Date Night

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Author's note I: Below you'll find the first installment of DN. This chapter is rated T, at best, though the story as whole will be rated M. Though it's not my first piece of fanfic ever written, it's my first exploration into the deliciousness that is Faberry. If all goes accordingly, updates will happen at least once a week. Please enjoy and review. I'd love to hear your comments, complaints and constructive criticism.

Chapter 1 – Habits Die Hard


Present Day

Head on a swivel, Rachel's brow scrunched in confusion, then understanding as her gaze rotated back and forth from the screen to the blonde standing before her.

"Quinn?" she managed to squeak out as tears, welling up in her brown eyes, threatened their descent.

Quinn's breaths came in small, shallow gasps. She fought to regain her voice, to salvage the world she had carefully constructed for months from collapse. With panicked eyes and her mouth alarmingly dry, she barely managed to urge forth the whisper. "Rachel."

"No. N- no, no. No." Stammering, the small diva rose from her perch, limbs shaking with rage as she began to back away.

Quinn cautiously paced forward before rapidly retreating. Frozen in place, she gasped and brought her hand to her chest, hugging the jolt of pain that radiated in her core from the look on Rachel's face, the disgust in her eyes. Desperation forced the words from her mouth.

"Please, Rach. Just let me explain. I-"

"No."

Quinn's eyes pleaded, begged from across the room.

"NO. Get the hell out!"


Months Earlier

A lone figure glanced around the dim-lit dressing room, the only light emanating from the vanity tables, and gained her bearings as she prepared for what was soon to unfold. It didn't take her long to pinpoint her sought out area in the shared space—a picture of Barbra plastered to the side of the mirror was an easy clue. Curious, she approached the vanity, seeking out additional information of how the tiny diva's life may have morphed since leaving Lima over five years ago.

She pulled out the vanity's chair and sat, leisurely drumming her fingers across the wood as she gathered her intelligence. She let out a small, pitying chuckle, "Some things never change..." Holding places of honor amongst portraits of her fathers and spontaneous moments with cast mates from various shows was a large picture of the William McKinley's Glee Club as well as a shot of the diva wrapped in the arms of none other than Finn Hudson. She had heard the rumors that the two on-again, off-again romancers had to continue their relationship through college, and if the picture was any indication, into their post-grad lives, too.

Looking at her watch, she mumbled out of aggravation, "Where the hell is she?" The applause, bows, and curtain closing ended more than thirty minutes ago and she couldn't believe the actors were still receiving notes. Bored, she slowly rolled out the tension in her neck as her eyes continued taking liberties in invading the personal space in front of her. Stretching, a metallic glimmer caught her eye. Reaching under a discarded towel, she retrieved a small tablet PC begging to be investigated.

Craning her ears for any sounds of the returning cast, she powered up the small device. "I wept as our bodies made the music of love. 'I'm your rhapsody, play me!' 'Crescendo, my young maestro, crescendo!'" It appeared that one of the diva's preshow relaxation regimens included reading smut-filled romance novels. With a shake of her head, she navigated to the home screen and started examining the apps. Many, such as shortcuts to email, weather, current trending games, were common place, but a particular app stood out from the rest. "Date Night...hmmm."

Without a second thought, she touched the icon and it began to load. Clicking her tongue impatiently, a wave of doubt crept in as she questioned her brief intrusion into the diva's personal life. She had never heard of this app, and unsure of its intended purpose, worried that soon her senses would be assaulted with the sickeningly sweet details of the diva and her beau's presumed love life as they tried to plan time together amongst their busy schedules.

With a flash on the tablet's screen, the doubt vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. Her mouth spread into a victorious sneer as she read the apps' banner: "An online dating community for New Yorkers." Her grin endured as she realized the diva was already logged in to the site. With a flick of her finger, she continued her expedition of the diva's private life:

***
RasBerry419

Where's My Prince Charming?

Last log in: Active within 24 hours

Age: 22

Location: Manhattan

Seeking: Males 20-35

Relationships: Single

Kids: Maybe some day

Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Body type: Toned/Athletic

Height: 5'2"

Religion: Jewish/Christian

Smoke: No

Drink: Socially

About me and what I'm looking for:

I come from a small, liberal and very open-minded family. I'm constantly singing and dancing, so you'll need to be able to put up with that. I'm hoping to meet other individuals interested in the singles scene, but who are possibly interested in something more serious.
***

Scrolling down the page, she analyzed the only picture included on the profile – a dark-haired woman in motion as she looked over her left shoulder, smiling. Shaking her head in amusement, she reached into her bag to retrieve her steno pad and pen. As she continued to scroll through the dating profile and again glance around the vanity, she began taking copious notes in attempts to seize as much information as possible.

Her feverish scribbling came to a sudden halt as her gaze once again fell on the framed picture of the high school sweethearts. She cocked her head and tapped her pen to her lips, her confusion growing. Why on earth would the diva be logged on to a dating site, listing herself as single no less, if she was happily dating the giant? And if they were once again off-again, why continue to have the posed photo on display?

The all too delicious mystery was intriguing and soon her mind was flooded with theories and questions. So deep in her musings, she failed to hear the approaching stampede of the cast's footfalls and was only snapped back to the reality of the moment by the sound of the turning doorknob.

"SHIT!" she cried, as she leapt to her feet, sending the vanity chair skidding across the tiled floor. As the door continued to open, the woman frantically tried to conceal her snooping as she rushed to replace the overturned chair and return the tablet to its veiled existence underneath the towel.

"Ms. Berry?" A man's muffled voice floated in from the other side of the door.

"Yes?" The door halted its progress and froze, halfway open.

"You have a visitor. It's-"

With an irate huff, the diva answered, "If I remember correctly, and I'm certain I do as I'm rarely wrong, I believe everyone was instructed to not let Mr. Hudson return to my dressing room under any circumstances."

"Yes, Ms. Berry, and I explicitly followed your direction. Myself, and well ultimately security, removed Mr. Hudson from the theatre's premises earlier this evening."

There was a long pause as the diva awaited for further explanation.

"Your visitor is a reporter."

"Oh!" The reply noted the obvious change in tone, her voice no longer strained with the frustration of having an unwelcome guest. As she swung the door open the remainder of way, "Thank you very much, Mich-"

The diva's brown eyes quickly surveyed the room and as they landed on the figure standing in front of the vanity, her face instantly fell. Craning her head back out the door she shouted, "Michael!"

"Yes?" came the far off, but worried reply.

Speaking through clenched teeth, Rachel Berry turned her red hot gaze toward her guest and uttered, "If you would be so kind, please amend my previous list of unwelcome visitors to include not only Jacob Ben Israel and Mr. Hudson, but also Quinn Fabray."


"Rachel. Really now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Quinn questioned as Rachel's stomach plunged in doubt, long-forgotten high school demons and taunts slithering their way back into her consciousness.

"I'm sure your fathers taught you better manners than that." Quinn mocked.

Pursing her lips, Rachel bit back her anxiety and titled her chin with a feigned air of confidence. "They most certainly did, of course. But, Quinn, it's obvious that you and I remember high school quite differently." Rachel briefly shivered, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Quinn, as the thoughts of an ice-cold, breath-taking slushy crossed her mind.

"Oh, but those were great times, don't you think, RuPaul? It seems just like yesterday we were all calling you Manhands behind your back. And, if you'll give me just a second longer, I'm sure I can come up with yet another fitting name," Quinn goaded. "I'm quite good with words now, you know. Being a reporter and all."

With a fresh wave of humiliation threatening to crash and blushing beet red in embarrassment, Rachel screeched, "MICHAEL!" through the open doorway.

Knowing she had pushed too far, Quinn attempted to clear the air. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry, Rachel. Honestly. I was just kidding. Except for the reporter bit. That's the truth." Quinn flashed her press badge and a forced smile in Rachel's direction.

However, before their conversation could continue, the air was disturbed by the high-pitched, excited voices of Rachel's fellow cast members entering the dressing room.

"Can you believe Robin missed her mark again in the second act!"

"For real. I don't understand her problem. It's not like we didn't go over the blocking again and again during rehearsal."

"I know, right? Also, did you see when-"

The two girls grew quiet as they took in their surroundings and realized they had an audience to their backstage gossip. Detecting the noticeable tension in the air, Molly and Briana looked from the annoyed diva to the smirking blonde with interest.

"Hey, Rach. Everything good here?" asked Briana.

But before Rachel could reply, Quinn swiftly stepped forward and extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray. No need to worry. Rachel and I go...way back. We went to high school together, sang in the Glee Club. What a wonderful show you all put on today, and from where I sat, you couldn't even tell Robin missed her mark. Again."

Casting a sidelong glance towards Rachel's fuming form, Molly filled the silence. "Um, that's so nice that one of Rach's old friends was able to come and see the show."

Briana, however, was a bit more skeptical, and rotated her body and took on a protective posture. She stood, arms crossed and fired back, "Though I don't remember hearing your name ever mentioned before in the numerous stories we've heard about Rachel's high school days, including the Glee Club." Pausing briefly to refocus her intense stare on the blonde, she continued, "So you'll have to forgive me for questioning your sincerity because-"

But before the situation could escalate further or Quinn could have an opening to say why Rachel has never once mentioned her name, Rachel took control. Stepping in front of her friends she explained, "You can back off, Briana. It's okay. Really. Quinn was actually just on her way out." Her words were emphasized by the sweeping motion of her hand towards the door.

"But, Rachel...our interview?" Quinn quickly countered.

Rachel clenched her jaw in frustration, but before she was able to speak, Molly's excitement took over. "Rachel! An interview? That's wonderful!"

With pupils sending daggers Quinn's way, Rachel responded quickly, "Quinn, I'm not doing an interview. Now if you would please-"

"But Rachel, that's just silly," chided Molly as her face crinkled up in confusion.

Briana chimed in, "I'm actually going to have to agree with Molly on this one, Rach. I mean, can any of really afford to turn down an interview? We've gotta get our names out there any way we can."

Quinn smirked, knowing that Rachel would have a hard time refusing now that her friends were aware, and added, "Please, Rachel. It shouldn't take much of your time. We can do it right now if you'd just like to get it out of the way."

Defeated and just wanting to be out of the situation, Rachel finally relented. "Fine, Quinn. There's a coffee shop right across the street from the theatre. I'll meet you there in twenty."


Quinn sipped her latte, and yet again glanced at her watch. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus, Berry. Get your ass in gear." Over thirty-five minutes had passed and Quinn was getting restless. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and the caffeine was quickly affecting her mood. She began to gather her belongings. She was positive Rachel had blown off their meeting when the shop's bell announced a new patron.

Looking up, Quinn watched as a confident Rachel Berry entered, clad in slim fit jeans and a simple, plain tee. At least her sense of style has improved, she thought.

Rachel sent a curt nod Quinn's way, acknowledging her presence, before placing her order with the barista.

Walking towards the table with her large cup, Quinn now noticed the darker circles under Rachel's eyes that were previously hidden by her stage makeup. "So I thought we said we were meeting in twenty?"

Rachel frowned, willing herself to calm down. Barbra, Liza, Patti – Please grant me the serenity to not reach across the table and strangle that bitch. Hooking her purse on the back of her chair, Rachel collapsed in a tired heap. "I would have been here over fifteen minutes ago had I not needed to convince Briana that I didn't need a bodyguard."

"Seriously?" Quinn scoffed.

Rachel shook her head. She was not in the mood for dealing with Quinn nor all the emotions that had returned upon seeing her face back in the dressing room. Thoughts of humiliation and being an outcast, feelings she had long ago pushed into the far reaches of her mind, had begun to worm out of their hiding places and poke holes in the armor she had carefully crafted since arriving in New York five years ago. "Yes, Quinn. Believe it or not, I have friends here. A support system. People who are willing to protect me, stand up for me. A lot's changed in five years."

"Yeah, I guess it all has. Sorry about getting on your case back there in the theatre, just some habits are hard to break you know?"


The interview had been progressing well. After apologies were offered and accepted, the generic pleasantries exchanged – How've you been? What have you been up to? – Quinn explained to Rachel how after college, she had taken up freelance jobs to help pay the bills while she worked on her advanced degree. She had been aiding a number of clients when the call went out that stories were needed on the up and coming stars of the New York stage. Never expecting a compliment, Rachel had actually blushed when Quinn admitted that her first thought had been to seek Rachel out.

Flipping through her steno pad and referencing her pre-brainstormed questions within her Moleskin, Quinn announced, "I think I've got most of what I need. Just let me double-check a couple of things...um, I, ah, I noticed you had a picture of you and Finn on your vanity."

Rachel's shoulders slumped as she let out a labored sigh. The last topic of conversation she wanted to entertain, and especially with Quinn Fabray, was her ex. She took another sip of her now lukewarm coffee, choosing to ignore the question in hopes that Quinn would take the hint and move on to another inquiry.

With her eyes focused on the notebooks in front of her, Quinn missed Rachel's obvious signals that the current topic of conversation was not one she wished to contemplate, and unfortunately pressed further. "I was just wondering, 'cause I had heard you two attempted to do the long distance thing." She finally looked up from her notes and added, "Even though you're currently banning him from your dressing room, I'm glad it worked out for you. You...you looked happy together."

Rachel studied the face looking back at her and was shocked and grateful to actually see and hear genuineness in Quinn's voice. Looking down at the table she responded, "Thanks, but we're not together anymore. Hence the reason he's banned from my dressing room."

"But, why's the picture-"

Rachel's bottom lip began to tremble and her chin quivered as she finally met Quinn's eyes. "Some habits are hard to break. You know?"

"Aww shit, Rachel. I didn't mean to-" Quinn uttered as she began to fumble through her bag, retrieving a pack of tissues for the tears that were already cascading down Rachel's face.

Rachel gladly accepted the kleenexes, but as she blinked the tears away and dried her cheeks, a bitterness began to grow in the back of her throat and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could give them a second thought.

"Well, that's good news for you though, right? He's no longer tied down so you can go ahead and swoop on in and claim him as your own. Again. Just like you always did."

Quinn deliberately breathed in two mouthfuls of air, willing herself to calm down and ignore the remark. She had known that her unannounced visit had the potential for disaster and that it would surely stir up old emotions. However, she had hoped Rachel would have grown up, matured some in the past five years. Instead of sending back the retort on the tip of her tongue, Quinn let the comment roll off her back and quickly turned her focus to her notes to find an unanswered question to regain control of the discussion.

"Moving on... Let's see...ok. Thinking back to high school, or I guess more accurately from the time you came out of the womb," at least this elicited a small smile from Rachel, "you knew you wanted to be a star, right? How do you feel now, knowing that your dreams are being realized?"

Rachel sniffed and blew her nose before answering. "I'm far from reaching my goals, Quinn. Being the swing in Hello, Again, though a great achievement, is but a stepping stone to my true destiny."

Jotting notes, Quinn continued. "Okay, so you haven't made it big yet," Rachel frowned at Quinn's casual tone, "but you're on your way there. What or who do you owe your success to? Your fathers? Barbra?" Quinn looked up expectantly hoping her last comment could draw out another smile and ease the increased tension in the air.

Rachel thoughtfully trailed her finger around the rim of her coffee cup before answering. "Well," she started off slowly, "of course I credit my fathers. They're the ones that paid for countless voice and dance lessons, paid for college. They encouraged me when others tore me down." She shot a meaningful look across the table. "And then there's you, Quinn."

Quinn's hand paused over her notebook as she shifted her gaze and raised her eyebrows in question. She waited for Rachel to clarify.

"To be fair, it just wasn't you. I guess I'm referring to anyone who ever made me feel less than I was. People who shoved me in lockers, threw slushies on me every day-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Rachel, but I'm just not following..."

"You aren't?" Rachel rolled her eyes and hint of superiority crept into her voice. Sitting here, talking to Quinn and thinking about high school had reawakened too many feelings and Rachel was quickly losing the battle to keep her emotions in check.

"You, Quinn, and everyone at McKinley were one big fucking audience. Day in and day out I put on the performance of my life. Hit me with a slushy? Don't care – let me go sing out my feelings in Glee Club! Slam me into my locker? Whatever – I'll soon be out of this small town and on the stage while you're still stuck in Lima draining pasta at Breadstix. I had to act like everything was perfect every damn day. So yes, I credit much of my success to you. High school was just one, never ending performance until the final curtain call – graduation. That's when I got to leave you and everyone else, the lowest of low that made my life a living hell for four years, and never look back."

Rachel was confused as Quinn lifted her face, a smile beginning to form across her lips. "Oh, c'mon, Berry. It was high school. You know how kids are, we don't think things through; we say things we don't mean. Don't you think it's time to move on?"

The anger Rachel felt as Quinn made light of her admission, began to boil over. "At least I learned a couple of valuable lessons back then. Like how not to fuck up my life by having a baby." Rachel nearly spit the last word.

Quinn dropped her pen and through gritted teeth questioned, "What. Did. You. Just. Say."

"I didn't stutter, did I, Fabray? I think you heard me perfectly clear the first time."

Quinn was seeing red. All of sudden the lights in the coffee shop were too bright, too harsh. The conversations of the other customers too loud and the sounds of cutlery scrapping plates, bowls and mugs made her hair stand on end. Quinn opened her clenched eyes and hissed, "Get the fuck out my face."


But the bell over the coffee shop's door rang, announcing to Quinn that Rachel was already long gone.

Seething, Quinn angrily collected her belongings. Rachel had no right to acknowledge the unspoken skeletons of their pasts and in the process deliver the lowest of blows to Quinn.

As she exited through the coffee shop's door, Quinn only had a single thought in her mind.

Some habits do die hard, Berry. And revenge is one of them.


Author's Note II: I cannot take credit for the hilarious lines of Rachel's smut-filled romance novel. They belong to the writers of the Frasier episode "Slow Tango in South Seattle".