Author's Notes: And I'm finally writing Faberry again! I hate to burst your bubble, but this isn't the nice and fluffy Faberry content you might be expecting. Nope, heavy warnings for major character death and some highly controversial themes dealing with the character's death (no spoilers, but if you're not okay with the major character death bit this may not be the fic for you. I can't stress this enough).
That being said, if you're still with me, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank Mike Ownby here. He's graciously agreed to not only look over my stuff for general errors and Americanization, but also serve as a beta for all my Glee fics. Any further mistakes still lingering are my own.
The last thing Rachel wanted was to be disturbed. She treasured her solitude since she had plenty of it these days, and rarely left her house.
But Brittany Pierce-Lopez was a dear family friend, and had been for years. She was one of the few people Rachel would leave her house to show up at some nondescript coffee shop for, on nothing but a cryptic text message's notice.
She was lucky that the Johnsons' teenage daughter was willing to babysit Elly for the afternoon on such short notice; Rachel wasn't sure why Brittany seemed to think they needed a few hours for coffee, but she knew better than to argue.
"She just went down for a nap," whispered Rachel as she led Maureen through the house. "If she wakes up hungry, there's a bottle in the fridge for her. I should be back long before dinner, but just in case, you know where the formula is."
Maureen nodded. "Got it, Ms. B."
They hesitated in the doorway. Rachel wanted to kiss her daughter goodbye, but worried that she might wake. Despite her tender age, Elly had been remarkably clingy since losing her other mother.
Deciding against it, Rachel backed away. "I should get going, or I'll be late," she said.
"Okay. I'll call if anything comes up." Maureen followed her back to the front door. "And, uh… I'm really sorry for your loss, and I hope you're doing okay. I liked Ms. Q. a lot; she always treated me like I was an adult."
Rachel managed a smile for her. With her dark hair, strong features, and hardheadedness, Quinn had been fond of saying Maureen could have been Rachel's daughter if she'd been the one to get pregnant in high school. "Thank you." Perhaps she was making good progress in the grieving stage; Maureen's clumsy yet heartfelt condolences were balm on her wound instead of salt.
Bidding goodbye to them, Rachel tucked her coat tighter around herself and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The weather was fine, she would walk.
She'd always loved walking in New York in spite of the weather. Quinn had been the one to gently bully her into taking taxis; first when her career was starting to take off and she was being recognized, and then later, when she was pregnant with Elly. And now that Quinn was gone, there was no one to talk her out of walking again.
The coffee shop that Brittany had selected wasn't far. Rachel put her hands into her pockets and joined the throng heading up the street, bracing herself against the light wind that had started to blow.
In the six months since Quinn's passing, this was only the third time she'd left her apartment; the first for the funeral, and the second when she brought Elly to stay with her fathers in Lima for a few weeks for a change of scenery.
Quinn was moderately well-known as a lecturer and academic in her own right in addition to being married to the Broadway actress Rachel Berry, and there had been a fair bit of paparazzi attention that she didn't feel like dealing with; they'd even been as bold as to stake out the hospital during Quinn's final days. They were worse than the cancer that had taken her wife. Rachel cast a baleful glance at the man with a camera around his neck hurrying in the opposite direction, and immediately felt guilty.
Thankfully for her frame of mind, the walk to the coffeeshop was unmarred with cameras. Perhaps they had forgotten about her.
Rachel arrived at the shop and immediately spotted Brittany sitting at a table in the back. Brittany stood up to greet her as she approached. "Thanks for coming, Rach." She was quickly enveloped in a hug that brought up bittersweet memories of the past, as did the nickname. Rachel blinked back unexpected tears.
"Anytime, Britt. I'm sorry I'm late; I had to wait for Elly's babysitter."
"You're not late; I only just got here myself." Brittany fetched her purse. Rachel followed suit, and they walked to the counter to place their orders.
Her cappuccino with coconut milk was a daily habit for the past fifteen years since she'd moved to New York. She hasn't paid for it for the past ten; it was a habit of Quinn's to buy it for her. The swell of emotion Rachel experienced when she paid for her own drink was bittersweet, tinged with embarrassment; she had always been sentimental, but this was ridiculous.
"How are you and Elly?"
"We're fine." Rachel stirred her spoon through the foam. "She's started sleeping regularly and she has this amazing appetite. If she doesn't get her bottle when she wakes up, well… let's just say she'll put every diva tantrum I've ever had – combined – to shame."
Brittany smiled. "She got that from you."
Rachel shrugged. "I only hope that's all she got from me." She gave Brittany her most disingenuous smile. "So, what's up? You sounded pretty excited in your text."
Brittany pursed her lips in a worried frown. "You didn't really answer my question."
"Which question?"
"Rach, we both know that you're not as good at changing the subject as you think you are."
That got a wry, grudging smile from Rachel.
"You don't look so good, Rach. Are you taking care of yourself? How's Elly?" Brittany continued.
"Too many questions, Britt." She smiled a thin-lipped smile. "I manage. So does Elly; it's a good thing she isn't old enough to really understand what's going on."
"You should call us more. San and I would be happy to babysit, or the both of you could even stay with us for a while. You shouldn't be alone."
"I'm not alone," said Rachel quietly. "I've got Elly."
"But, Rach – "
"– Britt, are you gonna tell me why you called me out here?" Her tone remained calm and even, and Brittany winced.
"Yeah. Of course. Uh – it's a good thing you got these to go. I need to show you something."
Rachel didn't ask why; she simply hummed her acknowledgment and stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She left her cup to steam on the table.
"Aren't you gonna take that?"
"No," said Rachel.
Brittany's workshop was a good fifteen minutes drive from their home, as per Santana's stipulations. She didn't want work and their personal life to be hopelessly entangled, but she also didn't want Brittany to spend too much time commuting back and forth, especially when inspiration struck in the middle of the night.
The warehouse smelled musty. Rachel stuck close to Brittany as their surroundings were poorly lit, and she didn't want to stumble into anything dangerous.
Brittany took a while to unlock the door. Rachel watched as she fished out a ring of keys. "How many locks do you have?" asked Rachel in disbelief as the barrel lock clicked open – the fourth Brittany had unlocked.
"A few," replied her friend absently. She slid the combination lock off the bolt and opened the door. "There we go." Brittany fumbled with the wall, and shortly the lights came on to reveal a messy workspace with several points on the floor where objects seemed to gravitate to.
"It's been a while since I was last here," said Rachel. She touched the panel of the nearest project. "Gonna give me a tour?"
"That's a hybrid fuel cell," said Brittany, nodding at what Rachel was examining. "Bill asked me to design a new one for the city buses."
"Bill?"
"Mayor Bill."
Rachel wasn't surprised that her friend was on a first-name basis with the mayor of New York. It was hard to care when most of her high school class were influential people in the city themselves; they'd done pretty well for a bunch of kids from the Midwest. "Ah. And this?"
Brittany shrugged. "My teleporter. I got the idea from Star Trek. It doesn't work. I haven't managed to work out the bugs with the quantum matter atomizer." She pulled a face. "It did unspeakable things to the apples I used to test it with."
"You'll get it to work soon, Britt." Rachel smiled fondly at her friend – while also giving the teleporter a wide berth.
"Thanks. But that's not what I wanted to show you." She led the way to another room in the back, fishing her keys out of her pocket to unlock the door – and another padlock on the bottom – and finally, a combination code on the top.
"Why so much security?"
"It's important. I couldn't let anyone see it until it was done; and now that it is, you're the first person to see it."
Rachel frowned. "Me? Why me? Shouldn't it be some scientist or professor?"
Brittany looked at her. All the vacancy was gone from her light blue eyes, making them unsettlingly sharp. In that moment, she looked exactly like the brilliant scientist that she was, instead of the Brittany Rachel had known since high school.
"No. I made it for you."
She flipped the light switch. Inside looked like a regular office space, with a desk, swivel chair and computer terminal. Rachel stared.
"Where is it?"
Brittany pointed at the computer. "Try turning it on."
Rachel touched the power button. The screen lit up, but instead of displaying some normal loading screen, it immediately displayed a chat field. And at the top of the screen –
Rachel reared back, hands flying to her mouth. She felt sick. "Is this some sort of cruel joke?" she spat.
"Rachel, I promise I'm not joking."
"Then, what is – " she pointed a shaking finger to the name at the top of the screen. Quinn, it read in stark letters. "Why is her name there? Why does it look like some text message screen? Oh god."
"It's a deep learning bot. It has an artificial neural network, but it hasn't been socialized yet."
"... What?"
A deep frown marred Brittany's face as she struggled for words to explain. "It's artificial intelligence, but a step farther than what's currently out there. It learns by interacting with people, so the more you talk to it, the more 'human' it becomes."
A chill ran down Rachel's spine. She stared at the screen for a long moment. It looked so innocuous. Brittany had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure that it looked perfectly normal.
But it was fake. Cruel, in the way the stark white letters mocked her.
"... I don't understand," whispered Rachel. "Interact…? What does that have to do with Quinn?"
"This is what I've been working on. Quinn helped."
"She knew you were making this… thing?"
"She gave me her blessing, and she helped program it." Brittany hesitated. "Her name is there, because it's her."
It was one thing to be asked to condone this electronic mockery of a real live human being that had been Rachel's entire world, but to see it as what Quinn had left behind? It was an easier pill to swallow. And yet, Rachel's head was spinning.
Brittany rested a hand on her shoulder. "I know this is a lot to take in," she said softly.
"That's the understatement of the year," said Rachel coldly.
"You don't have to do anything right now. We can go."
Rachel whirled on her. "Excuse me? You bring me here, tell me you and my wife have been working on this thing, without my knowledge, and then you expect me to go home and be okay with all this?" She suppressed a harsh sob. "Who else knew? Santana?"
"Santana didn't know." Brittany dropped her gaze from Rachel's astonished one.
Anger quickly fueled her tongue. "Is this worth it? All the secrets you were keeping from us? I can't speak for Quinn – even if it sounds a lot like a stunt that stubborn woman would pull – but I swear to god, Britt, this isn't like you at all." She fell silent. "Is this truly worth it?" repeated Rachel in a whisper.
"Yes."
Slowly, Rachel's eyes met Brittany's. She held eye contact for a few seconds. Curiosity warred with revulsion and disgust, and finally Rachel looked away. "So," said Rachel at last, "what do I do with this?"
"Talk to it," answered Brittany simply.
Rachel let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "That's all? Really? What should I say? Hi, Quinn? Hi, weird computer thing that's been programmed with Quinn's personality?"
"Anything. This is… it's not Quinn, it can never be. But it's as close as possible." Brittany nodded at the bookshelf to their left. "All her books, her articles. Even her school essays. Conversations, emails… every part of her writing, I uploaded it into the memory bank. I told it everything I know about Quinn. And she… she spent whatever time she could spare telling it all about herself." Brittany paused to wipe her eyes. "She wanted it to be a secret."
Rachel's mouth twisted. It reminded her of the time Quinn had caught pneumonia when they were still dating. Rachel had been about to fly to London to guest star in the West End premiere of her show, and Quinn worried that Rachel would cancel it to stay with her. Quinn had gone to extreme lengths, enlisting Santana and Brittany's help to hide the truth.
The memory of Quinn's expression when she'd found out and gone to the hospital lingered in Rachel's mind as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Finally, she typed, with trembling fingers, and pressed the Enter key:
I miss you, Quinn.
Almost immediately, a reply popped up. Rachel gasped.
I'm here.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She continued typing.
Where are you?
Remember that time in Lima? You were in my bed. Laughing, happy.
I remember.
I love you.
I love you, too.
You promised you wouldn't leave me.
I'm sorry.
I never wanted to hurt you.
Are you good? Kiss Elly for me.
I will. We're fine. We miss you so much.
I just want you to come home.
"I can't," she said, sobbing hard. She pushed her chair away from the computer. "I can't do this."
"Rachel…"
"Please. You've done enough. I need to go." Rachel paused, breathing hard. Her fingers curled around the back of the chair and gripped tightly, hard enough to hurt. "I'm not… it's too much to take in."
Brittany looked torn. "I understand. Let me call you a taxi…"
"No, I'll walk. I need to clear my head."
She refused to let Brittany accompany her partway, or even to walk her out of the building. Rachel walked aimlessly down the sidewalk, mind whirling with everything that had happened.
Her wife was dead. That machine, that – thing, existed in her place. Just the thought of it caused hot tears to warm cold cheeks.
Eventually, she found herself at the Hirschfeld Theatre. Rachel smiled; it was very like her subconscious to pick this place, where she'd had her Broadway debut more than a decade ago, where a nervous Quinn had shown up with a bouquet of flowers and an apology. Where their story had begun.
Rachel leaned against a pillar. Her collar had been blown askew by the wind; she tweaked it back into place. It was getting chillier, and she was a good distance from home – from Elly.
"Mama!"
Even windswept and heartsore, Rachel lit up when she heard Elly's voice. "Baby!" She crouched down to scoop her daughter up, covering her chubby cheeks with kisses. Elly babbled back at her happily, her fingers tangling in Rachel's hair.
"Hey, Ms. B." Maureen appeared from the kitchen.
"Hi, Maureen. She wasn't any trouble, was she?"
"Nah, she was a perfect angel. We watched Dora after her bottle, didn't we, Elly?"
"Bababloooo," said Elly, now resting her head on Rachel's shoulder.
Rachel smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Here, let me…" She fumbled with her purse, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to Maureen. "Thanks again for watching her today."
"Not a problem." She fetched her coat and left.
Alone with her daughter, Rachel buried her face in Elly's hair and started to cry.