Title: Queen Elizabeth I

Author: blairdrof

Pairing: Faberry - with references to Finchel and Brittana

Rating: T - for language and slight (very very slight) sexual undertones.

Summary: When Quinn drops off the face of the Earth during the summer, Rachel takes matters into her own hands to find out what's going on in her life.

Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 1: The Purple Piano Project

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination.

A/N: Before you start reading this, I'd recommend watching the Season 3 premiere, otherwise, the last chapter won't make much sense. Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to vondrunkaton for being a lovely beta (and incredible author).


To say that Rachel Berry was devoted to accomplishing her goals was an understatement. She was passionate about everything she did, wanted, or was involved in. So, naturally, she was passionate about finding out more about Quinn. That curiosity and determination, mixed with her decision to avoid Finn for a few days, prompted her to dive head first into her research.

Of course, she couldn't really start investigating without information on how to do so first, so she decided to have a little marathon of any show that could provide her with tips or advice about her methods and her approach. She kneeled on her bed, Google-searching a list of shows dealing with investigation, pondering on which one to watch. Covert Affairs, Criminal Minds? No, those methods required of too many resources she would never get her hands on. She wasn't part of a government agency. Law & Order, CSI? No, those wouldn't do either. She wasn't part of the government, period. They'd be useless for her. Veronica Mars? Hmm... A high-school teenager working as a Private Investigator. That one should work.

The run to the store to buy the DVDs was a blur, and soon she found herself lounging on her bed with a handful of bags of vegan snacks as the first opening scenes rolled. A few episodes in -and, Rachel had to admit, the show was actually entertaining- and Rachel had pen and notebook by her side, a list of all the things she'd need jotted down neatly. Just to be sure she wasn't missing anything, she kept on watching until well past dinner, when her dad's head poked through her door to ask if there was something wrong, since she had been "holed up in her room all day". After explaining that it was merely research, she turned off the TV and went off to her computer.

She needed something to remind her of her goal and look forward to in the mornings to come. Finding a picture she deemed both appropriate and satisfactory, she printed it out and taped it to the column facing her elliptical. Smiling to herself, she then slid under the sheets and let sleep claim her.

The following morning, when her alarm went off at 9a.m., she jumped off her bed and into her elliptical, falling naturally into her routine. She found herself exercising with more vigour as her eyes stared at the -not at all flattering, and highly pixelated- picture of Queen Elizabeth I of England. She was sure her fathers would find the picture so bizarre that they'd just tilt their heads at her and never ask about what it stood for. Oh well, it made sense to her anyway, and that was all that mattered.

After her daily dose of exercise, she took a quick, refreshing shower, and descended the stairs to fix herself some highly nutritious breakfast. As she waited for the machine to turn the chopped fruits into a smoothie, she perused her phone -which she had neglected completely the previous day-, only to find she had twenty-three unread messages. Seeing that most of them were from Finn, she rolled her eyes and set her phone aside. After stopping the machine and pouring the contents into a tall glass, she moved herself to the counter and -with a little jump- sat on top of it.

She let her fingers curl around the glass, and grabbed her phone in the other hand. She started deleting Finn's messages in twos or threes every couple of sips. She didn't even bother reading them, since she knew what they probably said. The ones she did read, however, were those from Kurt. And she almost spit out her smoothie in amusement at them: "I couldn't help but overhear your argument, and I agree with you", "Finn overreacted. I've already told him he was wrong", "He'll call to apologise. Tell him it's okay. I know he meant well", "Or maybe you could call him instead?" And then there was one that had been sent about an hour afterwards, which made Rachel laugh out loud at Finn's blatant stupidity: "Oh my god! Please call Finn. I don't care what you say to him. Just call him! He thinks you broke up with him and is pestering me about it."

Rachel bit her lower lip, legs dangling back and forth, unsure of what to do. She finished the remnants of her smoothie and set the glass aside. She didn't really want to call Finn. In fact, she still wished to avoid him. She was still mad at him for being so mean about Quinn. She would go on ignoring him for a while. Besides -she rolled her eyes- it wasn't like he didn't ignore her whenever he played video games. He would become so immersed in that world that it was like she didn't even exist. Every single time he turned on the console, he would prioritise the game and leave her behind. Who was she supposed to talk about songs and make out with? Her palm? That was part of why she spent so much time with Kurt. Because aside from being her best friend, she knew she could count on him whenever Finn ignored her. Finn could be such a girl sometimes. Rachel was dramatic, and she would always admit to that. But Finn could be even worse. He made this huge deal out of every single thing they disagreed on, going on and on about whatever to make it seem like he was right, and that it was all about himself and his feelings. Well -Rachel thought- he needed to grow up.

"Tell him I'll talk to him when he stops showing the antics of a hysterical twelve-year-old with symptoms of PMS" she typed in and sent to Kurt. She never got a reply. She could practically picture Kurt's reaction to such a message. He'd sit there wide eyed at her analogy and then not tell Finn anything. No one knew better than the two of them just how much such a comment would hurt Finn's macho ego.

She hopped off the counter and, after washing the used glass, retreated herself to her bedroom to get ready. List in hand, she roamed the house searching for everything she'd need. Charged phone? Check. Pen and notepad? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Camera? Check -it totally paid off when her dad made a hobby out of photographing every single moment of their vacations together. She went about checking off items, finally dropping to the driver's seat of her car with a thump. Inconspicuous car? Silvery grey was a very frequent colour for cars, right? Yeah. Check. Full tank? She leaned over the wheel to look at the console. Check. Rachel sighed, hands gripping the wheel steadily. She was ready.

She drove to Quinn's house first -making sure to park at the corner half a block away, out of sight- and turned off the engine. She sat back, the plush surface of the seat moulding against her back comfortably, and watched. She wasn't really sure what she was waiting for, but she waited. After an hour of just sitting there, she started becoming impatient. It was well past eleven, surely Quinn had to be awake by now, right? Right? She waited a bit longer, until her foot -off its own will- began shaking against the carpeted floor of the car. She picked up her list and added at the bottom: "Be patient." Yes, this whole thing would absolutely help her work on her patience.

A bit after one, when the growling of her stomach became rather annoying, she drove to the nearest café she could find -she was utterly shocked to find that the Lima Bean wasn't the only café in that God forsaken town- and then back to her previous spot in Quinn's block, now with a large cup of coffee -and a double shot of espresso- in her hand, and a paper bag full of vegan cupcakes resting on the passenger's seat.

Half a cup of coffee, and two cupcakes later -eyes never leaving Quinn's house-, Rachel was impatient again. She turned on the radio, in an attempt to entertain herself somehow. She listened to the news first, as she finished her coffee. Fifteen minutes later, she changed stations and began singing along to a Beatles song around a mouthful of cupcake.

When the radio guy announced it was 5p.m., Rachel slumped back in her seat. This wasn't going well. She couldn't investigate Quinn or follow her if she never left the house. And sitting all day long in her car wasn't exactly her idea of how this was supposed to turn out. Besides, after that amount of coffee, she really needed to pee. She crossed her legs tight in an effort to make the need go away, and succeeded in doing so until shortly after the sun had gone down. But the moment she noticed movement, the need for a bathroom became apparent again, along with the subtle increase of her heart-rate.

She couldn't really make out much, what with the distance and the dim streetlights -since she couldn't really turn on the headlights and give herself away. But she somehow managed to catch sight of a motorcycle -a very loud motorcycle- coming to a halt two houses away from Quinn's. She saw someone walk away from it as its engine roared to life and the motorcycle drove away. And then she saw the person stop at Quinn's doorstep. Before she even had time to pick up her camera, the figure had disappeared into the house. That must have been Quinn, right? Because she could never -in a million years- imagine Judy Fabray getting off of a motorcycle and simply walk into her house.

The loud buzzing of her phone startled Rachel from her thoughts, and she read the text from her daddy asking where she was. With a sigh, she turned on the engine and drove home for the day. She could by no means call that day a victory. After all, all she had seen was a figure arrive in a motorcycle, but she definitely felt a sense of self-satisfaction. If Quinn was arriving home after dark, then she had left her home before Rachel had shown up there. All she had to do was begin her stalking earlier the following day. But first, she dashed past her fathers and into the bathroom.


The following morning, her alarm went off at 5a.m. She figured that with her precise routine, she'd be at Quinn's well before seven. This time, however, since her dads hadn't left for work yet, she told them not to expect her back until late, and grabbed her iPod as well. What? The wait could be long. She could use the time for something productive and start selecting songs for Glee Club while she watched.

Sadly, that day turned out to be a waste of time. Well, she had scribbled down a couple of songs that could be used in Glee Club, but it had been a waste as far as Quinn was concerned, since she never appeared. All she got throughout the day were a handful of messages from Finn -which she deleted, again-, and a very succinct message from Santana. She checked her phone screen again. Santana? Why on earth would Santana text her? Oh right, to tell her they'd be gathering at the Hummel's for dinner again.

Rachel sighed. Well, it was dark already, and no signs of Quinn. She might as well just leave for the day, take a shower and head to that dinner. After her argument with Finn, it'd definitely prove to be an interesting night at least.

She made sure to break her own rule of arriving on time, and arrived half an hour late instead -when she supposed everyone would be there already, so she wouldn't be able to talk with Finn. And she had been right. They were waiting for her to start eating. The dinner went by quickly, since she didn't really participate in their chit-chat. She did, however, notice the tension in the air, and the weird looks Mercedes and Tina kept sending her way, and the way Kurt's eyes shifted almost incessantly back and forth between her and Finn, as if analysing them. What she also noticed -and caught her attention the most- was the almost approving smirk Santana directed at her, and she couldn't help but wonder what she had done to deserve it.

As the night wore on and everyone left, Finn called out to her at the doorway, "Rachel, wait."

She turned around to look at him expectantly, and he began talking, his eyes shifting as he did so, "I'm sorry about the other night. I acted like a jerk. I didn't listen to what you had to say, and I insulted Quinn. So I'm sorry that I upset you. Are we okay?"

Were they? Rachel wondered. If there was anything that those three days of space had given her, it was perspective. She had done a lot of thinking during that time -because really, what else could a person do in a car other than listen to music and think-, and she had pondered on her relationship with Finn. She suddenly remembered Kurt's message. He had told Finn that he had been wrong. Rachel mentally scoffed to herself.

"Did Kurt tell you to say that?" she pursed her lips. Judging by the deer in the headlights look on his face, she had hit the nail on the head. The expression -along with the distinct lack of a verbal response- was all she needed to know. She couldn't believe that Finn would still hold his opinion of Quinn after that argument. Actually, she could believe that. After all, Finn had proven to be even more selfish than she had given him credit for. What she really couldn't believe, though, was that she had ever questioned her goal of going to New York to follow her dream because of him. No, they were not okay. And, as a couple, they probably never would be.

"I see," she continued, nodding her head in understanding, "well, in that case, Finn Hudson, we're done."

That seemed to wake him up from his usual slumbering existence, "Wait, what? Why?"

She smiled, "Because you can't look me in the eye and tell me you actually believe you're sorry for insulting Quinn. Because you are arrogant enough to think that Quinn and I have this ongoing feud over you. Because I'm not a prize you can go back to whenever you need your ego to be polished and pampered. Because you ruined Nationals for me -for all of us- just because you wanted to kiss me. Because you were willing to let me sacrifice my dream just to stay here with you instead of leaving for New York after school," she explained firmly. She began walking away from his shocked face before turning around towards him again, "Oh, and one more thing. For future reference? Never chose a video game over spending time with your girlfriend. See you at the next dinner, Finn," she added with a wide smile, finally letting go of him and walking towards her car.


Rachel wasn't sure if it was sheer luck, or the fact that she felt so good about herself after breaking things off with Finn, but there was definitely something that made her look forward to that day as she drove to Quinn's that morning.

She smiled to herself when, a mere ten minutes after having parked the car, she saw the front door of the Fabray house open. Her smile faltered a heartbeat after that, because she had definitely not been ready for the sight that faced her. There was Quinn, clad in black clothing and boots, hair ablaze in choppy, pink strands. There was Quinn, walking out onto the street without a care in the world, as if her appearance was something that clung to her as a second skin.

Reacting quickly, Rachel grabbed her dad's camera and snapped a few unfocused shots. Dumping the camera on the other seat as Quinn turned the corner, she turned on the car and drove slowly after her. She followed Quinn from afar -it wasn't really that hard, since with that hair, there was no way she could ever lose sight of the girl- and stopped the car when she saw Quinn join a group of girls gathered around two large motorcycles in a deserted alley.

She frowned. What was Quinn doing with these people? Couldn't she see that she was better than them? Rachel released the hold her teeth had on her lip and picked up the camera once again. If she wanted to know what Quinn was up to, then she needed to know who these girls were. She took a few pictures of the group -Quinn included-, and then zoomed in on each girl, taking a couple of individual shots of each of them.

Dammit, she should have brought her laptop. Rachel sighed. She'd have to wait until she got home to go over those. Right now, she should focus on Quinn. She observed their interactions for a while. And she felt relief wash over her when she realised that the only thing they seemed to do was sit by the motorcycles talking. She lost sight of Quinn when the group headed inside the shop across the street. After waiting outside for almost an hour, Rachel called it quits for that day and headed back home.

She hurried up the stairs and closed her bedroom door after herself, impatience claiming her again as she plugged the camera to her laptop. She tapped her foot against the floor as the pictures loaded, and her shoulders slouched forward when she saw that -despite being head shots- none of them were neat or clear enough for her to continue her research and find out who they were.

She glanced at the picture of Queen Elizabeth as she walked past it towards her bed, and sighed to herself. She had made progress. She still had time. There was no reason to feel disappointed.


The rest of the week went by in similar fashion. She'd follow Quinn around, snap pictures, and jot down notes of what she found. Quinn seemed to be spending most days in that alley with those girls -Sheila, Ronnie, and Melissa (a.k.a. the Mack), also known as the Skanks, if her information was correct-, doing nothing but talk and smoke. Rachel had been completely horrified the first time she'd seen Quinn light a cigarette with all the ease in the world to start a habit of chain-smoking until she parted ways with the group.

On Tuesday, she had been so immersed in figuring out what the place Quinn was at was, that she completely forgot about the dinner she was supposed to go to at the Hummel's. She hadn't found out what that other place was, yet. And while the change of scenery was somewhat refreshing, she couldn't help but worry over how -or why- Quinn had got into that yard that looked like a dump and was surrounded by a wire fence.

On Friday, she had finally remembered to text a quick apology to Kurt for missing out that previous dinner, and she had followed Quinn to a make-shift rink. Rachel's eyes had all but bulged out of their sockets upon seeing Quinn pull a number of tricks on a rather old-looking skateboard. As concerned as she was for Quinn's safety whenever her frame flew off a ramp and into the air, she knew that this couldn't possibly be more dangerous that being thrown high up in the air during cheerleading routines and hoping for someone to catch you on time.

On Saturday, as she snapped shot after shot of Quinn's prowess on the skateboard, she received a text from Mercedes telling her about another dinner, this time at her house -well, that was odd-, and asking if she was okay after her break up with Finn. Oh! Rachel remembered. Right, she had broken up with Finn. Funny how she had forgotten about that. She had been so engrossed with finding out more about Quinn, that she had actually forgotten about Finn altogether. When six turned into seven, and Quinn was still sitting at the edge of the ramp smoking, Rachel drove home. If she wanted to shower and make it on time to their get together, then she needed to get home earlier.

As she had expected, dinner was awkward. Everyone had thought she was upset about the break up, but, the truth was that Finn seemed to be doing much worse. Well, she wasn't even upset, so it wasn't really that hard to be worse than she was. Finn avoided her for most of the night, and spent most of the time talking with Brittany about things that Rachel didn't really know the meaning of. After promising Kurt to get together to talk at some point of the following week, Santana caught up with her, "Hey, Berry," she smiled.

Santana Lopez actually smiled at her. What was going on with the world?

"Hey there, Santana," Rachel smiled back as the other girl fell in step with her on their way to Rachel's car.

"I just wanted to say," Santana began, her smile widening as she placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder -and Rachel had to admit, she didn't know whether to be scared into oblivion, or pleasantly surprised by the action-, "congratulations for finally dumping Frankenteen."

Shaking herself out of her shock-induced speechlessness, Rachel tilted her head with a warm smile, "Why, thank you. You can have him if you want him." She knew it was mean of her to snap at the other girl like that, but she couldn't really help it. But, instead of the verbal -or possibly even physical- threat she expected, Santana simply chuckled, her lips quickly turning into a smirk, "Nah, I have bigger fish to fry," she said, glancing momentarily at her own car, where Brittany waved at them from the passenger seat, "but I'm glad you realised you deserve better," she commented casually, nodding at Rachel.

"Um, thanks," the tiny brunette replied. What the hell did Santana mean by that?

"See you around, Berry," Santana stated, looking at Rachel over her shoulder as she jogged back towards her car.

Well, that was awkward.


The next two weeks went by the same way, and Rachel could almost call it a routine by then. It had been a week since she had stopped going to Quinn's first thing in the morning. She now drove first to the alley, and if Quinn wasn't there, she'd go to the rink. And if she wasn't there either, she'd try her luck at that wire fence dump. These days, Quinn's house was the last option of them all.

That morning had started out like any other. Rachel drove to the alley, and found it empty. She headed to the rink, only to find that the Skanks were there, but no Quinn in sight. Her frown remained firmly in place as she drove to what she now called "the dump" in her mind, yet it dissipated at the sight that greeted her and made her eyes widen.

Imagine Rachel's surprise upon seeing Quinn Fabray -ex-head Cheerio, good Christian straight girl... wait, scratch that- pressing a girl up against the wire fence with her body and kissing her in a way that she had never seen anyone kiss another person in, except in movies. Rachel's eyebrows shot up in her forehead, disappearing under her bangs, as she saw Quinn detach her mouth from that other pair of lips to latch onto the neck exposed before her. The brunette's jaw fell slack at the scene she was witnessing. Correction, woman -she thought as she saw the other face.

Quinn Fabray was involved in a make out session -what seemed to be a very very hot make out session at that- with a woman who looked like she doubled their age. Her gaze followed down the lines of their bodies, only to fall and turn into a fixed stare on a pair of skateboards by their feet. Rachel was so shell-shocked about the whole thing that -for the first time since she had started following Quinn a month before- she completely forgot about photographing the deed. Instead, she turned around the car and headed straight home.

Apparently, her expression hadn't worn off by the time she came bursting through the front door, because her dads froze mid-breakfast and stared at her. She blinked at them, first wondering why they looked surprised, and then wondering why they were home at all -only to remember it was a Saturday-, and then all but ran up the stairs and into her room.

As she deliberately face-planted on her bed and the scene she had just witnessed rushed back into her mind, she became aware of a rather unusual, yet very much pleasant, tingling low in her stomach. Oh God! This couldn't be happening. She couldn't possibly be turned on by Quinn making out with some skateboarding hag. And yet she was. No, well, she was turned on by the sight of Quinn practically devouring someone else, not exactly by the lady pressed up against the fence, who -in Rachel's honest opinion- seemed to be way too old to be a skater.

Rachel rolled on her bed to stare up at her star-covered ceiling. She couldn't let this happen again. She couldn't let this situation affect her this much. She now knew that Quinn was safe, and healthy, and having fun -and lots of it by the looks of it that morning. And she also knew that if she witnessed Quinn straddling a motorcycle while wearing leather shorts again -like she had that one time-, or making out with another girl or woman again, she'd lose it. No. She'd slip into a sexual-frustration-induced coma, she'd self-combust, and then she'd lose it.

She needed to stop following Quinn.


The following morning, after staring at Queen Elizabeth from her elliptical, Rachel had to refrain from driving to where Quinn would be. Instead, she parked in the other street she knew oh so well, and dragged her feet towards the front door to ring the bell.

As the door opened, she let her eyes take in the sight that was Kurt Hummel at eight in the morning. She briefly wondered why he had chosen to wear a bright green Fedora indoors, but he pulled her out of her thoughts, "If you're looking for Finn, he's playing with the sheep in his sleep."

She glared at him. "Forget about Finn," she groaned, "I need your advice," she added, shoulders slumping forward as she held up two cups of coffee. Grin spreading, Kurt let her in and led them both into his room, where they plopped down on the bed.

"You do know that when I said we should get together to talk, you were supposed to call me first, right?" he asked with a smile. But Rachel was in no mood for teasing and merely looked at him through her lashes.

"Alright," he sat up straight on the bed, hands clasped around his coffee, "how can mister Hummel be of assistance to you, child?"

Rachel's eyes dropped to her own coffee for a moment as she chewed on her lip, wondering just how much she would tell him. She looked up again, decided, and began, "I'm not upset about Finn. I never was. It's just-" she paused as a part of her hoped he'd interrupt her. No such luck. "Remember why Finn and I argued in the first place?"

Kurt put down his cup and swallowed before answering, "Yeah, you yelled at him for not caring enough about Quinn."

She nodded, "And do you know why I broke up with him?" she asked, her finger playing with the paper around the cup absent-mindedly.

Kurt nodded again, "Beeeecause he's a selfish teenager who only listens to his hormones instead of to you, and who thinks Quinn is a harpy?"

"Exactly," Rachel confirmed. She shook her head slightly and looked at him again, "I've been worried about Quinn."

"I'm noticing a pattern here," he stated, tilting his head -and his hat- to the side.

Ignoring him, Rachel went on, "I haven't been avoiding you guys or excluding myself from the rest of the world. Well, maybe I have been avoiding Finn, but that's not the point. I've been following Quinn."

"Oh, Barbra," Kurt exclaimed, his eyes widening.

"Do you know what she's been doing, Kurt? Do you?" she shrieked, hand beginning to shake around her coffee.

Placing his free hand atop hers gently, he replied in as soothing a voice as he could manage, "No, I don't. Tell me about it if you need to."

"She hasn't been hanging out with the best crowd. She's been skating, and riding motorcycles, and her hair is pink. She smokes, Kurt. Smokes!" she ranted and he listened patiently. He waited for her to drink from her coffee to go on, "I have the pictures to prove it. All of it. Well, no, not all of it, because I was too shocked to take a picture of her making out with-" her rant came to a halt as her eyes widened, and she wondered if she had said too much.

Kurt observed her calmly. Sure, Rachel did have a flair for drama and a tendency to exaggerate things. But if there were pictures of what she had just described, well, then it was all true. Who was Quinn making out with that not even Rachel could say it, though? He frowned, still calm, and licked his lips to force the question out of his mouth, "Rachel, who was she making out with?"

Her face snapped up and her eyes connected with his own, "She was making out with some woman. I-I di-I don't know who she is. And I didn't take a picture of it. I cou-I couldn't really go on watching, so I went back home," she answered, her gaze dropping immediately.

Were they even talking about the same Quinn Fabray? Because the Quinn he knew was straight. Sure, she had always been on his radar. She had never particularly shown interest in the relationship between Brittany and Santana, and she had always seemed a little inclined to caring too much about Rachel but, as far as he knew for certain, she was straight. Still, he needed to stop analysing Quinn Fabray's sexuality and focus instead on making Rachel feel better about whichever part of her rant was bothering her.

"Well, although I'm positively flabbergasted by this information you're relaying, I have to say that it could be worse," he started, and her eyes shot back to his face to stare at him incredulously, "I mean, she could be abused, or she could have picked up a drug addiction, or she could be murdering people," he shrugged, "I say that a extreme makeover, smoking, or even switching teams is much better than the other alternatives, don't you think?"

Rachel stared at him, mulling over his words, and nodded soundlessly. He looked her up and down, and then asked what had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since she had begun talking about Quinn, "What made you come to me for advice? And advice on what, exactly?"

He saw her entire demeanour change at the question, as if a switch had been flipped inside her, and it only sparked his curiosity. She fidgeted on the bed, hands clasping and unclasping, fingers brushing her bangs away from her face repeatedly, until she spoke, "I-I need to stop following her. I have to. And I need you to stop me from doing it again."

"Okay," Kurt blinked, trying to understand, "but why? I mean, not why would you want to stop following her, but why would you need me to force you to stop? Why can't you stop yourself?"

Silence fell over them, as did Rachel's gaze. And when she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, "Because I felt something."

"Meaning?" he inquired. He was beginning to worry. He had never seen Rachel like this.

"I felt something. When I saw her making out with that woman, pinning her to the fence..." her eyes fluttered, "I felt something. I felt something I never felt with Finn. I felt like I was on fire. I don't think I can go through that again. Is that even normal?" she rambled, all the while avoiding his eyes.

"Oh, sweetie," he sighed, setting the cups aside and quickly gathering her in his arms, "It is normal. It's completely normal. It's also completely gay. But it's normal," he kissed the top of her head, "you have a thing for Quinn Fabray. It's only a big deal if you make it one. And if it helps you feel better, then we'll stop you from following her again, okay?"

She sniffed against his fitted vest, "Thanks, Kurt."

And that's how Rachel Berry spent the rest of the summer either in Kurt's bedroom, or in her own with him by her side, making him watch the episodes of Veronica Mars that she had already watched, watching the remaining episodes of the DVDs, and talking about Blaine and Quinn.