New York in the Fall was one of the most romantic things Rachel Berry had ever seen. The way crisp, withering brown leaves floated through the air and swirled around the glassy, monstrous skyscrapers was... well, to Rachel, it felt like a metaphor for the way she and her peers were just crispy brown leaves floating around in the dazzling city of New York and one day - soon - Rachel would turn from a dying leaf to a mighty oak in the middle of Central Park. Rachel really doesn't understand nature... She stood out in the front of the NYADA campus. New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. This was where she belonged. She was sure that NYADA would jump start her transformation into a shining Broadway bound star. She smiled up at the sun and threw her arms over her boyfriend as their fellow students passed them by, pulling luggage around with them.

"I love you," she sighed to Jesse.

Jesse looked down at her, his wavy black hair blowing slightly in the crisp breeze.

"I love you," he said, his mouth pulled into an ever present smirk. He leaned down and kissed her, his lips soft and controlled and teasing as he slipped his hands around her waist.

Quinn sat in the driver's seat of her car, parked on the curb just outside the NYADA campus. She kept her leafy green eyes planted firmly on the steering wheel, avoiding having to see her friend getting her smooch on. However, there was nothing she could do to stop from hearing the annoying lip smacking. Quinn had to clear her throat twice before the couple finally parted.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel giggled to herself, blushing like a schoolgirl, "Quinn, this is my boyfriend, Jesse. Jesse, this is Quinn Fabray."

Quinn smiled stiffly as Jesse peered down at her through the car window. He nodded curtly and smirked.

"Nice to meet you," he said, brushing his dark curls back so they wouldn't fall into his eyes, and began to gather his luggage.

Quinn leaned out of the window and noticed that he had several bags lying on the pavement around him; all black suitcases of several sizes that looked ready to burst open.

"You might have to put some in the backseat," she mumbled to him, wondering if she should get out and help him load his many bags into the silver Honda Civic her mom gave her when she got accepted into Yale.

"I'll call you as soon as I get back to Ohio," Jesse said passively to Rachel as he loaded his bags into the car.

"Call me on the road," Rachel said, staring at Jesse with Bambi eyes.

"I love you," he said, sounding as if he were reassuring her, and leaned in for another kiss.

Quinn sat back in her seat and sighed irritably, trying to avoid the PDA. She honked her horn at the couple.

"I miss you already," Jesse said before he slid into the passenger's seat.

"Bye," Rachel sighed at him, before glancing back at Quinn, "Bye, Quinn!"

Quinn smiled stiffly. "Bye, Rachel," she said, and began to drive.

Jesse and Quinn sat in half-comfortable silence as she drove out of the NYADA campus and left the scenic view behind them. Quinn was just about to ask where in Ohio he lived when he cut her off.

"I have it all figured out," he said matter-of-factly as he reached into a messanger bag of his and pulled out a pocket map, "It's a ten hour drive, so we could do five shifts of two hours each or we could break it down by mileage..."

Quinn sighed and began to mentally ready herself for this long road trip, realizing at last that the reason Rachel was so fond of this new boyfriend of hers was that, well, he was her. Jesse St. James was indeed a Rachel Berry-alike and while Rachel was, of course, a good friend of Quinn's, she was the last person she wanted to take on a ten-hour road trip. The constant enthusiasm and power struggle would be too much to handle for such a long period in such a confined space. Besides, Quinn had wanted to take her trip back to Ohio alone before she was met with the discomfort of having to see her family again.

"Quinn, are you listening?" asked Jesse, snapping his finger at her.

"Yeah, yeah," said Quinn, shaking herself out of her thoughts, "Shifts and maps and... stuff."

Jesse smirked and put his map away. "I can see that I'm boring you," he said nonchalantly, "So, Quinn, tell me your life story."

Quinn blinked, confused as she kept her eyes on the road. She frowned to herself, sure that he was being sarcastic.

"Listen, I didn't mean to be rude. You weren't boring me, I was just thinking-"

"Not at all, Quinn. I'm not offended," he said, looking and sounding genuine, "I just want to know about you. After all, we have ten hours to kill before we get back to Ohio."

Quinn frowned, not sure how to figure this guy out. "...My life story wouldn't last us until Pennsylvania. Nothing happens to me."

Jesse raised a dark, arched eyebrow. "Nothing?" he repeated, sounding as if it were impossible.

Quinn shrugged. "Nothing important. That's why I left Ohio after graduation."

"So something would happen to you?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Like what?"

Quinn furrowed her brow. "Like... I'm studying at Yale."

"Studying what?"

"Anesthesiology," Quinn replied.

Jesse stared at her silently for a little too long. His unflinching gaze began to make her uncomfortable until he finally asked, "Why?"

Quinn opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of herself. "Anesthesiologists make good money," she said, as if defending herself.

"You left the dullness of Ohio to become an anesthesiologist? That's your big dream? To put laughing gas masks on people so that real doctors can operate?" Jesse said, on the verge of laughter.

Quinn glanced at him and glared, irate. "It's more complicated than that."

"Sure."

"And what's your big dream? Broadway? Movie star? What makes you think it'll happen to you when millions of people want the same thing?"
Jesse simply smirked. "I'm me."

Quinn rolled her eyes. No, this guy wasn't completely like Rachel. He was much more annoying.

"So what if nothing happens to you?" Jesse asked, "What if you become an anesthesiologist and nothing happens to you? You go to work every morning but you never meet anyone and you die alone, and your corpse gets eaten by one of the three cats you own. Or all of your cats, I suppose."

Quinn grimaced. "Rachel mentioned you had a dark side."

"Everyone has a dark side. Or are you one of those vacant, vapid cheerleader types who dots her 'i's with hearts?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I have just as much a dark side as anyone else."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Quinn frowned, "...When I buy a book, I always read the last page first. That way, if I die before I finish the book, at least I know how it ends."

Jesse smirked. "So, what? That doesn't make you deep, Quinn, it just makes you... a vacant, vapid cheerleader type turned hipster."

"I am not a hipster."

"No? Is that dress vintage?"

Quinn quickly glanced down at her yellow eyelet day dress. "It's my mother's... From before she had kids."

Jesse nodded as if that confirmed it. "Do you listen to The Smiths? Do you read Hemingway? Do you own 500 Days of Summer on DVD?"

Quinn irately pursed her lips, her blood boiling because Jesse St. James had inexplicably hit the nail on the head.

"That doesn't make me a hipster," she said weakly, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

"No, of course not," Jesse smirked patronisingly.

"Lots of people listen to The Smiths."

"Sure they do."

"And since when was Hemingway hipster? The Sun Also Rises is an American classic."

"Anyone who is reading Hemingway instead of The Hunger Games is a hipster," said Jesse, his tone light and casual, as if he weren't actually insulting her.

"Whatever... I've seen the movie."

"Did you leave the theatre angry because it was a rip-off of Battle Royale?"

"You know what? Happening to like stuff that is a little more obscure and a little less mainstream does not make me a hipster."

"I suppose not," Jesse shrugged, staring out of the window and watching New York disappear, "Not if you genuinely like it."

"Exactly."

"Still no excuse for liking 500 Days of Summer."

"That is a good movie!"

"It's a vanity piece! Zooey Deschanel is a cute hipster for two hours and that's it!"

Ten more minutes was spent on a heated argument about 500 Days of Summers.

"Okay, stop!" Quinn finally said, "Whether 500 Days of Summer is good or not really isn't relevant."

"What do you mean it isn't relevant? Might I remind you that that's what this entire argument is about?"

"No, this argument is about whether or not I am a hipster or not, and I am not, because I actually, genuinely like the things I like. I don't act a certain way so that people will think I'm deep or thoughtful, unlike you!"

"I beg your pardon."

"You think you're so special because you have this introspective dark side. Well, you're not. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy."

"People don't want to be happy," Jesse said snidely, "People want to be simple."

"There's nothing wrong with that, either."

"I would rather die than be simple."

Quinn laughed. "Don't worry. You'll be melodramatic until the end."

Jesse glared at her, but that glare turned into a smile.

Two hours later, the sun had finished setting and everything around the sparse horizon was painted with an overtone of blue.

"You're wrong," Quinn said, briefly glancing at the clock on her dashboard and seeing that it was already seven o'clock. She would have pulled over so let Jesse start his shift, but she didn't want to do anything until they finished this argument.

"I'm wrong? Wake up," Jesse said with a condescending smirk, "He wanted her to leave. That's why he put her on the plane."

"But she wants to stay!"

"Well, of course she wants to stay. Wouldn't you rather be with Humphrey Bogart than the other guy?"

"Yeah, Jesse. I want to spend the rest of my life in Casablanca married to a guy who runs a bar. It probably sounds like a snobby, vacant cheerleader type thing to you, but I would have been happy to get out of there."

"And stay in a passionless marriage?" Jesse raises his eyebrow and stares incredulously at her as Quinn spots the neon sign of an all-night diner in the corner of her eye.

"I'd be the first lady of Czechoslovakia."

"You'd give up the man you've had the greatest sex of your life with just because he owns a bar and the other guy owns Czechoslovakia?"

"Yes," Quinn said, parking outside the diner with a tone of finality, "So would any woman. Women are practical. Even Ingrid Bergman. That's why she gets on the plane even though she doesn't want to."

She looks at Jesse with a defiant frown and he stares back at her, his brow wrinkled in mild confusion until suddenly, he's smiling slightly.

"I get it," he says blithely, and gets out of the car.

Quinn blinks and follows him out. "Get what?"

"Nothing," he says, shoving his hand in the pocket of his dark jeans, "It's not important."

"No. What?"

"Forget about it, Quinn," he said, walking through the diner doors, his wavy hair bouncing slightly.

"Just say it, Jesse!"

With his hand still holding open the diner door, Jesse turned back to her and said very nonchalantly, "Obviously you've never had great sex."

Quinn's jaw dropped as he turned away again to a passing waitress and said, "Two, please."

"Yes, I have!"

"No, you haven't," Jesse smirked as the waitress led them to a small table in the corner.

"It just so happens that I have had plenty of good sex!"

Quinn's face began to burn as she felt the diner go silent. Jesse found it hard to hide a smirk as Quinn sat down quietly, her head low. He opted for holding a plastic covered menu in front of his face as he pretended to be engrossed the ingredients in the lemon pepper tilapia.

"With whom?" Jesse asked from behind his menu.

"What?"

"With whom did you have this great sex?" he asked, setting down the menu.

"I'm not going to tell you that!"

"Fine, don't tell me," he said, and put the menu back in front of his face.

He stared at it until he heard her say, "Finn. Finn Hudson."

Jesse wrinkled his nose and set the menu back down. "That sounds like a made up name."

"It does not! Jesse St. James sounds like a made up name!"

"Finn Hudson," Jesse smirked quietly to himself as the waitress approached.

"What'll it be?" she asked, her notebook at the ready.

"I'll have the chef's salad with vinegar and turtle cheesecake," said Jesse, "But I'd like the cheesecake very slightly heated and I'd like chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla, not on top but on the side. If you don't have chocolate than I don't want ice cream, just whipped cream, but if you only have canned whip cream, then nothing."

Quinn and the waitress stared at him.

"Not even the cake?" asked the waitress.

"No, of course I still want the cheesecake, just no cream or ice cream, and not heated."

"And you?" the waitress asked, turning to Quinn.

Quinn blinked at the menu. "...Pancake puppies."

The waitress left with their order and Jesse shook his head at Quinn.

"Pancake puppies?"

"What's wrong with pancake puppies?"

"That's all you're eating? Balls of fried dough? Do you want your arteries?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I deserve to indulge a little before I get to the Hell that is my parents' house. And don't you dare act like I'm the one with the weird eating habits."

"I know what I want," Jesse shrugged, "So why did you and Finn break up?"

"How do you know we broke up?"

"Because if you didn't break up, you wouldn't be here with me, you'd be with Finn, the sex monkey."

Quinn snorted at Jesse saying 'sex monkey'. "We just... broke up. I was graduating and I didn't need him anymore."

Jesse frowned. "Didn't need him anymore?"

"Yes! I was moving to Connecticut to go to Yale. What's the point of having a boyfriend if he's not even around?"

"You broke up with him because he was an inconvenience. Dead weight."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to. Obviously he wasn't that important to you - and the sex wasn't that great. Essentially, it's the same thing as when you're moving somewhere and you find a cardigan you never wear and so you throw it away instead of bringing it with you because it's just a waste of space. Finn Hudson is your waste of space. Or your cardigan."

Quinn frowned sternly as the waitress reappeared with a plastic basket of donut holes and placed them on the table.

"We'll have your order in a few minutes," the waitress said to Jesse and left.

"That's what you get for having a complicated order. Now you have to wait," said Quinn, taking a bite out of the hot, doughy circles.

"My orders are worth the wait," Jesse said absentmindedly, "Hold on, so you broke up with your boyfriend after your high school graduation?"

"Yes."

"So the best sex you've ever had is with your high school boyfriend?"

"Yes," Quinn said through gritted teeth.

"Impossible."

"It's very possible," Quinn grimaced, "It was prom night and Finn booked a hotel room for our first time together. It was very romantic."

Jesse threw his head back and laughed. "First time? The best sex of your life was the time you lost your virginity?"

"Yes," Quinn said, getting red, "So?"

"So, Quinn, that's simply ridiculous. The first sex you'll have is the worst sex you'll have. It's a fact."

"It is not," Quinn grimaced.

"Is to," Jesse said childishly, "So you're a liar. You've never had great sex."

"Shut up!"

When the two of them finished their late dinners, Quinn gathered her things after paying the bill and thought to herself that maybe being at her parent's house for Thanksgiving might not be so bad after spending ten hours with Jesse St. She looked up, waiting for him to follow her and was surprised by the look he was giving her. Smirking, as always, but with some sort of inquisitiveness in his gray eyes, and he just stared at her like this for longer than was comfortable.

"What?" she demanded, and when he kept staring she said, "Do I have something on my face?"

"You're a very attractive person," he finally said in a strangely polite, matter-of-fact tone.

Quinn paused for a moment, brushing her blond hair over her shoulder. "Thank you."

"Rachel never mentioned how attractive you are."

"Maybe she doesn't think I'm attractive."

"I don't think it's a matter of opinion. You're traditionally attractive."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Rachel is my friend."

"So?"

"So, you're her boyfriend."

"So?"

"So, you're hitting on me!" Quinn shook her head as she walked out of the diner.

"No, I wasn't!" Jesse said defensively as he followed her out, "Can't a man tell a woman she's attractive without it being a come on?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and got into the passenger's seat of her car.

"Fine, fine, let's say for argument's sake that I was hitting on you," Jesse said, leaning into the window before he got inside, "What do you want me to do about it? I'll take it back if that'll make you happy."

"You can't take it back," Quinn sighed as he got into the driver's seat, "It's out there."

"So what do we do now?"

"Just let it go."

"Fine," Jesse said as he started the car and pulled out of the diner's parking lot, "Let it go. Good idea. Let it go... So, you want to get a room?"

Quinn turned to Jesse, her mouth open in shock.

"See what I did there?" he smirked, "I didn't let it go."

"Jesse... Can we just be friends?" Quinn asked wearily.

"Great. Friends," said Jesse, driving through the dark night, "Except, of course, that we could never be friends."

"Why not?" Quinn asked, only really humoring him as she leaned her head against the window.

"Now, listen, I'm not hitting on you in any way, shape or form, but men and women can't be friends because sex always gets in the way," he said.

Quinn rose her head and stared at him. "That's not true."

"Of course it is."

"I have male friends and there is no sex involved."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"You only think you do."

"You're saying I'm having sex with them without knowing it?" Quinn scoffed.

"No, I'm saying they all want to have sex with you."

Quinn frowned. "They do not."

"Do to."

"How would you know?"

"Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her."

"So a man can be friends with a woman as long as he doesn't find her attractive."

"No, they pretty much want to nail them, too."

"What if they don't want to have sex with you?"

"Irrelevant. Sex is already involved so the friendship is doomed and that's the end of the story."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I guess we're not going to be friends, then."

"Guess not."

"Too bad. You've been such a delight to get to know."

It was morning when they finally stopped at the Akron bus station and Quinn helped Jesse remove his bountiful luggage from her car.

"God, what is in here?" Quinn frowned, "All of your hair products."

"Just the essentials," said Jesse, "So... thanks for the ride."

"Yeah, it was interesting," said Quinn as he gathered his things.

"I'll probably get a taxi to my parent's house," said Jesse.

"Visiting them for Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah. I'm about as excited to see them as you are to see yours."

Quinn smirked. "Too bad Rachel didn't come. She's the only one I know who likes her parents."

"Yeah, well..." Jesse trailed off, not sure what to say, "Have a nice life, I guess."

"You, too," said Quinn, and got back into her car. As she drove away, she was surprised to find that she was a little regretful that she didn't ask Jesse if he wanted to ride back to New York with her after Thanksgiving. Then she reminded herself that she doesn't ever want to see Jesse St. James again.