Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

Pairing: Rachel/Quinn

Spoilers: Pretty much until the season 2 finale.

Summary: "Everyone is like a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody." - Mark Twain.

Mark Twain once said that everyone is like a moon, and has a dark side never shown to anyone else. Quinn Fabray happens to know this better than most people.

Author of A Secret

"It turns up when you don't really expect it. It's like one day you realize that the fairy tale might be slightly different than you dreamed. The castle, well, it may not be a castle. And it's not so important that it's happy ever after, just that it's happy right now. See, once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you. And once in a while, people may even take your breath away." – Grey's Anatomy

1. Happily Ever After…

She told herself it was a routine. That she had done this a million times before, as she had stood in front of the mirror that night, inspecting the careful handwork of her black mascara and the way her pristine white chemise clung to her body. Faintly, she had remembered sighing, as she set aside her carmine lipstick on the cherry wood dresser next to her crucifix, and upon turning away, caught a glimpse of herself in the glass.

"You're the prettiest girl in the room," She reminded herself under black-rimmed eyes through a languid breath. What little reassurance those words offered her she took up hastily.

And with that, she leapt back with her head held high and stole the car keys from the quaint mattress behind her. Yes, she thought, as headed out that fateful night – this was just going to be another routine.

Oh, she couldn't have been more wrong.

...

Puck's house party was supposed to be a send off celebration into the final year of high school, the year that was supposed to be golden. But with no boyfriend, a flimsy grasp on the remnants of her popularity and some light stretch marks to remind her of the child she had once given up, Quinn had little to celebrate about the incoming year, but still she tried her best. Plastering that synthetic, plastic smile honed by years of living under the same roof with Russell Fabray, she held her head up high as she knocked on the door of Puck's apartment with a heavy knuckles.

"Looking good, baby mama." Noah 'Puck' Puckerman had smirked, greeting her at the door with a coy smile which she returned, albeit with a quiet tinge of pain lingering in her hazel eyes.

"Get back to your girl, Puck." Quinn replied with a laugh, nodding him off in the direction of Lauren Zizes, who busy chatting about her latest conquests. The Mohawk grinned and left her, rubbing her arms as she awkwardly watched as he left.

At one point, Puck and her were almost together, trapped in some status between a one-night stand and doting parents before they had broken it off. No matter how hard they tried, the pieces never seemed to fit. They didn't fit together. Within a year, he had found love in the captain of wrestling team and she?

Well, she still had no one.

With a quiet breath, she held her head up high as she strutted towards her friends on the couch, ignoring the blatant stares from the newly-instated Cheerios who had heard only horror stories of the former head cheerleader and her descent from the social hierarchy. Whispers trailed from behind her but she did her best to ignore them with a cool smirk.

Most beautiful girl in the room? Enter here.

She settled into the masses nicely, feigning bits of conversation here and there. And smiling – there was so much smiling, it made her cheeks hurt but the company was nice albeit dry and the atmosphere was intoxicating. She might've even had an almost pleasant time if it weren't for what came next.

It dawned on the blonde, almost-Prom Queen, as she looked up curiously, from the ominous wine coolers.

To say that all summer, she had been avoiding this moment would be, what one would call, an understatement of all sorts. She was dreading this moment, fearing this moment, loathing this moment all before it had even taken a step through the threshold of Puck's three-bedroom apartment and introduced herself as Rachel freaking Berry.

"Noah, I'm perfectly capable of taking my coat off myself," Rachel had said when Puck's elbow 'accidently' brushed by her chest. Her tall, heavily-built boyfriend slung his arm around the brunette protectively, sneering as Puck waggled his eyebrows at her, and hung the hideous garment on a free hanger in the closet before returning to his position by the punch bowl.

"I don't trust him." The boyfriend in question stated with a pout, and she nudged him gently, reassuring him.

"There's nothing not to trust. Puck and I are just friends, Finn."

He rubbed the back of his head as if he still had his doubts and muttered a juvenile 'But still…' before she placed a chaste kiss on his lips. He smiled, his dopey, juvenile smile after pulling away from her gently.

"Well, okay…" Finn murmured through that dopey expression, taking her arm as she as held it out patiently.

Snickering, Santana had looked up from her drink and nudged Quinn briskly. "Hey, it looks like the Smurfette is even better at keeping a hold on him than you were."

Hazel eyes narrowed and the aversion to alcohol was replaced by a sudden desire for the taste. Santana grimaced as the blonde snatched the cup from her friend's hand and downed in. Cocking her head back, the familiar acid slithered down her throat with ease and she held her eyes shut.

"Hey! You owe me a drink, Stretch Mark." The latina fumed next to her, crossing her arms as threateningly as she could. But honestly? Quinn could care less for any 'impending doom' Santana could send her way. She was already facing a more inauspicious adversary.

Her eyelids slid shut as she felt the effects of the liquor take over her body. The world sauntered in and out of focus...

...

Her mouth was dry as heck. That was her first thought as she wriggled into consciousness.

The soft periwinkle velvet brushed against her palms, and sleepily, she woke to find herself slouched in one of Puck's lone armchairs.

Looking up, she cringed, eyes narrowing vehemently at the sight of the brunette in the lounger opposite her. Her jaw snapped open. A meager formation of jabs and half-baked insults already dripping from her mouth as Quinn sat by the mantle, protective of her final drink. Puck's other guests were slung over the floor, nursing their hangovers or otherwise in a coma-like sleep save Rachel, who was always wary of her alcohol intake, and Quinn, who barely coming out of her acidic coma.

It's not like she enjoyed the taste of liquor, she just enjoyed how the severity her problems seemed to fade the moment the liquor trickled down her throat. The first and foremost problem was the girl who sat opposite her.

"I don't forgive you for what you did at Nationals."

Rachel's jaw snapped open to reply, but the blonde turned away quickly, shoving the explanation back down the songbird's throat. She didn't want an explanation. She didn't want an excuse. She didn't want anything resembling a conversation between herself and the girl who had stolen her boyfriend time and time again without remorse.

But if she was honest with herself – and this was rare nowadays – it wasn't so much about him. It was about her – Rachel Berry. It was them, together. And it was about being around them that she couldn't stand.

So it was no surprise really, that after that those ten razor-sharp words, which she had polished so diligently, she would only allow herself a few moments stay in the same room as this girl before she ambled to the balcony in a half-drunk, acidic displeasure. She was so drunk that she could barely hold her form against the guardrail.

But even in this dazed state, when she propped herself up against the railing and her face met the blackened sky, a wave of relief washed over her. A sort of freedom in contrast with the heavy sort of confinement that hung over her head when she was even near Rachel. The sight of the street below, decked with tiny tinsel lights filled her with a sense of power, as if suddenly she was sitting on a miniature globe of the world. Watching over it. Supreme over it. Apart from it. And she needed this badly, needed this sovereignty over the world when she felt so helpless to its influences.

"I am sorry, you know." The sing-song voice rang from behind her.

Quinn grimaced slightly. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't even allow her a moment's peace. That she would inexplicably follow her to the places she didn't belong.

How many times did they have to do this? Better yet, how many times could they go on doing this?

She didn't return Rachel's kindred gaze, or shift aside when the diva shimmied in next to the blonde, overlooking the cityscape - in hopes that if she didn't respond, Rachel would take the hint and just finally let her be. Honestly, she should have known better.

"But it wasn't just my fault." The songbird persisted, placing her hands on her hips dignifiedly. "Finn kissed me, Quinn."

"I know. It's just…" With empty fervor, the blonde crumbled the empty Styrofoam cup in her hand and let it fall to the bottom of the desolate street. She had no end to that statement. She had no end to that thought.

"While your intentions to keep Finn only to advance your chances at Prom Queen were wrong - what Finn and I did was also morally incorrect. Especially after you two just broke up," Ardently, Rachel continued, blatantly ignoring the glazed texture over Quinn's eyes. "Which was inconsiderate of me, considering how far I believe we both have come."

And how far have we come, Berry? Quinn thought, bitterly keeping her eyes on the horizon. Sure, perhaps their rivalry had simmered after Prom night, when Rachel had comforted her after Finn had managed to get himself kicked out of their own Junior Prom, but that night in New York…when Finn had kissed Rachel and she had kissed him back, ignited something in her like years of built-up fervor released into one night.

"While we both have committed our fair share of misdemeanors towards each other, I think it's best if we finally put our differences aside and purse a friendship for the betterment of the Glee club."

Cordially, the brunette extended her hand, invading the blonde's personal space.

But despite this intrusion, the blonde didn't move away, barely registering the propositions Rachel was rapidly hurling her way. Her body only shivered involuntarily, induced by the night air, which was surprisingly cold for the end of August in Ohio.

"Oh, are you cold?" Incapable of taking a hint, Rachel undid her hideous striped sweater and slung it over Quinn's frozen shoulders. "It would be very inopportune if you fell ill just before school started…"

She couldn't be serious. A coat? A coat was supposed to fix years of hatred? Grudgingly, Quinn tore her eyes from the skyline to glance at the girl, convinced that she must've looked completely stupid, standing there with Rachel Berry's cardigan hanging from her form, freezing and intoxicated.

From its place by the doorway, the clock on the wall ticked away the moments until midnight and of all things she could be doing right now, Quinn was wishing Rachel Berry away. No such luck.

"So…" The songbird began, glancing around.

"So…" Quinn answered with an equal amount of enthusiasm. Which was virtually none. She fiddled with the strings of Rachel's hoodie, mulling over her thoughts, uncertain. She clammed up, sinking the proverbial toe into unknown territory. "Are you happy?"

Rachel bit her lip, sinking her teeth into the pinkish flesh. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Quinn responded feverishly, before releasing a sullen breath. She eased up, nodding towards Finn's drunken form in the living room. "Are you happy with him?"

Rachel took a deep breath. Perhaps too long.

Impatient, Quinn shoved her hands, which were already nipped by the cold into the pockets of her jeans. She glared at the darkness below the balcony and wondered what it would feel like to fall from this height, darkness enveloping like great wings.

"Very." Rachel finally said, tearing her eyes away from Quinn's intense stare.

Quinn drew a shallow breath of cold air. A sullen darkness settled inside of her, a strong pang of anger, of envy. Her chest filled with pain.

"Then I'm happy for you." Was it obvious that she wasn't? The blonde's reply was despondent, darkening in her eyes.

Rachel brushed her shoulder with the open palm of her hand. "Quinn –"

Don't touch me. Quinn whirled.

"No!" The blonde returned with unexpected fervor. "Don't pretend like you understand, Rachel!" She turned towards the inviting darkness again, her face hidden under a façade of sweet, soft moonlight. She dug her nails into the metal railings, tempted to jump then and there. "Because you don't."

"Then tell me how to–"

"Maybe, you can go pretending that you can fix this." Quinn cut her off. Her hands flew up, motioning to the air between them, pointing to some invisible connection. "Whatever this is… but I can't. I can't pretend that I don't feel something every time I see you two together. That part of me doesn't die when you kiss him in front of me."

The brunette blinked back lamely. "I-I'm sorry, Quinn… I had no idea, I didn't know you were still so hung up on him…" Rachel trailed on.

This isn't about him. She almost said, catching herself just in time. It was never about him.

Morosely, Quinn turned away, aware of the growing moisture in her eyes. She didn't want Rachel to see her like this. Being friends? Does she know what kind of psychotic torture that would be?

Two years of being in Glee practice - two years of watching as she fell head over heels for male leads and music teachers was enough for Quinn. It hurt so much that she could try to laugh and it would come out an empty, noiseless sound. The silence came between them like a thick, heavy bank of snow in August. She felt herself misplaced, to be standing here, right here and now. With knit tightly eyebrows, she looked to her left, almost yearning to throw caution to the wind, serve her heart on a silver platter and confess her deepest secret to fill the immense emptiness between them. A part of her wanted to…but –

Hazel eyes peered stealthily at the face beside her, which was illuminated by a faint, white moonlight.

What if all this blew up in her face?

"You don't have to pretend like you care about me…" Quinn's voice wasn't shouting, it was begging her to leave and the sentiment was caught fast.

Rachel flinched, looking up at the blonde's face suddenly and Quinn's breath caught in her throat, knowing that she had struck a chord. In one quick jerk, the brunette pulled back, retreating slowly and shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'm not pretending, Quinn. I'm sorry if that's how you feel, but I never was faking this." The diva gulped. "Any of this."

A serious frown formed on the diva's tender face and she turned heel quickly, abandoning the other girl, who was quickly sobering up from solitude, alone on the balcony. The cold clinging to her sides was agonizing; the acidic taste in her mouth accompanied with the sandpaper texture of her tongue, even more so. But the feeling of being completely alone on the ice-paved balcony? That was unbearable.

Quinn hung her head, feeling the full scope of her nausea over the railing as the unkind wind rushed by. But the queasiness settling inside her was far from the effects of alcohol she had long since known. Yes, the sudden painstaking guilt that sank into the pit of her stomach was far from any routine.

"I'm sorry." She choked out to herself, under the acidic breath and smoldering night air. Turning, her eyes scoured the spot where Rachel had just been and her once deafening thoughts all fell silent.

"God. I'm so sorry, Rachel." She repeated in disbelief, running an open palm over her drained eyes, gasping.

If only she could say that to her face.

A/N: So, any thoughts?

I know this fic is much more angst-y and staid than my other stories but I actually really wanted to tackle a more serious side of Faberry.