Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Russell took small sips of his wine as he listened to the conversation going around him. The dining room's glass roof offered superb view of the Manhattan sky- line, something he greatly took advantage of as Quinn and her companions talked amongst themselves. The hour is before dinner; gathered on one side of the table are Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez - they've been his daughter's best friend's since the three girls barely reached past his knees - often coming over to the mansion and running around the vast expanse of the Fabray's backyard, feeding the docks by the pond. On the other side of the table sat Quinn and Finn. The butler and the housekeeper were passing hors d'oeuvres and refilling drinks.
"...Music, Q... the music has to be good. You're dad only turns sixty-five once and the last thing he probably wants is music that puts a thousand other people to sleep. I've agonized over this and finally settled on Sidney Brown, twenty-four men, very eclectic, plus I'm feathering in a Latin sextet on their breaks -"
"Sextet?" Brittany repeated with a grin on her face.
Quinn shook her head in amusement and turned to the quiet man at the head of the table. "What do you think dad?...Dad?" Russell has subconsciously tuned everyone out, he tried to stay with it, but his mind has wandered back to the events at the his office. "You haven't heard a word, have you? We keep talking and all you do is nod."
Russell still doesn't answer.
"Hello?" Quinn furrowed her brows. "Are you okay, daddy?"
The business man blinks rapidly.
"What, honey?"
Quinn sighed heavily. "We've all been taking time out of our busy schedules to plan this, dad. I want this party to be like something Mom would have made for you, I want it to be perfect -"
"I know you do, darling."
"And you could care less -"
Russell shook his head. "You couldn't be more wrong, honey. I can' tell you how much I appreciate it and how much I'm looking forward to it." He tries to look as excited as he can but, still his thoughts linger on the voice that haunts him.
"Good. Now, Music. Santana was just talking about how she found the perfect band to play-"
A stab of pain, Russell discreetly grabs his upper arm but manages to keep his attention on Quinn.
"Tell it to me again, dear," he says, gesturing for Santana to speak.
"...Yes."
Russell's head snaps, startled.
"Did you miss me?"
He reacts once more, aware again that he is the only one who has heard the voice, as an oblivious Santana continues. Eventually, the other occupants of the table notice that the older gentleman has once again seemingly lost interest in the conversation.
"Never mind." Santana grumbled with a roll of her eyes, gulping down her wine. "Leave it to me."
The business man ignores her, his attention has been taken by the voice. His eyelids flutter, nonplussed, edgy and fearful.
"Mr. Fabray, dinner is served."
"Sweet!" Finn beams, looking hungrily at the dishes the servers were placing on the long elegant table. "Chow time, guys!"
Russell sat confounded.
Blindly and disconcerted, he follows the girls and Finn in their motions and as disturbed Russell begins to dine, he hears the voice once more.
"What are you looking so provoked about? 'Did you miss me?' It's a normal question. I missed you. But what do I get back? 'Not an ounce of excitement, not a whisper of a thrill -'"
Russell is on the edge of his seat, struggling to hide his panic.
"I'm waiting outside. Won't someone come to the door?"
Shocked and scared out of his wits, Russell strives to gain control of himself. As the butler serves him, he gestures the housekeeper over. "Is-um, is someone at the door?"
"I didn't hear a ring, sir."
He responds to her sharply. "Please have a look."
"Wonder if the mayor's coming?"
"Who cares about him? What I wants to know is which celebrities are attending."
"Looking for new clients?"
"You know it, Q-tip. I'm a divorce lawyer, Auntie Tana's always looking for new suckers to help pay for her boo's new motorcycle."
"That's so sweet, babe."
"Guys, this chicken is awesome!"
Russell doesn't hear a word, preoccupied with the return of the housekeeper.
"We have an acceptance list that would do The White House proud. The Secretary-General of the UN, the Chairman of the FCC, nine Senators, I don't know how many Congressmen, all the A-list celebs, and at least twelve of the Fortune '500'."
"No jocks? A twenty-game winner or a Masters champion? Someone I could talk to without getting confused?"
"Talking to a toddler makes you confused, Finnept."
"Santana." Quinn warns, laying a comforting hand on Finn's arm.
The housekeeper returns to Russell as the others' conversation drones on.
"You were right, Mr. Fabray. There was a young woman at the door. She's waiting for you in the foyer."
Russell is stunned. "Show-show her into the library, t-tell her I'll be right there," he manages to get out. His head was spinning with anxiety, and tries to summon up his courage to stand.
"What about party favors, Q?"
"I say we give em' ducks."
"I don't know if the CEO of a billion dollar company would appreciate that, Brittany."
Finally Russell rises from the table.
"Any thing you wanna say, Daddy?"
"Uh - I don't know. No- uh- I don't..."
Quinn is about to press the point, but then drifts into disappointed silence as Russell abruptly leaves the room.
...
Russell moves deliberately down the hall, slowing down as he nears the doorway to the library. The door is open and it's eerily quiet inside. There's not a hint of sound or a single stir of commotion. He hesitates before he crosses the threshold, taking in as much as his eyes can see.
Cautiously, he enters.
The library was beautiful, a classic room, areas were lit with dim, warm lighting, club chairs were organizedly placed around the premise, books reaching to the ceiling, and there was even a rolling library ladder. A weathered dictionary lay on a stand, a model boat carved of bone set into the stacks which were separated from the reading area by a seven-foot high partition of obscured glass.
Russell, poised in the doorway, looks around and sees nothing in sight.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Anyone here?"
There is no response.
"I said is anyone here?"
"Please, quiet down."
Russell is startled, he shrinks backward for a moment, his eyes searching the room for the source of the voice, the timbre and pitch of which is different from what he's heard before. There is the sense that someone is there but Russell cannot see anything, and he does not dare look.
"Where are you?"
"I'm here."
There's flicker of a shadow from behind a corner of the obscured glass, the section of the room most distant from Russell.
And there is a shape.
Something is there.
"What is this, a joke, right?" he demanded sharply. "Some kind of elaborate practical joke? At my 40th reunion, we delivered a casket to the Class president's hotel room and -" Russell pulled at the tie around his neck, loosening it.
"Quiet." The voice commanded gently. A chill ran down the business man's spine and he made a move to rush out of the room that was slowly but surely, suffocating him. "Where are you going, Russell?"
"I-I- uh-" He sputtered out nervously, a far cry from his usual collected demeanor.
The shape moves, successfully making itself more visible. Although still diffused by the glass, the shape has taken definition, a person, a rather short person. Their features are not yet distinguishable, but they were clearly there.
"Are you at a loss for words? The man from whose lips fall 'rapture' and 'passion' and 'obsession'...all those things about being 'deliberately happy', what there is no sense 'living your life without...', all the sparks and energy you give off, the rosy advice you dispense in round, pear-shaped tones -"
"What the hell is this? Who are you!"
"Just think of millenniums multiplied by aeons compounded by infinity, I have been around that long, but it is only recently that your affairs here have piqued my interest. Call it boredom, the natural curiosity of me, the most lasting and significant element in existence has come to see you."
Russell struggles to make sense of it all.
"About what?"
"I want to have a look around before I take you."
"'Take me'...? Where?"
"It requires competence, wisdom, experience - all those things they say about you in testimonials - and you're the one."
"'The one' to do what?"
"Show me around. Be my guide. And in return, you get..."
"Get what?"
"Time."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Language!"
"I'm sorry -"
"In return you will receive minuets, days, weeks, I am not going to go into details ... what matters is that I stay interested."
Russell puffs out a breath, pulling his tie off completely now.
"...'Yes'."
"Yes what?"
"'Yes' is the answer to your question."
"What question?"
"The question, Russell. The question you've been asking yourself with increased regularity, at odd moments, panting through your way up the stairs, when you sat up in bed last night and hit the floor in the office this morning. The question that is in the back of your throat, choking the blood to your brain, ringing in the ears over and over as you put it to yourself -"
"The 'question'-"
"Yes, Russell. The question." The voice urges.
"...Am I going to die?"
The figure takes a step forward, and no longer obscured by the glass, a girl comes into the light, revealing herself to the frightened business man. Russell took in the sky blue owl embroidered sweater, the rolled up khakis, and the ankle socks before facing the source of his conflicts. The young woman seemed at odd, it was as if she didn't know how to properly conduct her own body. She looked young, around the same age as Quinn, and although not conventionally 'pretty', there was terrifyingly striking charm about her. Deep chestnut eyes seemed to stare into his very soul.
"Yes."
Russell is absolutely beside himself. He could barely make himself speak. "Am I dreaming this?" he muttered quietly, almost afraid of provoking the young woman in front of him. "Are you a dream?"
"I am not a dream." The brunette responded slowly, eyes unblinking.
"You're coming to 'take me'. What is that? Who the hell are you?"
"Language, please. There is no need for such hostility." The young woman steps closer to him, her face inches from the shaking, sweating face of Russell. The young woman stares at him, daring the gentleman to defy her.
"You are -?" he finally breathes out.
''Yes."
Russell turns away. But the young woman, spectacularly, is in front of him again. "Who am I, Russell?" She urges him to answer, chestnut eyes boring deeply into frightened hazel ones.
"...Death." Russell is shocked, stunned, terrified at the word, by what he has comprehended. He surveys the young woman who, at this moment, actually seems bewildered by her effect. She didn't understand what was so terrifying about her. "You're Death?"
The young woman nods rather naively. "Yes."
"Death." He repeats, more to himself, really.
"That is me." She chimes in.
"You're not Death." Russell scoffs in disbelief, running a shaking hand through his hair. "You're just a kid in a sweater and- and khakis!" He says, continuing to eye the tiny brunette wearily.
"The sweater and the pants came with the body I took." Death responds, titling her head innocently. "Let me ask for your opinion. Do I blend in?"
A hopelessly confused Russell does not respond.
"Russell?"
"...You want me to be your guide -?"
"Yes. You fit the bill, Fabray." Her lips quirk up naturally, causing the young woman to bring a hand up to her face. "Huh, what an odd motion." She mumbles to herself, casually pulling at her lips in awe.
"I fit the bill?" Russell gulps.
"You do."
"And how long will you be staying?"
"You should hope quite a while," the young woman responds distractedly, eyes jutting from every direction, eagerly taking in her surroundings.
Like an excitable puppy, Russell mindlessly thought to himself.
"And then, what? It-it's..."The young woman nods, gently. "...over."
There's a long silence as Russell and the young woman take each other in, with a sense that they understood each other.
A knock on the door breaks the pause.
"Mr. Fabray?"
The housekeeper steps inside the Library.
"Will the lady be staying for dinner, sir?"
Russell ignores her at first, finally he looks at housekeeper then at the young woman - who looked delighted at the prospects presented by the housekeeper- then once more at both of them as if to verify that the young woman's presence has been acknowledged by the elderly servant.
"Yes." The young woman interjects. "Thank you," she adds as a polite afterthought.
The servant nods perfunctorily and exits.
"Where is dinner?" the small brunette inquires softly.
"This is crazy - you're not going to eat dinner with us." He shakes his head, dumbfounded at the situation.
"Russell, I am eating dinner with you. And your family. And that is what we are doing. It is not open for discussion. Nothing is. Don't you understand?"
He doesn't respond, frightened by the response.
"Good. Now lead the way." Russell hesitates, then obediently leads the young woman out of the library, down a long hallway and across the foyer. "Excuse me? Could I say something?"
"Of course." The brunette replies kindly.
"It just occurred to me -"
"Speak up, please," the young woman runs her fingers along the walls of the hallway as they walked towards the dinning room.
"When I introduce you," he hesitates, "if I say who you are... I don't think anyone will stay for dinner."
...
"...Well, here's another possibility. As a parting gift, maybe we should just have Finny plant a big one on em'..."
"That's totally gross, San."
"Sorry, Britts. I thought that was what we were going for since Quinn here brought up freakin' kaleidoscopes- seriously, what era are you from-"
Quinn looks up as a throat is cleared and watches in stunned silence as her father walks back in with the girl she met at the coffee shop, the girl she couldn't stop thinking about since they've parted.
"Hello." The young woman greets, raising up a hand awkwardly. Russell rubs his hands together anxiously, horribly uncomfortable as the young woman looked at each person at the table as if she was discovering a face of the first time.
"Uh- sorry- to have stepped away for so long - uh - this is a friend of mine I asked to drop by - we got to talking and stuff- uh- she's going to join us for dinner- um- "
Russel drifts into an awkward pause.
"Hi," Quinn husks out, hazel eyes shining as she kept her gaze at the tiny brunette by her father's side.
"Nice to meet you, dude!" Finn exclaims, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"...'Nice to meet you, dude.'" The young woman echoes. She turns to Russell expectantly, not knowing what to do next.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks and gestures to the people at the table. "This is my daughter, Quinn, and her friends, Brittany, Santana, and Finn, her-"
"Daddy," Quinn interjects softly, biting her bottom lip. "Does your friend have name?"
"A name?" Russell owls, staring wide eyed at the girl beside him. "Uh-"
"Yeah, something she goes by," Brittany adds.
"Oh, of course, excuse me. This is- uh- this is-"
"Come on, Mr. F, the suspense is killing me." Santana exclaims with a wolfish grin.
"Sorry..." he chuckles lamely. "Um- you-you know it's gone right out of my head-"
"Happens to me a lot," Finn mumbled through a mouth fool of food. Quinn didn't bother to chastise him, too caught up in taking in the young brunette's stilted movements.
"I'm sorry. This is - uh - uh...right on the tip of my tongue...R-Rachel...Yes- um- that's it-"
"Rachel..." Quinn says softly to herself, attracting Santana's attention. The Latina raised a brow at the soft blush on her best friend's cheeks.
"Just plain 'Rachel'?" Finn questions.
"Love that name." Brittany states with a nod. "Reminds me of 'Friends'. Q, remember when you used to make us watch that show every time we came over?"
Quinn smiled and hummed at her friend distractedly.
Santana frowns at the stupid look on the hazel eyed blonde's face. "Rachel, huh?" She says, turning to regard the young woman.
"Yes." Death responds, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater.
"Is there any more to it?"
Russell cuts in. "What do you mean?"
"Like Smith or Greene or Brown-'"
The older gentleman's face reveals a desperate yet subtle search for a last name, casting a furtive glance at Death. His brow darkens and a name tumbles from his lips.
"-B-Berry."
"Rachel Berry," Quinn mumbles quietly. Her breath catches in her throat when the girl catches her eye. The two lock eyes for a moment, and the blonde is confused when she sees a look of unfamiliarity in Rachel's gaze.
"Let's sit down, Rachel."
The housekeeper has set a plate in front of Rachel, and Russell, who's food was taken to the kitchen to be warmed, was returned. Death looks over at the other guests, then picks up her utensils gingerly, and strives to copy the others, but stops and stairs at the food.
"She's vegan, Daddy," Quinn blurts out when she sees the brunette hesitate.
Russell pauses tensely. "You know each other?"
"We've met." The blonde utters gently.
"What?"
"...This morning. The Corinth Coffee Shop. She was looking for a doctor." Quinn frowned as Rachel failed to look at her, still staring intently at the food on her plate.
"Well, I guess she's found one." Brittany beams, grinning at the young woman. Rachel looks up, happily confounded by everything around her.
"What are you doing here, Rachel?" the doctor asks, frown deepening. This wasn't the girl she met at the coffee shop at all. Why was she acting like she didn't know who Quinn was? Where was the girl who was joking about marrying her?
Rachel hears the question but, as she studies the now stoic looking blonde, doesn't answer.
"Incidentally, Rachel, where are you staying?" Santana crosses her arms as the odd girl looked around enthusiastically before responding.
"Here."
"'Here'? In this house?"
Quinn visibly tenses as Rachel nods. "Cat got your tongue? You weren't so silent this morning." She snaps, unable to help herself.
Russell stares at his daughter before turning to face Death.
"Rachel, since you won't be eating, why don't we attend to some business."
Death nods politely, standing up. She obliviously takes each person's hand and shakes it awkwardly. "It is so very nice to see you again," she says to Quinn when she reaches her.
"Funny, I don't get that feeling. Maybe it's because you found out I'm Russell Fabray's daughter."
"Cut it out, Quinn." Far too shocked, Quinn doesn't respond. She was embarrassed, conflicted, an instant and wide spectrum of emotions.
"Thank you for dinner. Quinn, Brittany, Santana, Finn," she gives them each a nod in acknowledgement. Rachel makes an awkward little bow, then heads for the nearest door.
"Rachel, that's the kitchen." Russell sighs wearily.
"Oh. Thank you." The young woman pivots, and follows the gentleman out the proper door.
"That was 'Rachel'." Finn hums, taking a large chug of his wine.
"She's cute." Brittany muses.
"Very." Santana adds, eyeing the now silent Quinn across from her. The hazel eyed doctor's eyes are still on the door where Rachel exited, her face reflecting her irritation and bewilderment, excitement...and something else entirely.