Quinn Fabray hadn't changed much. At least not as far as Rachel Berry could tell. Well that wasn't exactly true. As she looked down at Quinn lounging by the Casino pool she noticed her old classmate had covered herself in tattoos. Rachel had never thought of Quinn as a tattoo girl. Quinn was sun dresses and crucifixes. Well she used to be. These days she was black bikinis and tattoos.
Rachel wasn't sure when she'd lost contact with Quinn. One day they talked regularly on the phone and the next they hadn't spoken in years. Surprisingly there hadn't been a big blow up, no massive fight that split their already tentative friendship at the seams. It was a gradual separation, then permanent. It was like Quinn had disappeared off the face of the Earth. She didn't return calls, she didn't respond to emails or Facebook requests, one day she was simply gone. She'd only come back on the radar because Santana happened to be in Russia shooting a horror flick and happened across Quinn in a bar with sketchy looking men in leather jackets. Another few years passed and suddenly Quinn was back in America, living in Brooklyn, and working at a strip club.
When Rachel first heard this she'd almost fainted, she couldn't imagine the old Quinn taking her clothes off for money. Apparently the new Quinn didn't do that. One day when she was feeling unusually generous Rachel poked her head into the club in hopes of talking some sense into her old rival. Instead of finding her naked on stage she found Quinn in the corner of the club getting a lap dance from a bare breasted brunette. Quinn had only smiled when she saw Rachel. It was the same smile she flashed now.
"Rachel, hey!" Quinn said with a flash of teeth and a wave of the hand.
"Quinn, I didn't know you were going to be here." Quinn was lounging in a poolside chair in a two piece bikini that should have made her look sexy but the tattoos ruined the effect. They were scattered over her body. Two large stars on her shoulder blades with matching stars on both knees, a goblin of some kind on her left side and a bird carrying some sort of suitcase or handbag on the right. None of them seemed to make any sense, just a bunch of random images as far as Rachel could tell. Her fingers were even worse, an anarchy symbol on one finger of her right hand, a crucifix on another, with even more tattoos on the left hand, all seemingly random.
"Of course I'm here. It's Las Vegas. I love Las Vegas. Santana called and said you were in trouble and we had to cheer you up," She slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked up at Rachel with a smile. "Besides. I wanted to see you. You don't come to the club and see me anymore."
It had been forever since Rachel visited Quinn at the strip club. As her career took off it became harder and harder for her to sneak away. Especially to go spend some time at a strip club. Still she did miss spending time with Quinn. But their distance wasn't all her fault. Quinn never bothered to come and see any of her shows. She was apparently much too busy getting lap dances from naked women to do that. Still whenever they saw one another it was like no time had passed and Quinn always flirted shamelessly.
"Why should I go out of my way to visit you at that disgusting club? It's been years and you haven't seen any of my shows. Not even my debut."
Quinn pushed her glasses back up and shrugged. "I was doing the Yale thing." Apparently any present day excuse as to why she couldn't spare a couple of hours to see a Broadway show wasn't warranted.
"And now you work at a strip club."
"I OWN a strip club. Several in fact. It's not like I'm working the pole or sweeping the floors."
"You went to Yale. You should have gotten a job on Wall Street or something."
Quinn laughed as if Rachel had made some sort of joke. "Then I wouldn't get to look at naked women at work. Besides that, I didn't like the atmosphere of rich people. A bunch of snobby rich kids with their noses in the air. I ran into a few of them a while back in Manhattan, at a school get together. They actually tried to have me thrown out of the party, those sons of bitches."
Rachel couldn't imagine anyone having enough juice to throw Quinn out of anyplace. Quinn was never the type of girl to be pushed around but these days she kept a mountain of a man named Ekrem by her side. Ekrem was well over six feet tall, Rachel would have guessed seven if asked, and he was built like a brick wall. He had a bald head and a thick neck accompanied by an ever present scowl. He didn't say much but he was always lurking in the shadows. In fact Rachel hadn't seen Quinn without him in years and she could count the number of times she'd heard him speak on one hand. Today he was sitting in the chair beside Quinn in a pair of beach shorts and a plain white tee shirt. His arms, like Quinn's, were also covered in tattoos and Rachel could see a large elaborate scene of some sort on his chest.
"I'm sure your friend here didn't let that happen."
Quinn chuckled then looked at Ekrem with a smile. "Nobody throws us out of anywhere. Isn't that right big guy?"
Ekrem nodded his silent agreement.
"Well I appreciate you flying all the way out here to cheer me up but there isn't anything you guys can do to help me."
Quinn shrugged her shoulders. Rachel had found herself in hot water after a video surfaced on TMZ of her berating some waitress found its way online. Soon after other stories began to surface of her Diva like behavior and temper tantrums. Within a week she was all anyone was talking about. The entire city of New York had turned on her leaving her only recourse as to get out of town for a while until the heat died down. Santana and Brittany had suggested they go to Las Vegas for a while to hide out. Rachel had obliged them out of sheer desperation.
"Where you staying? You in the hotel? I have a suite upstairs if you want to be bunk mates. Ekrem won't mind, his lady friend is very friendly."
Rachel gave Quinn a playful smile but didn't bite. "I'm staying with Brittany and Santana. They have a residence in the tower. I guess they come here a lot."
Quinn only nodded. "Brittany likes to gamble."
That was an understatement. To say Brittany was an addict would be putting it lightly. Rachel had watched her gamble away ten thousand dollars last night in less than an hour like it was nothing. When Rachel told Santana about it she didn't seem to be at all concerned. In fact she'd told Rachel that Brittany knew what she was doing and that they should let her do her thing. She was totally cavalier about the whole thing, a classic enabler.
"She's a degenerate gambler is what she is."
Quinn laughed. "She has a Ph.D. in Mathematics from MIT. Has that ever occurred to you? Did you wonder how they could afford Santana's expansive wardrobe and a multimillion dollar brownstone in Manhattan with a full staff of servants, a house in the Hamptons and a condo in Las Vegas?"
It actually hadn't occurred to Rachel. Santana was an actress but she wasn't an A list actress by any stretch of the imagination. She was the sort of actress you knew when you saw her but couldn't quite remember what her name was. Her forte was B list movies that went straight to video or wound up on cable, and TV guest spots. She likely wasn't making millions of dollars a year. Brittany was a professor at NYU, Rachel wasn't sure how much professors made a year but she doubted it was enough to cover all of their monthly expenses.
"She makes her money in the casinos counting cards. She shows up at one loses a bit, goes to another wins a bit more. She spreads her play out all over the strip so she doesn't draw attention to herself. She gets all the Casinos to comp her play and loses enough so as not to draw anyone's ire. She flies under the radar, and doesn't get greedy. That's where most people get themselves caught. They try and take too much money at once. Brittany goes home with fifty or sixty grand a weekend, spread out over several casinos. What she does takes discipline, something she learned from coach Sylvester. She does alright, makes a good living. It's not an addiction, it's a business. A perfectly calculated business model. Last year she cleared three million dollars. On paper of course she lost five, it was all Casino money but as far as all the casinos know they're taking her to the cleaners. Meanwhile she paid off that fancy house they live in last year and is working on paying off that stupid beach house they overpaid for."
Quinn always bashed Santana and Brittany's place in the Hamptons. Rachel didn't know why she hated it so much and she hadn't bothered to ask but she guessed it had something to do with the fancy parties the people out there threw on a regular basis. The sort of parties she'd never be invited to with her strip clubs, tattoos, and bodyguard. Rachel was a staple in the Hamptons herself but she was a celebrity and celebrities were invited everywhere.
"I didn't realize."
Quinn shrugged. "Why don't you ditch those two and spend the night with me. Come on up to my suite and we can have some fun."
"I don't know. I'm on a tight budget. My show closed and I'm out of work right now and with all this bad press I don't know when I'm going to be able to book another gig." The only thing worse than bad press was bad press when you weren't working. It made it almost impossible to get a new job.
Quinn scoffed. "Did I say anything about spending money? Besides I'm banned from the casino anyway. They put me in that black book they like to threaten everybody with down here. I can't go anywhere near the gambling area or I'll get arrested."
Rachel's eyebrows arched with surprise. "Really, why?"
Quinn shrugged. "You know I have no idea. The moment we got here those assholes from the gaming board stopped us at the front desk and told us we had to leave. I was able to squash that but they told us if we go onto the casino floor we'd be arrested. We were going to just leave and check into another hotel but they told us that it counts for everywhere in Nevada." She shook her head, her eyes still hidden behind her shades. "I think it's some sort of racism thing they got going on. Likely because we're Russian. We should call the ACLU, or those Rainbow Coalition guys with Jessie Jackson." Beside her Ekrem nodded.
"That totally sucks. You should sue," Rachel said firmly.
Quinn shrugged once again. "Maybe. But let's not let them ruin our fun. We should hang out. Just the two of us."
Rachel looked at Ekrem causing Quinn to amend her statement.
"Three of us. It's on me. I have some friends out here. We won't have to pay for anything. It won't cost you a cent."
Santana was off doing whatever it was Santana did when Brittany hit the casinos and when Rachel stepped into their condo and slipped into their guest room she found herself all alone. She'd planned on spending her night hiding out but Quinn had convinced her to throw caution to the wind and have some fun.
Quinn HAD in fact changed a lot since high school. Her blonde hair was now jet black with blonde tips. Her body was muscular and toned as well as being covered in tattoos. She came off as playful and fun, a far cry from high school Quinn, but Rachel could see that old coldness lurking beneath the surface. She was constantly speaking in another language, Rachel assumed it was Russian but couldn't be sure. And despite always having a wad of hundred dollars bills stuffed in her pocket which she used to tip everyone generously, she never seemed to pay for anything.
Rachel wasn't sure when or why she'd changed so much but she liked the new laid back Quinn. The old Quinn had been cold and mean spirited. Almost evil if Rachel dared say. The new Quinn flirted with her and texted her dirty jokes and inappropriate sexual innuendo. The new Quinn was awesome. It would be fun hanging out with her tonight. It had been years since Rachel let loose and had a good time and tonight she figured would be the perfect way to forget about her problems in New York and get back to the basics. Her new life started tonight.
The next morning
Rachel opened her eyes to darkness. The shades in the room were drawn but the pounding in her head made that a blessing. It had been years since she'd gotten drunk. Since high school actually but the memory rushed back to the surface like an old friend. Never again she said as she pushed herself out of bed but she'd said the same thing back then all those years ago and yet here she was.
She stumbled as she rose to her feet leaning down to the bed to steady herself and catching a glimpse of the sleeping figure beside her. Quinn was soundly asleep and the sight of her almost made Rachel smile. Almost. Her mind immediately considered the implications of being in bed beside the woman. A quick glance at her attire made her groan. She was anything but decent. She found herself dressed in a pink lace camisole and from the slight breeze flowing through the room she could tell she wasn't wearing any underwear.
"What the hell?" She muttered to herself. "How drunk did I get last night?"
Sleeping Quinn only sighed.
"You'd think if I was going to go through the trouble of having a one night stand I'd at least have the common sense to remember it."
Sleeping Quinn sighed again and Rachel considered her current state once again. At least she'd pulled out all the stops. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone through so much trouble. She didn't have one night stands but even if she did she didn't imagine she'd go through the trouble of putting on lingerie.
Rachel had sometimes thought about what it would be like to sleep with Quinn. All those years ago back at McKinley she'd often find herself thinking about the cheerleader that way. What it would be like to kiss her lips, run her fingers through her soft blonde hair. Now she'd finally gotten the chance and she couldn't remember a moment of it. She couldn't even remember anything from last night. Drinking dancing and eating then absolutely nothing.
"Well I hope I rocked your world," Rachel said before giving the room a scan for her clothes. She knew it was common place to sneak out before the other party woke up. If the Gods were good Quinn wouldn't remember any of it either and it would be like it never even happened. The thought of that should have made Rachel happy but instead it made her sad.
Rachel took her silent walk of shame back towards the residential wing and slipped into Santana and Brittany's place hoping for privacy. Instead she found them both sitting on the sofa in pajama's watching television.
Their eyes widened with her presence. Brittany was even off her feet and staring in her direction open mouthed. Santana gave her one of her typical smirks.
"Rachel what is going on with you," Brittany asked rushing across the room and grasping Rachel in a tight hug?
It was a strange question but in her current state she figured now was not the time to play cute. It was already after noon and she was obviously wearing last night's clothes. It was only fitting that Brittany would think she was out wandering in the desert sulking.
"I was out last night. With Quinn."
Santana laughed. "No shit."
Brittany gave another tight squeeze before pulling away. "Are you crazy? Why would you do this? You do know who Quinn is don't you?"
"Listen we were drinking and it sounded like fun. We're both consenting adults."
Santana laughed again and this time Brittany shook her head. "You shouldn't have done that Rachel. It's dangerous. She's not the same girl we grew up with. You know that, you have to know that."
Rachel couldn't remember Brittany being this dramatic. It was a one night stand it isn't like she'd pulled a Finn and enlisted in the Army on a whim. Quinn was Russian but she wasn't Vladimir Putin, it wasn't like Rachel had defected to Russia and sold secrets to the enemy.
"It's Quinn, she's not just some stranger. I spent the night with her it's not that serious."
Santana's laughter intensified. "Oh please tell me you were so drunk you don't remember what you did. Please tell me that you have no idea what we're talking about. That only makes this story that much more hilarious."
Brittany furrowed her brow. "You do know what happened last night don't you?"
Santana stifled her laughter and rose to her feet. "Tina Turner doesn't ring a bell? Elvis?"
"What are you guys going on and on about?"
"You and Quinn. Last night you both got drunk and went out and…" Brittany started to say but Santana beat her to the punch.
"You two dumb shits got hitched. Right downtown."
Rachel was so taken aback she didn't realize she was actually laughing. The story was absurd. She didn't get married. Not to Quinn, and especially not at some cheap Las Vegas wedding chapel. When she got married there would be a church, and a dress, and a limo and hundreds of her closest friends. It would be reported in the Post, and People magazine.
"I did not get married. That's insane."
Santana smiled again. "So this was doctored I guess," she said as she walked across the room and extended her cell phone. "I guess it was some hacker who whipped this up on her home computer, found my number online, then sent it to me in the middle of the night along with a text that says, I'm married Bitch."
Santana hit play on the video and Rachel was horrified by what she saw. Herself, drunk. Really drunk. Wearing a skimpy skin tight white dress jumping up and down in front of a woman dressed like Tina Turner and an overweight man dressed as Elvis. Quinn was beside her looking anything but drunk, dressed in a black pant suit that Rachel suspected cost quite a bit of money judging by the way it hung off her with very little effort.
"That's not real," Rachel said doing her best to feign confidence. Deep down where it counted she knew it likely was true. She didn't remember last night but Elvis' Are you Lonesome Tonight had been playing in her head all morning.
Santana snickered. "Of course it isn't true. Because why would you fly all the out to Vegas and marry a girl you've hated forever who just so happens to be gangster? That doesn't sound at all like some stupid thing you'd do. I mean the last time you were engaged you were seventeen and in high school, you're much older and wiser now."
Rachel should have been annoyed by Santana's mean spirited words but somehow over the years she'd grown comforted by them. Nothing anybody ever said could be more hurtful but through the years whenever she needed someone Santana had been close by. She hid the fact that she cared behind mocking and vile comments but in the end she was there when Rachel needed her. She was always there. Sometimes she wished she'd just be quiet but she always told you the truth. Even when it hurt.
"Rachel, you marrying Quinn was stupid," Brittany said softly. "You do know she's a crime boss right?"
It was Rachel's turn to laugh. "She's not a crime boss. She owns a strip club."
"Oh of course she isn't a member of the Russian mafia. She only migrated from Yale to Russia, disappeared off the face of the Earth for years, covered her body in mafia tattoos and according to the internet was sent to the Russian Gulag for dealing drugs and guns before she managed to escape and high tail it back to America. She's wanted in a half a dozen Eastern European countries that don't have extradition treaties with the United States. Well according to Interpol. But you can't believe anything you read on an International Law Enforcement website."
Rachel scoffed. "You can't believe what you read on the internet."
Santana threw her arms in the air in surrender. "Fine," she said before walking away. "We'll do it your way Mrs. Fabray."
"Everybody knows women can't join the mafia," Rachel said with more feigned confidence.
"Which should make you wonder what it is that she did that made them accept her. Her nickname on the internet is The Frozen Tuna. Which sounds sort of sexist if you ask me," Santana added.
"I heard she killed people in Russia Rachel. She's not the same girl. She's totally scary. I mean scarier than she's always been. I'm not even sure how she knew we were coming here. She just called us up and said she was coming with us. She's crazy," Brittany said her voice almost a whisper.
"She's not crazy, she's criminally insane. With the emphasis on criminal," Santana said with a smirk.
Rachel opened her mouth to speak but the door pushed open and Quinn walked in followed by her hulking bodyguard. She was dressed in a pair of flannel pants and a robe and looked as if she'd just crawled out of bed but her eyes were wide awake.
"Rachel you can't just wander off. It's not safe. Ekrem is getting a guy to look after you but until then you have to stick close to me." She looked Rachel over closely before her eyes narrowed into little slits. "Why aren't you wearing your ring?"
"I, I," Rachel began to stammer.
Quinn shook her head. "That's unacceptable Rachel. My wife always wears her ring." She walked over to Rachel and grabbed her by the elbow. It was gentle but it still felt controlling and demanding. "Now let's go back to our room. Santana and Brittany need their privacy."
Rachel watched Brittany retreat to the sofa besides Santana and Rachel for the first time saw the fear in her eyes. Even Santana who usually would use the opportunity to tease her or chime in with some mean comment had clammed up.
"Okay," was all Rachel could think to say. She got the distinct impression that nothing she said would have made a bit of difference anyway. She was married to a gangster and apparently she didn't get a vote.