Title: Converge

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

Summary: AU. Rachel and Quinn used to date long ago but were forced to break up. Now Quinn works in the A&R department at a very successful record company. A new artist walks in hoping to get signed and changes Quinn's world. Previous and eventual R/Q.

Thank you for the reviews, guys. :)


Puck uses the emergency house key that Quinn gave him when she first moved into the house to unlock the door. He hasn't seen her outside of work the entire week. During her time at work her office door was always locked. She didn't associate with anyone and Puck was becoming nervous.

He slips into her house, swiftly walking to her bedroom. He knows it's her source of comfort. Finding her under a mound of covers, blonde hair splayed across two pillows, he approaches her, slowly sitting on the bed beside her prone body.

Knowing she's awake, he begins speaking. "I thought you said you wouldn't regret this."

"I don't," her muffled voice says with conviction.

"Then what's wrong?" He grabs the covers near her body and gives them a rough yank. Her nude body comes into view as the covers go flying back and she doesn't even attempt to cover herself.

Puck tries to be a good friend, and not gaze appreciatively at her form. He does sneak a peek, however. "Seriously, Q, put some clothes on."

"No one told you to come over my damn house anyway," she grumbles as she takes a stand. She walks over to an antique rocking chair that houses her robe and grabs the black, silk article of clothing. Slipping it on, she ties it around the front before running her hands through her hair. She walks over to her dresser, looking at herself in the mirror.

"I look like shit," she comments with a frown.

Puck smirks as he reclines back onto her bed. "Yeah, but I'd still hit it…again."

"As if I'd let you…again," she retorts as she walks back over to the bed and lies down next to him. "I think I'm sad," she tells him truthfully.

"No shit. I thought you wanted the divorce," he says as he pulls her reluctant body into his.

She gives up the losing battle and allows him to pull her to his chest. "I did want it," she says softly. "I'm glad it happened. But I just, I don't know. What do I do now?"

"You're young, Quinn," he murmurs. "You're only twenty-three and you already have frown lines." He rubs a thumb across her forehead, easing the creases there. "You have to live now and that's why you're afraid."

"If one more person calls me scared they will get shot."

He shuts his mouth, not doubting for one second that one of the many closets she has in her house conceals a gun.

"Tomorrow's Monday. A fresh start at work," he starts, deciding a subject change was best. "Our new artist is going to be there. Will you be there? And I mean Quinn Fabray, shrewd and negotiating A&R, not the shell of your former self that you are now."

She rubs the side of her face as she nods. "I'll be there. I'll sign her."

"Then I'll smash her," he says with a sure nod.

"Then we'll have to sue her when she tries to break out of her contract because of your poor sex tricks."

"You didn't complain."

"I was drunk," she retorts. "Sex with Puck and that gold star tattoo. That truly was a regretful night," she says with a laugh.

Puck stares at his friend, at the life in her eyes. If making fun of him brought that genuine smile to her face then he'll take it in stride. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't try to join in on the fun she and I are going to have. I'm sure she's not into threesomes."

"How do you know what she's into?" Quinn questions with an arched eyebrow.

"She's a singer, Quinn," he deadpans. "Those are the most self-centered people besides actors. In the bedroom I'm sure it's all about her."

She makes a disgusted face. "I don't even want to know how you came to such a conclusion."

The sound of Puck's phone pauses their conversation. He reaches into this pocket to retrieve it and reads the text. It was from a girl. He sucks his teeth. "I have to leave," he says as he presses a kiss to Quinn's forehead. "Booty calls."

"I believe the term is 'duty calls', Puck."

"I can stay here if you need me to," he says sincerely. "Do you need me to—"

She shakes her head. "Go, Puck. How long has it been for you? A month?"

"I'm definitely leaving now."

He rubs her head in a way that she hates before standing. "I expect you back at work tomorrow in full swing," he tells her.

"I will be, now leave." She settles back into the blankets with a contented sigh. Suddenly the world doesn't seem so bad. The door to her house shuts and a half an hour later she's asleep.

"Quinn, honey, we love you. But you're not living right so you can't live here." Her mother, Judy Fabray, rapidly packs a suitcase as she talks to Quinn. "We're sending you to a boarding school in California. Sweetie, please don't take this personally."

Quinn's in a chair, legs pulled under her chin with her arms wrapped around them as she watches her mother. She's just broken up with Rachel so there isn't much she cares about right now.

"Okay…" she says, voice void of anything. "I'll go."

Her mother turns around to smile at her. "You can come back anytime—"

"No."

"Quinnie…"

"I'll leave," she says as she takes a stand. She walks over to her mom and yanks the suitcase out of her hand. "I'll leave. But I'm not coming back."

Her mother flinches at her harsh tone and actions before her face loses all expression. "Quinn, you will not get upset with me because your love is impure."

"Impure…" Quinn repeats, tasting the word on her lips.

"I'm not sure I can even call it love," she continues. "It's just wrong, Quinn. Two women can't…they just can't!"

"Whatever." She feels moisture gather in her eyes but she refuses to cry. She misses Rachel so much. It's only been about two hours since she last saw her for the last time and she already feels as if her heart is caving in.

"Just be happy your father never found out about this. I don't know what he would have—"

"Found out about what?"

Quinn feels her heart beat pick up as she turns towards her bedroom door. "Daddy…"

Russell Fabray is quiet as he takes in the sight before him. His daughter, standing in the middle of the floor looking small and frail in her yellow dress as she clutches a suitcase in her white knuckle grip. His wife looks both scared and defiant as she stares at Quinn, refusing to meet his gaze.

"What shouldn't I find out about?" he tries again, authority in his tone.

Judy swallows thickly before looking him in the eye. "Quinn has a girlfriend."

Russell's eyes narrow into slits as he fixes Quinn with a hard glare. "A girlfriend?" he says, spitting the words out of his mouth. "Judy, leave."

"But, honey, wait—"

"Leave!" he shouts.

Judy shuts her mouth up quick and swiftly walks out the door. She spares a glance at Quinn, whose crying freely now, before she leaves.

Russell slams the door shut and locks it before turning to Quinn. "You want to be a boy now? A man? Wanna have yourself a little girlfriend?"

"No," she whispers as tears fall onto her cheeks. "Daddy, I don't want to be a boy."

"I think you do," he says as he walks towards her. "If you want to be a boy, a man, then I'll treat you like one."

Quinn wakes up with a start. She runs her hands over her face, checking for black eyes, bruised cheeks. She bites her trembling lower lip as she grips the covers to her tightly. She is not going to cry. She's not.

Exhaling slowly, she looks to her right, searching for her clock. The digital clock reads 3:15. She had to be at work in less than four hours. She really fucking hates Monday mornings.

Ever since she'd mentioned the divorce to Kennedy, her memories are starting to resurface. She'd been repressing them for years, hiding them from herself. But now they're back, spewing into her subconscious anyway they know how. Everything, everything reminds her of Rachel. And Rachel reminded her of her parents.

She tosses her legs over the edge of the bed before standing up. Gait shaky, she walks into the kitchen and grabs a cup from the cabinet. She turns on the faucet at the sink and fills her cup with water before downing the entire cup, thirst, wholly rattled and uncomfortable. And she's still hungry. But after a dream like that, after a memory like that, she can't eat.

Ever grateful to her ex-husband for suggesting boxing to her a year ago to work out her stress, she travels down the stairs and into her cellar. Once down there, she immediately attacks her punching bag.

She crouches into an offensive stance as she throws a quick jab to the bag. She follows up with a right hook, swiftly sidestepping the bag once momentum brings it back to her. Quinn continues to abuse the bag and her body, sweat pouring down her abs as well as over her brow and into her eye. She finally stops once she can't see, wiping at her eye to get the moisture out.

"You promise to always love me, Quinn?"

Quinn growls before delivering a powerful roundhouse.

"What are we doing? Getting married?" she jokes.

Her eyes begin to fill with a different, more salty kind of moisture as she pushes on. She gives a hard jab before another hook.

"Maybe someday we can."

Her growl this time sounds more like a cry for help as she loses it and continuously assaults the bag, never once stopping.

"In that case, I will always love you."

She falls to her knees, closing her eyes as the tears fall. She doesn't regret her divorce, but she does regret all of the residual feelings that are coursing through her. Feelings that aren't recent.

Feelings that had always been there.

Her hands begin to throb and Quinn looks down at them. Her knuckles are purple and slightly swollen. The thought of wrapping them prior didn't even occur to her. Not much occurred to her in the past half hour besides Rachel.

"I really have to snap out of this shit," she tells herself as she takes a stand.

She slowly trudges up the stairs, exhausted. Walking to the bathroom, she grabs the medical tape from under the sink's cabinet and meticulously wraps her hands. If she wants to look professional in work tomorrow, later today, she would have to put makeup on it.

"Fucking great," she mutters. "Just what I needed before this huge meeting."

Quinn doesn't even bother to shower, opting to do it when she wakes back up for fear of falling asleep in the tub. She falls on top of her covers on the bed. She manages to sleep peacefully, nightmares gone for now.


Puck wanted the old Quinn back and that was just what she's going to give him. She steps out of the elevator, onto her floor, heels clacking with confidence at her every step. She passes by her secretary, glaring pointedly at the older woman when she notices there isn't a cup of coffee in her hand, waiting to give to her.

"Sorry, Mrs. Thomas," she says as she begins to stand up.

"Fabray," she corrects evenly before walking into her office. She closes the door behind her but doesn't lock it. Placing her briefcase on her desk, she slides into her seat and reclines, heaving a sigh of relief. That took work. She isn't feeling like herself at all, but she's willing to try. She has to try because she had a deal to negotiate and hopefully close all in a couple of hours.

"It's still creepy when you space out like that."

Quinn's head rolls to the side so Puck can see the look of pure boredom on her face. "It's still rude when you don't knock."

He smiles before taking residence in the chair that he's claimed long ago. "I see you're back though. I saw your secretary running around like a chicken with her head cut off. She was telling everyone within earshot that you went back to Fabray and that they'd better get it right."

Quinn smirks at that. Maybe she's alright after all. "Good."

"Are you ready?"

"Born that way." She turns to her computer, silently shooting a telepathic good job to her secretary for turning it on, before opening up her calendar. "She'll be here any minute now."

Puck pulls out his cell phone and begins to dial numbers. "Nervous?"

"Hell no," she says, insulted that he even asked. "I can do this in my sleep. Who are you calling?"

"I'm getting my schedule cleared," he says. "I'm gonna take that hot chick out as soon as this is over."

Quinn laughs at that. "You already know she's hot? I almost wish that she was ugly, just so your cocky and arrogant ass wouldn't have someone to take out."

His face turns serious. "Quinn. This is me you're talking about."

"You're right," she says as she eyes him closely. "You'd still have sex with her, even if she was ugly."

There's a firm knock on the door and both heads turn towards it. "This is it," he whispers to her.

She nods her head, slightly nervous as he walks over to the door.

"Good morning," he says with a bright smile. He's met with two women, both dressed in business casual. "I'm Noah Puckerman. This is my partner and fellow A&R Quinn Fabray." He shakes both women's hands as they walk into the room.

"Hello, my name is Santana Lopez; manager," one of the women says. "It's nice to meet you…"

As Santana steps forward and further into the room, so does another woman. The woman is almost painfully short with long dark hair. Tan, almost golden skin and Quinn notices once the girl's eyes settles on hers how dark they are.

"Rachel…" she whispers.

Said girl's eyes widen to saucers. Quinn watches closely as Rachel's mind wars with her body. She takes a half step forward before placing her foot back on the ground. Her eyes never break contact with Quinn. She looks confused and curious at the same time. Her eyes soften while staring at Quinn.

Quinn's eyes narrow slightly as she stares at her. Her hands, behind her back, continue to clench and unclench, the movement causing her makeup covered bruised knuckles to burn. Her heart clenches painfully as she looks into the other woman's eyes. She feels exposed like she used to when those dark eyes would focus on her.

"…I've already told you, Noah. I have a girlfriend. Please quit trying to hit on me or I'll be forced to file charges."

"Puc-Noah," Quinn calls abruptly, not wanting this deal to fall south. "Can you go get the paper work for what will hopefully be our new artist?" It's already proving difficult to be savvy and business suave when her ex-girlfriend, the only person she'd ever loved, suddenly appears in her life. But she had to seal this deal, no questions asked.

Puck looks at her quizzically before walking over to her. "You already have the papers," he whispers to her. "It's gonna look like we're ill prepared if I leave to go get them."

"Excuse us for a second," she says to Santana, not acknowledging Rachel before returning to Puck. "I would rather look ill prepared than to have her manager walk out because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants," she whispers. "Go. Flirt with my cougar secretary, get fresh air, jerk off if you have to. But when you come back? You better tone your inner slut down."

He would rather stay there and pick an immature argument with Quinn so he can loosen up the stick in her ass, but he knows when to stop. "You need to get laid," he tells her quietly before walking out of the door.

"I'm really sorry," she says as she approaches the two women. "I'm Quinn Fabray." She walks over to shake hands.

"It's nice to meet you Ms. Fabray. I'm Santana Lopez, Rachel's manager." She accepts Quinn's handshake before walking further into the office. She takes a seat around a large table.

Quinn pauses for a moment, gathering herself. She stares at Rachel, unable to move.

Rachel sees the pleading look on Quinn's face and takes a step forward. "I'm Rachel Berry," she says confidently. She decides to keep it professional, she knows that what Quinn's really pleading for. "It's very nice to meet you, Quinn."

She nods her head, not trusting herself to speak. Rachel brushes past her, smelling of apples. They were Rachel's favorite when they were younger. Quinn remembers wondering what Rachel loved more: her or apples.

She holds her breath, as she walks away from the familiar scent and to the table, opposite the two women. "Alright," she begins. "We can start."

Rachel's eyes zero in on Quinn as hazel eyes try very hard to look everywhere but at her. She looks at her face, noticing how much more serious the girl, no, woman looks now than when she was younger. She looks more mature. Rachel's eyes rake almost shamelessly up and down Quinn's body, drinking the other woman in for the first time in seven years. She'd never forgotten about Quinn. How could she? They were so deeply in love. But as Rachel looks across the table towards her, it seems like seven years ago was a completely different life. Quinn looks the same, but with subtle differences. She looks as if she has sharper edges. She looks as if life wasn't all that kind to her.

"Ms. Berry."

Her eyes travel back north to her face to see Quinn eyeing her with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

She wills her blush away before it could creep up. She was getting used to this new found celebrity thing. Personal questions were being thrown at her left and right. She doesn't blush much anymore. "Yes, Quinn?"

Quinn's right eye twitches, a rumbling growl in her chest that she tries to suppress. She doesn't know why she's feeling so resentful of Rachel's presence. But she is. Rachel has no right to be in her office, in her life, and address her so informally.

"I was asking," she says with barely contained impatience, "whether or not you had a question."

Rachel can feel the tension and borderline hostility rolling off of Quinn in waves. She isn't really sure how she expected this reunion to be, didn't even know there was ever going to be a reunion—though she had hoped. Regardless, she never expected Quinn to act this way.

"No. I don't have any questions."

A knock on the door is heard, followed by the door opening. "Excuse me, Mrs. Thomas."

"Thomas?" The word is out of Rachel's mouth, laced with disbelief and something else before she can think better of it and she mentally scolds herself for her unprofessional behavior. She should not be acting like this. She had been trained in matters such as handling particularly shocking situations.

"Fabray," Quinn says sternly, addressing both Rachel and the intruder but focusing on the latter. "What do you have for me?"

He swiftly walks into the room, handing her a manila folder. "This is from Noah."

"Where is Noah?"

The man hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "He's just outside your office, talking to your secretary."

She receives the folder, muttering a "Thanks, Kurt" and asking him to grab Puck before opening it. A sheet of paper is on the inside. She picks it up and reads the words. 'Quinn! Quinn! She's our girl! If she can't do it, Puck's gonna hurl!'

Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes at the crappy cheer that was scribbled on the paper. Looking into the folder again, she sees a photograph and picks it up. It's a picture of Puck, with a t-shirt on of some band, bending over a trash can, throwing up whatever drink he had had that night. She remembers that night. It was the same night that she got her gold star tattoo, cried on Puck's shoulder about missing Rachel, and begged him to have comfort sex with her. That was a messy night. And it was an even messier couple of weeks after that when she had to explain it to Kenneth. She's never gotten drunk again since.

Puck walks back in a second later and Quinn puts the folder to the side. He reaches behind her desk and grabs the papers that he was sent to get before sitting beside Quinn.

"I apologize for any transgressions that may have happened earlier."

Santana rolls her eyes at his apology, but tries to remain professional. "Of course. Let's all just move on."

Quinn nods at that. "These are the papers that compose the contract that she has to sign." She can't bring herself to say Rachel's name for fear of choking on the syllables.

Puck caught the tension as soon as he sat down. And it isn't hot, sexual tension between two women. The air around them is bitter. Well, from Quinn's side it's bitter. He can't pick up what Rachel is putting out. Eyeing the girl in front of Quinn, he tries to figure out who she is.

Santana turns to the brunette. "Rachel, do you want to sign to this company? You'll be dealing with Quinn and Noah," she practically spits his name with an annoyed emphasis. "Ms. Fabray, would you run it by her one more time? I want her to be sure this is what she wants."

Puck's eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the name. He knows Rachel. He knows her very well. Quinn used to mention her all the time. Mostly when she was drunk. That's why things feel awkward. But when Quinn was drunk, she always spoke of loving Rachel. He always found it kind of hot, the fact that Quinn likes girls, or 'used to'. No matter how much she denied it when she was sober, he knew the truth. Even the sex between them couldn't have convinced Puck that she was straight. It did quite the opposite, actually.

But that was then and this is now. And now, apparently Quinn can't stand the other woman sitting across from her. The same woman she used to always swear to Puck she'd loved fervently. He gives Quinn a sideways questioning glace, making sure he had the right woman.

"Yes," Quinn says, answering Puck's unspoken inquiry and Santana's spoken one. Taking a deep breath, she addresses Rachel. "Ms. Berry—"

"Please call me Rachel, Quinn."

Her hand clenches. "Rachel." It sounds to foreign to her own ears. "Noah and I will be your A&R, which stands for artists and repertoire. We basically bridge the gap between the artist and the record label. We will oversee your recording process as well as help market you in the best way possible."

"Think of us as your cheerleaders," Puck says. "We're the ones behind the scenes saying 'Go, Rachel! You can do it!'"

Quinn briefly wonders what Puck's obsession with being a cheerleader was before replying. "That's a great way to think of it. We're…here for you. You'll have both our numbers to call whenever you have questions."

Quinn thinks she's going to be sick. As if she's literally going to vomit in the office. But what would there be to throw up? She hasn't eaten anything in almost an entire day.

Rachel stares at Quinn intently as she talked. Quinn is so beautiful, even after all these years. If anything, she's even more beautiful.

She's nervous about venturing into this unknown territory with her ex-girlfriend, especially because Quinn seems so unwilling. But she's a singer and she wants to be successful. She doesn't know the west coast very well at all and although Quinn glares at her with hard and resentful eyes, she's the only one Rachel knows. Therefore, she's the only one Rachel trusts.

"I'll sign," Rachel says, reaching a hand out for the papers.

Quinn hands her the papers and Rachel catches sight of her knuckles. Makeup could only go so far. They're still a little swollen and a little purple. Rachel looks into her eyes with alarm, questioning what the hell Quinn did. Quinn minutely shakes her head one time, telling Rachel that she's alright but also telling her to back off.

Rachel sighs quietly at the rejection as she flips through the papers to sign her name. Quinn watches, nostalgia tickling her mind. She had just done this a couple of weeks ago. Except that was a divorce. But this, this is practically marriage. Rachel is signing a five year contract with Winner's Victory Records. They'll have to deal with each other for a long time.

She smiles softly at Quinn as she returns the papers. Quinn doesn't even look her in the eye.

"Alright, we're done," Quinn says in a faux cheerful voice as she takes a stand. "It was nice meeting the both of you." Rachel extends her hand boldly. "It was nice to meet you, Quinn."

Quinn takes the offered hand. She shakes her hand, wincing slightly at the pressure Rachel unwittingly puts on her knuckles.

Rachel notices. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Quinn nods, shrugging it off before shaking Santana's hand. Once Puck's shook everyone's hand, Rachel and Santana prepare to leave Quinn's office.

"Santana?" Rachel asks. "You go ahead and I'll catch up. I have a question to ask Quinn about the label."

Puck, although he'd like to be nosey, can take a hint. "I'll be outside," he murmurs to Quinn as he walks out of the door.

"Don't forget you have a radio interview in less than forty minutes, Berry." Santana walks out of the room as well.

Quinn doesn't even say anything as she walks behind her desk and takes seat. She knows Rachel doesn't have a question about the label. She's not stupid.

Rachel takes a step towards her desk, sitting down on the chair in front of it. She's silent for a moment, gathering her courage.

She takes in Quinn's stiff posture and averted gaze. Tell-tale signs that she's closed off.

"It's good to see you again," she says quietly.

Quinn doesn't move, save for her eyes narrowing. "Good to see you, too," she mumbles.

Rachel swallows thickly. "Quinn…I'd like for us to—"

"Rachel, please," she whispers. "Five years. All we have to do is do our respective jobs for five years then we can go our separate ways again." She feels pressure behind her eyes as she speaks.

"You're serious? Quinn, if you used to love me—"

"I didn't love you." Her eyes shut tightly at the words as she balls a hand into a fist.

Rachel sees her posture drawing tighter and tighter. She'd always likened Quinn to a big cat. Maybe a tiger or a lion. There were times when they were younger when Quinn was lethargic and lazy, always stretching her limbs like she owned the world, or turning towards Rachel after sex with a lazy smile on her face, like a big, tired cat. And during foreplay she used to have the grin of a Cheshire as she teased Rachel mercilessly. But right now, by the looks of things, she was poised to attack. But that doesn't scare Rachel. Nothing ever scared her when it came to the woman in front of her. And she always pushed buttons.

"You're just as bad at lying now as you were seven years ago."

Quinn abruptly stands from her seat. This is all she can take. "It was very nice meeting you, Berry," she says tightly. "But you need to leave. Now."

She walks to the door and grabs the handle. She prepares to open it but Rachel puts a hand on the door to stop her. She moves to stand right beside Quinn, practically on top of her.

"Do you really think we can do this five year job professionally through its entirety?"

Rachel's words are little more than a breath and Quinn breathes in deeply before deciding to focus her attention elsewhere. Rachel has no right, no right at all to be in her life. She has no right to tell her how the next five years are going to go. Quinn doesn't want this. She doesn't.

Rachel reaches down to grab Quinn's hand on the door knob. She tenderly cups it in her palm and brings it to her face. Her brows furrow as she looks at the bruises. She looks at Quinn briefly before carefully dragging her thumb across her knuckles, soothing them. Her lips curve up slightly when she hears Quinn's quiet sigh.

"What did you—"

"Nothing."

She nods her head as she continues to nurture the wounded hand in her grasp. But she loses herself. Thinks she's sixteen years old again because she leans forward to kiss Quinn's hand, wanting to take the pain away.

"What are you doing?" Quinn hisses as she violently wrenches her hand away, wincing slightly when she hurts herself in the process.

Rachel blinks. What had she been doing? "Quinn, I-I was only trying to help."

"I'm not gay," she says gravely. "So please, stop."

It all finally clicks into place. "They've completely brainwashed you," she whispers sadly. "You're not the same person."

"Leave." Quinn reaches for the door again, this time managing to open it without interception.

She doesn't fight her this time, only walks out the door. Rachel's no more than two steps out when the door shuts behind her tightly. She looks toward her manager. "I'm ready to leave now."

"Fantastic," Santana replies with sarcasm. "Maybe if we leave now, we can only be ten minutes late."

She sees a sort of defeated look on Rachel's face and decides to spare her, however. "Come on, Berry. Let's get you some coffee or something."

Puck watches the two women walk out. So much for smashing the hot, new artist. Whether Quinn wants it or not, she has claim over Rachel and he is not going to cross that line. And the manager has a girlfriend. Damn. Work sucked.

He puts aside his libido, however, to check on his friend. Quinn probably needs another shoulder to cry on, sans the sex this time.