Rachel should have known that being confined to her apartment with four kids wasn't going to be a walk in the park. She really didn't know what had possessed her to volunteer herself up as a babysitter.

All right, that was a lie; she did know, and the way the afternoon was turning out really wasn't making her feel any better. She'd been hoping for some reassurance that she could deal with all of the kids and manage it all effortlessly.

She huffed out a breath as her hands settled on her hips and she surveilled the living room. It was a decently sized living space, she reminded herself, when it wasn't looking like this. This as in a discarded Game of Life box with some of the pieces still scattered around on the table, pillows and blankets from a fort that had gone so very wrong strewn on the floor, and the chair and couch both taken up.

It was hard to think that this had all happened within the time frame of two hours.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when there was a hand tugging on hers, and she was met with pleading blue eyes, "Can we please go outside, Auntie Rachel?"

Kurt and Blaine's five-year-old son, James, was the picture of the word adorable, and despite the fact that she felt this close to frazzled, his little smile broke her down enough to smile back. The smile was tinged with regret, though, as she looked out the window to where the snow was coming down thick and heavy, "I already told you that we can't. No one has their snow clothes here."

And though Rachel had debated all of them going out and to the park or something more than once, if nothing else to burn off excess energy, it just would be irresponsible.

James sighed and nodded, before he threw himself back into playing. James being here on Saturday afternoons was nothing new; his voice lesson ended at the same time as Rachel's weekend rehearsal for her upcoming show, and was only a block away, so several times a month she would pick him up and let Kurt and Blaine have the afternoon to themselves.

Which had been the case today.

However, on James' typical afternoons here, he didn't usually have other children to play with, which apparently really spiked up his energy level. Of course, having a seven-year-old boy who enjoyed wrestling wasn't helping anything at all, and she grimaced when Quinn's nephew, Alex, challenged James.

It was when they rolled over one another and nearly went sprawling into the living room table that had her jumping to action, "Okay, that's certainly enough of that."

She knelt down to where they were and started to pry them apart, which was easy because Alex flopped onto his back and groaned, "I'm bored."

Rachel was entirely too aware of that fact.

Quinn's sister Frannie had flown in the night before from Indiana. She was staying in a hotel but had arrived at the apartment hours ago, wanting to join Quinn on the trip she was making to the airport to pick up their mother and Rachel's dads, who were both, mercifully, on the same flight.

Alex's sister, Liz, sighed as she set the book she'd been reading down on her lap. She'd joined in for the Game of Life, but had deserted the blanket fort in order to curl up on the chair and read, "I am, too."

Oh, great. Now three out of four were bored. She was an entertainer, and apparently she couldn't even entertain a group of children! She sat back on her heels and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Board games didn't work, forts were out, no one could agree on a movie… what had she been thinking when she'd told the Fabray sisters that she would be completely fine with not only James but both Alex and Liz as well?

Not to mention Beth, who was laying down on the couch, holding up her phone, texting. She wasn't causing any problems, but she'd refused to get off of her phone and couldn't be enticed into anything else since she'd arrived. Though, Rachel was trying to tell herself that it wasn't anything personal and that it was just how fourteen-year-olds acted these days.

When she'd been fourteen, she'd had game night with her fathers every week!

Though even without the lens of hindsight, Rachel knew that she hadn't been the average teen. Shelby and Beth had been in the city for the past week, ever since Beth's school had let out for winter break, for a little vacation. And Rachel knew even without Shelby telling her that Beth was more than a little put out that her mother wasn't going to let her stay alone in their hotel room while she did some last minute holiday shopping.

Despite the fact that they were going on their fourth year of marriage and tenth year together, she and Quinn had never had all of their family out to New York to see them at the same time. This was the first time, and she wanted it to go perfectly.

Out of habit for when she was stressed, her right hand came up to fiddle with her wedding ring. She still had an hour to go here without other adult company, at the very least, and probably more given the inclement weather they were experiencing.

Dark eyes dropped to the ring, and she thought of her wife's surprised yet quietly pleased smile when she'd volunteered to stay behind with the gaggle of children, saying that she had it under control.

The thought of it calmed her enough that she managed to take in a deep breath – maybe it wasn't going according to the Sound of Music-esque afternoon plan she'd had originally thought of, but she could still manage this.

After patting James lightly on the shoulder and hoping that translated to him that she didn't want any more wrestling, she stood and looked at Liz, who was now quietly tapping her fingers against the back cover of the book, "What are you reading?"

The young girl curled her feet up under her as she sighed, her bottom lip sticking out a bit in a pout, "It doesn't matter. I finished it."

That was something she could possibly help with, and Rachel was a second away from offering to look for another book before she bit her own words back. She just didn't think Quinn had anything that would match the eleven-year-old's tastes. And she knew that none of her limited selection of Broadway theatres and the stars that illuminated them would interest her.

Liz was apparently of the same state of mind, "When's Aunt Quinn coming back? She always tells the best stories."

Before she could even think of looking up the status of the flight Quinn and Frannie were waiting on, James popped up to sit from where he'd been laying on the ground, "Aunt Rachel can tell us a story! She tells me stories all of the time, and they're really good."

She paused for a moment, taking in his words, as a smile automatically crept up on her face at the praise. Granted, the stories she often told James when it was just the two of them were re-tellings of Broadway shows, but still, "A story?"

She had no way of knowing that the mention of a story would garner Liz, James, and Alex's attention, but it did, and three eager sets of young eyes were suddenly on her. Honestly, if she'd known a story was all it took to garner this kind of attention, she would have jumped to it before the destruction of her living room. And because Rachel was nothing if not the ultimate entertainer – though, admittedly, storytelling was not her typical forte, she nodded slowly and made her way to sit at the end of Beth's couch.

The teenager remained on her phone, but moved her feet, and Rachel wondered, "What kind of story do you want to hear?" She was thinking of perhaps a dramatic re-telling of Funny Girl – it was always a crowd pleaser. Though, James was her only crowd, but… who wouldn't love it?

"Something with music!" James suggested, as he bounced slightly – was it ever any doubt who his parents were? She didn't think so.

But Funny Girl was looking like a very viable option, and she gave him a warm smile. She even had some costume bits she'd kept from her three year run as Fanny Brice in the Broadway revival a few years ago, which would make for a fabulous impromptu show.

"Something with fights!" Alex interjected, remaining sprawled out on the floor, but throwing his arm into the air in a mock-punch.

That made Funny Girl look like a much less valid choice.

"Something with a happy ending," Liz contributed.

Rachel was considering her options, before Beth peered up from her phone, "Why don't we just make it a fairytale?"

Her voice was sarcastic, and it made Rachel frown as she threw her a look. But then she took in a deep breath as the idea hit her, "I just might have the perfect story." It technically fit the criteria.

The words recaptured their interest – all except for Beth – and she settled in to the couch, crossing her legs as she cleared her throat, "Once upon a time, just before midsummer –"

"When's midsummer?" Liz asks.

Rachel was grateful for the performance she'd done of A Midsummer Night's Dream in college, as some of the background information had stuck with her, "It's, um, in June." Okay, maybe the background information hadn't stuck with her as much as she liked to believe. But the kids didn't question it, and she continued, "Two girls –"

This time it was James who stopped her, "What are their names?"

Rachel caught herself before she said their actual names, and ran her tongue over her lip before she frowned, "Their names? Um, their names are…" the imagery flashed into her mind, making her smile, "Goldilocks and Tinkerbell."

Beth snorted, and Rachel reached out to squeeze her foot lightly in retribution, "As I was saying: that summer was a summer for Goldilocks and Tinkerbell to discover themselves. And, it turned out, each other…"


Lima really hadn't changed at all in two years. Not that Rachel really thought that it would, exactly, but she was used to New York now. And sometimes it felt like New York City could change on a dime.

Being back for the summer really hadn't been something she'd planned on. Contrary to some people's – her dad's – beliefs, the summer between sophomore and junior year could be crucial. It wasn't like she was dramatic enough – anymore – to believe that not being in New York for the summer would make or break her career, but she'd had it all figured out.

The plan was going to be to stay in the city with Kurt at their apartment, work in the café down the street that she'd gotten a job at last summer, and perform in the summer production at NYADA.

And yet, here she was, back in Ohio. Her plan of leaving Lima after graduation and never looking back had only panned out for such a short amount of time. High school was something she was ready to leave behind: an ex-boyfriend who she'd had a messy breakup with, a glee club half full of football players that she didn't get along with that had nearly ruined her chance at winning Nationals, and a handful of bullies she wouldn't blink at twice on the street.

However, there had been one very specific event that served as the catalyst that led to her return: her fathers were moving, and perhaps she didn't care much for Lima itself, but she had extremely fond memories in her childhood home. Plus this was time for her to clean out all of her belongings for good. She had much of what she would be keeping from her adolescent room already at her apartment, but she didn't want to overlook anything.

Besides, ever since she'd made her decision to return, she'd realized that this summer could be cathartic for her. The new plan was to use this time to let go of Lima and the past for good.

Not that she was really holding on to much from those days – aside from her dads and Kurt – and Blaine by proxy of Kurt. But… there was one thing here that she had to resolve, a little more.

And that one thing was Shelby, who moved to Lima in the last year. About four months ago, to be precise. Shelby Corcoran. Her mom. Her birth mother, she mentally corrected, though she didn't really know why. It's not like anyone else was in her head to hear her thoughts.

She hadn't seen Shelby in nearly five years and then out of the blue, she'd received a letter from her, saying that she would like to give their relationship another chance, if Rachel wanted to. She'd put the letter away in her desk in uncertainty, and tried her best to forget about it. That time in sophomore year with Shelby had been one of the worst times in her life, and she wasn't keen on reliving any of it.

But then her fathers told her about the move and leaving her childhood home and town. And that letter in her drawer was calling out to her, louder and louder, until she couldn't ignore it anymore. She broke, and now she was here.

Here. Right outside of Shelby's house. Or, what she presumed to be Shelby's house, given the return address on the envelope. She really probably should have called first. In fact, maybe it would be better if she left now, then called to set up an appointment.

Her hand was already hovering over the key in the ignition before she dropped it to her thigh and stroked down the fabric of her skirt. No. She was already here, and she wasn't going to leave without just… doing it.

With a deep breath, she shut the car off and stepped into the hot summer air, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. It was pretty, she thought. Tidy. A nice suburban home. She really had no idea what to expect when it came to Shelby – what her style was, what kind of home she would want to live in.

She shook her shoulders out as she made her way up the well-groomed walkway, murmuring to herself, "You can do this, Rachel. This is just one person, and you are bound to dazzle thousands."

And that was the absolute truth, "Shelby cutting ties was her loss. And now she knows it."

Okay, that was definitely the truth, and it gave her exactly the boost she needed to lift her hand and knock at the front door. The butterflies that she wasn't used to feeling fluttered in her stomach for a few seconds, as she waited.

And waited.

Nearly a minute later, she bit her lip and knocked again. The butterflies slowly died as confusion took over – there was most definitely a car right there in the driveway. If Shelby had seen her and now purposefully wasn't answering the door…

Well, Rachel was glad that she'd been taught much better manners than that.

Maybe it wasn't the right address? Taking a step back to double check the house number just confirmed what she already knew – definitely the right address. Her stomach was sinking and she couldn't tell if she was feeling just let down or irritated or something more – likely a combination.

A deep frown set into her features, and she stepped back once more, albeit reluctantly. As much as she hated to admit it, it had taken her a little bit of time to work up the courage to come here today. It was the first week of June, she'd been in Lima for a week already, and in this morning alone, she'd procrastinated more than she cared to say.

She'd woken up early enough to go for a run, make herself and her dads breakfast, and call Kurt to have an in-depth discussion about the cute boy who had taken over for her at the café and his chances on being interested in men. Rachel, personally, found that the odds were unfavorable, though Kurt disagreed. Not that it mattered, when he was dating Blaine.

Her arms crossed over her chest and she sighed and stepped off of the small porch. Perhaps this was a sign. A sign that –

Hold on.

There were several abilities Rachel prided herself on. Flawless tone and pitch were first, naturally, but she also had impeccable hearing. And she was positive that she could hear someone saying… something.

Curious, she walked toward the side of the house, and – aha! She knew she'd heard it. Perhaps that was why Shelby hadn't answered the door? Because she'd been outside and didn't hear her knocking?

The thought was a slight comfort, and she debated following it for only a moment before curiosity got the better of her, and she started walking around to the back of the house. And the closer she got, the more she could make out the actual words being said.

"Come on… come on," the words were low and whispered, and she commended herself for hearing it from the front of the house.

She already had a strange feeling about this, even before she peeked around the side of the house. And then positively gaped, because the person fiddling with the back door was most definitely not Shelby.

She might not have seen her birth mother in over four years, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she did not have that petite build and blonde hair. Her eyebrows drew together as her mouth fell open in shock as it dawned on her; someone was breaking into the house!

In broad daylight!

And this was her – well, her birth mother's house!

Quickly, keeping a watchful eye on the back of the intruder, she reached for her phone. Despite having already unlocked it and pulled up the dial pad, she hesitated before she completed the 911 call. Should she call the police? Dark eyes flitted between her phone and the woman who appeared to be well on her way breaking into the home.

Though crime in Lima was very low, Rachel knew from experience – the time someone had spray painted her house and her dads called to report a hate crime – that the police force was certainly not on their toes.

Rachel took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders for good measure; she knew what she had to do. She would be remiss to say that she was a young woman who lived in New York City and had no measure by which to defend herself. After reading about a series of muggings in their area a few months after moving to the city, she and Kurt had taken a handful of self-defense classes.

She just never thought she would have to put them to use in Lima instead of New York.

With measuring, critiquing eyes, she took in the person breaking into the home. A slim woman, a little taller than herself, who didn't look overtly muscular. She could handle her; after all, she'd once read that as soon as you fought back against – okay, in the article she'd read, it was about a mugger and not an intruder, but they didn't seem all that different – they would run away.

For good measure, she actually dialed 911 and left the called screen up and ready to actually be called, before quietly and gently crouching to put her phone against the house. Far away enough to not be damaged in any sort of altercation, but close enough that she could probably get to it if things got out of hand. Just in case.

Giving herself a quick mental pep-talk, she narrowed her eyes in determination. And with a running leap – the likes of which a ninja just might be proud of – she jumped onto the back of the woman.

And because of the angle the blonde had been standing at, Rachel had a close-up view of the way her head slammed into the doorframe. She almost grimaced in sympathy for a second before she remembered that she shouldn't feel badly for hurting a robber.

But the blonde didn't go down, instead, she wobbled on her feet, and the movements almost knocked Rachel off of her back. Before she could let herself panic, her mind raced through the self-defense steps she'd been taught. What was supposed to happen now?! She'd just have to wing it.

She grasped at the blonde's arm, and tried to twist it behind her back. This was more of a move from cop shows, but it seemed to work on television. But even when she had her hand wrapped around a smooth wrist, the burglar wasn't going down easily.

In fact, it was the opposite of easily, and Rachel was struggling to hold her in place as she panted out, "Just stay where you are," in the most authoritative tone of voice she could muster when she was struggling to detain a criminal.

Unfortunately, it didn't deter the woman she was trying to hold down – who was surprisingly strong and crafty, and she got back a grunted out, "What the fuck?"

The register of her voice rang a distantly familiar bell in the back of Rachel's mind, and she blamed that split second of her losing her focus as the reason why she was able to be thrown off of the blonde's back. Unfortunately for the intruder in question, the move also threw her off balance, and they both went down.

Luckily for Rachel, the majority of her fall was braced on the other woman, and despite the pain in her knees upon impacting with the ground, she felt triumphant. But just because the blonde was face-down on the ground didn't mean she was giving up, and she wiggled and shifted under her.

Rachel bit her lip and darted her eyes toward her phone. She definitely couldn't reach it from here. She should have kept it on her, because this was becoming much more difficult than she'd imagined, "This will go a lot easier if you just give up!"

A lot easier for me.

A very shapely butt bucked up underneath her high enough to make contact and Rachel yelped, because a skirt might not have been the best thing to wear for this endeavor, as she had her legs on either side of the woman.

But maybe that was all a part of the girl's plan, because in the few moments that she was thrown off, she felt the body under hers roll over, the blonde finagling her way onto her back. Crap, Rachel knew that this was not a good sign.

What had she been doing during the self-defense classes that distracted her from the next step? As quickly as she could, she did the first thing that came to mind, which was to reach out and wrap her hands around slim wrists again, holding them to the ground.

Until the hips under hers bucked again between her thighs in an attempt to throw her off, as that voice spoke again, "Seriously, what the hell?"

Rachel could have sworn that voice was ringing bells in her head, and it was for that reason that she took her eyes off of her phone and she looked down at the woman she'd taken down. The woman whose arms she had pinned as she panted over her with exertion as she regretted not calling the police – though how could she have known this thief would have such a fighting spirit?

The woman who, she could tell as soon as her eyes focused, was… "Quinn? Quinn Fabray?" she could hear how incredulous her own tone was.

Her stomach nearly bottomed out in shock, and her grip went slack with it, but she barely even realized because she was simply dumbfounded. For a few seconds, she was convinced that she must have been mistaken.

But that thought disappeared almost as quickly as it came, because there was literally no way to mistake that face. A face she hadn't seen in two years, but she'd been very familiar with it in high school.

The blonde hair that had so often been pulled back into a strict ponytail now was down and was fanned out over the ground like a halo, and cheekbones that Rachel swore could cut glass, and those golden green eyes that she realized were now burning up at her – it all culminated into this gorgeous package.

A gorgeous package that had made Rachel's adolescence less than pleasant, but was undeniably attractive either way. She'd always thought so.

But damn her surprise! It threw her off; made it too easy for Quinn to one-up her and before she even knew what was going on, Rachel was on her back. The former cheerleader's weight was settled snugly over her hips, hazel eyes burning with fury as she reversed their positions entirely and held Rachel's hands down. Her breaths were ragged, leaving her chest heaving, and Rachel could see the exact moment that realization dawned in those eyes, "Berry?"

Rachel didn't even struggle anymore; sometimes it was best to know when you've been beaten. Especially when you had a clearly leanly muscled ex-athlete straddling you, even though Rachel was pretty sure that she could have taken her if she hadn't been so surprised.

And on that note, her gaze darted back to the door Quinn had been trying to break open and then back to that beautiful but furious face. Confusion trickled in – and maybe a smidge of curiosity – as she tilted her head, "I never would have thought that you would have resorted to a life of petty crime since high school."

She hadn't seen Quinn since graduation, and she hadn't heard anything about her, either. Which wasn't surprising, given the fact that their relationship consisted primarily of Quinn slushy-ing her, drawing pornographic pictures of her, and insulting her femininity in their early days. The pre-pregnancy days, as Rachel thought of them.

Then when Quinn had reclaimed her Head Cheerio status the following year, she'd been much more lax on the bullying, but their relationship still wasn't what Rachel would classify as anything resembling a friendship.

Quinn's eyes narrowed dangerously at her comment – it might have been years, but Rachel recognized that look, and it still made her squirm a little. Or attempt to, because was found with a shiver that she was kind of held down between the blonde's thighs. She vaguely wondered if it was all of the exercise of being a Cheerio in her youth that made her legs this strong, or if she'd kept up on her workout regimen since.

Though, if Quinn was going to be robbing houses, Rachel supposed she would need her strength.

The effect Quinn's glare had on her was marginally different now than it used to be, though, because she is no longer fourteen or a "loser." Okay, some of the effects were still the same. But not the ones where she felt any bit intimidated.

Quinn's shrewd eyes hadn't left her face as she demanded again, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Okay, Quinn might have had her pinned, but Rachel didn't see the need for that tone, especially when she was clearly the one who had been doing the right thing! She glared right back, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I asked you first," Quinn challenged with a damnably perfect eyebrow lift.

Rachel rolled her eyes at the logic and inwardly mocked it before answering the obvious, "I was stopping you from breaking and entering into a home!"

But rather than give her the explanation she was waiting for, Quinn's glare slowly fell away and she was just staring down at Rachel with an expression she couldn't place, but she knew that there was amusement in there, "Oh, was that what that was?"

"It worked, didn't it?" she tilted her chin up superiorly and matched Quinn's stare with her own. She wouldn't be cowed by the blonde years ago, and she certainly wasn't going to back down now.

Then the hands that were around her wrists tightened momentarily, as Quinn all but growled out, "Who came out on top, Berry?"

The words sent a surprising shiver through her, as did the grip of the blonde's hands. It wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it certainly was a power move. A move that let Rachel know who was in charge here, and that it most certainly wasn't her.

She swallowed thickly at the thrill that shot through her and settled in the pit of her stomach, and dark eyes widened. Not that she should be so surprised – Quinn was the prettiest girl she'd ever met, and that hadn't changed a bit.

She tracked her gaze up to meet Quinn's once more, as she cleared her throat, "Well, it appears that you have come out on top. But be that as it may, I also managed to stop you from breaking and entering," she pointed out as a triumphant smile once again returned to tilt up the corners of her mouth.

Besting Quinn in a verbal spar had always been something that had made her feel like she was on the top of the moon, and apparently that hadn't changed, either.

The blonde huffed out a breath and shook her head before she grimaced. And Rachel could tell that she was on the verge of saying something –

"What in the world is going on here?"

Which definitely wasn't Quinn's voice, and both Rachel and the girl on top of her jumped at the sound of it. She turned towards Shelby, who was standing a few feet away with a bag of groceries dangling from her wrist.

Rachel had somehow in the last ten minutes completely forgotten about where she was and the whole reason she was here. The reason who was now standing on front of her – in front of them – and staring with wide, questioning eyes.

The moment she'd been in was long gone, as that nervous feeling that had earlier dissipated came rushing back in full force.

Shelby's arrival also seemed to force Quinn to attention, as she quickly pushed herself up and away from Rachel. She feebly brushed herself off, before shakily reaching out to brace a hand on the door, her face looking pale.

And to Rachel's compounding surprise, it was Quinn who answered her birth mother, "I was trying to um-jam the lock on the door that you'd mentioned before you left, when she appeared out of nowhere and tried to tackle me." Quinn jerked her head toward Rachel, but then hissed in pain and pressed a hand to her forehead, eyes closing.

When Shelby's concerned and confused eyes tracked back to Rachel, she felt herself flush. For several reasons, really. She'd showed up without any announcement, attempted to – and practically succeeded to – beat up Quinn who for some strange twist of cruel fate was also here and knew Shelby, and for the first time in five years was found by her birth mother, pinned to the ground by an injured, angry ex-cheerleader.

She was still on the ground as she looked up to meet Shelby's eyes, her own similarly wide, and her heart just pounded. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure she was going to be sick. The first time she'd seen Shelby, she had been fifteen, and it had felt startlingly similar to this. In a bad way.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up. She wasn't fifteen anymore, she reminded herself, and offered Shelby a tentative wave, after she smoothed out her skirt, "Hello."

It offered her a small comfort to see that the older woman looked similarly stunned at the turn of events. She breathed out, "Rachel," as her eyebrows drew together in confusion before she snapped back to look at Quinn, "Where's Beth?"

Quinn opened her eyes again, though she still leaned a bit on the doorframe, as she gestured right in through the back slider, "She's napping. Right there, in the living room. She's not – I didn't leave her alone," her words came out as a promise. A quiet, serious tone as she regarded Shelby.

It wasn't a tone she thought she'd ever heard from Quinn before, and she thought she might have been more interested in it – if it wasn't happening at this particular moment.

Shelby didn't share any of her confusion, though, as she accepted Quinn's words with a nod, before her eyes darted up to the blonde's forehead, which was rapidly starting to bruise, "Why don't we move this into the house? Quinn, you look like you could use some ice for your head."

Quinn's eyes were narrowed, in pain or confusion Rachel didn't know, but she nodded briefly and opened the door. Which Rachel sighed at because clearly Quinn hadn't been breaking in. The door had never really been keeping her out.

Shelby walked by her, pausing for a moment, before she followed the blonde inside and left the door ajar for Rachel to follow. Rachel wasn't entirely sure she wanted to follow. Actually, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she didn't want to.

She didn't know who "Beth" was, this entire reunion was already an utter disaster, and frankly, she thought that her efforts would be better spent at home, helping her dad pack up the basement. Organizing some boxes right now might make her feel better, at any rate.

Regardless of the summation of reasons why it would be better for her to leave, her feet didn't seem to get the memo, and as soon as she grabbed her phone, she was following them inside, gently closing the slider behind her.

Shelby was not in view, and Rachel wasn't going to traipse through her home to find her, so she stood still, just inside the living room, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked around, and then paused upon making eye contact with Quinn.

The blonde was sitting on the couch, her cheeks pale, which made the bruised lump Rachel had caused stand out starkly, but her eyes were open as she regarded Rachel with a look she didn't quite know how to decipher.

And it wasn't until then that Rachel noticed a sleeping toddler on the couch. When did a toddler become a child? Maybe this was a young child. Rachel didn't know; the most interaction she'd had with children was when she'd help babysit her newborn cousin, years ago. Regardless, the sleeping girl was nestled in a blanket to ward off the air conditioning.

She had dark blonde curls and a cute little face, and Rachel presumed that this toddler child was Beth, but she was confused as to what was even happening. Until she took a moment to really look around the room to see signs.

Like the coloring pictures and crayons on the table, and the neat stack of kids movies next to the television, and the amount of little shoes in the shoe rack – the signs that a child lived here.

Lived here, with Shelby. It took a few long moments for it to really dawn on her that this was Shelby's child. A child that she hadn't had when she'd told Rachel she didn't want to be in her life, but had clearly gotten sometimes soon after, and wow, that really hurt.

She sucked in a breath and curled her hands into loose fists to try and stave off that feeling like her heart was about to start aching, and forced herself to look back at Quinn.

Maybe they were never friends and maybe she had just beat her up outside, but Quinn was the only thing in this room that was at all familiar. And her bemusement returned when she saw that Quinn was no longer looking at her, but was instead looking at the little girl.

Rachel's memory was fabulous, and she couldn't forget the nine months that Quinn had been pregnant in high school. And she knew – like everyone else at McKinley because it was common knowledge and not because she was overly interested in information about Quinn Fabray, as Kurt used to like to say she was – that Quinn had given the baby up for adoption.

And the girl's age looked like it would be about right. Her eyes widened in recognition as everything clicked together and… this afternoon was turning into some bizarre horror movie! She was now entirely certain that she shouldn't have stayed. Or even come.

"Why do you look like you're about to be sick when I'm the one who most likely has a concussion?" Quinn asked, her voice low, as to not wake up Beth.

Rachel looked back at Quinn, and once again, the familiar face – despite the overload of information that was making her feel slightly sick – calmed her a little bit, even as she exhaled an irritated breath, "I thought you were a criminal!"

Quinn nailed her with a look as she drawled, "So obviously the first thing you choose to do is attack me with some really great moves."

Insulted, her mouth fell open, "They worked, didn't they? You can argue it all you want, but only one of us is injured here."

The words came out before she could really think about it, and then she frowned. She wasn't actually proud of injuring Quinn. Now that she knew who she was and that she wasn't a thief, of course.

But she supposed it worked with her argument.

That eyebrow lifted again, "I could have injured you, Berry, even after you attacked me. But I chose not to. You should probably thank me for my restraint."

"I think you have a problem accepting defeat," the years old observation slipped out with a nodded. Head cheerleader, most popular girl in school – and she certainly hadn't taken kindly to the idea of Rachel dating her ex-boyfriend.

Quinn scoffed, "Defeat? You jumped on my back like some sort of tiny tots monkey wrestler, and you were still on your back in the end."

The phrasing gave Rachel a second of pause, and then the clearing of a throat from the doorway got both of their attention. Shelby walked in slowly, handing Quinn an ice pack – one that Rachel noted was shaped like a cartoon whale, farther confirmation that this Beth lived here – before she paused and looked back and forth between them.

Shelby cracked an extremely cautious smile, and Rachel could see the unease in the edges because she felt like she'd seen the same thing in her own smiles a time or two in the mirror, "I guess it looks like you two know each other."

Even though the comment was light, it didn't make either Rachel or Quinn crack a smile. Quinn, at the very least, murmured, "Yeah…"

After a few moments of trying to process, Rachel cleared her throat, "Quinn and I went to high school together."

Which she assumed Shelby should know, considering it appeared she'd adopted Quinn's daughter. But more than Rachel wanted answers and the entire detailed story, she wanted to make her exit.

She wondered if Shelby could read her mind, because as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, her birth mother's gaze flitted to the still-sleeping girl and then back to her, "Rachel, can I talk to you? In the kitchen," she tilted her head back.

And without waiting for a response, she walked back through the doorway. Rachel met Quinn's questioning gaze momentarily before following. She was met with the view of Shelby standing in front of a kitchen counter, with her hands interlocked in front of her, and a pleading look on her face. As soon as she saw Rachel, she took a deep breath, "Rachel, I – I have no idea you were coming. This… it's not how I wanted this all to go. I had this plan of how I was going to tell you about Beth and an idea of how you could meet her. It's just that you never answered my letter or called, so I didn't –"

The reality of it all crashed down on her again, standing here in Shelby's kitchen while her daughter napped in the next room, and Rachel was unsure if she was going to give in to the nausea in her stomach as she shook her head, "I think I should just go."

It was probably for the best; she had a lot to do, and not just packing. She had an audition to prepare for, after all, and Rachel knew better than anyone that you could never be too prepared.

She'd only taken a step before Shelby reached out and touched her arm. Only for a second, before her hand dropped, "Rachel, wait –"

The words only served to spur her onward, and she walked backwards through the door, doing her best to look apologetic. It wasn't very hard; she was sorry she came, "No, I – it's a bad time. I should have called first."

Honestly, what had she been thinking, just showing up like this? She'd given up on random surprise visits to most people years ago – unless there was good reason, of course. But there was no good reason for this one. She really should have called.

"You don't have to always call," Shelby said with a sigh from behind her, but Rachel was already back in the living room and heading towards the door she'd entered from, only giving a quick look at the couch.

Quinn was laying back with a grimace, her eyes closed, and the ice pack held to her forehead. Which served for a nice helping of guilt to tack on to this afternoon, and she contemplated saying anything. But the, "Goodbye, Quinn," that slipped out just happened, really.

Hazel eyes flipped open, somewhat blearily, and Shelby stepped forward, slipping around Rachel, as she walked over to where Quinn and Beth were, "Actually, Rachel, I was thinking that maybe you could give Quinn a ride home? I'd hate for her to be driving with her head like this."

For a few moments, silence beat between them, as she looked between Shelby and Quinn. The latter of whom was also staring at Shelby, as if she was wondering why she'd even spoken.

She wasn't terribly excited about the idea – in the twenty minutes that she'd been "reunited" with Quinn, she'd possibly concussed her and discovered that the web that connected their lives went beyond petty insults and ex-boyfriends, and not in a way that Rachel was even sure she wanted to know more about.

But, all of that aside, Quinn was looking fairly unwell. She'd always had a fair complexion, but in a delicate, unblemished, peaches-and-cream kind of way. That pallor wasn't natural. And regardless of whether Quinn reverted back to her old ways of insulting her or not, Rachel refused to be responsible for an injury that perhaps led to Quinn getting into a car accident and harming herself or others.

Fixing a small smile on her face, she nodded, "Um, sure. Of course." As long as we can leave as soon as possible, she added silently.

But Quinn was slowly shaking her head, "No, I'll drive myself. I'll be fine to stay here to say goodbye to Beth when she wakes up."

Shelby hesitated, before she shook her head, "Please, I would feel my more comfortable if you picked up your car tomorrow. And Beth and I have to get ready to go to my parents' house for dinner, anyway. We can wake her up now."

"I, too, would feel more comfortable with you off of the roads," Rachel added, causing them both to look at her, Quinn with narrowed eyes.

She relented with a sigh, "I guess that might be for the best," she acknowledged, before looking back to the sleeping girl as Shelby looked at her.

And Rachel really did not want to witness any of what was going to follow, so she reached for the door handle, "I'll meet you in my car. It's the black Subaru Legacy –"

"I'm sure I'll be able to manage, Berry," Quinn told her, voice dry.

"I was merely trying to help," she informed her, before switching her gaze back to Shelby, and she was unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, her birth mother spoke first, "I hope I'll see you again soon."

As Rachel was not in the habit of making promises she wasn't positive she'd be keeping, she didn't comment on that, "Have a nice dinner."

With that, she escaped into the fresh air and breathed a sigh of relief. The humid air was more of a relief than the air conditioning for once. But she didn't wait before going back to the car, and she briefly wondered how long she would be waiting. Quinn didn't seem very interested in leaving – or maybe she just hadn't been interested in leaving with her.

But within a few minutes, Quinn exited – through the front door – and made her way toward Rachel's car, eyes narrowed against the sun and walking a little slowly.

She started to drive as soon as Quinn was buckled in, and she for once didn't mind the silence in the car, as she was mostly still reeling from the events that had just taken place.

And that feeling lasted for only a few minutes – the silence not bothering her, not the processing the afternoon aspect; that was most likely going to take a little while – before she started shooting Quinn glances from the corner of her eye.

If today was from an alternate reality, she would have been less surprised. Because it all felt crazily unreal. Everything at Shelby's house, and she would be lying if she said that having Quinn Fabray here in her car wasn't the icing on the craziness of it all.

Quinn, who remained seated with her head tilted back and her mouth set in a firm line. She hadn't looked pleased upon leaving Shelby's, and Rachel didn't think it was simply because of her head injury. Though, she couldn't say for sure.

Unable to help herself, she cleared her throat, "So, Beth is…" and she nearly held her breath as she waited for confirmation.

"My daughter," Quinn informed her after a few seconds of pause, and really she just sounded tired. Those eyes slotted open, enough so that Rachel could see the questioning look she was receiving, "And Shelby's your mom?"

Her mouth opened but just a breath came out as her stomach twisted unpleasantly, "Birth mother, yes." Quinn accepted her words with a slight nod, before she gingerly rested her head back again. And Rachel took a second to observe her again.

Quinn Fabray, sitting in her car. Not in a Cheerios uniform. What kind of coincidence was that? She didn't like to think of herself to let moments pass her by, so she shook her head slightly to clear it before asking lightly, "So if you haven't been leading a life of crime since high school, what have you been up to?"

"No offense, but my head is kind of killing me, and talking doesn't help," Quinn murmured and hissed out a breath.

Rachel rolled her eyes, before she realized – no offense? If she wasn't driving, she might have positively gaped at the blonde. Okay, maybe the tiny tot monkey wrestler comment hadn't been exactly nice earlier, but she'd never heard a "no offense" from Quinn before, either. She was almost even more curious about what Quinn had been up to now.

Alas, she acquiesced. It wasn't like the silence lasted for much longer, anyway. This was Lima, and she pulled up in front of Quinn's house within minutes, "Assuming your family still lives here… we're here."

The blonde opened her eyes, and peered out the window up at the imposing house before back at Rachel and giving her that curious look again, "How did you know where I lived?"

She felt herself blush for a moment – because maybe she had had a bit of a fascination with Quinn in high school, something she hadn't even really understood or acknowledged until looking back into her memories from months after graduation – before she settled on, "Well, you were the most popular girl in school. A lot of people knew where you lived."

Quinn just hummed in response, a flippant sound before she let out a small groan and sat up, "Thanks for the ride."

"It wasn't a problem," and it really wasn't; not only was she guilty for causing the painful looking lump on her head, but Quinn's house was less than a ten minute drive from her own.

She looked beyond Quinn to see up the long walkway to the front door, before turning back to the blonde who had just opened the door, "Do you… need any help?"

She didn't have much – any – medical experience, but she knew that if one had a concussion, they shouldn't be left alone for very long. Right? Maybe she should have offered to take her to the hospital?

Of course she should have! What had she been thinking?

But Quinn climbed – albeit sluggishly – out of the car before giving her a sardonic look, "I've made it up my walkway a few times before."

"Probably not with –" the door shut, and Rachel blew out a breath before she finished, "A possible concussion."

She didn't intend to leave until Quinn made it safely to the front door, as any civilized person with manners did in this day and age. It might have been the early evening and the sun was still shining brightly, but one never knew what could happen.

And though Quinn indubitably had walked up the walkway to her house thousands of times before, she was certainly moving slowly this time. Dark eyes narrowed in consideration, and as soon as she watched Quinn shift slightly off to the side, her decision was made for her, and she quickly released her seatbelt and hurried up the walkway, walking a few paces behind the blonde.

Close, but not touching, with her arms up and ready to catch Quinn in the case of her fainting. Did people with a concussion faint? It was a head injury, so she figured it couldn't be too off-base. She was careful not to touch, though, because she didn't think it would be very welcomed.

She was fairly certain that she was doing decently undetected job for a few moments. That was, until Quinn commented without pausing or turning about, "You assault me, and then stalk me up to my house, and you think I'm the criminal out of the two of us?"

"I'm merely trying to assist you! Imagine if I just drove off to leave you here, and you fall face-down in your front yard. Hardly stalking," she now crossed her arms with a huff, but continued to walk Quinn up to the porch.

She wondered if there had been a teasing tone in the blonde's voice, before shaking it off. Even if it was the case, it didn't matter.

As they drew closer, she offered, "Would you like me to go in with you?" She figured she owed it to her, especially because this really hadn't been as unpleasant an encounter as it could have been. Would have been, if it had happened a few years ago.

"I didn't even ask you to walk me this far," Quinn countered. There was no bite in it, though; it was definitely amused.

But before she actually gave Rachel an answer – because to her, that sounded like an invitation – the front door opened and an older blonde woman stepped out, concern written all over her face. Quinn's mom, she assumed, so she sighed lightly and stepped back.

Though she did watch in amusement as the woman came in close to Quinn, running her fingers lightly over the bruise on Quinn's forehead, which made her daughter scowl and pull back before murmuring, "I'm fine, mom."

Her mother turned to look at Rachel as she ushered Quinn into the house, "Thank you for driving her home."

With a small smile, she just nodded, "Of course." And she figured she wouldn't get a warm look from the older woman if she knew that Rachel herself had been the cause of the head injury, so she thought now would be a good time to take a dignified leave as a good Samaritan.

She turned her gaze to Quinn, who she was surprised to see was already watching her. Running her eyes over the blonde quickly, because for all she knew this might be her last interaction with Quinn, she met her gaze. Somehow, it still managed to be intense despite the head wound.

"Despite the entirely unexpected circumstances, it was nice to see you, Quinn."

Quinn stared her down for a few seconds before she husked out, "Nice to see you, too," and disappeared into her house.

When she reached her car, she dropped her head onto the steering wheel for a few seconds. Nice to see you? Why would she say that, when it translated to I'm glad I attacked you? Regardless, she didn't think it would matter what she said to Quinn at that point, and she picked her head back up, shaking her hair back.

Today had been entirely too eventful, she decided.


"Wait a second!" Alex interjected, before whining, "How does Tinkerbell even beat up Goldilocks? She's tiny!"

Rachel narrowed her eyes, but Liz beat her to answer, "Because she's magic, idiot."

She paused to consider that – it was probably a better answer than she was going to come up with, "You shouldn't call people idiots." And she waited for a second before adding, "But yes, Tinkerbell has a few tricks up her sleeve."

"So that's the fight," James pointed out from where he was now kneeling next to her feet, toying with the corner of a throw pillow, "I wanted a story with music," he pouts.

Reaching down slightly, she ran a hand over his head, "We're getting to that. Now, in fact. Are we all ready to continue?"

She got three eager nods – and a brief look from Beth over her phone – which made her grin. This storytelling thing wasn't so hard after all; she was kind of getting into it herself.


A couple of days later, Rachel was back in her car. Unlike the last time, though, now she was nothing but confident. Because she was parked outside of the Lima Community Theatre, and she was about to audition for their summer production.

It was going to be Jekyll & Hyde this year, which she admittedly wasn't overly familiar with. She, of course, had the soundtrack and knew the general plot but it was no Funny Girl or Wicked. It would have been marginally better if it was one of those shows, but she had no control of the matter.

"I'm just saying that I can't believe you chose to go back to Ohio to do a show in the Lima Community Theatre," Kurt said through the phone, uttering the words as if they held a disease, though she couldn't blame him, "When you could have stayed here for the summer. NYADA's summer show is Anything Goes, Rachel! You would have been a shoe-in for Reno Sweeney, and not just because a lot of the upperclassmen went home for the summer."

How insulting, "Thank you for that."

"I said not just because they aren't here!"

She sighed, "It's not like I would really rather be here, either, Kurt. And thank you for reminding me of what I'm missing."

His sigh mirrored her own, "I know. And I know you wanted to have the summer in your house before your dads moved. I don't blame you."

He might have been missing some of the components as to why she was here, but regardless. The only good thing that was coming from this production – aside from the fact that it would keep her busy and give her somewhere to express her knowledge of theatre – was that she'd learned from her advisor she might be able to get some credit for her next semester's performance class.

Kurt continued, "And you know I'm going to come see you in it. So, good luck. I have to get back to my shift."

She tucked her phone away after putting it on silent, this was an audition space after all, before she walked in and put her name on the sign-in sheet, before scanning the area. Auditions had only started ten minutes ago – she'd arrived right afterwards, but had been detained by her conversation with Kurt – but they were already underway.

Walking farther into the seating area, she looked around to try to find a nice, semi-secluded area to read over her monologue. Not that she really needed to; she'd been auditioning for every musical at NYADA for the past two years, as well as a few minor roles in actual shows. Nothing that was a big deal or anything, but she'd done fairly well for herself, and that was in New York. Where the lights of Broadway cast shadows.

And this… was Lima. Rachel had considered herself to be the most talented person here when she was in high school, and she'd only gotten better since.

She started to make her way to a cluster of seats that was far away from everything enough so that she would be able to concentrate, but had a good view of the stage. She might not be nervous but it never hurt to scout out the competition.

Not that there appeared to be that much of it, if the people milling around were any indication. She narrowed her eyes as she looked around the darkened theatre, and then got caught on a head of blonde hair, and she paused.

It – it probably wasn't her, right? But the cut was the same just past shoulder length, and it was that same shade of blonde hair…

She moved quietly to investigate, and as she drew nearer – close enough to see the profile – she realized that it was her! Though there was undoubtedly no one who had the same flawless, classic features, there was also a slight bump on her head still.

Quinn Fabray was popping up all over the place, it seemed.

Still, she told herself, she should probably go sit down and get into the zone for her audition. Quinn being here didn't change anything.

She got about two steps away before she turned around, because she just couldn't go sit down by herself, when Quinn sitting right there. Right in the center of the seating area. What were the odds?

And she had never had more than a handful of actual conversations with Quinn in the four years they'd been in close proximity with each other that didn't include some variation of "man-hands" or "stubbles" but she couldn't help but notice that even after she'd effectively beat Quinn up, the blonde had refrained from using those petty insults. It was intriguing, at the very least.

Plus, Rachel had given Quinn a head injury, and she did feel guilty still. It wasn't like she had Quinn's number to call and check in on her. And even if she did, it wasn't like Quinn would even want her to call and check in. But it was her duty, right?

Okay, and maybe she was a little curious as to what Quinn was even doing here.

As inconspicuously as possible, she walked up the aisle next to where Quinn was seated, and tried to peer over her shoulder. But all she could see was a notebook filled with notations, and that Quinn was tapping a pen lightly against the edge of the page as she mouthed along the words with whomever was doing a monologue onstage.

And even in the dimmed lighting with her features all distracted, that face was flawless. It really shouldn't be fair, "Are you auditioning?"

Crap. The words fell out of her mouth before she could even realize it, and Quinn froze, her pen pausing mid-tap – before she turned to face Rachel, eyebrow lifted already. Hazel eyes ran down her body and back up and Rachel felt a rush go through her before she realized that Quinn was most likely appraising her apparel.

Thank god she'd learned how to dress more fashionably.

But she simply crossed her arms and tilted her head, meeting Quinn's gaze when it got to hers, because she was far too unashamed to apologize for her blatant curiosity.

Quinn eventually sighed and bit at her bottom lip before releasing it to say, "I should have guessed you'd be here."

And she nodded, "You probably should have; this is my area of expertise." And she stepped closer as her face scrunched together and belayed the confusion she was feeling, "But I certainly didn't think you would be here."

Quinn tapped her pen one last time before she slid it down the page, and took a breath – that Rachel was waiting for her to expel to explain herself. And then, she didn't. Instead, she turned back to the stage, but it didn't stop Rachel from staring at her.

She just didn't understand. Quinn used to mock her and many of the other glee kids, and had never once tried out for any performances. It didn't add…

Her train of thought was interrupted when Quinn turned a bit back to the stage, and she grimaced as the guilt started to seep in. Though her complexion was back to normal now, there were bruises on Quinn's cheek and jaw, though they were barely noticeable because apparently and unsurprisingly, the blonde was a master with a makeup brush. But there was only so much hiding she could do for the lump on her forehead.

And, somehow, with the way she'd done her hair and the headband adjusted just so, it actually did hide it as much as possible.

She shuffled even closer to get a better view of the damage she'd done, as her stomach sank slightly, and she whispered, "How is your head?" She caught herself before she could reach out to touch like she'd just been about to do, "I apologize. Again."

But Quinn didn't sound like she was holding onto residual anger when she shook her head, "I'll live. It's fine, Berry," her voice was kept low as she eyed Rachel once more. And then she turned back to the woman on the stage, who announced that she was going to be moving on to the singing portion of her audition, which seemed to nap Quinn's attention.

Hazel eyes turned to look at the stage as she murmured to Rachel, "I have to listen to this."

Rachel nodded – hadn't she just thought about the importance of knowing one's competition? When it was clear that Quinn's attention was back on the stage, Rachel remained standing and hesitated for a brief second before she decided that it would be foolish to move again when there was an empty seat right here.

So, she smoothed down her skirt and sat in the seat next to Quinn before pulling out her script from her bag. She did her best to tune out what was going on around her for the next few moments, mouthing along the words of her already-memorized monologue. Though, she did occasionally glimpse back at Quinn, to see the blonde staring at the stage and taking notes.

She wondered about it, but who was she to judge another performer's process? It would do her better to focus on her own audition, she knew. With that in mind, she started her abbreviated vocal warm-ups. Quietly, of course. Mostly to herself, seeing as how she'd done her real warm-ups before she'd left the house.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the way Quinn turned to look at her, as well as the incredulous look on her face. She didn't pause in her run-through, though, until she finished and turned to look back at the blonde.

And she didn't even have to prompt her, before Quinn asked in a slightly irritated whisper, "And you have to do that right now, right here? Next to me?"

Rachel merely lifted her eyebrows at the tone, "Quinn, I'm not sure you're entire aware – I can't make any assumptions, seeing as though you never answered why you were here," she reminded her. "– but Jekyll & Hyde is a musical, and the audition calls for an audition song."

The scathingly acerbic look she was given almost made her want to laugh as Quinn drawled back a short, "I'm aware, thanks."

Rachel had never heard a more sarcastic thank you in her entire life.

But it did enlighten her – so Quinn was planning to sing. Very interesting indeed. She couldn't stop herself from continuing, not that she tried very hard, "And you should know that a proper vocal warm-up is imperative to give a good performance," she dutifully told her. And was met with another look that was kind of annoyed, but not really annoyed, like high-school-Quinn used to look like.

Then her eyes widened, because high school foe or not, she didn't want Quinn to be unprepared, "Wait. Did you do the proper warm-ups? Because, if you would like, I could show you –"

"No. Thanks, but I think I'll be fine," Quinn assured with a knowing tone and the semblance of a smirk playing around her mouth.

It made Rachel suspicious, and she narrowed her eyes, but before she could question her, Quinn turned back to face the stage, "Now, do you think you could keep it down for another minute?"

Rachel frowned at the brush-off; she was certainly more interesting than the woman who was trying to sing horribly out of her range on stage!

When Quinn started to write something down again in her notebook, it dawned on her that maybe Quinn was taking note of her competition. Which seemed entirely unnecessary for Lima Community Theatre, but she would commend her dedication. And as her curiosity got the better of her, she started to shift in her seat, hoping that Quinn didn't notice as she craned her neck.

She just wanted to see if there was anything written down that would tell Rachel who she was auditioning for.

Her plan was foiled, though, when Quinn put the notebook down on her lap with an irritated exhale, "What now?"

She offered a small, sheepish smile and a shrug before she admitted, "I'm simply very curious as to who you will be auditioning for, Quinn."

The blonde now stayed looking at Rachel as she leaned back in her seat, and her eyes slowly narrowed in thought, but she still didn't answer what Rachel wanted to know. She, however, was not going to back down and she refused to look away.

It was ultimately Quinn who broke the silence first, tilting her head to the side as if she'd reached an understanding, "Afraid I'm going for the same part as you?"

An unbelieving laugh escaped her, and amusement made her grin, but that all came to a hault when she saw how the glint in Quinn's eyes sharpened. She cleared her throat, "I apologize, but… no. I'm not afraid of you auditioning for the same role."

"You don't think I could get it?" Quinn challenged and she sounded scarily serious, but Rachel couldn't help but believe that she wasn't. There was no way Quinn Fabray thought she was a better performer than Rachel Berry.

She tried to soften her words as much as possible, "Quinn, I don't know how to say this without being insulting, but I could out-sing anyone in Lima – barring very few exceptional performances given by a select few people – ten years ago. And you are simply not one of those few people." Quinn was still giving her a solemn look, and Rachel sobered herself even more, "I go to the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts!"

Quinn remained unfazed as she shot back, "And I go to Yale for their theatre studies program. So?"

Surprised, wide brown eyes stared back at her, "Really? Yale?"

Yale was… very impressive, Rachel could admit that. In fact, if the situation wasn't presenting itself at this particular moment, she might have wanted to discuss that some more. And yes, the theatre program there was very good. But, it was still no NYADA.

She gave a small nod to Quinn's proud smirk, "It is impressive. But I'm afraid that it doesn't mean you'll beat me out for a part."

There was this odd feeling buzzing lightly through her, and it was a feeling she used to get when having a showdown with Quinn. For some reason, the familiarity of it felt strangely good.

But instead of shooting back a retort, Quinn just hummed lightly, "We'll see."

We'll see? That was it? Fine. Rachel supposed that they would see.

… okay, no, she had to know, "Who are you auditioning for?"

Quinn was wearing that damnable smirk that just got even wider, like she picked up on the desperation in Rachel's tone, but she still didn't answer.

She ran through all of the parts in her head, before settling back into her seat and realizing that there was an obvious answer that had been there all along, "I probably should have just guessed that you were auditioning for Emma."

The questioning look she received wasn't the giveaway she'd hoped for, as Quinn repeated, "Emma?"

And she nodded – why had she even been worried? Of course Quinn was going to pick Emma, "It just makes sense." And when Quinn quirked her eyebrow as if inviting Rachel to elaborate, she didn't hesitate, "The good girl. Pure, light, chaste."

Pregnancy aside – and if the rumors were true, Quinn had only had sex that one unlucky time – the blonde had been the president of the celibacy club. Both pre- and post-pregnancy.

Now Quinn rolled her eyes, hard, before she shook her head and scoffed, "And who are you auditioning for?"

Rachel just stared at her – she knew Quinn had heard her sing before, and she assumed the blonde knew the characters of the play, "Lucy, clearly."

"Oh, clearly," Quinn parroted back. Well, it would have been parroted back, if Rachel had that smoky timbre.

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her, "I'll have you know, that the prostitute with a heart of gold is a universally used trope in theatre," she extolled.

Quinn simply tilted her head to the side with a considering, devilish look in her eyes and a smile on those soft-looking lips, "Of course, the hooker with the heart of gold. And that's the role you see yourself in? That makes sense," she used Rachel's own words against her.

She sat up straight and had a lecture on the tip of her tongue – she was getting riled up, and as soon as Quinn saw it, she smirked. Which only made Rachel huff in annoyance before crossing her arms and biting her tongue, trying to calm down. Getting riled up before an audition was not preferable.

It was only when the woman on stage tentatively asked, "Would you like to hear another song?" that Rachel even realized she'd stopped singing.

After looking around and being unsure as to who the woman was speaking to, she realized with a start that the woman was looking right at Quinn.

Her jaw dropped in shock, because how could she have been so foolish? There was no one else around in the theatre who was taking notes. Notes of people's performances!

She could hear her own astonishment as she yelped, "You're the director?!"

Quinn – whose smirk had disappeared when she'd turned to face the woman on the stage – looked a little flustered herself, a slight blush on her cheeks revealing that maybe she'd been a little too caught up in their conversation, too, as she answered, "Um, no. Thank you for the audition, I'll be in touch."

After she smiled reassuringly at the woman, she turned back to Rachel. Who was understandably incredulous, "I know it's only a small production, but aren't you too inexperienced for this?"

She knew it was only Community Theatre – and in Lima, at that – but… Quinn was a twenty year old college student!

Quinn gave her a dry look, "And you think Mr. Olsen had more experience in theatre?"

Which gave Rachel pause. Mr. Olsen, who had been directing musicals at the Lima Community Theatre since before she could remember, was in his forties and had spent his entire adult life managing Lima's car washing service. She supposed that someone in school for theatre – especially at Yale – would probably know more about a production.

Apparently Quinn took her silence as farther doubting of her abilities, and she sighed, "The professor I had in my acting class managed to suggest me for the position. She doesn't doubt my capability," she added pointedly.

Rachel was processing it all, though, and just offered a slight nod. She was honestly just baffled at the turn of events. Who in the world would have predicted that Quinn Fabray would be here, directing a show for the Lima Community Theatre, at the same time that Rachel herself would be here to audition?

The only question that worked its way out – and perhaps her biggest question of all – was, "If you're so interested in performing, or at least in the performance arts, why didn't you ever join glee club? Or the musical?"

She was met with just a measuring look, before Quinn settled back into her seat with that glint in her eye again, "It's your turn to audition, Berry. Impress me."

"As if I could do anything but," she fired back, as she brushed her hands over her clothes and stood up to make her way to the stage steps. She was experiencing a strange sensation of feeling more nervous as she approached the center of the stage than she'd been when she came in.

Her music cued up and started to play, and it was automatic to sing along. She'd thought that Someone Like You from the show's original soundtrack would be a good choice. She knew she could hit all of the notes flawlessly, and it would give her the opportunity to showcase herself actually in the role of Lucy.

However, that was before the thing that was actually making herself nervous had presented itself: Quinn Fabray was the director. And she was looking up at her with a small smirk. Rachel closed her eyes and did her best to just throw herself into the song.

She knew she'd sung it well, despite today's surprises. Possibly even performed better than her practices, because she wanted to really give Quinn no reason not to cast her. But when she looked at the blonde again after reciting her monologue, she was met with an unreadable expression.

Quinn didn't even offer her much of a smile when Rachel gave her best show-smile!

Instead, she was met with a quiet, "Thanks, Berry. I'll be in touch." And she was fairly certain it was her imagination that it sounded different from the way she'd dismissed the woman before her.

It did not bolster confidence, really, and she was already starting to get a bit paranoid that she wasn't going to get the part before she even left the theatre.

A few days later found Rachel laying in her bed in the middle of the afternoon. She'd already cleaned out her old desk as well as gone grocery shopping and done a yoga routine to try to distract herself from feeling unhappy about not hearing back from her audition.

When her phone rang, she picked it up from where it rested on her stomach, and answered without even having to look, because she knew it was Kurt. It was time for his fifteen minute break, and she knew that Blaine had gone on vacation with his family today, which meant he was going to be very faithful with his calling routine.

Forgoing a greeting, he asked, "How's summer in Lima?"

And she rolled his eyes at his knowing tone, instead answering with, "It'll be better when you take the time to visit me." Which she knew most likely wouldn't happen for a couple of months, but still.

"So, don't keep me waiting. How did your audition go?" He sounded excitedly curious.

And she sat up quickly, suddenly excited, her hair falling over her shoulder as she gripped her phone, "Kurt! I forgot to tell you. Quinn is here. And she was there."

His voice was nearly a screech, "Quinn Fabray?!"

And she grimaced at the sound in her ear, but practically screamed back, "Yes!"

"Quinn Fabray, Head Cheerio from McKinley, who you now admit that you were fixated on, was at the audition for Jekyll & Hyde?" he asked slowly like he couldn't believe it.

Rachel lost her patience for him, "Yes, Kurt!"

"What was she doing?"

She opened her mouth to answer before closing it as she thought about her predicament with Quinn as the director, "She – well, she's the director."

But Kurt didn't seem fazed, "Wow, how does she look?"

Narrowing her eyes, she wished she could have him here for a face-to-face conversation, "That's what you want to know? Not how she became the director?"

He defended, "Well, I assume that it couldn't be all that difficult to nab the role of director in the Lima Theatre Guilt, Rachel."

Which just made her roll her eyes again, "Well, even though you didn't ask, apparently, she goes to Yale now, for drama. And she looks gorgeous, Kurt. Would you ever expect anything else?"

"Hey, I'm just surprised by this. You've been sitting on the information for days and didn't tell me!"

Blowing out a breath, she pulled up her legs to sit on them, "Now as surprised as I was." But that just reminded her of the bigger Quinn-surprise this summer, which she definitely hadn't told Kurt about. She glimpsed at the envelope that was nestled on her bedside table, and hesitated a few seconds before heaving a sigh, "I want to tell you something."

Kurt was immediate in his answer, "I'm listening…"

Biting her lip, she shook her hair back, "I – you know how my coming home had been a last minute decision?"

"Yes…" he responded cautiously, "Because your dads were moving?"

Rachel closed her eyes against that bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, "Partially, yes. But also because… Shelby moved to Lima, and sent me a letter, asking to meet again."

"Shelby, your mother?"

"My birth mother, yes," she clarified.

And he let out a quiet, "Woah. And… you went to see her?"

He was careful in his question, and she appreciated that as she closed her eyes, "Yes, and I don't really want to talk about the specifics yet, so please don't ask about those. But… I saw Quinn there, too."

She could literally hear how confused Kurt was on the other end of the line in his silence, and she knew for a fact that he must be dying for answers and she was grateful that she knows he won't ask.

Eventually, he responded, not bothering to hide the question in his voice, "O-kay… What happened, then?"

Thinking back on the afternoon, she cringed at herself, "I thought – well, I thought that she was breaking into the house."

Kurt let out a quick laugh, "Oh no."

He didn't even know yet, and she closed her eyes as she told him, "And I thought about those defense classes we took, last year."

He gasped, "Oh no."

Her hand came up to cover her face in secondhand embarrassment at herself as she rushed out, "And I tackle-wrestled her to the ground and might have given her a concussion."

"No!" he screamed back and she could hear him laughing. Actually, she might have heard him laughing all the way from New York.

"Yes, Kurt!" she confirmed as she reached back to pull a pillow over her face, "It was not my finest moment."

But Kurt was positively cackling, "I can't believe you tackled Quinn Fabray! Are you really still alive right now? She's thrown slushies at you for offended her eyes with your animal sweaters!"

Rachel dropped the pillow to throw her old sweaters that were still tucked away in the closet a sympathetic glance, before she rolled her eyes, "No, I'm dead and calling you from beyond the grave."

He was still laughing, and hadn't even caught his breath when he let out a long sigh, "I have to go back in. But, seriously, when did Lima become more interesting than New York, for once?"

She rolled her eyes, before saying her goodbyes and hanging up, though the same thought was on her mind.

As soon as she placed her phone back onto the bed, it pinged!

And she picked it up to find a new email, which she hurriedly opened as anticipation started to build and she bit her lip to keep from smiling too soon. But as soon as she opened it – from the sender and she saw that she was one of several receivers as she'd emailed the entire cast list – it was pointless to try to hold back her grin.

Of course, based on sheer talent, she wasn't surprised at all that she'd been cast as Lucy. She'd been worried about the Quinn of it all. But thankfully, even Quinn couldn't deny her talents, despite the fact that Rachel had concussed her and possibly insulted her prowess as a director. Not that she'd intended to do either of those things.

She hopped up from her bed to jump around, clutching her phone tightly in hand as she did a little dance of excitement. At the very least, this was one thing that could go right this summer.

Her dance was promptly cut off less than a minute later, when another email came through. Confused, she paused all motion as she pulled it up. Once again, from Q. Fabray, except this time, she was the only recipient.

See you soon, Berry.

Which was… confusing, and not just because of the excited nerves she had settling in her stomach at the words that she could hear in her mind in Quinn's voice.

Upon farther inspection, she thought that maybe this was not only her summer to tie up all loose ends from Lima, but that maybe Quinn was also a loose end she hadn't realized she'd even had had. Quinn Fabray had always been a mystery to her, and maybe this summer she'll be able to figure her out.


Please let me know what you think! I've never written for Rachel/Quinn before, so this is my first attempt, and I would appreciate any feedback. This is going to be a really short story, like 4/5 chapters, while I get used to their character voices. I hope you enjoy it!