A/N- This story is quite AU and switches between two time periods. The first half of each chapter is in the 'present tense' and the second half is the 'past tense'. There's major character death presented right at the beginning and dealt with throughout. (don't own Glee or anything really)

This was written because I needed to write it. (and because how can I resist when people tell me to write more faberry?)

I feel as though this is the most explanation I can give for this story.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part."

― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

1.

The first time Rachel Berry refers to her wife in the past tense is at the funeral. Up until that point, she has gotten by with the present, or vague inclinations. Like when Kurt comes over the day she found out, and he brews them both tea. He is searching the extensive tea bag collection when Rachel interrupts with a, "Don't use the black chai, it's Quinn's."

The man, still as perfectly put together as he was in highschool (though by now his taste is ever so slightly more conservative) softens. He leaves the kettle on the stove and joins Rachel on the couch, puts his arm around her, and pulls her into his chest as Rachel finally breaks down. He pats her hair down as he had seen Quinn do countless times since she and Rachel had gotten together. But now, he wishes for words, anything to offer his best friend.

"She can't be dead, it has to be a mistake." Rachel whispers so softly, so brokenly, "Her unit wasn't even supposed to be close to the combat."

Kurt knows that Rachel's disbelief is natural, all the same, he knows he has to try and bring her to sense, "You know they wouldn't make a mistake about this."

When the kettle whistles later, it makes both of them jump before Kurt goes pour the water. He picks peppermint tea, it's the farthest thing from the black chai he can find, and he hopes the sharp smell will keep Rachel here with him. He sees Quinn's mug hanging next to Rachel's, the one that Nora had decorated for mother's day last year in preschool with juvenile camouflage and shaky letters. He pulls out two plain Crate and Barrel mugs, these ones don't have ghosts hiding in them.

He returns to find Rachel sitting up straight, legs crossed, her face determined like he always knew she could be.

"What are you going to do?" He asks, already knowing that she will have an answer.

"I'm going to go on." Rachel replies as she accepts her tea, "I have to."

From that first day until approximately a week later, Rachel manages to keep from having to admit to herself really that Quinn is gone. It is when she is standing at the service, two children dressed in black to her left, and Santana to her right, when she hears the speaker (not a priest, Quinn had been specific) say 'Quinn was so incredibly passionate', Rachel feels the finality of the moment settle in her chest.

It's not crushing like Rachel has always read in tragic novels, rather, it's a constant press. Just heavy enough to constrict her breath back in her throat, but not quite enough to keep her from breathing.

She is still breathing.

…

"This is ridiculous." Rachel complained for the third time that evening.

"Just try to enjoy it. Besides, the cover charge is only four dollars." Kurt replied, trying to psych her up. They were standing in line with a group of their friends from NYADA to get into a frat party at Columbia. She's a junior, and she's been to enough of these to know that the beer with be light and cheap, the jungle juice will be toxic, the music will be shit, and the 'dancing' will be an excuse for awkward boys to try to play grabass.

But she played along and was the go to sober chaperone to make sure everyone made it back on campus alright, or was safe in their decision spend the night.

The party lived up to all of her expectations, and she was just walking into the kitchen to get another cup of whatever mixer was left when she was instead met with the sight of nearly twenty women all squished in the room chanting loudly and raucously.

"Shoot the boot, shoot the boot!"

In the center of it all was a stunning blonde. She was blushing deeply while holding what appeared to be a soccer cleat. One of the other women in the room was pouring beer into the shoe until it could hold no more. At such time, the blonde grimaced, but brought the cleat to her lips and chugged the light amber liquid inside. She only gagged once before removing the shoe from her lips and flipping it upside down over her head to prove it was empty. A couple of drops fell out into her hair, but the blonde's triumphant smile was clear.

Rachel shook her head and poured herself a cup of ginger ale.

Less than one badly remixed song later, and that same blonde was making her way single mindedly over to Rachel. The singer couldn't help but openly appraise the woman's flawless bone structure, her strong arms (bare in a tank top) and the brilliantly purple bruise all along her jaw that Rachel had completely missed seeing in the kitchen.

The blonde noticed her staring at the bruise and cracked a smile, "You should see the other guy." She joked.

Rachel laughed, "I see you've opted for a cup this time around." The brunette said, nodding at the red cup the woman was holding.

"You saw that, huh?" She asked embarrassedly rubbing the back of her neck.

Rachel merely grinned, "Why exactly were you drinking out of a cleat?"

"Rugby." The blonde laughed, "I scored my first try of the season today." She said as though it explained everything. Though the purplish bruise on her jaw certainly made more sense now.

"Well congratulations." Rachel said, pausing for the blonde to fill in her name.

"Quinn."

"Congratulations, Quinn."

"Thank you."