Quinn Fabray rarely wore heels to work. Mostly, it was because by the end of the day, her feet felt like total shit. Yet, she told people it was because it freaked her patients out, the click-clack. It stopped her secretary from wearing heels, because in reality, the click-clack freaked her out.

However, today was a special day, or so her secretary said, so she wore heels. She was to meet with a celebrity, one who's name was to be announced. She was meeting them at 3:30 this afternoon, and she was looking forward to it.

Traditionally, one would think that because Quinn was the most successful therapist in New York City, that she would meet with celebrities all the time. Quinn has even thought so herself going through university.

Soon enough, she found out that no, she was only receiving normal people. Maybe if she had purchased a building in a more secluded place, she would have had celebrities. But no, the stars were too concerned about their image, and none of them wanted to be seen going in and out of a therapist's office, no matter how successful the therapist or how much they needed help.

Despite all this, Quinn was making plenty of money. She lived in a high-end apartment building, and she even had enough money that she had bribed the owners of the apartment to let her keep her cat, Betty, in her apartment.

Quinn was nervous about this afternoon. She knew she was the best, and she knew only the worst came to her, but still. If this mystery person came in and was not pleased, their status could potentially ruin hers.

Currently, Quinn was walking the streets of NYC, on her way to work. She had asked her secretary to come in early so she could do some background checking on this mystery person. She hoped that she had found something, because they weren't given much. Just a phone number and an agent's name.

"Good morning," Quinn called to the mostly empty front room of her building.

"Miss Fabray." Santana Lopez greets her, as per usual. "How was your morning?"

"Lovely, Santana. It's freezing outside, you know? It's October and it's freezing. I thought that only happened in Canada."

"Occasionally, we get snow in October. It can be a hell of a drive."

Santana Lopez, Quinn's secretary of 3 years, was a beautiful women. Black hair that flowed steadily past her shoulders, tan skin that looked smooth to the touch and chocolatey eyes to match. Quinn appreciated not having to walk in every morning to an ugly man, she much more preferred women.

"So," Quinn says, sitting on a stool that was placed in front of Santana's desk especially for her. "Did you find anything out about our mystery client?"

"Sadly, no. I didn't find out too much, but I did find out who called us. It was an agency – one for only those with the most money."

"Huh." Quinn taps her fingernail against her chin, a classic habit when she's thinking. "So, we can assume we're dealing with someone important, yes?"

"I think it would be safe to say so, yes." Santana nods.

"Is that all, then?"

"Sadly, yes."

"You're so formal, Santana. Loosen up." Quinn suggests, patting Santana's hand where it rests on her computer mouse.

"Sorry, Quinn. I know it bugs the clients when I'm tense."

"They probably don't even notice. I just say that so you don't stand around like you think that if you move the world will collapse."

Santana sighs. "Lately, I've been thinking it will."

"Brittany?" Quinn questions.

Quinn has known Santana long enough to meet her girlfriend, Brittany. Brittany is slightly aloof, and Quinn has noticed that it makes it hard for Santana to be sure of what the blonde is feeling. Quinn knows Santana is smart enough to tell when she's happy or sad, but she's noticed that it's more the relationship aspects that confuse Santana.

"Yes." Santana sighs. "I have no idea what's going on. She's teaching dance classes down at the east end of the city with some guy, and she always comes home giggling and happy. She tells stories about how fun he is with the kids."

"You know she loves teaching dance, it's probably just that that's making her so happy."

"Yeah, but how do I know for sure?"

"Listen, Santana. I've known you and Brittany for long enough that I can tell you're head over heels in love with each other. I also know that Brittany would never, ever cheat on you. You need to trust her to be faithful. If it really starts bugging you, tag along to one of her lessons. You know she loves it when you do."

Santana grins, clearly remembering the last time she visited Brittany's class. "Yeah."

"If that doesn't help, just ask. I can't guarantee she won't get a little upset that you don't trust her, but if she does you can just remind her that you're a paranoid, clingy girlfriend."

"Ha-ha." Santana laughs dryly.

"You know I'm right."

"I do," Santana grins. "Thanks. I think I'll go to her class tomorrow night... that is, if you let me off early."

"Oh, you know I can't deny you." Quinn smiles. "Just get Tina to sub for you and you're good."

"Yes! I can do that. Thanks, boss."

"No problem." Quinn gives her a thumbs up before hopping off her stool.

She heads into the smaller room that's designed for the kids she sees. The room constantly needs cleaning, because she lets the kid play with the toys she had set up for about ten minutes before she sees them. It loosens them up and gets out any bent up energy they might have, making it easier for them to sit while they talk to her.

The room is painted a pale yellow and has pictures of various kids shows plastered around the room. There's a big leather couch across from her desk. The couch was specifically bought to be larger than the desk. It was a risky choice – although Santana didn't quite understand her decision – because the large couch could either make the child feel big and important, making them talk more freely, or it could make them feel small and shy, which would make them more quiet. Luckily, it usually was not the latter.

Quinn wobbled on the carpeted floor in her heels, heading over to where the toys were. She began grabbing a few she knew the boy she was seeing first today liked. His name was Thomas and he liked playing with the trains she had and the airplanes. He liked to pretend he was on one of them, trying to leave New York.

Not surprisingly, this told her a lot about Thomas.

Quinn set the toys around the room, trying to space them about so Thomas would have to move about to get to them. He often had sugary breakfasts and he had his appointments in the morning, so she kept him busy so he wouldn't be bouncing off the walls when she was ready to see him.

After she was done in the kids room, she set off to the room across from it, her room for seeing kids aged 11 – 17. When Santana had asked her why she cut the age off for the kids room so young, she had had to explain to her that eleven was the age when a child started wanting to grow up, really grow up, and being treated like an older kid by putting them in the teens room would make them feel more important, like you thought they were special. Quinn always knew that making a client feel significant was a very crucial part of her job.

She did her routine check of the room, making sure there wasn't any gum – yes, they stuck gum to her walls – on the blue walls. Also, she made sure there wasn't any gum stuck to the light hardwood floor, and she made sure none of her pictures of various bands, television shows, singers and art were torn. She had tried to get as many as possible, trying to find bands of the most well-known variety to the more underground type. A person's music taste could get them talking, especially when you listened. Teenagers love being listened to, because a lot of people don't ever think what they're saying is important.

Finally, Quinn checks her adults room. This room is rather simple, with burgundy walls, dark hardwood floors and bright light fixtures. Her desk sits on the right side of this room, and the couch on the left side is the same make as the one in the child's room.

This and the teens room are the only rooms with the chairs in it for lying down, because a lot of the times both adults and teens say they're feeling tired. That is when Quinn invites them to lie down. They usually say, "oh no, I meant emotionally tired." Quinn still tells them to lie down. It's a relaxation exercise that she likes to use a lot. She has the patient think of all their problems, then close their eyes, and just let go.

She makes them let go all of their problems, clear their mind of everything that hurts, everything stressful, everything and anything negative, and then talk about their problems one by one instead of having them all jumbled together and confusing. If they begin to stress again, she has them start from the beginning. Sometimes, she does this exercise when she's home alone. Oh, she only wished she had someone who would listen to her problems.

Quinn exited the room kicked her heels at the wall. "I hate wearing these things, ugh."

Santana just grinned at her.

By 3:00 that afternoon, Quinn was asleep in her reclining leather chair behind her wooden desk in her front office. Santana honestly didn't want to wake her, what with Thomas this morning, throwing a fit and tearing down all the posters in Quinn's kids room, causing her to have to go out and buy new ones. Not to mention, Samantha, a fourteen year old girl, having thrown up in Quinn's teens room after coming to her appointment hungover.

Quinn had had to personally walk two blocks over to the best cleaning service she could find to get that out of her chair, because their phone lines were down. After they had cleared out, she had met with an older woman named Gloria, who had just whined about how she couldn't find a proper backpack for her son for school. Quinn had asked if he had been saying they were inadequate, but she denied, saying he loved anything, she just couldn't find one good enough for him.

Her last client of the day before the mystery person had been an older man named Calvin who couldn't get the fact that Quinn liked women through his head. He continuously flirted with her, telling Quinn he had certain dreams about a certain blonde wearing thick black glasses.

Conclusively, right after he had left she had stumbled out of the adult room with her heels off and passed out on the floor. Santana had spared her the dignity she would've lost waking up there, and she had placed her in her chair.

Now, it was 3:00 and Quinn was a mess, her cropped hair mussed around in all different angles, her black skirt hiked up mid-thigh and her jacket falling off. Not to mention the drool slowly making its way across her cheek.

Santana braced herself for the worst, and she crossed the room to where her boss slept, shaking her slightly to wake her up.

Quinn woke with a start, flinging her hand around, threatening a slap Santana dodged by inches.

"Holy shit," Quinn swore. "What time is it?"

"3:00." Santana answered.

"Holy shit," Quinn repeated. "How do I look?"

She quickly sat up, running her fingers through her hair a few short times and adjusting her jacket. She still looked like the vomit the fourteen year old had left on her chair.

"Truthfully?" Santana said, "Not so good.

"Damn. I have to fix up."

Quinn dashes through her main office – the adult one – picks up her heels from the floor behind her desk, and enters the washroom at the far end of the room.

For a second, she just gapes at how awful she looks. Then she remembers how close she is to an appointment with a very, very important client and she picks up a brush to run through her hair. She fixes her clothing and straps her heels back on before sliding through the doors again to find Santana typing away at her computer.

"Looking much better, Miss Fabray."

"Thank you, darling." Quinn says. "Could you get me a coffee? I am deprived of energy."

"Of course."

Quinn stays still for a second longer while Santana picks up her desk phone, hitting speed dial three for Quinn and hers favourite coffee place. They've gone to lunch there so many times they know everyone that works there, and the owners.

Quinn sits in her leather chair again, sets her head down on the desk and lets the days events wash over her. She takes a deep breath before exhaling, theoretically pushing all her problems out with that one breath.

She starts mouthing all her problems to herself, one by one, until Santana sets large black coffee down in front of her face.

Santana has this look on her face again – one that Quinn finds really annoying – it's a smug look that tells you Santana knows exactly what you're doing and thinking. Every time Quinn gets that look, she wants to slap the shit out of her secretary. Sometimes, she can restrain herself. Sometimes.

"What?"

"What if," Santana starts, sitting on the edge of Quinn's desk with her own coffee in hand. "This mystery client is like, a really hot girl and you fall in love with her and you're finally happy?"

"I'm happy."

"You're bitter."

Quinn sighs and shakes her laptop awake to check the time before realizing she's wearing a watch.

"Oh my, 3:15. Go hide in your little office. I'll wait here for mystery girl." Santana crosses her legs and sips her coffee, staring at Quinn expectantly.

Quinn stands, shaking herself awake. "When did this mystery person become female?"

"When I decided that you and her are going to fall in love and get married."

"You're turning into Brittany."

"At least I'd finally love myself." Santana says.

Quinn frowns.

Santana sits at her desk, as per usual, but today there's a bit of excitement racing through her veins. She's never met a celebrity before, let alone one that needs a therapist. She wonders if they handpicked Quinn themselves or if they had an agent do it.

Santana couldn't wait to tell Brittany tonight, but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to hold in her excitement until then. She decided that as soon as the celebrity shut the door of Quinn's office, she would call Brittany.

Towards the clock, she looked and found that it was 3:30 on the dot. She bit her lip, wondering if the mystery girl would be one of those divas who would be fashionably late for everything. If that was the case, she took back what she had said to Quinn before. A diva would overpower Quinn too much.

At that exact moment, the door burst open, and Santana could hear hundreds – possibly thousands, of cameras clicking and people talking. A small, brunette-headed girl backed into the doorway and slammed it shut after she'd made it all the way inside.

Santana immediately recognized her from all the musicals Brittany had dragged her too, claiming that it was going to broaden their horizons.

A wild-eyed, crazy haired Rachel Berry locked eyes with Santana and grinned, making her way to the front desk to check in.

Quinn was tired, and she imagined she looked the same way she felt. Despite spending her high school years perfecting her 'ice queen' look, throughout the rest of her life, she had tried to work it away. Now, her eyes always betrayed what she was feeling.

This afternoon, she was trying to focus all her energy into this meeting. A first meet with a patient is always important, and she could also make a lot of publicity this way, leading to a lot of money. If she failed this, she was stuck in the same rut she had been before. She was not moving forward, nor backward.

Quinn heard the front door open, and she tensed. She took another sip of her coffee to calm herself down, but it was cold now and it only made her nerves worse. She wished she had some peppermint tea. That never failed to calm her.

Quinn heard Santana walking the client to the door of her office, and she suddenly, intensely wished she had a door with a window. If only she had a door with a window, she thought, she would have been able to prepare herself for what was coming.

Or perhaps not.

The door opened and Santana grinned and said the usual, 'your client is here, Miss Fabray.' Right before she sidestepped to the left, she mouthed the word 'hot' to Quinn. Quinn's stomach lurched. She was nervous enough. Now the girl had to be hot, too? Great. Really.

Santana winked and moved away, revealing the most gorgeous girl Quinn had ever seen. She had brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders and bangs that needed a cut, rather badly. She had brown eyes with gold flecks and a smile a mile long. She was short but the skirt she sported made her tan legs appear longer than any other legs Quinn had seen.

This was not good.

Quinn had sworn off dating, or even getting remotely close to a person right after she graduated college. All the shit guys and girls alike had given her had taught her a few things – one of them being that not everybody's intentions are as pure as they seem.

Quinn realized she'd been staring at the tiny brunette for an extended period of time. She shook herself and got on her feet.

"Hi, I'm Quinn Fabgay – Fabray. I'm Quinn Fabray." Quinn stuttered.

Oh, my god. Shoot me in the face, right now.

"Hi, I'm Rachel Berry. But you knew that?" Rachel giggled.

"No, I didn't actually. Please have a seat."

Quinn didn't specify where, and Rachel slid past her and sat down in Quinn's chair. Normally, if someone else had done this, she would've told them to move. But Quinn's mouth didn't want to work. Therefore, she sat down on the edge of the chair that Rachel should have sat down on.

"So, the first meeting is pretty introductory, so-"

"Who's this?" Rachel interrupts. "You're girlfriend?"

Rachel waves a picture frame around, the one from her desk that had a picture of her and Brittany in it.

"No, actually, that's her girlfriend." Quinn jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "And how do you know I'm gay?"

"Well," Rachel starts. "I, of course, did some background research info on you before requesting my agent call your secretary. It stated your sexual orientation, and you do realize you just stuttered and said your last name was Fabgay? Clever, really."

Quinn felt a blush rise on her neck, and she gripped the side of the chair, hard, where Rachel couldn't see her hand. She couldn't let some Hollywood diva ruin her get close to her. She'd just hurt her or give up on her, like the rest of them did.

"I stuttered, so does everyone in this world. Am I not supposed to be the person asking the questions?"

"Are you the one behind the desk?" Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"I should be."

"Too bad you're not. I'll ask the questions. You can ask some later."

Quinn leaned back into the chair, playing client for once. She and Santana had used to do this once in a while when Quinn needed a break, until Santana's questions got too personal. Then Quinn had made her stop. She couldn't open up to anyone.

"Alright." Quinn says.

"Okay, where did you grow up?" Rachel asks.

"Lima, Ohio."

"Cute. Me too." Rachel says.

"Weird." Quinn nods.

"Okay, describe yourself. Very personally. I want to know all your flaws before I tell you mine."

"That's not how it works." Quinn says, sitting up suddenly.

"I'm paying you." Rachel's face falls flat. "I'm not telling you anything until I know you're willing to tell me information about you."

"Are you a serial killer?" Quinn asks.

"Yes. Now, describe yourself. Flaws and all."

Quinn groans. "Alright, I went to the University of New York -"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I didn't ask for your life story. I asked for you to describe yourself."

"I – I – this isn't how this works!" Quinn shouts.

"I will pay you double." Rachel insists.

"My god, woman! What do you want from me?"

"Sh, you'll find that out soon enough." Rachel whispers.

"Are you high?"

"No. I can pee in your toilet and you can smell it, I guarantee you, nothing in there."

"That's nasty. And why should I tell you all my flaws and attributes? I've just met you!"

Rachel doesn't say anything.

"Oh, my fucking god. Oh, my god, what the hell? You are not my therapist! Get out!"

"You can't kick me out."

"Yes, I can!"

Quinn stands up, and points to the door. She makes several grand gestures to it. Rachel stays where she is.

"You can't kick me out, I paid your secretary with my gold card."

"I don't care! I will find a way to pay you back. Now leave!"

"No."

"Leave!"

"No."

"Get out!"

"Fine!" Rachel bursts. "Fine, but I'll be back! You bet your ass, I will be back in this office!"

Rachel storms out, slamming the door. Quinn runs to the door, and catches Rachel just as she's opening the outside door.

"Remember to make an appointment!"

Quinn, sure she must look horrible, goes into the bathroom at the end of the room Rachel had just been in. She turns on the sink before looking in the mirror.

Yet, when she does look up to the mirror, she's grinning ear to ear.

A/N: Okay, yes, I usually write Brittana, but I felt like Faberry today. Also, there is mild Brittana in this! So, you can't hate me. Also, I haven't updated in forever. Sorry about that, I was working on a project. :) If you like this chapter, please tell me! It's something new I wanted to try, so I'm a little iffy on it.