recognition.

"Oh my gosh!" she squeaks excitedly. "You…y-you're Quinn Fabray!"

Quinn grimaces slightly and her head whips around, checking to see if anyone is paying attention before she turns back to the woman with another affected smile. "Yes. And I very much enjoyed the show," she says, leaning closer and coating her voice in the honeyed tones that always seem to get her exactly what she wants. "Do you think there's any way that I could possibly go backstage and meet the cast? I'd love to tell them in person how phenomenal they were."

"Oh…um…y-yeah?" the woman stammers. "Th-that shouldn't be a problem. You can…ah…you can follow me, M-Ms. Fabray."

Quinn suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at the star-struck expression etched on the woman's face. She's seen that look so many times, and it never fails to amuse her. If they only knew who she used to be—any of the whos that she used to be—they'd probably turn away in disgust.

She dutifully follows the woman out a side door and into a narrow hallway. She can feel several sets of eyes on her, and she sighs, knowing that she'll probably have to go through the motions of meeting the cast and crew with a polite smile and feigned interest once she's actually backstage. The woman stops her short of their destination with an apology and a nervous smile, explaining that she still needs to clear Quinn's presence with the stage manager. Quinn nods, absently tracing the patterns on the wall with her eyes while she runs her fingers through her hair again. She can only imagine how flat and tangled it must be from the wig. She probably should have stopped in the ladies' room first and freshened up. Why didn't she think to do that? She gives up playing with her hair to one-handedly dig through her purse, tilting her head to peer inside for her compact while she juggles the bouquet in her other hand.

"Ms. Fabray."

Quinn jumps at the unexpected boom of a masculine voice, and her eyes jerk up to see a scruffy-looking man with a wide smile and a slightly less obvious version of the familiar star-struck expression. Quinn abandons her quest for the compact and resigns herself to looking less than perfect.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you. I'm a huge fan," he gushes.

She flashes the appropriate smile. "Thank you. It's always nice to meet a fan," she trails off with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Oh, Justin," he supplies with a grin. "Justin McIlnay."

"You're the stage manager?" Quinn asks distractedly as she glances over his shoulder and sees even more people beginning to congregate around her general vicinity. She really just wants this guy to take her to Rachel.

He frowns. "I wrote the show."

Quinn feels her cheeks flame. She can hardly admit that she'd barely skimmed the program for everything that wasn't related to Rachel. She clears her throat and mutters a weak apology before falling back on her Hollywood smile again. "It was wonderful. You're very talented," she tells him honestly.

His face lights up with pride, and he begins to ramble about his inspiration and how long it took to get a backer, and Quinn smiles politely and tunes him out, scanning the immediate area for any sign of Rachel. This was probably a terrible idea. Why didn't she think this through better? She's going to have to play the gracious movie star to a bunch of strangers and probably sign autographs and pose for pictures and listen to a sales pitch for turning the musical (as wonderful as it was) into a movie while Rachel is probably quietly sneaking out of the theater. And her hair is a mess and she's wearing the most unflattering outfit ever!

"But you probably want to see Rachel now, don't you?" Justin asks with a knowing smile, abruptly pulling Quinn's attention back to him. "I can't believe she didn't tell me you were coming. She's such a sneaky little thing," he says with a shake of his head. "All this time, she's sworn up and down that the two of you lost touch after high school, but…well," he hedges, dropping his voice, "you don't just thank someone in all your acceptance speeches for no reason, now do you?" Quinn feels the unpleasant churn of nausea in her belly as she eyes the man suspiciously, but he doesn't seem to notice her discomfort. "Now that I know what that woman is capable of doing on a stage, it completely makes sense that the two of you would be friends."

Quinn swallows thickly and forces a smile. She and Rachel aren't friends. They've never been friends—not really—and her reasons for thanking Rachel are so complicated and convoluted that she's not even certain that she can properly explain them. She stifles the urge to laugh hysterically and merely nods. She wants to see Rachel. That's all that really matters right now.

Justin leads her further into the hidden recesses of the theater. She hears him making promises on her behalf—"let's allow Ms. Fabray to say hello to Rachel first," he says—and she wishes she'd thought to bring her manager or her personal assistant or even David to get her through this unscathed. David is back in Los Angeles, and she'd given her assistant the week off, and her manager (on instruction from her agent) had advised her not to do this at all, but none of that matters, because Justin is knocking on a generic dressing room door and swinging it open before anyone can object.

The room is kind of small and overcrowded. It's not private at all, merely a collection of small vanities that are obviously shared by the cast, but there's no one else inside at the moment except for…

"Rachel," she whispers, nearly soundless.

"Rachel, darling, there's someone here to say hello," Justin announces with a musical lilt before winking at Quinn.

Rachel spins on her chair, a gentle smile on her face and still flushed from the rush of the performance—or possibly scrubbing off her stage makeup—but the smile kind of freezes when her eyes land on Quinn before it slips away in steady increments.

"Quinn?"

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Justin says as he backs out of the room, blissfully unaware of the tension that's suddenly thick in the air.

Quinn licks her lips as she gazes at Rachel Berry, up close and in person, for the first time in almost ten years. Her features are so achingly familiar, but so very different in ways that run far deeper than the scattering of a few extra lines around her eyes. The final traces of the awkward teenager that Quinn had once known are completely gone now and in her place is a gorgeous woman.

"Hi, Rachel," she finally manages in a wispy voice, lifting her free hand in a moronic little wave. She drops it quickly when Rachel's eyebrows furrow, and Quinn immediately chastises herself for acting like a lost little girl. "Um…these are for you," she says with a faint grin, lifting the bouquet and weakly holding it out toward Rachel who doesn't make any move to accept it.

Quinn clears her throat and steps forward, carefully laying the roses down on the counter. Her arm accidentally brushes Rachel's shoulder, sending an unexpected shiver racing through her. Rachel inhales sharply. "What are you doing here?" she asks harshly, erasing the smile from Quinn's lips.

"I heard about the show through the grapevine," Quinn explains. "I happened to be in New York," an utter evasion of the truth, "and couldn't very well pass up the opportunity to see Rachel Berry on a Broadway stage."

"Off Broadway," Rachel mutters sullenly.

Quinn ignores the correction, offering another tentative smile. "The show was," she begins, feeling her smile transform into its most sincere version—a rarity these days. "You were amazing."

Something soft and vulnerable plays in Rachel's eyes, and Quinn feels her smile bloom wider. They're simultaneously Quinn and Rachel from Lima, Ohio, who were kind-of friends, and Oscar-winner Quinn Fabray and talk-of-Broadway Rachel Berry, but every version of them is sharing a moment. It makes her bolder. It makes her forget herself and say, "I never thought I'd have to wait this long to see you here."

In an instant, the moment disappears and Rachel's eyes flash and narrow on Quinn. "I bet you're just loving this, aren't you?" Quinn's smile disappears, and she shakes her head, uncertain what Rachel means until she hears Rachel hiss, "Seeing me like this." Rachel abruptly rises from her chair and waves her hands around the meager dressing room. "Barely getting my career off the ground at twenty-six after all the times I swore I'd be a star," she says self-derisively. "God, you must have had some really good laughs about that over the years."

Quinn gapes at her, stunned. Is that really what she thinks? "No," she attempts to protest, but the denial comes out as nothing more than a whisper. "You're wrong."

"Oh, I know," Rachel agrees sharply. "I was wrong, and you—perfect, beautiful Quinn Fabray—were right all along. You told me this would happen, but I didn't listen to you." Her voice breaks, and her eyes shine tellingly, but she doesn't break down. She only lifts her chin, glaring at Quinn. "And now you've come to gloat in person."

The accusation hurts. She hadn't known what to expect from this meeting, but for some reason, she'd hadn't imagined this. Quinn tightens her hand around the strap of her purse and takes a breath to calm herself. "I would never do that," she says evenly.

"But you did! You've been doing it for years," Rachel growls, throwing her hands out in exasperation, "rubbing my nose in my failures on national television and mocking me with every award that you've won."

Quinn gasps, staggering back a step. "Is...is that what you think I was doing?"

"What else?"

"Thanking you!" she shouts, losing the battle to stay calm. "I was thanking you, Rachel!"

"For what?" Rachel asks incredulously. "Taking Finn away from you and marrying him so you couldn't? For being stuck in Lima, giving up my dreams, while you batted your eyelashes at some Hollywood producer and...and just fell into the life that I was supposed to have? I'm sorry if I don't want your gratitude for that."

It's not the first time that Quinn has heard something like that. She's read the gossip rags. She knows that for every fan that gushes over her, there's someone who thinks that she's a talentless hack—that she only made it on her looks or on her back and that she hasn't had to put in a single day of hard work for anything. She just never thought she'd hear it from Rachel.

Rachel, who is obviously as bitter and resentful of the choices that she's made as she is of Quinn's success.

"Did you even listen to anything I said in those speeches?" Quinn finally asks, her voice a little rough.

Rachel's eyes dart away, and she drags her teeth over her lip before she takes a breath and regroups. "Well, obviously you made it sound good for the cameras," she mutters, looking everywhere but at Quinn. "That's what you're paid to do after all." She stops fidgeting and meets Quinn's gaze head on when she says, "But your last speech made your true intentions all too clear."

Quinn stares at Rachel, shaking her head as she shrugs off her purse and tosses it onto the counter. "God, you're still just as frustrating as ever!" She drags her fingers through her hair, no longer caring how it looks. "And just as egocentric."

"I'm egocentric?" Rachel squeaks in protest, crossing her arms and scowling in a perfect recreation of her younger self.

Quinn ignores her, stalking forward and invading Rachel's space. She gets a perverse pleasure watching those brown eyes widen in remembrance of past confrontations. "Newsflash, Rachel. I'm an Academy Award-winning actress," Quinn reminds her harshly. "My life does not revolve around you." Much. "I haven't spent the last nine years plotting ways to say 'I told you so.'" Just ways to see you again. "And even if I had, I sure as hell wouldn't waste my breath publicly acknowledging you in a speech when I could be using that time to thank the people who actually matter to me!"

Maybe there was a time when Quinn might have been that vindictive, though it's more likely that she'd have forgotten Rachel Berry entirely, but she hasn't been that person in a very long time. She feels a little sick discovering how Rachel sees her now. Clearly, she's regarded Rachel more highly than Rachel has regarded her. She can feel the sting of bitter tears, and she tries to blink them away.

Rachel inhales shakily. "Then why did you?" she finally asks in a weak voice.

Quinn can see the hurt in her eyes, colored with a healthy dose of confusion. She hates how easily they slipped back into their worst habits. "I don't know, Rachel! Maybe because it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Or maybe I'm actually grateful to you for helping me realize that I could make it out of Lima."

Or maybe I just care too much about you and what you think of me, even after all these years.

"I don't understand how that's even possible," Rachel admits softly. "We were barely even friends."

Quinn sighs and leans her hip against the counter, placing a palm down on the surface. Her fingers brush against petals of a rose from the bouquet, and she absently strokes it as she studies Rachel's face, picking out the mix of emotions at war there. She chews on the corner of her lip as she gathers her thoughts. "You...you told me that I was more than a pretty face," she starts quietly, lost in her memories. "That I was better than I knew. You offered me your friendship, even when I didn't want it. You saved me in so many little ways," Quinn admits quietly, thinking of how close she'd come to possibly ruining her daughter's life, along with Shelby's and her own. "Words and gestures that, by themselves, seemed so insignificant, but together," she laughs a little, shaking her head, "they really meant something to me, Rachel." She levels her gaze on the other woman, letting a soft smile curve her lips. "Some people just…stay with you."

Rachel releases a shuddery breath and ducks her head, wiping at a few stray tears that have escaped over her cheeks. An uncomfortable silence fills the room, and Quinn watches Rachel shift her weight from foot to foot while she looks everywhere but at Quinn. She sighs in disappointment, letting go of the foolish idea that maybe she's one of the people that stayed with Rachel in some kind of positive way.

Quinn is just about to wish her luck with her career and say goodbye when Rachel quietly confesses, "I've seen all of your films."

She can't help the little flutter of pleasure that takes wing in her stomach. She's never pretended that vanity isn't one of her biggest vices, and knowing that Rachel has followed her career eases some of the sting from her earlier words. "All of them?" Quinn verifies with an arched eyebrow. Her first two films hadn't exactly been high art.

Rachel grins a little, finally meeting Quinn's eyes again. "Yeah. And I," she glances away, looking embarrassed, "I've watched every episode of Bethany Hall." She chuckles at her own admission, blushing a little. "You play a very convincing antagonist."

Quinn laughs. "So I've been told."

Rachel's gaze connects with a spot over Quinn's shoulder, and her lips turn down into a thoughtful frown. "I can never decide if I resent you for your success," she says, pausing to shake her head as her eyes flutter closed, "or I'm proud to have known you. Sometimes, I think it might be both."

Quinn sags back against the counter, nodding slowly. She supposes the resentment is a natural human reaction. She can't deny that she would have felt the same way had the situations been reversed. Hell, she had resented Rachel back in high school, just knowing that her talent and ambition would get her anything she chose to pursue while Quinn hadn't dared to dream that she could be anything but a pretty former cheerleader with no future beyond a loveless marriage and a job that she'd hate.

"How do you feel about knowing me now?" Rachel looks at her with furrowed brows, and Quinn offers a tentative smile. "I'm going to be in New York for awhile. I was hoping we could…catch up. Maybe try the whole friendship thing again."

Rachel purses her lips as she gives Quinn one of those looks—the kind that always used to (and still does) make Quinn feel like Rachel is seeing straight through her. "How long are you going to be in the city?"

Quinn catches the corner of her lip between her teeth and shrugs. "I'm not really sure yet. It depends on," you, "how some current negotiations work out."

An odd little hum slips past Rachel's lips. "There are some rumors that you're planning to do a play next. That wouldn't happen to be true, would it?"

"It's a possibility," Quinn admits carefully.

Rachel's eyes narrow again, and she points a finger at Quinn. "I knew it! You are attempting to win the coveted Emmy-Grammy-Oscar-Tony combination!"

"It's not about the awards, Rachel," Quinn defends. "And even if it was, we both know that only one person in this room is capable of winning a Grammy, and it isn't me."

Rachel's finger curls back into her palm, and she drops her hand limply to her side. She runs her tongue over her lips, and Quinn has to suppress a groan as her eyes follow the motion. "Well, that is true," Rachel concedes with a sheepish grin. "Not that your voice isn't lovely."

Quinn waits for the familiar disclaimer about her being occasionally sharp or having a tremulous alto, and when it doesn't happen, she feels that little flutter of pleasure again. "Yours is better," she says, meaning it.

Rachel's smile lights up the room. "Obviously. I've had years of training to enhance my natural talent, after all."

Quinn laughs. "And there's the Rachel Berry I know and love."

She freezes when she realizes what she's said, inhaling sharply as she studies Rachel's face for any sign of awareness. Rachel's smile looks to have grown a little soft around the edges, and her cheeks seem a little pinker than they were, but she doesn't question Quinn's choice of phrase. Rachel drops her gaze to the floor. "I suppose if I want to make it into your next acceptance speech, I should take you up on that offer of friendship."

Quinn holds her breath for a moment before exhaling shakily. "I have a feeling you'll be the one winning the next award, Rachel. You really were wonderful out on that stage."

Rachel lifts her eyes, filled with the glittering stars that Quinn remembers so well from when they were teenagers, and her lips curve into the most beautiful smile. "If you keep saying things like that, Quinn Fabray, I'll have to write you into my speech."

Quinn feels her heart race, and she absently presses a palm there. If she'd had any doubt about how easily she could fall for this woman all over again, it's just been obliterated. She's probably only setting herself up for heartache again, but she can't resist the temptation. It's a chance she'd never thought she'd have. "Or…you could thank me by letting me buy you dinner," she offers, holding her breath again.

Rachel's eyebrows furrow adorably. "I think you have that a little backwards."

"No. I have it exactly right," Quinn insists.

Rachel stares at her for a long moment before she murmurs a hesitant, "Okay."

Quinn bites into her lip to keep from smiling too widely. It's only dinner—a tentative beginning—but it's one step closer to where she wants to be. All the missed opportunities and diverging paths have still somehow led them here, and where they'll end up is anyone's guess, but maybe—just maybe—they can walk down this road together and end up somewhere wonderful. For the first time in a long time, Quinn is looking forward to the journey.