forget about fate (and just hold me), a glee fanfic

When Rachel Berry's in the sky, nothing else feels as important.

It's the greatest thing she's ever felt. It's her first run since her twenty-third birthday, and Rachel has been waiting patiently, all week, to have an excuse to use the present Noah gave her. The second her last class ends on Friday, at three-thirty two in the afternoon exactly, Rachel shuffles her future stars out of her doorway and heads for her Prius. Two hours later, she's jumping at right over thirteen thousand feet with her brand new hot pink goggles, customized with gold stars on either side of her eyes and her name across the adjustable strip. The gift matches her Bev suit, the first thing she bought as soon as her certification went through. She falls through the sky, a blurry blend of pink and gold and tan.

The breath is knocked right out of her lungs and for several painful, terrifying moments it feels like she'll never get it back. It's something she just can't get used to, no matter how many runs she's done and classes she's taken, and Rachel's heartbeat thuds in her ears as the wind whips around her. It's the most terrifying, exhilarating thing she's ever felt. After the first gulp of air, a smile spreads across her lips. It's got nothing to do with the wind whipping at her face

She keeps her eyes fixed on her watch. Ten thousand feet AGL and flying, actually flying; how can you care about your trouble when you're beyond human limits? Not the rent she owes at the end of the month, or the audition she was rejected from, just last week that ended with the casting director suggested a nose job. Not the sting of disappointment at her fathers forgetting her birthday. Not even the aching, insufferable desire that something's just missing from her life and she's not doing everything she could be. It's all adrenaline and being so incredibly alive. In this very moment it's willful, simple bliss.

Puck greets her when she finally lands, the usual smirk on his face. He's proud, mostly because he's absolutely horrendous at picking out gifts but he managed to get this one right. Rachel smiles back at him.

Noah Puckerman is her first.

Well, her first sky diving instructor. She had been hesitant, at first. Sure, it was her college graduation present from her fathers, who convinced her to move back home with her grandmother's failing health. Jumping into the job market should have been much more terrifying than jumping out of a plane. But Puck had his mohawk, and a look of lazy arrogance that Rachel didn't trust to pack her chute. On top of that, she was less than thrilled at the comments he made when her backside was firmly strapped into his front, and the slight roll of his hips was just obnoxious. Still, Puck had been there, had taken care of her, and had coaxed her through actually jumping out of the plane. Even if the 'coaxing' was jumping after Rachel had said, "maybe we should just go back, Noah". Regardless of his demeanor, the two had quickly become friends when Rachel returned the next week for a second jump.

"Lookin' good, Superstar," he calls out with a wink. Rachel pulls the goggles down, leaving them around her neck. Her hair is up, tied tightly in a bun, and when she pulls the hair tie out and shakes out her hair, she's rewarded with a wolf whistle. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"What are you doing here, Noah? I thought Friday night was your gentleman's sparring events."

"It's called fight club Rachel," Puck whines, running a hand through his mohawk. "It sounds so uncool when you say it like that."

Rachel doesn't apologize, looking at Puck expectantly as she waits for his answer. Puck grumbles to himself but follows Rachel as she walks past him and towards the office.

"Unscheduled meeting tonight. Beiste sent me out to come get you so we can start."

It's a holiday weekend, and they're short-staffed. Ms. Beiste isn't expecting that large of a turnout, but with Mike gone to visit his family and Brittany in Kentucky with her girlfriend, that leaves Puck as the only instructor on staff. Puck's technically the shift manager. For all of his complaining, even Rachel can't argue that he loves his job and he's incredibly good at it. Something about mixing his crude charm, utter confidence and complete lack of rational fear makes it feel like it's something Noah's destined to do. Rachel watches him, often. It's not out of a sense of romantic attraction, although she's considered it on lonely nights, but envy. Puck knows exactly what he wants to do with his life and he's out there, four to six days a week, living his dream. She had been that way once, too.

When they meet up at sundown, Puck's wearing a genuine smile. It's so unlike his usual smirk that the first time Rachel sees it, she almost does a double take. The smile makes Noah look younger, erasing the forehead lines that come with his smirk and leer, and closer to Rachel's age instead of two years her senior. He holds out a fist for Rachel to bump. She does so with slight hesitation, and Noah wraps an arm around her shoulder as they head our the door and towards their respective cars.

Rachel loves her weekday job. Music class has always been her favorite in grade school, and by her sophomore year in high school Rachel was starring in multiple productions. Rachel always felt like she belongs on the stage, despite the lack of supports from her peers, and it calls to her.

When she was younger, much younger, she wanted to be a star. It was a desperate, yearning feeling – being a part of something special makes you special, right? - that stayed with her for most of her childhood. If she could get out of Columbus, if she could just hold in there long enough, everything would pay off. There would be no more waiting.

But her fathers rarely had time to go to her extracurriculars, and even less time to see her on the stage multiple nights in a row. When Rachel turned thirteen, she was finally old enough to be taken on Leroy's work trip, and they spent a long weekend hiking around the Tennessee mountains as her Daddy settled an important case. It was the first time Rachel really felt included, and on top of her balancing her school work, theater time, and choir practice, Rachel researched any and every thing she could get her dad and daddy to do. When she was fifteen, they went to a theme park. At sixteen, it was white water rafting. When she turned eighteen, it was bungee jumping. And although she only had her father a couple of days a year, those were her days and no one could take them from her. Not the bullies at school, not the teacher trying to stifle her creativity by casting another girl as the lead, no one.

It was a foolish dream. College came and went, and New York was so much competitive than she ever realized. Everyone was talented, beautiful, and ispecial/i in New York. Rachel auditioned for any and every role she could get her hands on, and it wasn't enough. She made friends with half of the theater department, and it still wasn't there. It was all supposed to change when she got the lead in an Off-Broadway production but Rachel Berry felt something missing, and no amount of spotlight could fix it. She idolized the stage for so long, and it let her down like everything else in her life.

When her Nana became sick, it was easy to get guilted back to Columbus. Her family was Jewish, after all. She found a job at a private school that paid well enough and was willing to relocate her and start her at an inflated salary that matched her minor fame. Rachel was the new music teacher for 3rd, 4th,and 5th grade, and in charge of the entire choir department. Fostering and nurturing young minds, seeing that same spark she felt so long enough, was enough most days. Rachel Berry had become the person she desperately needed as a child, and the feeling was all too bittersweet.

"Where's your mother, sweetie?" Rachel bends down so that she's on the same level of the young girl. She's six, maybe seven, with gorgeous curly blonde hair and hazel eyes that look more green than anything else. It'd be hard to forgot those stunning eyes, and Rachel recognizes her instantly from the junior choir. Her lip quivers and Rachel shoots her a warm smile, trying to make her feel comfortable.

"My mommy's not here yet."

"I guess we'll have to wait for her together, then," Rachel answers, pointing towards a bench on the sidewalk. They talk about the aquarium, and how much Beth loves the stingray petting pool and their slimy skin that's cool on her fingers. Rachel sings, a silly song she picked up in a child's music book so long ago, and Beth fills in with goofy animal noises that leave them both giggling by the end. She almost doesn't notice the approach of another woman.

"Beth? I am so sorry. I got stuck at the office and there was an accident on Fifth street."

Rachel turns to meet Beth's mother. She's got windswept hair, almost the same color of blonde but less wavy. Her slacks are still wrinkle-free, even after a long day at the office, and her blouse is professional but shows off the gorgeous curve of her neck. She's stunning, in an unfair sort of way that her daughter is obviously going to live up to. Her eyes are dark, brown, with the electricity of a storm lurking behind arched eyebrows. They're filled with worry and guilt, and Rachel stands as Beth runs into her mother's arms. She's instantly picked up and swung around, in a big hug that makes Rachel's heart swell to watch.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Rachel Berry, Beth's music teacher." Rachel sticks out her hand and Quinn firmly shakes her hand. Rachel's heard about Beth's mysterious mother, who doesn't socialize with the rest of the choir moms. She had thought Ms. Fabray was an urban legend, or someone the more catty mothers used as an imaginary scapegoat. They never mentioned how attractive she is in their snide, off-stage comments.

"Quinn Fabray. I'm so sorry, Ms. Berry, but I appreciate you staying with her."

"Of course," Rachel answers, a fond note in her voice at the mention of one of her favorite students. "Beth and I were just discussing the pros and cons of installing a stingray pool in the middle of your house."

Quinn laughs, a warm, raspy noise and Rachel instantly thinks that she's the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.

"I don't think the apartment complex would appreciate that, Bethie."

Beth pouts at her mother, reaching for her hand, and Rachel reaches for her rolling backpack. Quinn meets her eyes, her smile directed at Rachel and it's impossible to not return.

"Maybe you could stop by sometime and watch Beth sing, Ms. Fabray. She's one of the most talented girls in the choir."

"I'd love that, Ms. Berry."

"Me, you, Evans and the hot Asian chick he goes to the comic shop with."

"Hello to you, too Noah. I'm assuming this is in regard to your upcoming birthday?"

"You only turn twenty-five once, baby."

"What about Brittany and Mike?"

Puck frowns.

"Britt's got some real life shit going on and Chang is still out of town."

They go out to a bar, because it's Puck and Rachel refuses to go to a strip club. The 'hot Asian chick', who introduces herself as Tina, is just as adamant about the sexualization of women in society and Rachel likes her instantly. Puck whines, because underneath his badass exterior he reminds Rachel of a puppy. Sam holds the door open for her and Rachel smiles up at him.

Sam Evans is one of the best things about Columbus. His family moved, when he was in high school, and he was one of the very first real friends that Rachel made. Sam was on the football team and his friendship with Rachel turned a number of heads. Neither one of them cared. Well, Rachel cared, in the sense that she was finally getting the attention she deserved. Sam was just along for the ride.

When she moved back home, Sam was the first one to rekindle their friendship, and Rachel returned the favor by letting him jump out of a plane at a discount price. He vowed to never, ever fly again, but Sam often brought subs from the shop next to the comic book store he worked at, and that made him an instant friend of Puck.

"It's been too long, Rachel," Sam greets before they enter the busy bar. Rachel reaches for his hand and squeezes twice, the same way she would when she felt she couldn't breathe at one of those terrible football keggers. Sam squeezes back, and leads her into the bar, and she feels about as safe as she can in a room full of strangers.

Puck is more persuasive than he should be. One shot turns into three shots, and suddenly there's a Very Berry Mojito in front of her and Puck can't stop laughing his own clever joke for almost five minutes. In his defense, he's had about twice the alcohol and when the pretty bartender found out it was his birthday, they gave him a discount on a pitcher of beer. Puck proceeded to drink the entire pitcher by himself. Tina's relatively quiet, and that doesn't stop Puck from talking her ear off. Rachel can't tell if she's enjoying the attention or not; she's too busy leaning into Sam and drinking her mojito through a crazy straw to possibly rescue her.

"Have you meet any lovely ladies, Sam?" Rachel asks in between sips. She leans up to whisper into his ear, but it turns into a half yell and Sam's ears go red at the tips. "Or gentlemen?"

It's not loud enough to derail Puck, who seems to be trying to pull out his wallet from his back pocket. Rachel glances over at him when he's flipping through small pictures in cheap, plastic holders and sees her own beaming face. It was after her first solo jump, and Puck had been waiting for her, ready with Mike's fancy camera that he swiped from the office. Puck had gotten an earful that day; the Nikon was worth a month's paycheck.

Puck finds the picture he's looking for, and if his smile was genuine earlier he's practically giddy now. Tina's expression is still unreadable, but she's leaning into Puck's shoulder, and the lines around her mouth and eyes soften.

"Not yet," Sam answers, snapping Rachel back into their conversation. Rachel pats his hand in comfort, but Sam doesn't seen annoyed.

"How about you?"

Rachel stops her sipping, letting the straw fall out of her mouth. She's down to ice. Somehow, Puck realizes it and another mojito is placed in front of her. She transfers the straw.

"I... well. No?" It's phrased as a question. Sam waits, knowing better than to rush her.

"Have you ever seen someone and just..." Rachel pauses, trying to find the words. Her head feels fuzzy in a soft, gentle way as she tries to grasp onto solid thoughts. "...Someone that inescapably takes your breath away?"

"Like skydiving?" Sam asks, and Rachel has to pause at how serious the simple question is. Her mouth feels incredibly dry.

"Yes, like skydiving."

Her voice is small, shaky, and she's glad for the loud music that masks their personal conversation. Her mojito looks much better than the scary conversation they're having, so she starts in on it. Sam, bless his heart, doesn't press the matter for the rest of the night.

Rachel dreams about Quinn. She wakes up, in the middle of the night, sweating. She's not gay.

Not that there's any problem with being gay. There's a large chunk of papers, sectioned off in a manilla folder in her top left desk drawer that proves, statistically, that she's not at any disadvantage. In fact, some of them prove she might have been raised at a slight advantage. But the fact of that matter is that just because Rachel's fathers are gay doesn't mean she's gay. That is a false statistic, made up by hate groups who would sooner see her Dad and Daddy shipped off to some islands for deviants and left for dead.

Bisexuality doesn't even cross her mind. She knows sexuality is fluid, of course, and she's fluid, but not in that way. Rachel has a ton of bisexual friends. She was a theater major, for Moses-sake. And women are gorgeous, in an untouchable, appreciative way. The way that other women look at women, with envy. Just envy, and maybe some appreciation.

She has a life plan. It's been altered by the wear and tear on her optimism, true, but Rachel Berry knows where her life is going. She's been through her young and wild phase, running off to New York, participating in Off-Broadway, performing in front of a theater full of people. Her younger self might have continued that trend, but older Rachel knew better. The stage, for all of its promises, left her wanting.

So she's back with a brand new plan. Work with children, spread her love and passion for music and theater. Foster the young minds, move along the creativity. Eventually, meet a man, have two to three children and live her life in domestic bliss. Find someone who's okay with settling down in Ohio. Someone less ambitious than she is. A leading man who's had his time in the spotlight, already, too. And at the end of the night, she gets to retire to her small apartment, face flush from a jump, and sleep mostly soundly through the night.

But Quinn Fabray is ruining that. Quinn Fabray, the medical paralegal. Quinn Fabray, the gorgeous enigma. Quinn Fabray, the woman.

Rachel tries to fall back asleep. It rarely works.

"You look tired, Rachel," Sam offers, not unkindly, as they meet up for breakfast.

It's a small place, a couple of blocks away from Sam's shop, and they're shoved into a back corner table and handed greasy, plastic menus. Bagel-Palooza is close to their high school, and Rachel would often meet up with Sam for an early breakfast so that he had enough energy for football practice after school.

"I think I'm still recovering from Noah's birthday party," she replies. Sam laughs at her wry tone as Rachel grabs for a handful of napkins to wipe down the menu in front of her.

"Puck certainly knows how to throw a party. I'm glad he didn't go to Columbus or we'd never be sober enough to win a game."

A waitress stops by, and Sam orders the same thing he's been ordering for years. Now that they're adults, Rachel would assume he's grown out of the "smiley face pancakes and two plates of meat" phase, and she'd be dead wrong. The sense of nostalgia leaves Rachel feeling relaxed, smells and memories of high school washing over her. They eat and talk easily, and Rachel's eyes light up when she talks about the competitive choir being almost ready for sectionals.

"You wouldn't believe it," she rambles on, and Sam listens with his amused diligence, "but James's baritone is just haunting. Through our four years of vocal coaching, and that unfortunate misstep of puberty, he's finally leading man material."

"Speaking of leading man," Sam segueways, catching Rachel's attention, "did you want to continue our conversation from the other night?"

"I was intoxicated."

"We were all drunk, but that doesn't mean your mystery man doesn-"

"Thank you, Samuel, but I must be leaving now."

Sam backs off, knowing that Rachel only uses his full name with him when she's seconds from yelling or crying, and reaches out for her hand. After a moment of hesitation, Rachel squeezes twice, and Sam squeezes back. She leaves a ten dollar bill on the table before he can object, and Sam's left with half a glass of chocolate milk and more silence then he's used to.

They're almost ready. Through months of Rachel's shepherding, her bright and tiny stars are ready to shine. They're more confident, stronger singers. Rachel sees so much potential in the young faces in front of her it almost makes her heart hurt. Her youth chorus is her favorite. Something about being surrounded by almost high school age kids still makes Rachel feel uneasy, despite her obvious position of power and the fact that her senior chorus has been nothing but nice to her. To her face, at least.

For most of the children, chorus is an aftercare without the necessity to pay weekly. Rachel keeps her little ones until the older group gets out, and then starts all over again. There's a large majority of parents she's never met, and on average only two to four parents even stop in to watch. She's not surprised by the low attendance, and their parents are always promptly waiting in the car. She just wishes, for their sake, that they'd show up more to support their burgeoning singers.

After the Hendersons take their place in the spare chairs she always sets up, five across and four deep, Rachel takes her place at the front of the classroom with a smile. Their first competition is coming up. It's a three month out, but Rachel still feels the pressure with a show date right around the corner. Old habits die very hard.

The first half an hour rushes in a blur. It's clerical work, making sure parents sent in permission slips and money for their matching outfits. And then, of course, writing more personalized letters home to the parents who take their sweet time filling out such paperwork. It's the main reason that Rachel sends home the county forms and requests over two months in advance.

Once Rachel is sure every child that's missing a form has the newest copy in their book bag, they can actually focus on the music. They fill in the ranks, looking up at Rachel and waiting for their cue. She takes a deep breath, holds it, and scans over her students. With a raise of her hand and a couple of words, singing fills the room.

Rachel hears the side door open but doesn't pay any mind to it. Right now, she's in the middle of a set list, hanging onto each and every word as her trained ears pick up the pitches from nearly two dozen voices and tries to sort and critique every single one of them. You have to be gentler, with the younger children. Some of them just aren't used to criticism and everyone learns differently. She's learned that the hard way.

They end their trio of songs, and Rachel's near tears. She's so proud of them, her little stars, and the, parents in the audience take to clapping. Rachel smiles, praising them and reminding everyone of their next practice, and heads back over to her desk to gather her things.

She feels someone standing behind her. Rachel turns, a greeting on her tongue, and it's Quinn Fabray standing there. She's in a different button down, this one a light green that brings out the flecks of color in her eyes. Rachel's smile feels a bit more stiff than normal, but the show must go on.

"Ms. Fabray, I'm glad to see you made it."

Beth's hugging one of Quinn's legs, looking over at Rachel with those big brown eyes. Rachel's honestly glad she did make it, despite her own mixed feelings about Quinn. If her fathers had showed up to a practice she would have assumed there was a death in the family, but with the way Beth hangs on to Quinn, it's pretty obvious their relationship is a lot closer than that. Quinn has a hand wrapped around Beth's tiny one, but her attention is solely on Rachel.

"They sounded wonderful, Ms. Berry. I hear Beth sing in the bath tub but it's not the same."

"The bathroom has very poor acoustics," Rachel answers, because she doesn't know what else to say. Being here, with Quinn, doesn't feel like sky diving any more; she's yet to get her breath back and that's worrying and slightly humiliating.

Quinn just laughs, a low, raspy sound, and Rachel's never wanted to be up in the air so badly before. There's something about Quinn that leaves her uncharacteristically unhinged, and she's decided that she cannot stand it. She needs to leave.

It's Quinn's fault. They way she looks at Rachel, as if she's one of the most interesting things that she's ever seen. It's almost offensive, the way her eyes bore into Rachel's and the tiniest of smirks that pulls up at the corner of her mouth. Rachel has never been a violent person, unless it was for the sake of dramatics, but she can't tell if she wants to punch her or kiss her and it's all too much to deal with.

"I have to get going," Rachel says, but she look down slightly to talk to Beth. "You sounded wonderful today. Make sure you keep practicing, okay? I'll see you Thursday."

Beth nods vigorously and Rachel can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"I hope to see you again, Ms. Fabray."

"Likewise, Ms. Berry."

Rachel pulls out her cellphone, texts Puck, and heads straight towards freedom.

"I'm engaged!"

Rachel looks over at Brittany. There are a million different facts running through her head. The average age of the American woman at marriage, which has dramatically risen since the Civil Right's Movement. The staggering divorce rates reported every year. The fact that her girlfriend – fiancee – sounds like an emotionally stunted girl still basking in high school . The sheer glee on Brittany's face, shining in her eyes, silences her.

Puck picks her up in a bear hug, swinging her around. Brittany's laugh is light and giddy as she's swung around the room. When Puck puts her down she kisses him on the cheek.

"Congratulations, Brittany," Rachel answers, voice full of sincere warmth and Brittany beams back at her. "Did she propose?"

Puck starts laughing at that, a loud, deep laugh from his belly, and Brittany answers for him before Rachel can even question.

"Santana propose?" Brittany's brow furrows at the thought. "No. She's not good with feelings."

"But she said yes?"

"She said yes multiple times that night."

"Oh man that's hot."

Rachel's ears flush and Puck's grinning like the cat that caught the canary. She swats him on the arm, even knowing they both know it won't hurt him.

"So is she moving back to Ohio?"

"Not until the end of her semester. We're long distance penguins until then."

Her plane is ready, and Rachel and Mike head out. Mike's not really a social guy, friendly but quiet. Rachel doesn't get the chance to jump with him often enough but Puck's got a 5:30 scheduled and wouldn't have enough time to get everything prepared if he tried to squeeze in another jump. Rachel tells him to stop being petulant, and Puck pouts.

"How are you doing, Michael?"

Mike answers her easily and they catch up. He enjoyed his Christmas break but couldn't wait to get back home. His father keeps trying to get him to go back to school, and his mother always wants to know when he's going to bring home a "nice Chinese girl to give me grandchildren". They way Mike talks about his family seems to be a mix of endearment and exaggeration, and for once Rachel is happy to let him talk, her mind preoccupied and filled with Quinn Fabray.

"How about you Rach? You seem out of it lately."

His words aren't unkind, but Rachel can't help but take slight offensive to them. She puts on her show-face naturally, smoothing over the question and easing any worries. It's second nature at this point. The plane starts up, and their conversation is overshadowed by the steady thrum of the aircraft.

Rachel's left alone with her thoughts, but she's almost there. The stress in her shoulders starts to melt away, loosening up the higher they get. Her ears pop, once, twice, but she can still hear her fathers laugh echoing in her mind, full of happy memories. After a couple of minutes it's go time, and Mike slides the door open, offering Rachel the first jump. She smiles, a real unstaged smile that takes over her face and wouldn't be appropriate to greet her fans with, and loses her breath as she leans forward, letting gravity take her into the sky.

She's breathless, she's fearless, she's flying. She's home.

"We don't get to hang out enough," Puck whines.

"That's because some of us have real jobs, Noah."

Puck shoots her a wounded look, and she rolls her eyes.

"C'mon Superstar. When was the last time we all hung out together? Me, you, the Changster, Britt, Superdude and his sexy lady friend."

It's strange, having friends. Real friends, not co-workers she's friendly with at school and eats lunch with, but people roughly her own age that want to spend extra, optional time with her. Sometimes, even with her bubbly facade, Rachel Berry is thrown for a loop.

"And if I did say yes, where would this excursion be?" Puck does a fist pump in victory, knowing her well enough to know he's won the argument, and Rachel sighs like she can't be bothered to deal with him.

"I figured we'd head back to Schuesters. They had decent drinks and didn't play that obnoxious dub-shit."

"Fine."

The bartender almost looks like she's expecting Puck to walk through the door and drink an entire keg by himself. He isn't one to disappoint.

"My little girl is going to be in a performance," Puck yells, drunk, and Rachel had no idea Puck has a daughter. She's not surprised by it, in a sense, but Rachel feels poorly for not knowing something so important about one of her best friends. She feels a bit better after Puck continues on about his "baby momma finally giving him a chance" and "making up for missed time".

She doesn't know much about Noah's father, but what Rachel does know is enough. Puck has a deadbeat, no good father who walked out on them when he was young and never looked back. Noah despises him, so naturally Rachel does, too.

Noah's a good friend, under his bravado and unnecessary urges to put his life at risk. Brittany has an arm around his shoulders, but Puck's leaning the opposite way. Tina's arm is actually resting against Puck's as he sways back and forth, near-yelling about his daughter, and she doesn't seem to mind the touch until Puck tries to put his hand on her thigh. Tina moves her hand so fast it looks like a blur to a tipsy Rachel, smacking him on the back of his freshly shaven neck. Puck bowls forward, chest thumping into the solid, wooden bar. There's still a stupid, drunken smile on his face as he sits back up, and Tina leans forward to whisper sometime into his ear.

"She can take care of herself," Sam says, drawing her attention. "You watch him a lot. At first I thought you liked him, but he's not, what did you always call it, leading man material?"

Rachel's smile is sad as she looks over at him. He really does know her too well. It makes keeping a secret, any secret, from him physically hurt. She's never been known for subtlety or secrets. In fact, Rachel ruined quite a number of friendships in high school for that very reason. When Anna was cheating on Danny, or when Suzanne was lying to Samantha, Rachel Berry was on top of it.

If she says this out loud, though, it becomes real.

"Noah is leading man material. He just isn't my leading man."

Sam tilts his head to look over at Puck, who's convincing strangers to do shots with him. His charisma while drinking is nearly palpable, and Rachel doesn't comment when Sam's gaze turns thoughtful.

"Tell me about him."

Maybe it's the beer, or maybe Sam knows better than to let her wallow in her own self-deprecation and doubt, but he has to ask. And maybe Rachel's had just the right amount of fruity tasting drinks, because she answers.

"Her name is Quinn."

Sam starts to spend more time at the office. Rachel doesn't want to say anything. She knows it'll be the perfect opening for Sam to distract her with her own sapphic worries. The first two times Rachel thinks he's there to talk with her, but he never takes the opportunity to pull her aside to speak in private, so that can't be it. He only shows up the days that Puck is also working, which is pretty much every day that Rachel is there on the weekends.

He always brings them lunch. For Puck, whatever's on sale that has a ton of meat and cheese and almost no vegetables. For Rachel, a hot eggplant sub, no cheese, or their veggie lover's special. The shop does always use fresh produce, and Sam's allowed to have up to an hour for lunch from the comic book shop, so she doesn't really think much about it. Sam's always been a social butterfly, even in high school, so seeing him branch out isn't unusual. He talks with Brittany, Mike and even Ms. Beiste when he shows up, and offers to bring lunch over. Rachel enjoys his presence, regardless of the reason, so she tries not to think about it.

At first, she thinks it's about Tina. Sam and Tina have always been close friends, and it would make sense for him to be protective of her. But it's the small details, the little touches that Rachel doesn't really notice until Puck's practically leering and Sam's blushing. It takes her a month to figure it out.

Puck's sitting at the front desk, Brittany actually sitting on the desk in front of him. Sam comes in, lunch ready, but Brittany's in the middle of a passionate story, her arms constantly moving as she gets more and more into it. Puck has an amused look on his face as he lets Brittany ramble on about what sounds like dolphins. Sam drops Puck's sub off and Puck innocently knocks his pen off the desk, an unconvincing apologetic look on his face. Sam bends over to pick it up and Puck whistles. The blush trails down Sam's neck as he hurries back over to Rachel, and Brittany tugs on Puck's mohawk, drawing him back into the story.

When she finally puts the pieces together, she doesn't really know what to say. She's always known that Sam was bisexual, but she didn't expect it from Puck. He's always been a self-proclaimed "lady killer", and Rachel's never heard him talk about male conquests. She realizes she needs to give Puck more credit, but the feeling disappears when she sees Puck grab Sam's ass on the way out.

"You don't wanna know, Superstar."

Rachel's smart enough not to ask.

They email. Quinn starts the long string of messages after her surprise appearance at chorus practice. It starts off simple. Quinn asks Rachel some inane question about the performance outfit, and whether or not the shiny, black shoes Beth will be wearing need to be polished. Rachel answers it three minutes later on her phone, signing it with "sincerely" and actually meaning it. Quinn rapidly answers back with a thank you, a question about ticketing at the show, and what Rachel's favorite color is. It takes her a minute longer to answer, staring at her phone with pursed lips, until Puck calls her up for her next jump and Rachel has to psyche herself up again.

It continues. Quinn asks if Rachel misses New York and Rachel writes back an essay on the pros and cons of living in Columbus. Rachel asks Quinn about Beth and being a single mother and Quinn sidesteps the question. It's a tentative back and forth that leaves Rachel on the edge of her seat, waiting with excitement for an answer and dreading the next intimate question.

They talk about Rachel's gay dads and Quinn's religious and oppressive childhood. They talk about Broadway and music and shattered dreams. They talk about Quinn's deep-seated hatred of crunchy peanut butter and Rachel's strict vegan diet she gave up after three weeks back in Columbus for something less extreme. They talk about their days, what they're doing, and pretty much everything else that can help avoid awkward conversations on feelings. When Quinn goes out with her co-workers for celebratory drinks, they talk with thinly veiled innuendo and emoticons. When Rachel emails back after a day of back-to-back jumps, they talk about freedom, about passion, about purpose.

Whenever she has free time in between classes and jumps, Rachel's on her phone. She starts bringing her charger to work on the teacher planning days and nights she knows she'll have to stay late. Her early mornings and lunch breaks are filled with Quinn. More then a couple of times, she considers asking for Quinn's phone number, because texting would be easier and make much more sense, but there's something Rachel likes about the intimacy and details of emails versus fitting her thoughts into one hundred and sixty characters. She pours her heart and hopes and dreams into their emails, and after a week of half-answers, Quinn meets her more than halfway.

Quinn doesn't show up to any more rehearsals; Rachel's glad she doesn't. She appreciates the drama of the situation.

iI've always been known as the pretty face, /iQuinn emails Rachel, late one night. Rachel's already in bed, tucked under the covers, but she reaches for her phone out of sheer habit. iMy father paraded me around as the perfect daughter to all of his church friends once Frannie left for college. I was supposed to be the perfect little girl. Go off to college, marry a vanilla Christian man my father would approve of, and go home to start a family. /i

iNobody's perfect, with the exception of Barbra Streisand. /iRachel writes back. iYou're a lot more than a pretty face. He should be honored to have a daughter so capable and smart. You're amazing, Quinn./i

She falls asleep with her phone tucked into the crook of her elbow, dreaming about Quinn Fabray.

Puck has a scowl on his face as he's interrupted mid-sentence. He's talking about some sports game that Rachel can't keep up with, throwing out words she's heard in passing that have absolutely no meaning. While Puck is harping on about Lebron James and Cavaliers, Rachel's eyes dart down to her phone the second the telltale ding cuts Noah off.

"Who keeps messaging you?"

"It's my e-mail."

"It's the same fuckin' thing. Who's blowing up your phone, Berry? Do I need to kick his ass?"

"How's Tina, Noah? I haven't seen her in quite some time and I was sure she was your next romantic conquest. How does Samuel feel about that?"

It's a low blow, but it makes Puck back off.

"Whatever," he scoffs, shouldering his backpack and turning back to head into the break room. Rachel frowns at his back. That isn't how she wanted this to go.

"Drinks later?" She tries to salvage the situation, and ultimately their friendship, and when Puck turns around with a grin on her face Rachel feels like Noah's becoming too smart for his own good.

The bartender begins to recognize them, not just Puck, which is slightly horrifying to Rachel. She nods and blushes at her mostly-fruity drink and tips her a couple extra dollars. Noah buys a pitcher of beer, because Brittany will drink pretty much everything and Puck spends way too much money on video games and basketball jerseys to buy the select types of beer Rachel will drink.

He brings back two glasses in one hand and the light amber booze in another to their four person table. Mike's sipping on the neck of a German import, shaking his head at his co-workers. It's a Sunday night and football season is over, which means it's relatively empty compared to Friday and Saturday, so they can actually have conversations over the pulse of the music in the background.

"Did you see the redhead today? She was like a dog and Puck's leg was a fire hydrant."

"Brittany!" Rachel sputters, her throat scratchy from the carbonated water that she almost coughed up.

Brittany just shrugs, an innocent expression on her face and Rachel can't really be outraged. That's how it usually is with Brittany.

"If Santana had been here to see that dude flirting with you, she would have scratched out his chute. Even with Chang attached to it," Puck fires back, finishing the first third of his first glass easily.

Mike looks slightly worried but just shrugs, slowly sipping on his beer. In that moment Rachel misses having Sam's warmth next to her in a sea of conversation from a high school experience she didn't have. Rachel's mojito empties rather quickly, and Puck offers to get her another one. She accepts.

When Puck comes back he leans his arm on Brittany's chair and she shifts towards him. They sit close, completely at ease with one another, and Rachel's had just enough Very Berry to ask the questions that normally sit on the tip of her tongue.

"Did you two ever date?"

Brittany giggles at the question and Puck pauses, using his beer as an excuse to not answer.

"Almost," Mike answers for them. "But then Santana threatened to rip his... Puck Jr. off and he backed off."

"She sounds violent."

"Superstar, you got no idea."

Quinn shows up the Tuesday before their competition, leaning against the door frame to Rachel's office. She studies Rachel, while she's elbow deep in a new textbook she's considering using next year. She's got an assortment of sticky notes, in varying colors and sizes, lining the side of her new book and in a neat pile on her desk. To the right of her elbow is her iPhone, on it's charger but obviously within reach.

She looks up suddenly, feeling Quinn's eyes on her. Rachel feels out of her depth. The entirety of their interactions, of late night talks and confessions, haven't been face-to-face and Rachel isn't sure what to do with a living, breathing Quinn in front of her.

"Ms. Fabray. I wasn't expecting you."

Quinn closes the door behind her, twisting the lock into place.

Rachel's hands curl in the soft shoulders of yet another one of Quinn's button ups as she's forced against her office wall. Quinn's mouth is soft, luscious, but it steals her breath with its intensity right away. Rachel's brain struggles to catch up as she goes on sensory overload; Quinn's all she can taste, touch, feel, and Rachel's heartbeat jumps as Quinn's tongue enters her mouth.

It's entirely inappropriate. Rachel hasn't even seen Quinn since rehearsal, which was the second time meeting the woman, and she's not gay. Or bisexual. Her hands, balled in Quinn's shirt, loosen to grip her shoulders to push her away. But Quinn's mouth, persistent, trails kisses to her collarbone and Rachel's knees feel entirely like jelly. When one of Quinn's hands is on Rachel's bare thigh, she snaps back.

"I'm not gay, Quinn."

Quinn looks justifiably frustrated, and it's a look that suits her well. Her ironed shirt is disheveled, her lips slightly swollen and she's looking at Rachel like she's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Rachel swallows hard, trying to keep her hands to herself. She's never been good at impulse control.

"Do we really need to discuss labels right now, Ms. Berry?"

Her voice is thicker, raspy, and Rachel's willpower breaks at her tone, pulling Quinn back towards her. Quinn doesn't ask questions, resuming her kiss with passion that Rachel's never felt before. Sure, she's had intense life moments, but in all of her life her leading man has never completely destroyed her in all of the best, metaphorical ways. Never Finn, her sweet, good-intentioned high school sweetheart whose hands might as well have been catchers mitts when he tried any form of foreplay. Nor her college beau, a handsome man with a large ego and small... ability for compassion. Quinn smashes the low expectations Rachel has for physical intimacy, pulling her in and refusing to let her go.

When they kiss, Rachel's mind goes blank, numbed over by her emotions and sensations. Quinn's mouth, Quinn's hands, she's soaking up Quinn, returning fiery kisses with equally scalding ones. She's gripping onto Quinn's shirt just as hard as Quinn's holding Rachel flush against her body. She's completely weightless, free, flying.

Quinn lifts Rachel easily, placing her on the desk in the middle of the room. Rachel makes a noise of disapproval as Quinn reaches for Rachel's hands, giving them a squeeze as she unfurls them. She drops to her knees in front of her, hands trailing up Rachel's legs and under her skirt. Rachel lifts her hips and her panties are gone, on the floor somewhere, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist.

Propped up by her elbows, Rachel's noises increase in intensity as Quinn's mouth works against her. Slowly, like she enjoys every single shudder to come out of Rachel's mouth, her tongue moves against her. Right as her legs begin to shake, Quinn slows her pace, leaning back.

"Look at me," Quinn demands, and despite the fact that Rachel can barely hear anything over her heartbeat in her ears and her skin feels entirely too warm, she makes eye contact. Watching Quinn, from the edges of her skirt and seeing those gorgeous hazel eyes, sends another wave of arousal through her, and Rachel feels her impending end start low in her belly and spread out to reach the tips of her toes. Quinn doesn't stop this time, not even as Rachel struggles to keep her eyes open and comes with Quinn's name on her lips.

"Did you get laid?" Puck asks about fifteen minutes after she walks into the office on Friday.

"Noah!" she admonishes, trying to keep the blush from her cheeks. "I don't see how my sexual activity is any of your business."

Puck squints at her for a long moment, trying to read past the huffy expression Rachel's adopted, arms crossed over her chest as her heart beats too loudly. A potential customer walks in – a nervous looking girl that can't be much older than Rachel – and Brittany links her arm, taking her over to the main desk to discuss a first jump.

Rachel grabs Puck's arm, dragging him into the break room so that they can't be overheard in a professional setting.

"Well, why the fuck have you been smiling to yourself like some Disney Princess?"

"You know, Noah, Disney has a distinct lack of Jewish Princesses despite a long history with-"

"You totally got laid, didn't you." It's not a question any more.

"Shut it Puckerman."

Brittany walks into the back room, tugging on Puck's mohawk.

"The pretty, nervous lady wants to jump, so I told her she'd be jumping with our most experienced instructor," Brittant explains. Puck just shrugs, looking over at Rachel before he stands up.

"We'll finish this later."

"In your dreams."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be there too," Puck says with a wink and Rachel can't help the groan of disgust as he walks away. Brittany takes his seat as Rachel backs off the defensive, smiling over at her. Rachel smiles back. While her friendship with Brittany hasn't been the easiest, she's happy that she can now call Brittany a friend. At least, she's happy until Brittany opens her mouth, managing to keep that innocent look on her face that only Brittany can manage.

"So were you guys talking about how you totally had sex with someone?"

They meet for coffee. It seems like the polite thing to do after a passionate affair on Rachel's desk.

Half way out the door, on her way to grab a cup of coffee and a quick trip to the comic book shop, she gets a text from Quinn. Rachel realizes too late, when she's already half way down the block in an old sweater and and torn jeans, that this will be their first official date. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, afraid that she didn't spend enough time in front of the mirror this morning.

They don't text. Rachel isn't exactly adverse to text messaging, although she hates text speech and refuses to answer Noah and Sam when they try to shorthand her a message. Then again, Rachel also doesn't have sex with random mothers of children in her choir group. Quinn Fabray is a lot of firsts. She doesn't dwell on the thought.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel greets her, because calling her Ms. Fabray after what happens seems too formal and stiff.

"Good morning, Rachel."

She's unused to having Quinn in front of her, and not hidden behind a screen, and although she reads the emails in Quinn's voice it's different having her in the flesh. There's no buffer, no time to think about how to answer the enigma in front of her that knows more personal details about her life than even Samuel.

The smell of roasted coffee fills the small shop and they fall into line, side by side. The line's relatively short but Saturday morning isn't exactly the prime time for coffee. Within a couple of hours, the aspiring novelists will filter in. By nightfall the shop will be overrun with teenagers in too much makeup trying much too hard. For right now though, there's a small layer of chatter filling the empty space in between them and Rachel's finding it hard to look at Quinn.

Quinn orders first, a caffe americano, and Rachel asks for a latte with almond milk and a shot of caramel. Quinn pays before she can protest. She protests anyway. There isn't anyone else sitting outside, so they have their pick of the tables. Rachel chooses one under an umbrella, so the sun is out of their eyes.

"Is this a date?" Rachel blurts out, unable to start small talk when her stomach is churning and Quinn's eyes feel too bright and foreign.

"Do you want it to be?" Quinn asks with a quirk of her brow, and the blasé tone rubs Rachel the wrong way. She still can't read Quinn, and the entire idea – having a date after sexual relations – makes her feel ridiculous. She's never been here, this awkward place without romantic gestures and structured dating. Even her high school flings were simple, and followed a generic formula.

"Never mind."

"That's not exactly an answer."

Rachel puts down her latte, crossing her arms. She looks incredibly small in her chair with her arms over her chest and a petulant look on her face. The look Quinn's giving her doesn't make anything better. Rachel's anger bubbles, mixing with everything else she's been unable to control around Quinn, who just happens to be the most infuriating woman she's ever met.

"I'm not gay," Rachel repeats, mostly to herself, and Quinn's slight eye roll stokes her anger. "And I don't appreciate your condescension nor your attitude."

"You seemed pretty gay in your office, Ms. Berry." She's gotten under Quinn's skin. Quinn's jaw is clenched and her hold on the metal arms of the chair turns her knuckles white. It's exactly the opposite way she wanted her first date with Quinn to go and she doesn't know whether to cry or shout or throw her latte in Quinn's beautiful, obnoxious face.

The problem is, Quinn's just as far under her skin in every way possible and there truly is no escape. Quinn's turned everything upside-down and without her there Rachel's world is out of focus. Her words are a low blow, a taunt at her lack of impulse control and the need to control everything and Rachel stands, abandoning her latte.

"This was a mistake. Goodbye, Ms. Fabray."

It's one of her best diva storm-outs to date, but she doesn't feel good about it. She whips around so fast that the chair actually falls over, and the large man in her path actually side steps into a bush trying to get out of her way. Rachel doesn't look back, because she knows if she does she'll give in and Quinn will win. This is a victory she needs for herself, no matter how petty. She's five minutes late to work and doesn't meet anybody's eyes.

Quinn emails her, four hours later. Rachel only knows that because her phone is connected to the office's internet, and not because she's obsessively checking her email, refreshing her inbox over and over and over until something shows up. It's simple, asking her how her day is going. Rachel hesitating on whether or not to answer it. She's still angry, still hurt and still incredibly scared. Her fingers are hovering over her touch screen and Rachel licks her lips.

iWe've had a rather uneventful day, today. Noah insists that it'll pick up but there is a high chance that Ms. Bieste will send me home after our lunch break. How is Beth doing? With the show this weekend make sure she doesn't practice too strenuously and damage her vocal chords. It's very important for her to ... i

The parents have to wait off stage while their children run around, trying to make sure shoes and outfits and hair ties are in the right, labeled bags. Rachel sits in the middle of all of the chaos, directing little sheep in the right direction and helping teary-eyed girls and boys who can't find their left shoe or pants. She's still on an adrenaline high from a beyond stellar performance.

She's practically glowing.

It takes nearly a half an hour to get everything settled and perfect, and her volunteers start ushering the row of children to their parents, one at a time. Rachel waits until the last little one is gone, grabbing any forgotten items to bring to class next week.

After a last minute sweep around the room, Rachel leaves to mingle with parents and students alike. About half of the families have taken off already, but Rachel can spot Quinn's smile anywhere. Rachel takes her time, chatting with different parents she only gets to see and talk to a couple times a year. Everyone seems as happy as she is with the show. Rachel slows down her pace, talking with the Lyons and the Redfalder families, feeling Quinn's eyes on her. She revels in the attention, excitement churning in her stomach. These butterflies feel more like a tornado, ripping through her stomach to swirl around her heart.

When she does finally turn to Quinn, she makes sure to pay praise to Beth, who more than deserves it. Her solo was the tipping point from outstanding to phenomenal. A figure to her left shifts uncomfortably, and Rachel looks up. The smile freezes on her face.

"Noah? I thought you were romantically attached to Sam." Rachel tries to keep the hurt out of her voice, but the sting is too deep. If it was any other situation, she'd compliment his choice in attire. For once, Puck actually looks cleaned up, with a fresh shave and his shirt tucked in. Not only does it look like Puck's betraying one of her best friends, he's here with Quinn. Quinn Fabray. Her unlabeled, confusing, isomething/i. Rachel can't even fathom looking at Quinn, keeping her anger and disappointment focused on Puck and only Puck.

Puck has the decency to look the part of a scolded child, and Quinn quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Here I thought it was this Tina girl you've been talking up all night."

Rachel's building resentment turns into full on confusion, and it's in that confusion that she looks up to meet Quinn's eyes. They're soft and bright, a darker green that Rachel assumes is for pride in her only daughter. Rachel wants to just fall into her gaze, but she needs answers. She won't be the other woman, and she won't hurt one of best friends.

"I, uh, well, both? It's a long story babes, and there are too many little ears around here," Puck tries to deflect with a helpless shrug. Quinn sighs, and Rachel keeps her eyes clear above Quinn's chest when she does it. They leave on an awkward note, with Rachel addressing Beth more than her parents.

Quinn doesn't email her that night, or the next morning.

She doesn't want to look at Puck. It isn't his fault, and she can hardly blame Quinn or Puck for who they dated or slept with in high school, but she feels betrayed, cast aside. It makes work awkward and uncomfortable, and not even Brittany seems to know what to say to fix it. It doesn't help that Rachel's been entirely silent about the issue and Puck still doesn't understand why she's so angry at him. It leaves Rachel standing, stoic and silent, and Puck shooting wounded, hurt looks her way.

It makes the entire weekend feel about ten times longer than it should, and Rachel actually looks forward to leaving the office. She hates the feeling.

The last thing she expects is for Quinn to show up after her last class. They haven't talked in five days, which really isn't a big deal, but when you throw it into perspective Rachel's missing at least fifty e-mails in her inbox and she has too much free time on her hands. Quinn doesn't knock, entering Rachel's office and taking a seat. Rachel promptly ignores her, focusing on her papers, lesson plans, and tests filled away that she needs to grade by the weekend. When the silence feels too loud, Rachel breaks it first.

"Can I help you?"

"You... had a little freak out. I figured you needed space."

Rachel rolls her eyes, because honestly what did Quinn expect, showing up to her show with any man on her arm, let alone one of Rachel's best friends. Not that she could have known that Puck was one of Rachel's best friends, considering their entire courtship has it's entire basis online and, with the exception of the coffee shop incident, a passionate performances in Rachel's private office.

"Then you obviously don't know me very well," She lashes out.

She feels stupid. Rachel absolutely hates how off-balance Quinn makes her, and their brief fling – or whatever it's shaping up to be – is so juvenile she feels like she's sixteen again. They aren't a couple. Quinn doesn't owe her anything. She doesn't need Quinn Fabray, the distraction, in her life. Rachel stands up, body stiff and head snapped forward. She walks right past Quinn, too prideful to admit to her own mistakes and how much she craves Quinn Fabray like almost nothing else.

She's even with Quinn, seconds away from walking out the door, when Quinn puts a hand on Rachel's arm. It isn't forceful or grabbing, but light and gentle. So unlike the Quinn Fabray she's grown to know; the take charge, business minded woman she's accidentally fallen for doesn't seem to be in the room.

"That's not fair, Rachel."

"Life's not fair, Quinn."

The bitterness in her tone is harsh, biting, but Quinn keeps a soft, gentle hand on her arm. She turns to face Rachel, with her big, beautiful, aggravating hazel eyes and Rachel knows she has to make a decision. She's just unsure of what it is, or how to make it, and all she has is hurt and anger and disappointment to hold on to. Quinn's hand feels like it could be something new. Something constant. Something to rely on and steady her. It makes her mouth feel dry and her palms feel sweaty; she hates it.

Rachel leaves without another word, heading straight for the fields. Heading home. Mike's on desk duty and he doesn't bother arguing with her when she comes in, slapping down money and demanding a plane. Her ride up is in silence, with her jaw clenched and her body language guarded, private. When she jumps, she's free for a few, glorious seconds.

She doesn't cry until her chute is free and there's nothing left but the hard ground and her own thoughts.

The group goes out for drinks, and Rachel politely declines. Sam tries to decline as well, but looking at Sam makes her think of Puck, which makes her think of Quinn, so Rachel convinces him that she's fine and decides to cope the only way she knows how.

She takes the night in, putting on Funny Girl and eating homemade vegan cookies from a bakery in downtown that she's been frequenting lately. A bottle of wine sits unopened in a bucket of ice, and Rachel's contemplating pouring herself a glass before starting A Star is Born when a heavy hand knocks on her door.

Rachel hesitates to answer, assuming it's Samuel coming to check on her, but when the fist slams against the wood hard enough to make it shake, Rachel knows exactly what's going to be on the other side of the door. He's speaking, words quick with a slight slur, before Rachel can tell him to go home.

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what I did to fuck up but I'm sorry and I miss you."

"You're drunk, Noah."

Puck walks into her apartment and Rachel lets him, knowing how dangerous a drunk Puckerman can be on the second floor of an apartment complex. He's pacing her doorway in sloppy, stuttered steps until he runs into the wall that adjoins her kitchen and decides to use it to support his weight. When he looks at Rachel, it's like the sad puppies in the window at the pet shop and it makes her wish she had opened the bottle of wine.

"And you're fuckin' stubborn. I dunno why you're even angry. I'm not banging Quinn. I'm banging Sam and Tina, usually at the same time. That's iway/i different."

Puck drags out the 'a' in way, and Rachel doesn't really have an answer to Puck's unabashed confession. She ignores it, much like she's doing to everything else Puck is saying, and he just gets louder and louder, trying to make her hear him. They're both unnaturally stubborn, in their own way, and drunk Puck is even worse.

"I'm going to call you a cab."

Puck's angry. He's an uncoordinated drunk, and winds up flopping onto her couch, face down as he tries to talk to her. With a lot of effort and squirming he manages to get his ass on the couch and look over at her. His eyes look glassy as Rachel finally meets them.

"Beth's my daughter you know? After all of this time, and Q's finally willing to let me into her life. She's one of the only good things I've done and I won't feel bad about being there to support her. Not even by my best friend. You gotta get over yourself."

Something inside of Rachel snaps. Maybe it's Puck trying to be a good father, or maybe it's her stubborn streak finally ending but she's crying, and Puck is drunk and confused and holds her in his big arms because there's nothing else he can really do. Rachel sniffles, silently sobbing into his shirt. He smells like cheap beer and sweat, but under all of it he smells like Puck and it's incredibly soothing. Puck keeps his arms wrapped around her as she apologizes to him through sobs and if it was anyone other than Rachel or Brittany he'd rather melt out of his skin than be there. Rachel's his Superstar, he tells her, and he doesn't know what to do when she's not there. It's as honest and emotional as Noah will ever be.

After twenty minutes of Puck rubbing Rachel's back, her sobs slow to a stop. He waits for her to get up and find tissues for her nose before he starts talking, his words quiet and more sober than before.

"You should talk to her. She really cares about you. Wouldn't shut the fuck up about you and Beth at the show."

Rachel puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning into him on her small couch. Puck wraps an arm around her to keep her close, and they sit together for awhile.

"You're a good friend," Rachel says, her voice soft.

"The Puckerone's the best," is his cocky answer, but there's a big smile on Puck's face.

"What did she say about me?"

"I'm not drunk enough for girl talk, babe."

Rachel huffs and Puck's moves away from her, adjusting on the couch so he can lay down. He's in no state to walk home and his wallet's pretty empty. Rachel won't kick him off of her couch, not in the middle of the night after gushy, feelings talk. She tosses him a spare pillow and a blanket, and Puck gets comfortable. Rachel kisses him on the head, like her fathers used to do when she had horrible nightmares and woke them up, and turns off the lights. She stops on the way back to her room, looking over her shoulder.

"Noah, for future reference, please keep your sexual exploits and conquests to yourself. I don't want to think about Samuel's bedroom behavior."

"You're telling me you've never had a sex dream about Evans?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Well, he's a total bottom."

"Noah!"

"Goodnight Superstar."

They meet for breakfast.

Sam opens the door for Rachel and they find their usual seat, knowing it'll be a couple of minutes before the waitress comes around with a coffee pot. Sam looks uneasy, fidgeting with his bracelet as Rachel denies him his small talk. His eyes dart around the restaurant, willing the waitress to materialize by their table as Sam talks about the Ohio weather. She finally does appear, pouring out two coffees and taking their order on a small pad before disappearing again.

"Can't wait for football season to-"

"What exactly is your relationship with Noah Puckerman?"

Sam blinks at her, his cheeks slightly flushed, but Rachel's in that scary place he remembers all too well. Like a terrier, once she has her teeth in something, there's no getting her to let go.

"Have you talked to Puck?"

"He was still drunk and referred to you and Tina as 'the luckiest, sexist duo on Earth' before passing out into the coffee I handed him this morning."

Sam looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or sigh as he stares at his smiley face chocolate chip pancakes, and he chooses to stuff his mouth to hold off the inquisition for just a little longer. Rachel is not amused.

"It's complicated, Rach," he says with a helpless shrug and two pieces of bacon in his mouth. She's too interested in his explanation to correct his manners. "We're just all sort of... dating. Each other. At the same time."

"Samuel, please take this pamphlet I printed for you this morning and keep safe." Rachel slides a freshly printed pamphlet acrosss the table entitled iMore Than Two: a practical guide to ethical polyamory /iand Sam slinks in his chair, trying to melt into a puddle to avoid the exchange. Rachel doesn't notice, continuing on her psuedo-lecture as Sam turns a darker shade of red.

"Noah is... a gentleman in his own way, but I would have to cause him bodily harm if he were to hurt you. From what I've read it's very important for all three of you to keep an open, honest dialogue. I can make more copies for Tina and Noah if you'd like to keep that one for yourself."

"Thanks Rachel," Sam's voice sounds incredibly strained as he reaches for the paper. He folds it in half and shoves it into his pocket, quickly, before their waitress comes to check on them.

"I love you Sam." Sam lets out a big breath of air. He smiles at Rachel, a bit of syrup sticking to his chin and the two days old scruff on his face.

"I love you too."

Rachel sends an email, a single sentence with no signature or question. She checks her phone later that night, to make sure Quinn's read it, but there's no response in her inbox. She sleeps terribly that night, dreaming of falling and falling without a parachute.

iQuinn, please meet me today at the park after school. /i

Quinn shows up. Rachel's sitting on a worn bench that overlooks the playground. It's been nearly thirty minutes since the last bell rang and Wednesdays are Rachel's rare days without some kind of practice or club meeting to attend. She stands when she sees Quinn approaching, Beth by her side. She bends down to whisper something into Beth's ear, and her daughter takes off running towards the familiar monkey bars and classmates. Rachel licks her lips, turning to face her.

"Ms. Fabray."

"Ms. Berry."

There's an awkward silence. Rachel immediately wonders if she's made a mistake, if this whole thing is a mistake that she never should have instigated. Quinn's blank face does nothing to help her internal panic, and the silence is growing harsh, heavy. She hates that she's the one who created it.

"I didn't think you were going to shown up," Rachel admits. "I would have prepared a speech."

The smallest of smiles twitches at Quinn's lips, but it's wiped clean so fast that she might have imagined it.

"I'm not good at apologizing, Quinn, and I'm even worse at fixing my mistakes."

Quinn just looks at her, a closed book, and Rachel balls her fists in her jacket.

"I'm sorry. I was rude and sulking and you didn't deserve what I said to you. You just make me feel things that I should not feel, and it's entirely unacceptable."

"You called me here to blame me for your feelings?" Quinn asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes storming behind gritted teeth. She's finally here, not hiding behind the cool veneer of a professional or acquaintance and Rachel gets caught up in the moment.

"Well, not exactly but-"

"That's rich, Ms. Berry," Quinn practically spits and Rachel's chin juts out.

"You are by far the most aggravating women I've ever met in my entire life."

It's like every single time they're together they just can't fight the urge to fight. Rachel can feel Quinn under her skin, running ice through her veins and threatening to never leave. It's obnoxious and infuriating and in that moment, she just can't stand how much she loves Quinn Fabray. Rachel throws her hands up in exasperation, wanting nothing more than to turn on her heel and leave, but Quinn has to be the one to leave first, to prove Rachel right.

Quinn's too prideful and Rachel is too stubborn and they stand in silence, squared off against each other, as the wind gently shakes the trees next to them. Quinn crosses her arms in front of her chess and Rachel lets out an obvious huff at the movement.

"Is this why I came here? To have you insult me and stare at me like I murdered your best friend?"

Rachel deflates a little, remembering Noah drunk on her couch last night and this morning. Maybe he's right. Maybe Quinn's as terrified as she feels.

"I didn't meant to blame you, Quinn. I just get so- have you ever been skydiving?"

"What? No."

Quinn looks more tired than angry now, and Rachel knows the ball is in her court. She has to make the move. It's Rachel's turn to throw herself out there, freefall, and hope that Quinn jumps at the same time. When her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her chest and her feet start sweating, Rachel holds out a hand to Quinn.

"Will you go skydiving with me?"

Quinn's warm palm slides against Rachel's smaller hand, and she pulls her flush against her body. She's so close they're practically breathing the same air and she can't look away.

"Quinn," Rachel breathes out, a hand on her shoulder, "There are children present."

Rachel's worries are silenced by Quinn, who kisses her through a smile. She's never felt anything as exhilarating in her life.

"Alright, everyone, I expect you to be on your very best behavior."

The half-dozen people who are loitering around stop their idle chatter to look up at her. Rachel Berry is in pure teacher mode, with her hand on her hips and her voice loud, spreading throughout the office. Mike looks amused, with Noah and Brittany are in the corner, giggling about something. Rachel shoots them their best disapproving glare and Puck tucks his chin, turning to face her while Brittany smiles. Mike ushers the guest in the lobby out the front door, towards their waiting plane and one of their new instructors, Matt, starts repeating the safety protocol before his voice gets drowned out by the plane starting up.

"Noah and I have guests coming in today."

Rachel busies herself with organizing her work space for the fifth time, checking her phone to make sure she hasn't missed any emails to text messages. The last message she has from Quinn - "We're on our way, Ms. Berry." - is making her stomach twist into knots and she has to keep her hands busy.

She's watching the clock. In high school, Rachel often heard her classmates complaining about long periods of calculus, or being stuck in English for what felt like ten hours. There's a phenomena she's heard of but never quiet experienced right until that very moment. As she's watching the clock drone on, Rachel swears she sees the minute hand move backwards. She glares at the clock, looking around the room for a step ladder so she can take the clock off the wall and check it when the bell on the door sounds off.

"Beth!" Puck calls out, and the little girl runs into his arms with an excited "Daddy!" as he spins her around in his arms. She lets out a surprised shriek at the quick movements, and Rachel greets Quinn as her daughter is sufficiently distracted.

"Hello, Quinn. Are you ready?"

Quinn looks as calm and composed as always. Rachel remembers a late night, curled around her phone with freshly chopped vegetables and homemade hummus, where Quinn discussed her "look". iIt's all about being a Fabray, /ishe wrote, iand that sense of responsibility is something I don't think I can ever get rid of. Even if I wanted to./i

Rachel didn't know how to reply.

It's the first time Rachel's seen her out of business attire and her eyes linger over Quinn's faded jeans and the parts of her neck exposed by a plain, uncollared t-shirt.

"You look... nice."

"Do I get a matching pink suit?" Quinn quips, and Puck snorts as Beth rides around on his shoulders.

"You don't wanna know how much that thing cost her, Baby Mama."

"Puckerman."

"Alright, alright."

Rachel sighs at Puck, who swoops down low like he's an airplane. Beth's got a hold of his ears as she flies him around the room. Mike becomes the enemy pilot, and they gun him down easily after three laps around the small office lobby.

"Noah's being dramatic. But we do have suits if you'd feel more comfortable in one."

Rachel motions over to a closet with a color-coded label and laminated signs. Quinn knows instantly who's in charge of the office organization and almost considers asking for one just to see the inside of the closet.

"I think I'll be fine."

"What should I expect?" Quinn asks, her voice low so that Puck can't overhear them. It's the first sign of doubt she's really seen in Quinn, and Rachel attempts to explain an indescribably sensation.

"It's like losing your breath and gaining it back right as fast. It's like knowing that you're doing the impossible. It's flying without wings. There'll be a moment when you ask yourself if it's all worth it and then you just... are."

"You're cute when you babble."

"I do not babble."

"You babble, passionately."

Mikes give her a thumbs up and Rachel leads their small group outside. Brittany has one of Beth's hands and Puck has the other, and they walk while swinging her in the middle. They set up on a small stretch of open land next to the small office building. The harnesses and parachutes are waiting for them there, strategically set out a half an hour earlier by Rachel.

"What's that for Daddy?" Beth asks, her adorable face scrunched up in confusion.

"Daddy's going to jump out of a plane, baby."

"Really?" Beth's eyes go wide as she looks back and forth between the gear and Puck.

"Damn right!"

"Puckerman, language!"

"Sorry, sorry."

Quinn's a fast learner. Rachel goes over exactly how she needs to sit after the door is up, where Quinn's arms and legs need to be. She makes Quinn cross her arms over her chest and point her toes a half a dozen times before she deems her flight ready.

Puck gets down on one knee, pointing out what all of the equipment is and more importantly, what it does. Beth's awestruck, hanging on to his every word, and Puck hands her his dark blue, customized specs. After two attempts to tighten the strap to make them small enough to fit her, Noah promises to get her a pair the second she's old enough. The smile that takes over Beth's face was inherited directly from Puckerman genes, and despite Beth's blonde hair and nose, it's Puck's smile.

It's impossible to miss Rachel's growing excitement as they get geared up for the jump. Rachel's checked their chutes at least four times and the harness she has Quinn step into is nearly brand new. With her goggles around her neck and over her suit she's bright pink and yellow on bright pink and yellow. With deft hands, Rachel cinches the harness around Quinn's waist, fingers lingering where her shirt rides up. With a clear of her throat, she has Quinn shoulder the top part of her harness and double-checks the knots once it's in place.

"Any other questions?"

Quinn gives her concern a small smile and a shake of her head.

"Rock n' roll, Superstar!" Puck whoops with a giddy look on his face. He stops to kiss Beth on the forehead and tell her to be good with Auntie Brittany.

They head to the plane after gear is double and triple-checked in a very Rachel Berry manner.

"I'm surprised you don't have a checklist," Quinn deadpans after Rachel tugs on her waist for the third time.

"She tried to have them laminated the first week here, but Beiste shut her down."

"Thoroughness is the mark of an accomplished instructor," Rachel huffs, and Puck and Quinn share indulgent grins when she marches off towards the plane.

They hold hands on the ride up. It's the longest five minutes for Rachel; for Quinn, the time is gone in a couple of blinks. There's small talk, mostly Puck teasing Rachel about racing them to the ground. Rachel takes the time to strap Quinn to her front, going over the harness clips twice to make sure they're screwed tight. When the time comes Puck inches forward first, clasping Quinn on the shoulder.

"Kick some ass, Rach," he yells, gripping onto the door handle and pulling it straight up. Rachel puts on her goggles, making sure Quinn's are secure as well. Wind rushes into the tiny cabin of the plane, and Rachel has to yell at Quinn for her voice to carry.

"Last chance to return?"

Quinn shakes her head no, pulling both of them forward towards the edge. Her legs hand out and she tucks them back, raising her arms to cross them tightly over her chest. She's warm, a personal heater and shield against the wind and Rachel's tiny arms will have to work to keep her watch out in front of them.

"I could fall in love with you, Quinn Fabray," she stage whispers against Quinn's ear and pushes her body weight forward. The small amount of force tips them out of the plane, and they're free-falling, flying through the air together, and Rachel's never felt anything like it.

Quinn lets out a noise, not yet a full yell but something caught on the wind, and Rachel can feel her horror, her excitement, her escape. It's something they get to share together, pressed intimately against each other as the wind whips around their bodies. They're falling out of the sky together and Rachel's sure this – what she's feeling right now with Quinn by her side – is everything she could possibly hope for. She's finally found her leading lady.

She taps Quinn's shoulder and Quinn's arms unlock, pulling back as Rachel pulls the chord for their first parachute. It snaps open, the force pulling them back with the momentum and then they're light as a feather, leaves on the wind.

They're silent for awhile, Quinn soaking in the scenery and Rachel soaking in Quinn. For once, Rachel doesn't feel the need to speak, and it's such a rare moment – comfortable, optional silence – that she doesn't really know how to deal with it. They float to the ground under a giant gold star, Rachel's palm covering the top of Quinn's hand as she threads their fingers together. Quinn squeezes, holding on tightly as Rachel lowers her arm, the altitude watch no longer necessary.

When Quinn speaks it's quiet enough that even in the soft silence and light wind, Rachel almost misses it.

"I could fall in love with you, too, Rachel Berry."

Rachel works quickly to unstrap their connecting harness hooks. Her fingers fumble around the first screw, willing it off with sheer willpower and adrenaline. In any other situation she wouldn't complain about Quinn's backside being strapped to her front, but she wants to see her face, fresh off of her first jump, more than anything.

"You are insane." Quinn's normally paler cheeks are red, flushed from her fall from over ten thousand feet in the air. Golden flecks pepper her hazel eyes, which are so light they're nearly green. Her hair, normally messily tousled, is up in a ponytail with loose fly-aways framing her face. Rachel tucks a small strand behind her ear, and doesn't realize how wide her smile is until she's reaching up, on her tip-toes, to kiss Quinn.

"I'll have you know I've been called worse."

"Yo do that every weekend, for fun?"

"Well, I also do get paid for instructing but, yes?" Rachel answers, unsure of the implications behind Quinn's question.

"You're incredible."

She reaches for Rachel's hand, pressing it underneath her jawline right at her pulse. Rachel can feel it thrum under her fingers, still incredibly fast despite the fact that their feet are on solid ground. Her heart is racing just as quickly as they link hands to join Puck, Beth and Brittany for dinner.

When Rachel Berry's with Quinn Fabray, nothing else feels as important.