Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel Chapter 3: Part III: The Right Words, a glee fanfic

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's, Rachel — Part III

A/N: Thought I would clear up a couple background details.

- Rachel is not with Finn and hasn't been with him in a while.

- Quinn has not had her car accident (she also still has her long hair).

- Quinn's parents are still together, to add to the pressure she feels from her family.

- Puck's sister will remain unnamed as she hasn't been specifically identified in the Glee series.

- Quinn's sister, Frannie, hasn't made an appearance in the Glee series so any descriptions/behaviors I may write are practically headcanon. Feel free to agree or disagree.

- I love you.

Okay, done c:

Later that day on December 25, 2012 — 11:57 a.m.

Rachel steps from her bathroom, fixing the top of her towel to assure it's wrapped firmly underneath her arms. She looks up and gasps. Despite a towel covering all of her parts, she still feels vulnerable in front of Quinn, sitting a bit anxiously on the end of her bed.

"Hey," Quinn greets softly, a small smile on her lips. Her fingers are fidgeting with each other as she stands.

"I didn't know you would be in here," Rachel says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear nervously, "I could just grab my clothes and—"

"No, it's okay," Quinn cuts off, "I was going to take a shower next. I just waited because… I wanted to…"

She lets the end hang and Rachel watches her, expecting an explanation but not what she does next. Quinn closes the distance between them hastily and cups Rachel's face, bringing her lips down on hers earnestly. The kiss catches Rachel off guard and she squeaks before immediately melting against the blonde's body, her arms looping around her waist of their own accord. Quinn kisses her for just a few more moments and then pulls back, panting a little and looking down into chocolate eyes.

"I wanted to finish our kiss," she says breathlessly, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. Rachel nods, speechless, and then the towel makes itself known again when she feels a breeze against parts of her that is becoming rather heated.

Laughing nervously, Rachel unwinds her arms and Quinn drops her hands, clearing her throat. She puts on a practiced face Rachel has seen her do many times at school and then passes by her with a smile, into the bathroom.

"There're towels in the drawer and you can use my hair dryer if you need," Rachel says, keeping Quinn from shutting the door to hear all that she has to say.

"What about a toothbrush?" Quinn asks, leaning on the hand holding the frame of the doorway.

"There should be a spare, unopened one in the drawer beside the sink."

"Thank you," and the blonde girl shuts the door.

Rachel has to keep from thinking about Quinn stripping out of her tiny clothing and stepping into the shower. She rubs her forehead at the thoughts still filtering through and tries to ignore her slight problem between her legs as she finds some underwear and clothes to wear, quickly changing and finding it much more comfortable.

Downstairs, Puck is opening a garbage bag, having found them beneath the sink by Rachel's instructions. The little diva enters the kitchen and greets the freshly showered boy with a smile and holds out a hand for a bag.

"So?" he asks, smiling genuinely and handing her the already opened bag, "Did you have fun?"

"Honestly?" Rachel sighs, using a plate to scrape filthy napkins and dirtier plates into the trash bag, "I did. I mean, even before Quinn showed up, I sort of liked the attention."

"Not too much attention," Puck threatens, using a broom to push trash from the floor into his garbage bag, "My kicking a kid's ass still stands, post-party."

Rachel laughs and throws a couple Solo cups into her bag daintily, not wanting her hands to get too dirty. "Did you clean the bathrooms already?"

"My shower took five minutes, I brought my own toothbrush, and I used your disinfectant and scrub to wash the bathrooms while you took yours," he informs, chuckling.

"Good." Rachel drops her bag to dig underneath the sink again and pulls out a pair of rubber cleaning gloves. With a smirk at Puck shaking his head, she begins working again, much more comfortable with some form of protection against the germs and bacteria she could pick up from the multitude of kids that wrecked her house.

"So a couple friends, huh?" Rachel voices, looking at Puck from beneath her still damp hair.

"So, a lot more people came," he says, holding up his arms, "I can't help that when the Puckster says there's a party, they all come crawling."

Shaking her head, Rachel shovels chili off her counter. She didn't even have the ingredients to make chili in her house…

Their kitchen cleaning continues, Puck moving on into the living room, for twenty minutes before Quinn appears. She steps into the kitchen, wearing Rachel's biggest clothes and just barely fitting her. Rachel snickers and finishes putting away all the cleaned plates she can find for now. More are sure to turn up as the day unfolds.

Quinn opens the refrigerator to just barely catch an open Red Bull 64 ounce from falling out of the door. She scoffs, scrunching her aristocratic nose at just who might've drank that, and sets it on the counter by the sink to be emptied. She organizes all the food and drinks that isn't beer or a bottle of Patron, another party favor by the sounds, and then announces, "All this alcohol needs to be gone before you dads come back."

"I know," Rachel says, taking off her gloves and grabbing the Red Bull can to dump down the drain, "And we still need to take inventory of the liquor cabinet to see what we can salvage and start restocking."

"Ahead of you, my ladies," Puck says, returning to the kitchen with a full bag of trash, "Quinn, my baby mama you, if you could count what's in the fridge, I can add it to this," and he taps something beneath his shirt.

"Your abs?" the blonde sneers in retaliation to his nickname of her, "Oh, right, silly me. What abs?"

"Ha ha," Puck laughs sarcastically. He sets down the trash to lift up his shirt and take out the notepad he carried around before, flipping to a page of tallies and inventory of alcohol. Quinn shrugs a shoulder and opens the fridge again to count the beers.

"I'm going to be loading the trash bags into the back of the truck," he announces, picking his back up, "When you guys have filled one up, just set it by the door. Wouldn't want your little nosies to get cold!"

Rachel kicks at his legs as he walks by. She throws the emptied Red Bull can into the trash bag and stoops to pick it up when a thought hits her. Standing up stock-straight, she looks at the tilted clock (how the hell did it get tilted?) above the entryway to the living room, reading the time.

"Shit," she mutters, abandoning the bag and darting for the stairs. She just gets to the top and can hear Quinn footfalls behind her, but she doesn't wait and bursts into her room, running for her night stand. She picks up her phone to read two missed calls, about an hour apart and from her fathers. She bites her lips nervously as she hits "Call Back" and sits down on the edge of her bed, Quinn rounding the end and stopping before Rachel with a confused and a little panicked expression.

It takes two rings and then, "Good morning and Merry Christmas, baby doll!"

"Hi, daddy, Merry Christmas to you and dad, too," Rachel greets, breathing a sigh of relief when it seems they aren't worried… yet.

"We called you twice already," her daddy states. There it is.

"I know, I slept in," Rachel replies, shrugging and looking up at Quinn. The blonde nods, running a hand through her drying hair in a motion of recognition and relief. "Puck came by last night with dinner and a movie so we hung out for a while and I guess I was just really tired."

"Did he stay the night? Did you guys do anything?" She can tell he's messing with her but there's always a truth behind a joking question.

"No, daddy, you know I wouldn't allow him," she says, feeling a pinch of guilt in her chest. The guilt must've been written on her face for that second because Quinn kneels and rubs a hand on Rachel's knee soothingly, watching her face for further give-aways.

"Alright, well, could you open our present so we can hear your reaction?"

Rachel's eyes widen and a forced smile finds its way onto her face. This look must be of panic because Quinn is starting to stand, trying to silently ask Rachel what's wrong and what she needs to do.

"Oh? Really?" Rachel asks, her voice just barely managing to keep from cracking or sounding fake and high-pitched, "You want me to open my present? Which one is that one again?"

"It should be red with white ribbons," her daddy details happily.

Rachel stands, grabbing Quinn's hand as she makes for the door quickly, trying to be quiet as possible and not step on any trash on the way down the stairs.

"Rachel?"

"I'm going downstairs, daddy, I'll find it in a second," Rachel explains, Quinn's hand tight in hers.

Puck is just opening the door, preparing to say something and Quinn's hand tears away to clamp over his face, stopping him. She holds him from making any movement, watching Rachel for her next move.

"Oh, hold on daddy, there's… the newspaper at the door," Rachel lies. She takes the phone away from her ear and covers the mouthpiece, looking to Puck and whisper yelling, "Where's my presents?"

"Upstairs closet, with mine," he whispers between Quinn's fingers, looking lost, "I had to put them there because the downstairs closet is full. Get mine, will you?"

Rachel waves dismissively at Puck and puts the phone back to her ear. "Just one more moment, daddy."

"Sure thing, sweetums."

Hurrying back up the stairs, Rachel moves down the hallway as quick as she can, dodging a puddle that needs to be carpet-cleaned. Reaching the closet door, she panics when she doesn't know where the key is, and drops to knees on a whim. Reaching underneath, she sweeps for a moment and then finds the little metal tool. Picking it up, she unlocks the door noiselessly and presents fall out to her feet. Spotting the one her daddy described, she picks it up and sinks to the floor, a real smile now gracing her lips at the prospect of opening a present.

"Okay, I'm opening it," she says, then holds the phone between her shoulder and ear. She slips the ribbons off and tears apart the wrapping to a small box. Lifting the cover, she gasps aloud when inside she finds the complete boxset of Friends, the one TV sitcom she can watch besides her beloved musicals. Squealing as she lifts the boxset from the wrapping, realizing just how heavy it actually is, she opens the little glass door with a picture of the six friends, running her fingers over each season's spine.

"Do you like it?" her daddy asks anxiously.

"I love it, daddy!" she giggles, closing the little door and hugging the present to her chest, "Tell dad thank you! I'm going to watch it all day!"

"Good! That is what we were hoping for!" her daddy says, laughing, her dad whooping in the background, "Invite Puck over so you're not alone, I'm sure he'd love to watch!"

Down the hallway, she sees Quinn and Puck standing just around the corner from the stairs, watching her with little smiles on their faces like parents have when they watch their child riding a bike for the first time. Looking directly at them, she says, "I won't be alone. We will watch it together."

"Fantastic," her daddy exclaims, "Now, your father and I are about to go swimming with the dolphins again, so we love you and miss you, baby."

"I love and miss you two," she says, her eyes falling back to her new DVDs, "Have fun."

"We will. Merry Christmas, Rachel."

"Merry Christmas, daddy."

Hanging up, she lets a deep sigh out and leans against the hallway wall, a smile gracing her lips. Her dads are none the wiser about the party.

It's awkward not knowing what to say. At least Puck has the audacity to take his cleaning upstairs and give Rachel the times she needs alone with Quinn before she leaves. Rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands clasped behind her, Rachel can feel her cheeks reddening as it becomes more and more prevalent that neither of them know what to say. Lifting her eyes, she sees the smallest of smiles on Quinn's lips, her eyes twinkling. She lifts a hand to tuck back a lock of her hair and then clears her throat.

"I had… fun last night," Quinn breaks the silence, "I think."

Rachel giggles. "Yes, I think I did too."

"Though the hangover is not worth doing something like that again until at least college."

"I agree." Rachel can't find anything else to say but tack on her little pieces at the end of whatever Quinn says, and it makes her feel childish, her blush deepening. She worries her lip, not knowing how the exact protocol goes for their kind of situation, let alone even knowing what their situation is. But she knows that Quinn needs to go home and spend a little bit of Christmas with her family if the phone call has any significance to what Quinn would really rather be doing. Having a phone call and Quinn pick up to her mother chewing her out for not being home like promised reveals that Quinn had no qualms for staying the rest of the day if she could. For the whole lecture, Quinn's reaction was angry and irritated, little snappy comments the only responses she gives. When her mother finally hung up, she left to pace in the backyard, the cool, fresh air serving to calm her down. Rachel knew her family wasn't picture perfect like they would like to be, but she didn't know it affected Quinn quite so much.

"I'll text you," they both say abruptly and at the same time. Their eyes widen at the coincidence and then break into giggles, Rachel meeting Quinn's eyes evenly. She wants to kiss her but she feels that isn't what is appropriate for the moment and even a hug seems too much too soon. Taking a step back and flashing her famous award-winning smile, Rachel bids Quinn a goodbye and to get home safe. Quinn looks as though she wants some form of interaction as well, the flush creeping up her neck, but she too grabs the handle of the door, dashes a smile over her shoulder, and leaves.

Watching through the frosted window beside the door, Rachel makes sure that Quinn crosses the street safely, noticing the shiver once she gets to her car. Fortunately for her, her dress isn't harmed in the slightest, nor dirty, but all she has is her cardigan and the weather seems unpleasantly cold this morning, the gray clouds hanging in the sky a foreshadow of what's to come. Quinn's car starts up and then glides away from the curb, moving the down the street and out of sight, and with that, Rachel steps back and twirls, a very school-girl-with-a-crush squeal pealing from her mouth.

"I take it everything went smoothly?" Puck asks, descending the stairs with a half full bag of trash and a smirk on his face, "Did you guys kiss?"

"No," Rachel says, her voice pitched and her smile keeping her from looking at all serious, "We just agreed to text each other."

"Oh, saucy," Puck jests, getting shouldered as he passes through into the living room.

Rachel brought her boxset from downstairs and now that things were clearing up for them to just focus on cleaning, she joins Puck in the living room and takes the first disc from season one. She shuffles her way through the after-party mess and clears away the cups and set of underwear covering the DVD player. Putting in the disk and excited to see that her TV works and is remained unfazed by the all the sound equipment from last night, Rachel plays the episodes for background noise. Donning her rubber gloves and taking another trash bag, her and Puck make small talk and swap versions of the party as they work. Puck sees it beneficial to collect all the underwear, wash them, and sell them, but just the thought of having to handle other people's clothing she knows nothing about makes Rachel sick and in the end, the argument wins in her favor and lost clothing is thrown in the bags as well. It isn't for another hour when Rachel remembers she has Puck's present to give.

"Hey, we haven't opened your present yet!" she pipes up, dropping a jug of Smirnoff in her trash bag and facing Puck by the sliding doors.

"Oh, right," he says, sweeping cigarette butts into the broom pan, "Do you want me to open it now?"

"Yes!" and she abandons her trash bag to bolt upstairs and dig around the closet of presents for the one she wrapped for her best friend. Finding just the package, she nearly skips down the steps and back into the living room, where Puck is wiping his hands on the t-shirt he finally put on and breaks into a smile at the sight of the hyper brunette.

Taking his present, he lifts it to his ear and shakes it lightly. The box is long and rectangular, giving no real insight as to what the gift inside could be, and there is hardly any clue by the slight rattle. Sitting on the couch with Rachel almost falling on him in anticipation, he rips away the wrapping paper only to suck in a shocked breath.

"You did not!" he exclaims, holding up the box with the picture of the limited edition Star Wars Storm Trooper blaster facing her, as if Rachel hadn't been the one to buy it for him. All at once, Puck is just Noah, a twelve year old boy bouncing on the couch, popping open the end and pulling out his new addition to his favorite movie series collection. He flies to his feet, swinging the gun upwards, and pulls on the trigger, noises from the movie blaring from some speaker, the barrel of the blaster lighting up with bright red lights like actual lasers are shooting at his targets. He jumps over the coffee table and rolls through the little bit of trash they still have left to pick up, making explosions with his mouth and adding to the atmosphere of the gun. Rachel laughs at his role-play, watching as he jumps and ducks and rolls and peers around corners of the living room, randomly shouting Star Wars related commands and names, and once pretending to be hit and falling back against a chair, flipping over it and holding his chest where the laser was supposed to hit him.

"Alright, well, you have fun with that," Rachel says loudly over his sudden revival and continuation of explosions. She shakes her head and grabs the trash bag again, going upstairs to clean so that Puck has free roam to play throughout the rest of the house.

She is about to pass her room when the thought of Quinn potentially shooting her a text stops her and she has to go check. Removing the gloves from her hands again and taking her phone from her nightstand, it lights up to show a multitude of texts, some from people she has no idea are, others from friends thanking her for a good time, and the most recent one from Quinn. She seats herself on the edge of her bed, her fingers antsy, and opens the message.

Thought I would text you to let you know I got home safe. :)

Selecting the box to respond, Rachel types back, Thank you. I hope you have a good rest of Christmas! :)

Tucking her phone in the pocket of her sweatpants, Rachel moves back out into the hallway to begin cleaning again. She chuckles when she hears Puck cry out and from the sounds, has moved his battle into the kitchen. She throws a couple wrappers and puts on a glove with disgust to pick up a condom wrapper, her lip curling in thoughts of who used it and where the actual condom is, when her phone vibrates again.

Could I call you tonight?

Stomaching twining at the thought of Quinn, Quinn Fabray, actually calling her, Rachel replies, Sure. Call whenever. Puck might still be here but I'll make him leave the room when we talk.

Great. :)

More than half of the entire first season of Friends is already played and hours have passed of non-stop cleaning. Puck finally holstered his gun in the belt and holster that came along with his present and now cleans, sometimes randomly saying things in Star Wars dialect upon making discoveries.

"This is a droid I wouldn't mind looking for," he says suggestively, lifting a black lace bra that reads a 34 C. Rachel scoffs and takes the bra from his grasp, throwing it into her trash bag.

The next time Puck has to make a run outside to dump a trash bag into the back of his truck, he returns inside with damp shoulders.

"It's starting to snow," he reports. He pats his Star Wars gun. "I could totally be a Snow Trooper if enough sticks."

"You are the dorkiest badass I have ever met," Rachel teases, sweeping a whole line of Solo cups into her trash bag and looking past Puck to the TV where she watches Monica and Rachel quarrel over two handsome doctors. Puck steps into her line of vision with his eyebrows raised, a smirk on his lips.

"The dorkiest and the most handsome badass you have ever met, you mean," he corrects for Rachel, flexing an arm and lifting to kiss his bicep.

"Get out of the way," Rachel says, ignoring Puck's self-enamor and trying to watch the episode, "They're fighting over George Clooney."

"George Clooney always steals my limelight," Puck mutters, grabbing a fresh trash bag and stamping away to clean the basement show-room.

They're on the second season when the majority of the house is cleaned. Popping some popcorn, Rachel seats herself, immersing in the episode, while Puck leaves for the back patio to call home, estimating that his mother should be awake by now from her bar adventures last night. He called earlier in the morning to check in on his sister but she was so distracted with opening her four presents that she could hardly speak and Puck just hung up, knowing she's alright. His mother must be awake by now because he's talking animatedly, as is the usual in their household, and Rachel glances at him before throwing a couple popped kernels in her mouth and returning to her show.

Her phone begins to ring and vibrate in her pocket and her heart stops. She has totally forgotten about Quinn texting her after she left this morning and suddenly remembers she is supposed to call. Setting the plastic bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, Rachel stands and digs out her phone, reflexively sticking her free left hand in her sweatpants pocket, hunching her shoulders as she answers and puts the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks timidly, sure her shy smile can be heard in her voice.

"Hi," Quinn's voice replies happily, but a bit soft, "I'm in the bathroom so I apologize for speaking low. Dad suggested a movie for 'family bonding time'," Rachel can hear the air quotation marks and imagine the look of skepticism on her face, "and I don't know how long it will last. I wanted to call, anyways."

"That's fine," Rachel assures, biting her lip, "I'm glad you did."

"I am too," Quinn agrees, breathing a laugh at the end, "I wanted to maybe talk a little longer but I can't be gone long so… I'll just ask what I really wanted to ask."

Rachel knows it's not supposed to happen yet, that they're supposed to spend a couple quality days together before anything serious develops, but she can't help the wide grin coming to her face or the way her nerves jitter at the thought of Quinn Fabray asking Rachel to be her girlfriend. It doesn't disappoint her when it's not the question she expects, but still surprises her when it's a different question nonetheless.

"Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?"

"I would love to!" Rachel practically shrieks. She claps her hand over her mouth, glancing up to Puck swiveling around to stare at her questioningly from the patio, and backtracking, also hoping she hasn't seem over-enthusiastic, "I mean, that would be great."

Quinn laughs, a sound that just melts Rachel's insides. "I'll pick you up for lunch so we have a couple hours to kill afterwards."

"You don't have to pick me up, I have my car," Rachel explains, twisting on her ankles like she can't stand still.

"Well, I'm going to," Quinn says adamantly, "Be ready by 11:30?"

"I will," Rachel says, nodding even if the blonde can't see her. Rachel can just visualize the little smirk on her pink lips and her fingers possibly fidgeting with another dress she wears. It seems she wears dresses more than she'd like to, more to please her family with the appearance of innocence and good-nature as they want their daughter to be perfect. Either way, she looks beautiful and that's all that really matters.

"Merry Christmas, Rachel," Quinn wishes.

"Merry Christmas, Quinn," Rachel repeats, barely containing herself and hanging up. As soon as the connection cuts, Rachel throws both hands above her head and squeals, spinning a couple times before flopping backwards onto the couch, her phone bouncing on the cushion next to her. Her whole body feels alive and it feels like there is a hanger in her mouth because she is smiling so much. Yes, she got that line from Friends, but it's true.

"What was that?" Puck shuts the sliding doors, a momentary breeze of cold air brushing Rachel's arms. He pockets his phone, in seemingly good moods so it must mean his mother is recovering from a killer hangover and is too preoccupied to care whether or not he's home for the holiday.

"Quinn is taking me out on a lunch date tomorrow," Rachel says, positively beaming.

"Score," Puck praises, falling on the couch beside her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and props a sock-clad foot up on the edge of the coffee table, adding, "Better spend as much time with my Princess as I can before Quinn steals her away."

"No one could steal me away from you," Rachel giggles, resting against the crook of Puck's muscled arm, "Except for Quinn. It all depends."

"Exactly my point," Puck sighs, "Either way, my little Jew, I'll be here when the rain starts to fall. Or snow, whichever the weather decides to do."

December 26th, 2012 — 9:00 a.m.

Instead of an annoying bleat one would typically hear when an alarm goes off, Rachel jumps up to the idea that today is the day of her first day with Quinn. She slaps the alarm clock off automatically and jumps from bed, right onto her elliptical. She hasn't been doing enough exercise in the morning due to recent events but she needs to look her best for later today. She sets the on machine timer for thirty minutes and begins pumping vigorously, finding a point on her wall, which happens to be a cutout star, and focuses on pushing herself to the limit for the next predestinated time.

Puck left around ten o'clock last night, to drop off their third load of trash, to see his family, and on Rachel's advice so she won't be distracted in the least to prepare for today. He told her to text or call him after everything goes smoothly with Quinn because he wants to hear the steamy details of their public closet hook-up at the place they'll go out to eat and it's surprising Puck doesn't have bruises on his arms from the amount of times Rachel has hit him the past couple of days.

Her mind is white noise at this point, the only thing in her eyes is the solitary star on her wall, and her legs begin burning at the ten minute mark but she works through it. Though she is typically more seen as a girly girl with little athleticism or affinity for sports, she does believe in the motto of "no pain, no gain" and she applies that to her elliptical routines. She feels sweat gather at the nape of her neck and doesn't bother stopping to towel it off. She blinks against the burning in her eyes from staring at her focal point too long and pushes her arms against the handle bars, triceps flexing beneath her tanned skin. There's just something releasing and revitalizing about working out on her machine, of self-motivation, no pressure from teammates or opponents, no one to stand around and spout off tips to better position herself or encourage to go faster. Just herself and her mind. She breathes steadily, in through her nose, out through her mouth. The thought of a nice, lukewarm shower awaits her and she resists glancing at the timer because not knowing how much longer you have to work keeps you going and makes the time fly by faster.

In fifteen minutes, the timer alerts her and she gradually slows from her pace. She steps off the pedals, maintaining her leveled breathing, and grabs her towel to wipe the sweat from her brow, moving towards her bathroom. Stripping out of her work out clothes she changed into the night before so she could get right onto the elliptical in the morning, she steps into the shower and stands a minute as said lukewarm water washes away the buzz of post-workout.

Washing, shaving, getting out and toweling off, Rachel glimpses the clock on her night stand, reading the near hour of ten in the morning. Smiling at her good time, she walks to her closet and ponders on what to wear. Dressing like she did the night of the party is way inappropriate but she shouldn't dress too casual. Sifting through hangers of clothing, she stops on an off-white, threaded sweater, just warm enough for the weather. Taking it from the hanger, she dresses, pairing it with a beautiful light-burgundy ruffled skirt, black leggings, and her black pumps she wore the night of the party, which seem to match with the outfit and give her a more sophisticated look. She takes her long, tan coat from inside the closet door and sets it on the bed to wear over and keep her from the elements, should they get too bad. Last night it began to snow but looking out the window when she stepped from the shower showed that it had melted and left the world a dreary place with gray clouds still blanketing the sky.

The next hour is spent doing her hair and makeup, checking and checking again to make sure everything is just how she wants it. With everything prepared, she still has thirty minutes before Quinn is to show up. Rachel tidies up her bathroom and makes her bed, moving into her parents' bedroom to make sure Puck did a thorough job cleaning any evidence of a party. She collects a few wrappers and a beer can, steps into the bathroom to wash down their mirror, and sprays the inside of the shower in the chance it served as a place for sexual intercourse.

Her phone starts ringing from down the hall and she hurries to put away the last few items in the bathroom before running to her room and catching her phone. She answers, breathless.

"I'm a couple minutes early," and the clock on Rachel's nightstand say ten minutes early, "so we can leave whenever you are ready."

"I'm ready now," Rachel says, enjoying the fact that Quinn makes an effort to arrive ahead of time. Punctuality is something she finds important… and attractive. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Great," Quinn says cheerfully and hangs up.

Washing her hands quickly and touching up her hair, Rachel grabs her coat, swinging it around her shoulders, and grabs her clutch. She hurries downstairs, taking out her keys to lock the house once outside. She opens the door to nearly charge into Quinn.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Rachel apologizes, eyes wide in surprise and then embarrassment, Quinn's hands on her arms as she catches her from running into her.

Quinn chuckles and smiles, "It's no problem. Don't you need to lock your door?" Her eyebrow rises during the question as Rachel stares up into hazel, getting herself lost. Shaking her head, Rachel mutters "right" and turns around, locking the door and putting her keys in her clutch. Turning back around, she has a smile in place now. Clasping her hands in front of her, her heart jumps into her throat as Quinn places her hand on her lower back and walks her to the passenger side of her car, opening the door. Color is running to her cheeks at the gesture and Rachel sits inside, pulling her coat around her, more to keep herself shaking with excitement than shivering with cold.

Seating herself in the driver's seat, Quinn's face is tinted pink as well. She turns the car back on and twists in her seat, peering out the back window as she reverses down the drive. Rachel can't help herself as she glances sidelong at Quinn, in her navy blue dress and soft red and white striped cardigan, cinched with a thin tan belt around the waist. Her cardigan is completely unbuttoned, falling open and exposing delicate collarbones and a pale expanse of skin reaching all the way to the subtle swell of breasts and the dip of her dress between. She licks her lips at the sight and forces her eyes to look forward, watching her house turn away to the side, and then they're driving down the road.

"So where are we going out to eat?" Rachel asks, hoping for some light conversation to keep her thoughts from roaming too far.

"Not Breadstix," Quinn assures, flashing a smile Rachel's way, "But that also means the place I'd like to go is a little farther away. I hope that's alright?"

"That's perfectly fine," Rachel agrees, fingers dancing over the clasp of her clutch for something to do.

"Did you see it snowing last night?" Quinn continues, seeming casual and comfortable with the pink blush leaving her face now.

"Actually, no. I was too busy watching Friends to see it and it all melted by the time I woke up this morning," Rachel admits, looking out the window to the puddles along the side of the road.

"From the looks of it, it'll start up again soon," Quinn says, leaning a bit over the steering wheel to see the clouds, "I like the snow. It makes everything appear beautiful, even if it is the most miserable thing normally."

"I think the same way," Rachel says, pleased to know Quinn and her are talking and finding common interests, "It adds a magical quality to everything."

"Then for the sake of both us, I hope it snows," Quinn wishes, smiling idly as she drives.

Little did they know, the weather is hurrying to make their wish true, and within ten minutes of driving through Lima, in a section of smaller shops and restaurants, a flurry begins. Snowflakes paint themselves to Quinn's windshield and she has to turn on the windshield wipers to clear the glass. Both girls are too pleased to speak on the coincidence of snowfall but their combined wish must mean that they'll get twice the snow they want. As they're driving, the snow flurry turns quickly into a snow storm.

"Wow," Quinn breathes, squinting to see the road, "This is more than we hoped for."

"Can you drive safely?" Rachel asks, now concerned for their well-being. She faces her window and can tell that Quinn has slowed down, stores moving past at a quick pace but not fast enough to blur.

"I'm not sure," the blonde admits, turning her wipers to maximum function, "The snow is building quickly. Do you think we should get off the road?"

"You have such a little car, I think it would be best," Rachel advises, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Her hand catches the door, grasping it from the nervousness of getting in a car wreck. Fortunately, Quinn doesn't test going much farther and the lip of the curb approaches as the car is expertly steered to park by a row of little buildings, the sign of an antique store just barely standing out against the curtains of snow that flits by. Quinn turns the car off suddenly and the brunette turns to give her a puzzled expression.

"There's a coffee shop right there," and she points to where a sign of a coffee cup is just barely visible, "Since I can't take you where I wanted to eat for lunch, we can hole up in there and at least get some coffee to warm up."

"Do we have to get out?" Rachel asks, wrapping the lapel of her coat closer to her chest.

"We can't stay in the car forever," Quinn says, looking around, "The heater could break, it's small and I get claustrophobic easy."

"You're claustrophobic?" The new detail about Quinn excites Rachel for some reason and she turns to face her instead of the window. A small smile brings out a shy shrug from the former-cheerleader.

"Frannie locked me in a closet when I was seven for spilling soda on her favorite dress," Quinn explains, her eyes falling to her lap where she fiddles with her keys, "I stayed in there for hours and I couldn't find the cord to turn on the light. I got so claustrophobic I started screaming and my mom found me. I'm scared of small places if I'm in them for too long, especially… elevators."

Giggles erupt from Rachel's throat and she has to put a hand over her mouth to stifle them. Quinn just chuckles and shakes her head, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh," Rachel says, finally controlling herself, "I've never had siblings so I've never really been forced to be scared of anything other than what I make up in my head."

"Well, now you know," Quinn says, smiling like she's finally happy to tell someone her little fear, "And if you tell anyone, I'll roll you up in a blanket and make you claustrophobic."

Rachel gives Quinn a look that prompts her to finish with a sigh, "Frannie did that to me, too."

"Sisters really do fight a lot," Rachel comments absently and turns for the door. She puts a hand on the handle and looking over her shoulder, gives Quinn a coy expression. "Ready to brave the snow?"

"Count of three?" Quinn asks, turning to do the same. Rachel nods and together they count, "One… two… three!"

All at once, Rachel leaps from the car and is met with blistering cold winds and little needles stinging her face in the form of snowflakes. She slams the door shut behind her, laughing aloud at the pain of the snow, and without knowing just where Quinn is, begins a run in her heels, which isn't very fast, towards the coffee shop. Just like the night of the party, her free hand not holding her clutch swings back and is caught by a warm hand, fingers threading through hers and holding tightly. Quinn is at her side, her blonde hair blowing back from her face, eyes squinted to almost shut, and her mouth is open, distant laughter heard in the wailing, chilling winds. Running together, hands held fiercely, Rachel reaches the door and pulls on the freezing metal, opening the door for Quinn to rush inside and her to follow. Just like the extreme cold of stepping outside in this sudden snow storm, they step into what feels like a hearth. Warm air caresses her face and she takes a welcomed breath, the weather outside having hurt her throat and the air inside being like soup to soothe it. Quinn beside her gives a breathy laugh, fixing her hair and wiping her forehead of the snowflakes that has melted there. She still looks down on Rachel even with her heels and smiles, lifting her other hand to brush at her shoulders.

"What will you have to drink?" she asks, her eyes shining for the third time in the same way that seems to happen whenever she is around Rachel.

"I'll try…" and Rachel looks to the overhead board, just now noticing the two surprised baristas, "the Christmas-cinnamon latte, and make it soy please."

"Of course," Quinn says, rolling her eyes playfully. She lets go of Rachel hand and waves for her to find a seat while she orders, pulling out her wallet from her own jacket pocket.

Facing the rest of the cozy, homey, earthy-smelling coffee shop, she only sees two other patrons, an elderly couple, sharing a couple cookies and cups of coffee. They sit on a couch with a laptop on their legs and earphones for each of them. They smile at whatever they watch, courtesy of the free Wi-Fi, and Rachel smiles endearingly at spotting their joined hands, the elderly man's thumb shakily sweeping over the back of his wife's. It is probably the most adorable thing Rachel has ever witnessed.

Walking towards the farthest end of the coffee shop, she sits at a little booth that is set in the corner by the window, displaying the blizzard outside. Now in a comfortable temperature, Rachel shrugs off her coat and folds it in half, setting it on the seat beside her along with her clutch on top of it. She waits patiently, finding a book that is lodged between the side of the booth and the window, a volume of Oscar Wilde's greatest works. Intrigued, she flips open to a random page and reads a few lines, not making much sense of the words as she doesn't find it worthwhile if she doesn't start from the beginning.

"What're you reading?" Quinn asks, breaking Rachel from the page. She sets two coffee cups on the table, nudging the one with Rachel's specified order towards her and taking her own for a drink.

"It's just a book I found on the sill," Rachel adverts, closing the cover and pushing it to the side. She looks over her order with a smile and sips, the hot liquid refreshing with a rich flavor that definitely meets the requirements of one of her favorite drinks. Too bad it's only around for the holidays.

"So I suppose we will be here until the snow lets up," Quinn says, shouldering her coat off and slinging it over the back of her side of the booth.

"Even then, how will we get home? The roads will be unsafe." To solidify her point, Rachel looks out the window, gusts of wind evident in the fall and then lifting and then falling of snow again as they follow the force.

"Call Puck?" Quinn shrugs, "I think his truck could handle the roads and I'm sure he has tire chains."

"He should put some on yours," Rachel says, smiling. She takes another drink.

"So I can drive to see you again?" and the question sounds hopeful.

"So your life won't be endangered," and the answer is honest. Quinn smiles, looking down at the table, the faint rose pink returning to her cheeks again. Rachel could really grow to love that look of subtle shyness.

"So, the infamous Quinn Fabray is scared of tight spaces," Rachel starts, leaning back in her seat and looking at Quinn like she's discovered the secret to undermining her, "Is it safe to assume that's the only thing you fear?"

"If there are others, I'm not telling you," Quinn replies evenly, turning her cardboard cup on the table and meeting Rachel's suspicious gaze easily.

"I'll tell you one of mine."

"I already know one."

"Oh?"

"Yup. You're afraid of ever losing your voice."

"Oh, but that's obvious and not even a real fear— more of a concern."

"Fine then. What about your fear of someone with talent overshadowing yours?"

Rachel sucks in a breath, feigning hurt. "Low blow, Fabray."

"Am I right?" Quinn quirks an eyebrow.

Rachel sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Are we even then?"

"I'm not telling you anything else," Quinn says, sipping her coffee daintily.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Rachel valiantly attempting to persuade Quinn into revealing another fear she may have. She isn't quite sure what is forcing her to do this, why she needs to know this, but knowing that a person like Quinn Fabray also has realistic fears makes her seem more… attainable. For so long, Rachel has placed her on a pedestal in her mind, wanting to be just as beautiful, just as athletic, and just as clever as her. Now, it's no longer about that but more of knowing who Quinn really is, and if the case ever arises, being there when she needs her.

"Rachel," Quinn drags out, drumming her fingers on the table, "Why do you want to know?"

"Maybe so I won't do something that scares you?" Rachel shrugs a shoulder, "Or to protect you if you're like, scared of spiders. Though, I must warn you, I won't be the most stoic of protectors because I suspect I have a bit of arachnophobia."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. She pauses a moment, brows furrowing slightly, thinking, and Rachel waits to see what she says, sensing that the blonde is actually contemplating revealing another part of herself.

"You know what my family is like," Quinn starts softly, looking up. The air turns serious and Rachel nods, waiting for Quinn to continue. "I guess you can say I have one more fear: atychiphobia. It's the fear of… failure. My parents love Frannie. She is the perfect daughter with the perfect grades, the perfect boyfriend, went to the perfect college… they were so proud of her, they wanted to feel that all again and I was more or less another chance for them to raise another trophy child. But I didn't quite live up to their expectations and then everything was completely ruined when I had Beth. Since then, I've had this need to prove myself to my parents, my father more than my mother."

While she was speaking, she grew solemn and barely moved her fingers along the sides of her cup. Rachel could feel her struggle to admit this and felt privileged to be explained something that is so personal. Reaching across the table, she pries her fingers between Quinn's and the cup, taking her hand and squeezing it so that her eyes lift. When they meet, Rachel smiles understandingly, and the thought of the elderly couple still watching their laptop over on the couches prompts her to move her thumb gently along one of Quinn's fingers.

"I'll have you know that you are the farthest thing from a failure," Rachel insists, "You are going to Yale. You have had a successful high school career. You are so strong and all your hardships have made you even better; I'm incredibly blessed to even be friends with you, let alone having the potential for something more."

Slowly, with each word, that shine returns to Quinn's eyes, livening hazel. At the conclusion of her words, there is barely a few seconds before Quinn is pulling on Rachel's hand, sitting forward and brining their lips together. As soon as they touch, a spark shoots through Rachel's skin, sizzling in her chest and making her dizzy. It feels so nice to kiss Quinn, to hold her hand and feel her smooth skin beneath her thumb. She tastes the slight caramel on her tongue as it glides along hers, just briefly, and then they're breaking, sitting back. Quinn glances at the old couple but they are none the wiser, and Rachel glimpses the counter behind blonde hair where the baristas once stood now empty. Their kiss was in plain sight but still a secret.

Relaxing, an easy smile on her lips, Rachel's still tingling, Quinn doesn't remain in her seat long. She stands and rounds the table, coming to sit beside Rachel, her bare knee touching Rachel's thin stockings, her left arm slinging around Rachel and guiding her sit forward until that arm is around her ribs, holding her close to Quinn's side. A pale hand reaches over the table and slides the book in front of them, a noise of approval coming from Quinn's throat, and she opens to the first passage, smoothening right into reading a few lines and explaining her fascination with Oscar Wilde.

In comparison, Rachel is humming through her entire body at the close, casual seating they now have, just like the old couple. She can smell Quinn's light perfume and feels her hair tickle the side of her face. She can hear her breathe and listens when she explains the diction of Wilde's writing. Her left hand, suspended by the arm held up between Rachel's small body and the back of the booth, brushes her side, her thumb nail running over the material of her sweater. On instinct, Rachel raises her right hand to hold Quinn's, meeting fingers that readily hold hers. Her left hand, beneath her right arm, grabs the edge of the book to bring into their laps and help keep open for Quinn to read. After a few moments of aimlessly scanning the page of words while Quinn actually reads, she speaks again, talking more about the passage she has read before and recounting what she thought the first time. Only half of Rachel is listening and the other focuses on just sitting with Quinn, watching her lips move and seeing that shine in her eyes when she glances at Rachel from the book.

Rachel can't imagine being anywhere else and that's where they stay until their phones say it's five in the afternoon and the snow has let up, revealing a winter wonderland that has turned their murky Lima town into something magical. Rachel calls Puck and he promises to be out there as soon as he can clear the driveway and uncover his truck, and while they wait, a snowplow thankfully trudges and struggles through the street, creating new curbs of feet tall snow. Quinn gets up to order some pastries and more hot coffee and they have their supper, still waiting on Puck. When he finally arrives an hour later, they throw on their coats and run out in the blistering cold to the passenger side, clambering in to a heated cab and Puck's delighted face at seeing them together. Quinn sees the slightest shiver from Rachel and again, wraps an arm around her waist, holding her close. Rachel's eyes droop and she rests her head on Quinn's shoulder as Puck makes his way slowly through streets until they unfortunately reach Quinn's house. He tells her to hand over her car keys and he will get Quinn's car and put on spare tire chains. Before she leaves the cab, she turns and hugs Rachel tightly, thanking her in her ear for a wonderful date and they will see each other tomorrow. Rachel beams and says her goodbye, watching Quinn run up to her house and inside before Puck pulls her over and lets her lean her head on his shoulder, falling asleep on the way back to her home, the beginning of her dreams consisting of a certain blonde and snow.

December 27th, 2012 — 11:27 a.m.

The first thing Rachel does when she wakes up is grab her phone from beside her. It's near dead, the light dimmed and a warning popped up on her screen, but in the notification bar, a envelop standing for a message waits. Smiling and blinking her sleepiness away, she pulls down the bar to reveal three messages.

The first is from her fathers. They give her a quick update on their adventures on their cruise, saying things like "wish you were here" and "you would love their karaoke bar!" Rachel chuckles and types out a quick good morning message, telling them about the weather and watching her Friends boxset with Puck. The next message is from Kurt. He and Blaine are trying to make plans for New Year's and after the "rather surprisingly spectacular Christmas party" he wonders if Rachel will be hosting another for New Year's. It gives all the more reason to host another party even if she doesn't want to have to do the last minute clean up and restocking of drinks before her fathers arrive, but too many pros outweigh the cons and she just sends back a message that says she will keep them updated.

Finally, the last one is from Quinn. Rachel plays with her lip between her index and thumb finger as she opens the message.

I had an amazing date. I hope you sleep well. Call me if you'd like to do anything tomorrow.

Glancing at the little clock at the corner of her screen, she reads the late hour and berates herself for letting her sleeping habits slack off. She blames all the weather and events that have been happening every day and the fact it's winter break, but to make up for it, she jumps out of bed. She doesn't remember leaving the truck so she guesses that Puck carried her upstairs last night and just put her to bed in what she had been wearing. Finding some work-out clothes, she changes quickly and hops onto her elliptical, putting the timer on for forty-five minutes, extra time to make up for recent lost exercise.

An hour later and Rachel is stepping from her shower, rubbing a towel in her long hair with the other wrapped around snugly beneath her arms. She moves to her window and looks out through the curtains, seeing the fresh snow in all its grandeur. The sky is overcast, with only a little bit of light illuminating the white of the snow of her yard that has yet to be disrupted by the children of the neighborhood. She smiles softly and searches through her dresser for any other sweatpants she can wear before she has to do her laundry. With the last pair, she dresses and pulls on a t-shirt over her plain bra.

If Puck had brought her up to bed last night, how could he have left without locking the doors to the house? The thought pops into her head and she pivots away from the stairs, moving for her parents' bedroom. They have a guest room but Puck likes to think of himself more than a guest, and the only times he ever stays the night are the nights when her fathers are out for a couple days, which means he has their bed to themselves. He can't help it and no one can really— they have an amazing mattress that just feels like a cloud and puts you out like a baby as soon as you lie down.

Sure enough, upon opening the door a sliver, she can see Puck sleeping, his chest falling and rising steadily beneath the covers, his head turned away from the door. Unlike most men she knows, Puck's snore is just quiet enough to not be heard from her room. She smirks at the noise now, wondering just what makes up every man for them all to snore. Shutting the door just as quietly, she heads downstairs and into her thankfully clean kitchen. She scavenges the refrigerator and cupboard, coming up with not much.

"Puck'll just have to do with cereal," she mutters happily to herself as she pulls out Cap'n Crunch for the boy and some special bran for her.

"What, no bacon?"

Puck saunters into the kitchen in just his boxers, rubbing his eye with his fist and then running a hand over the rather long stripe of hair atop his head.

Rachel chuckles. "Nope. Tired of cooking. Deal with it."

"Ugh, fine," Puck pretends to whine, falling into a chair, "I'll go home later today and find some vegan crap recipes to cook dinner for you one of these nights."

"How sweet," Rachel faux coos, leaning over to slide a bowl of cereal across the table. Puck catches the bowl before it goes off the edge and stands to grab two jugs of milk from the fridge, one regular and the other soy. Rachel joins him as he sits and takes her soy milk, pouring it over her bran.

"You and Q gonna hang today?" the mostly naked boy asks, sniffing and shoveling a spoonful into his mouth.

"I was thinking of a late lunch or early dinner," Rachel admits with a shrug, "We could watch a movie even."

"Does she like musicals?" Puck bounces his spoon as he chews.

"I have other movies than musicals, Noah."

"But do you ever watch them?"

"… no. But if Quinn doesn't want to watch one, I can deal with watching something else," Rachel huffs, having a spoonful of her cereal.

Puck laughs. "Likely. Rachel Berry and the chance to watch a movie but not a musical? What a joke."

"Noah," Rachel snaps, swatting him in the arm. He laughs. "Why are you even awake? I wasn't that loud."

"Jew senses," he replies like it's a fact.

"Why did you even stay the night? You could have borrowed a key," Rachel points out.

"One, I need to put chains on your tires. Granted, I only have two so I'll catty-corner them on your car. Two, I couldn't leave you alone. Three, mom is out with the sis for some shopping so it didn't matter to her what I'm doing. Four, free bed."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel takes the last couple bites of her cereal and drinks most of her soy milk. She stands, setting the bowl in the sink to be washed when she feels like it, and faces the football player as he pours more cereal into his used milk. Boys.

"What are we going to do about the alcohol?" Rachel asks, remembering the mostly empty liquor cabinet in the show-room basement.

"I had a couple guys who could help me out come to the Christmas party so I didn't have to owe them," he replies, "While you're spending the day with Quinn, I'll be out and running errands to start on restocking. Which reminds me; what are we doing about New Year's?"

Thinking back to the text from Kurt, Rachel almost says for Puck to go for it and plan the party. But then it hits her and she remembers what Puck said Christmas morning when Quinn and she realized their feelings. New Year's is to be the night when they decide what they want, and really, the decision is all up to Quinn. They both know Rachel would jump at the chance to be together and with a family like she has; she would have all the support and love she needs to face any harassment for dating another girl. Quinn on the other hand has to choose to either defy or bend to her family's will and their irrefutable thirst to be the perfect family with the most reputation in little Lima, Ohio. New Year's night is going to be when Quinn kisses her or walks away, the latter option being to remain friends with a distinct history. To be honest, Rachel doesn't think she could look Quinn directly in the eye again, or at least for a while, if the decision is to remain friends. She doesn't think she'll have the strength to resist kissing her or crying in front of her because of what they could have had. All this just makes her realize how scared she really is.

"Let me think about it and I'll have something by tonight, okay?" Rachel says, knowing she had thought for a few moments too long and Puck is staring at her curiously. He gives her a tight-lipped smile, like he knows the reason behind her need to think, and nods, standing as he finishes off drinking his milk.

"She'll make the right decision, Rache," Puck comforts, setting the bowl in the sink behind her. Her holds the side of her face and pecks her forehead, smiling for real now. "I'm going to go shower and get dressed, then put chains on your tires."

Rachel nods, thankful to have someone like Puck in her life who can be such a great friend that he's like a brother. He pats her shoulder and walks off back upstairs, leaving Rachel to take a breather in the kitchen to collect herself.

A phone call shouldn't be so nerve wracking… but it is. Rachel gnaws on the edge of a fingernail as the second ring echoes from her phone and the thought that maybe Quinn won't answer passes by before she rejects it. Quinn wants to see her just as much as she wants to see Quinn. Hopefully—

"Hi," comes Quinn cheery voice, much louder than the last they had been on the phone.

"Hi," Rachel repeats, stifling a squeal as she takes her hand away from her mouth.

"How are you?" She can practically hear Quinn's smile.

"I'm doing great, thank you. Uhm, I was just wondering if you're busy for dinner tonight?"

"Magically, no," Quinn says, and there's a hint behind her voice like she has something to do with the "magic" of being free to spend the evening with Rachel. Rachel has to put a hand over her chest at the flutter of what seems to be a hummingbird instead of what should be her heart.

"What if I made us something and we watch a movie afterwards?" Rachel bites a little on her lip.

"That would be wonderful," Quinn accepts graciously, a little laugh at the end, "When would you like me to arrive?"

"Whenever you'd like," Rachel fires back, grinning from ear to ear to be spending another part of the day with the blonde.

"I'll be over soon. Mind if I just wear some jeans?"

Rachel laughs. "You could wear a jumpsuit and still look spectacular." Immediately, she wants to kick herself for sounding so lame and puts her fist to her forehead, closing her eyes.

"You're biased," is Quinn's reply along with another laugh, "I just don't want to look like I don't care."

"I'll wear jeans to make you feel comfortable," Rachel says, sighing internally for the reaction she got from her poor compliment.

"Great," Quinn laughs, "I'll see you soon."

Rachel hangs up and again, her excitement bubbles through in the way she throws her arms in the air and she twirls in her room. She wants to just flop down on her bed and bask in the feeling of pure bliss but she knows she needs to get dressed and find something to prepare before Quinn comes over, and there isn't a lot of time from the sounds of it. She trots to her dresser and fishes out some jeans to slip on, her t-shirt fine to wear. She moves to the mirror, playing with her hair until it's satisfactory, and touches up with a little bit of makeup. The general idea of this is to be casual and too much makeup is not part of it.

Running downstairs, she looks through the frosted window beside the door to make sure Quinn isn't already here and pauses when she sees just how snowed over the world looks. Banks rise up on either side of the road from the snowplows. Her driveway is mostly cleared and she can just make out patches of salt, the care of Puck no less. That caring boy. Heading back into the kitchen, she opens the fridge and hums to herself as she browses, looking for something that she could make for the both of them and still be delicious. Maybe she's putting too much thought into this because really, she wants to make something big, like a gourmet meal, but then again, it's supposed to be casual.

Hoping it'll help calm her nerves and then decide what to make, she grabs a glass and fills it with some water from the tap, taking a grateful drink. She has honestly begun to believe that a hummingbird resides inside her ribcage where her heart should be because it's always thrumming, beating to the point where she thinks it could be palpable. She takes another drink and sets the glass behind her, making her way to the pantry to see if there's anything there that she could prepare.

It's been ten minutes and Rachel is sitting at the table, a little put out by the lack of choices to cook, though she should already know from checking earlier this morning. She's working on her second glass of water, tapping her chin, when there's knocking at the door. Her heart jumps to her throat as she jumps from her seat.

When she opens the door, it's like seeing Quinn for the first time. Actually, it's seeing a different part of Quinn for the first time. She's wearing a simple pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt against the cold, which doesn't seem to be doing much as she shivers, shoulders hunched in. Upon seeing Rachel, she grins and is waved inside, gladly doing so.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel starts, raising her hand to her mouth again to gnaw on her nail, "I tried to find something to make for us to eat but I just haven't been myself lately and I couldn't find anything—"

"Rachel, it's fine," Quinn laughs, turning around from pulling her shoes off beside the coat rack, "We were supposed to go out for lunch yesterday and ended up stuck, just having coffee instead."

Her words have the affect Rachel was searching for and she smiles, feeling color appear on her cheeks. They both move into the kitchen, Rachel back to the fridge.

"What if we just ordered something?" Quinn asks, having seated herself. When Rachel peers over her shoulder, she has to swallow because Quinn has taken off her sweatshirt and is wearing a t-shirt as well, except a little more form fitting.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like?" Rachel finds herself saying, straightening and moving to the drawer where she had gotten the Chinese menu for Puck and Sam Christmas Eve. She opens it to find a crushed beer can inside, completely empty thankfully, but the only thing Rachel can think of now is that she has to go through each drawer and nook and cranny in her house to make sure all evidence of the damn party is gone. Sighing, she takes the can and throws it in the trash beneath the sink, to be taken out later. Quinn chuckles behind her.

"What menus do you have?" she asks, suddenly much closer. Rachel starts, looking up to see Quinn hovering just behind her and looking into the drawer. At the motion, her hazel eyes flick to the brunette, a sly smirk coming to her lips at knowing her close presence could do such things. "It's just me, Rache."

"I know," Rachel chokes out, looking back to the drawer to hide her blush and to do something with her hands, "You just surprised me is all. I thought you were sitting."

"Now I'm standing," the blonde whispers, her mouth much closer to Rachel's ear. A hand snakes around her waist, pulling her close. Rachel can feel the heat of her body and takes her lips between her teeth to stop any noise she might make. Flirty Quinn is dangerous for Rachel. It makes her want to kiss her and touch her and do things that she can't remember from the night of the party, but are both aware were done. She can feel an ache begin in her stomach and she feigns believing it's just hunger. She needs to satiate Quinn right now before things get much farther, and without another thought, she whirls around and wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her to her lips.

It's like Quinn was expecting this because she doesn't miss a second and she pushes Rachel against the counter, the drawer shutting with a snap. Their lips meld together perfectly like yesterday, but with more urgency and pent-up desire for one another. A tongue is quick to ask for entrance, only to be granted and met with another that resists, seeking dominance. Quinn's hand on her waist tightens, fingers digging through the thin material of the shirt. Rachel's hands clasp onto the other arm's elbow, locking Quinn against her so that her lips won't part for a second. Another hand glides across the fabric of Rachel's shirt, fingers spread and palm flat, until it's between her shoulder blades and pressing their fronts together. Electricity shoots through Rachel, making the ache in her abdomen burn lower between her legs and she knows this wasn't what she was hoping for. They have just begun to spend time together and they were already back to where they were that drunken night.

Rachel breaks, her arms flying back and her hands hitting the counter top to support her as she leans away from Quinn's mouth, taking a much needed breath. Quinn understands, like she knew what Rachel is doing, but doesn't move from leaning over the brunette's small body. Her hand on the girl's back is now on the countertop as well, keeping her from leaning any farther, while the hand on Rachel's hip still clings, like she needs to stay grounded. Her hazel eyes are darkened but not completely, hooded but still opened and staring at Rachel's flushed face. Slowly, she leans closer again, and Rachel doesn't move. Lips ghost lips and shape words.

"Sorry," Quinn says, her voice hardly audible, "I couldn't help myself."

"Neither could I," Rachel practically whimpers back, eyes closing against her will at the feel of teasing skin against her mouth.

"I'm not very hungry," those lips skim, "How about that movie?"

Rachel nods, only serving to touch mouths with Quinn briefly and that same spark as always sizzles across her lips. "That sounds nice."

Almost regrettably, Quinn takes a step back with a breath, and then she gives a kind smile. She easily wipes away her lustful expression, putting another more content one. Rachel marvels at the ability Quinn has always had to mask any emotion or manipulate others into believing what she may or may not be expressing. She has done this at school, almost like a power she has over the student body, and Rachel has only been on the receiving end a couple times, always falling victim to whatever purpose that angelic face presented. She knows now that it isn't some power trip for Quinn. She's being real with her, her expression genuine. She isn't manipulating because never before has Rachel seen that shine in her eyes that she has when she looks at her.

Quinn offers her hand and Rachel takes it, walking together into the living room. Rachel at least had most of her head to decide which movies they could watch before she went about her fruitless search for dinner. On the coffee table are a couple cases, up to Quinn to choose which to watch.

As Quinn is looking at each one, Rachel moves to the lights and dims them. The blonde looks up and Rachel gives a sheepish look.

"Is this alright?" she asks.

"Perfectly," Quinn purrs from the couch. The things that voice does to Rachel… she has to stop a shiver from rolling down her spine. She nears the couch and Quinn holds up a movie, Scream. Rachel's fathers are horror movie nuts and she most often times refuses to watch one with them, not wanting nightmares to wake her up screaming and then getting a hoarse voice. They assure her many times that she won't lose her voice in that way but she has always politely declined their offers. Now, she really has no choice. Why did she pull this movie out?

Maybe a part of you wants to be scared around Quinn. She shakes her head, moving to the DVD player and setting up the TV.

Once it's ready to be played, Rachel faces Quinn, the blonde sitting relaxed on the couch with the remote in hand and ready to play. She lifts a brow questioningly, her signature move of course, and Rachel walks over, a little jittery. She sits awkwardly besides her, not knowing the protocol for this either, but Quinn isn't having it and she grabs her hand, pulling her close.

"I won't jump you again," Quinn jokes, bringing her arm overhead to wrap around Rachel's ribs like she has always done. Rachel feels protected as such and she loves when Quinn takes the initiative in ways that Rachel isn't exactly sure how. She has always been with men up until she realized she wanted Quinn, and it's different with girls. She gets the idea that women need to be seduced and have romance, or at least that's what she wants. So far, Quinn has been doing a pretty good job…

Turning, she presses a kiss to the blonde's cheek, smiling at the pleasantly surprised face.

"Thank you," Rachel says, meaning it entirely.

"For what?" Quinn asks, the remote raised but the movie yet to be played.

"For… this," Rachel says, unable to really form words, "I know it's pathetic and not exactly the right words to use for what I'm feeling… I just never thought I would be in this kind of… situation."

"On a movie date?" Quinn inquires, smirking. She squeezes Rachel closer, the girl settling alongside the former cheerleader. "You're beautiful, Rachel. You should have had plenty of movie dates."

At her words, Rachel looks down, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear shyly. She doesn't look up when she clarifies, "I mean, this whole thing with you. I never thought my feelings for you were the kind that could ever be reciprocated."

There's a moment of silence and Rachel fears she has said the wrong thing, which keeps her from meeting Quinn's eyes. Suddenly, she feels lips against her temple, lingering, just touching her there.

"Neither did I," Quinn murmurs. She hits play.

Just the beginning of the movie is scary on its own and Rachel is already balled up, clutching Quinn's shirt as the masked murderer runs through the house while Drew Barrymore, or Casey, sneaks along outside. The tension is already so high and she can't understand why they would start a movie like that. Shouldn't they ease their audience into the plot?

Laughter rings beside her and Quinn is watching her instead of the movie. She takes Rachel's hand, prying it from her shirt, and holds it, even letting Rachel squeeze it as Casey looks through the window for the second time and the ghost mask whirls around, the girl screaming. Rachel lurches, squeaking in order to keep from screaming, and Quinn giggles, her hand on Rachel's ribs sliding down to hold her waist and stop her from moving in her seat.

The movie goes on to a real plot and Rachel can calm down. She takes a deep breath, a little scarred at the sight of the body tied up by its intestines and hanging from the tree.

"Enjoying the movie?" Quinn teases, squeezing Rachel's hip.

"No," Rachel pouts, "I never watch horror movies."

Quinn gasps. "I love horror movies. How could you not watch them?"

"Because they make me scream and I need my voice because if I can't sing then I have nothing to live for."

"You have me," Quinn counters immediately and Rachel faces her abruptly, surprised by her words. Quinn's face is serious, meaning what she said is too. She isn't quite sure how to process the meaning of it all when Quinn's mouth is on hers again and she doesn't want to worry about anything. Nothing but Quinn. She kisses her back just as hard as she is being kissed, something different than what unfolded in the kitchen. It has more meaning than just bottled want after growing feelings. It's a catalyst of what could be and what Rachel is now sure what Quinn means.

She is going to pick me.

December 28th, 2012 — 12:00 p.m.

It isn't knocking at Rachel's front door. It's pounding… or kicking. Still chewing some of her tofu breakfast, she opens the door curiously only to have to dodge to the side as Puck darts inside. In his arms he holds a couple brown paper bags and he has no shoes on, the reason for wanting to get inside as quick as possible, considering there was a light dusting last night and no one has yet to clear the new inch of snow in the driveway.

"Where are your shoes?" Rachel asks, shutting the door and following Puck into the kitchen.

Dumping the bags onto the table, muffled clattering coming from the contents, he shivers and shrugs off his coat. "I forgot."

"Forgot? Where?"

"Uhm… at a house," he provides reluctantly, reaching into one of the bags and taking out a labeled bottle of alcohol. He pulls a list from his jean pocket, folded many times over and the pen ink a little smeared, and finds another pen in one of Rachel's drawers.

Stepping close, Rachel grabs his arm and stops him. He freezes, looking down into her eyes, and she leans in slowly, sniffs the collar of his shirt, and scoffs.

"You had sex last night!"

"Ew, you can smell that?" he asks, lifting the collar of his shirt and smelling. Though he doesn't seem able to smell what Rachel did, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then unbuckles and jerks off his jeans. Once again, for the third time, Puck is standing in just his boxers in Rachel's kitchen. She rolls her eyes.

"Okay, so I did," he starts, now that he's been caught, "I went this guy's party last night so I could pick up the alcohol he said he would give for the rager we had here. I got sidetracked by his dancers."

"Dancers?" Rachel exclaims, peering over the list of alcohols that Puck must restock. Only a couple is crossed off.

"Fine, he is a bartender at a strip club," Puck sighs, taking back the list and using the pen to cross off the first bottle he pulled out of a bag, "At least I got the drinks."

"What are you going—" to do when you get a girl pregnant? is what Rachel is about to scold with when she remembers he already has. Even if the sentence is left hanging not even half way completed, Puck turns his gaze towards Rachel, knowing what she was about to reprimand.

In reality, if it weren't for Puck becoming a father to Quinn's child, he wouldn't be the sort of guy today. It gave him a taste of his own medicine. It gave him a responsibility his father never did and that's all the encouragement he needs to be the best father he can to Beth. Rachel wouldn't say it made him humble, last night being a prime example, but it did give the hard-ass football player Noah "Puck" Puckerman a chink in his armor and a reason to feel. Rachel should thank Beth because without her, she doubts she would have such a best friend to begin with.

And what Rachel was about to ask is insensitive but true. This sort of thing has happened before and just like last time, Puck sobers up. He isn't mad or hurt. He just knows that his habits aren't the kind that should be encouraged. His father was and probably still is that way and it's where he gets it from. If he doesn't want to end up a fuck-up like his father, he can't show that he really is his son. Taking another bottle from a bag with a new air of responsibility, he crosses off a name on his list and continues.

Stepping closer, Rachel puts a soothing hand on his shoulder and stands on her tiptoes. She presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, saying everything for her without actual words transgressing between them. He smiles softly.

Since Puck is busy with inside chores, and Rachel has already had her workout, shower, and breakfast, she decides to take on the task of clearing the driveway. She dresses in a suitable amount of layers, snow boots, a scarf and hat, and grabs the shovel from the gardening shed. Seeing how much has built up on her back patio before she leaves her back yard, she turns and shoves the tool into the couple feet tall snow, grunting as she throws it over her shoulder. She works under a cool gray sky, a gentle breeze tickling her cheeks and wafting through the hair on her back, not beneath her knit hat. She blinks at the seemingly dry air, lifting, heaving, impaling, lifting, heaving, impaling. It takes a good half hour but she manages to clear what seems to be a dugout for the back porch.

The sliding door opens and Puck, wrapped in a thick blanket, pokes his head out.

"I'm doing laundry. Want me to just put your basket in your room?"

"Yes, thank you!" Rachel says a bit breathlessly.

"Hey, don't worry about this," Puck says, gesturing with a sweep of his blanket, "I can clear some of the backyard before the New Year's party."

"Okay, I'll do the front drive," she says, flinging the last shovelful over her shoulder and then resting the wooden shaft against her shoulder. She takes a deep breath, feeling a bit hot, and unravels her scarf a little. Puck chuckles.

"You got some strength for a little girl," he comments.

Rachel laughs. "Singing isn't my only strength. I have taken many dance classes and part of being a dancer is having the muscle to preform difficult maneuvers and routines."

"Yeah, yeah, you're strong and all… for a girl." Puck lifts up his bare arm from beneath the blanket and curls, flexing his bicep. The muscle bulges, looking much like the beginning of a body builder, and he smile crookedly, his proud smile. While he's too busy admiring his own arm, Rachel balls a snowball and chucks it his chest, hitting him right on the collarbone. He swears, hits his head on the door trying to duck back inside before the next hit, and finally shuts the door, giving Rachel a playful and very kind finger gesture. He wipes the melting snow from his chest with the blanket as he stalks away, Rachel's laughter ringing in the noon air.

Another hour and the driveway is cleared. Another snowplow came by, pushing build-up from last night and slush to the curbs, revealing sheets of ice here and there that as soon as the giant machinery was gone, kids began grabbing trash can lids and having each other pull them across. Rachel thought it was dangerous but Puck came outside just before she scold them and brought her back inside.

"Are you going to see Quinn today?" he asks, filling a mug of black coffee and jumping up to sit on a counter. He has finished his restocking for the most part, just a couple more bottles to put back in place with plenty of time. He wears his jeans now, the first load of laundry he has done.

"I don't know," Rachel admits from the front hall, hanging her slightly damp winter clothes. She walks into the kitchen and pours a small cup of coffee for herself, using organic ingredients to flavor her drink. "I don't like the idea of her driving in this weather, with the ice. Plus there's children in the streets and I don't want to have an accident."

Puck laughs. "You worry too much. Quinn is capable of driving herself over; she has chains on her tires. I also highly doubt she would hit a kid on a trashcan. They are hard to miss. If it really bothers you, I will go get her myself. The truck is better for this weather anyways."

"No, no, you're right," Rachel submits, leaning against the counter and taking a drink, "She could drive. I'm just overthinking."

"As usual."

"At least I don't under-think."

"I do not."

Rachel hums, smiling as she takes another drink. "What do you have planned for today?"

"The downstairs is still a little dirty, thought I might clean that up?"

"Might I add that I found a beer can in the take-out menus drawer? I suggest checking other places our friends have left paraphernalia from the party."

"Well, fuck," Puck states, taking a big drink from his mug and setting it down. He hops off the counter and bends, being so tall, to begin quickly searching through each drawer and cupboard. He does the entire kitchen in a couple of minutes, finding some wrappers.

Grumbling and throwing the trash beneath the sink, he asks, "When will Quinn be over? I could clean until she comes and get out of your guys' hair."

"I'm not sure, I haven't talked to her yet," Rachel shrugs, looking to the clock above the doorway to the front hall and reading 2:24.

"How are things going by the way?" he asks, grabbing his drink again.

Rachel feels a blush and fights to control it. "Good, I think."

"Ha! You're under-thinking!" Puck suddenly points at Rachel and then prods her in the neck, where she feels heat rising quicker than she was fighting it, "It's great, isn't it? Have you guys kissed? Have you talked about the party? Oh, I bet it gets you two all hot and bothered—"

A punch to the arm cuts his sentence off and he laughs. By now, Rachel is full on blushing and pouting, trying keep a smile from her mouth at just how great it actually is between them and how much she hopes they can keep going this way.

"I'll go clean now!" he says, nearly bouncing on the spot. He swigs the last of his coffee, still hot, and sets it in the sink. He bounds out of the room and down the stairs, whooping and making crude cat-calls.

Fanning herself, she puts her mostly empty mug in the sink beside his and moves upstairs. In her room, she crosses to her nightstand and picks up her phone, finding no messages, just a couple app updates. Opening a new message, she types, What are your plans for today? :) and presses send after selecting Quinn's name.

It doesn't take long and Quinn's reply bleats on her phone.

Just got back from an awful family lunch. Did I tell you Frannie's in town?

Rachel frowns. Why was it awful?

They hardly spoke to me. They talked with Frannie the entire time, about college and her job interview. The only time they really said anything to me was just a piece of advice to strive to be more like my sister. Like, what I do is not enough. Frannie tried to give me a pity-talk for them but when I told her to not worry about it, my dad told me to listen and take every word into account. I'm sorry, I must sound like a bitch.

At the swear word, Rachel understands just how upset Quinn really is. There's nothing to apologize for, Quinn. You could tell me anything and not have to apologize for it. I'm sorry they acted that way towards you. They fail to see the Quinn I see.

It takes a minute, and then her message appears, What do you see?

Rachel takes a breath, collecting her thoughts. Her thumbs hover the touchpad keys, waiting to type what words cannot begin to describe how much she truly feels and what she sees, but she has to provide something, so she starts. I see Quinn Fabray. A beautiful, talented, brilliant, and incredibly strong young woman. People admire you because you walk these halls after all these years, still owning the school, your back straight even with all your hardships on your shoulders. You are a role model, a person people can look up to, and you will go to an amazing college, have the perfect career, and get the family you deserve. A family of your own. On another thought, And even if I'm not the one to create that perfect family with, I will be so happy that you are finally happy. You will prove your parents and sister wrong, show them that you are better than all the rest of Lima, Ohio. Because you are Quinn Fabray.

Rachel sends the message without a bit of hesitance. She feels what she has said is the truth, and she even rereads it to make sure she made her point. When a couple minutes pass and there isn't a message back, Rachel doesn't allow herself to worry. Instead, she stands to clean her room, a few things out of order about the place. She hopes by doing this it isn't some outlet for a worrying feeling she should feel, but again, she forces herself to not overthink this and goes into her bathroom, picking up her shower towel from this morning and folding it over the drying rack. She's cleaning her sink when her phone beeps.

Could I stay the night tonight?

The last time they spent together… well, it makes Rachel's pulse race. She licks her lips at bits of memories showing through the drunk veil, and suddenly, she remembers her lips placing open-mouthed kisses down a flat stomach, flexing with anticipation, slick with a thin sheen of sweat, her hands pressing into naked hips, keeping them down.

A knock on her door interrupts her little daydream and she jumps.

"Room service!" Puck's fake high-pitched voice comes through the door.

Sucking in a deep breath to calm the beat that began low in her stomach, she stands, runs a hand through her hair, and opens the door. Outside, Puck holds a basket of clothes, sloppily folded. The look on her face must be one that Puck isn't expecting because his smile drops and his eyebrows pull together.

"Everything okay?"

Are they? "Yes, I'm okay," Rachel says, taking the basket and turning to put it on the end of her bed. While Puck can't see her face, she thinks of Quinn and her ability to put on any face she wants, as well as her future as an actress, and turns with a little smile.

Puck shrugs and smiles. "So, talked to Quinn yet?"

"Actually, yes. She's going to come over later tonight." She leaves out the part about her staying the night because she'd rather not have Puck jumping her for details like a hyper puppy.

"Sweet," he says, winking, "Want me to leave?"

"Have another party you can finish your list of alcohols with?" Rachel counters.

"You bet your sweet ass I do!" he says, like in some way, Rachel gave him permission to go have fun, "I'll finish around the house and then head out, okay?"

"No problem," Rachel chuckles. Puck grabs her into a hug, whisper something crass into her ear, earning a "Noah!" and runs off. With a roll of her eyes, she shuts the door to her bedroom again.

Back to her phone on her bed, the message from Quinn still waits to be answered. Again, her thumbs wait to press keys, and without thinking at all, she lets them.

I would love for you to.

It doesn't take long and, Could I come over around 7?

Whatever is convenient for you. You're allowed over whenever you want.

Okay, she can't help it this time. It's snowing again and it's 7:13. Quinn still isn't here yet. Since Puck left and her text messages with Quinn, she has gone through her house several times, making sure everything is in order and there is nothing left from the Christmas party. Now that she thinks about it, that party was way out of hand. There was way too many people, if by everything they left was any clue. From the looks of it, half the school came, and then some. By some, Rachel means Puck's friends and most them aren't in school anymore, for whatever reasons.

Looking through the frost-decorated window again, there is no sign of Quinn's car, no headlights in the darkening street, and no recent tread marks in the slight snow covering. Biting the inside of her lip, she moves into the living room, puts in a Friends disk, and settles down to watch and calm her frayed nerves. She has a drink at her side and a blanket wrapped around her legs, watching as Joey takes a spoonful of hot jam from Monica's kitchen, puts it in his mouth against her warning, and then spits it right back out because it is hot. Chuckling, she feels the tension ease off her.

Sharp raps on her front door startle her from a doze. Sitting forward, she glances at her phone in hand, spotting three missed calls. Berating herself for nearly falling asleep, she runs to the front door and flings it open.

Quinn stands on her front porch, looking quite sullen but at the sight of Rachel, a smile breaks across her face. In her hands is a small overnight bag, her keys, and phone. Her cheeks and nose are a little red and Rachel wants to cry for having left her out in the cold for God knows how long.

"I am so sorry," Rachel starts, reaching forward to take Quinn's bag from her hand. The blonde lets her take it from her as she steps inside, her smile growing wider. "I started falling asleep."

"It's alright," Quinn says, watching Rachel put her bag on the steps to be carried up later, "There was a wreck in the middle of Lima."

Rachel whirls around, her eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

Quinn chuckles lightly. "Yes, I am. I was just backed up in traffic until the two cars could be towed away. I just felt bad for being a little later than I had wanted."

"Thank God it wasn't you," Rachel mutters appreciatively. She isn't exactly sure why but she blushes anyways, her tone and her words conveying just how worried she had been and how much she just wants Quinn to be safe and in her arms.

"Me too," Quinn says, her eyes shining even in the dim hallway. She takes a step forward and brings her hand to Rachel's, letting her fingers graze along the tanned ones, feeling them as they slide through hers until they link perfectly. Rachel's eyes have fallen to their hands, watching, and then lift to see Quinn still gazing at her face. Her look speaks volumes and it's all Rachel needs to know that Quinn truly likes her, that this is no elaborate game, no manipulation; a true, pure connection has formed between them and strengthens with every touch, every meeting, every shining of eyes.

An idea comes to mind and Rachel glances at the window. The snow is still falling and it has become dark enough for the street lights to flicker on, casting ethereal yellow rays through the snowflakes. She remembers their shared interest in snow, in the wonder of winter and the lovely way they both enjoy everything becoming so magical when it would normally seem bleak. Reaching behind Quinn with her free hand, she grabs her coat, wordlessly waiting for approval, and a moment later, Quinn is turning to grab her coat as well.

Dressed, Rachel grabs her keys and opens the front door, revealing again the cold that Quinn had been standing in. Having not finished her apology, Rachel turns to the girl just behind her and wraps her arms around her neck, pulling her close but not quite kissing her. She touches noses, feeling just how chilly Quinn's is, and giggles softly.

"I'm sorry for leaving you out in the cold and I never will again," she whispers.

Quinn hums and her next words are ones that have been sitting in her chest, in her heart, for years. "You're worth the wait. You always have been."

Before Rachel can react or respond, Quinn tilts her head, pressing lips. She kisses Rachel like it's their first time with that same spark, and hopefully the same spark that will stay there for years and years to come. Because it's the spark that has been sitting on Quinn's lips just for Rachel, just for Rachel since the first time she laid eyes on her, since the first time she heard that angelic voice, and especially since the first time she knew she was falling for that crazy, sometimes annoying, and always correct brunette that makes her heart swell, her breath missing, and her mind reeling.

It has been a near hour of walking aimlessly through the snow-laden streets. Not another person has been seen, not a car has attempted to drive the dangerous roads, and the snow has not stopped falling, ensuring that Quinn will stay the night with nowhere else to go.

Rachel prances a few paces in front of the blonde, arms open, eyes closed, head tilted back, tongue stuck out. Her laughter is the only noise to occasionally break the deafening silence, and every time, it makes Quinn's absent, adoring smile grow. While Rachel frolics, Quinn keeps a space between them to watch, loving every second of seeing pure happiness. As they pass under another scone of yellow light, stark contrast to the dim, white world, Rachel's even toned hair glows with different shades of her highlights. Quinn has never noticed the subtle auburn and slight dirty blonde locks to her hair, the lighting never giving her the chance. Now, she enjoys winter all the more for providing the circumstance to see this little detail about Rachel.

For the umpteenth time, Rachel spins and somehow manages to gracefully fall backwards onto the snow. Lying flat, she begins yet again another snow angel, sliding her arms and legs, her eyes flitting to Quinn.

"Quinn, will you please make one with me?" Every time Rachel has made a snow angel, Quinn has kindly declined to join her. It's more out of wanting to watch Rachel than getting her clothes wet, but for some reason, Quinn playfully roll her eyes and exaggerates a sigh in defeat.

Falling beside Rachel, in the middle of the road, between street lights and in the darkest of the intervals, Quinn makes her first snow angel. She can't help giggle when Rachel attempts to cover her own, and after an appropriate amount of time, they both stand carefully, stepping out of their angels. It's obvious to tell who made which; Quinn's angel a tad taller than Rachel's. Their wings barely brush each other and Quinn hadn't noticed how close their hands had come to touching one another, or as close to touching as they can with their mittens on.

A mitten'd hand latches onto the blonde's, attracting her attention. Rachel gazes up at her, face alight, not a wrinkle to discern worry or upset or any negative emotion— just ecstasy. And Quinn brings it out of her. For once in her life, Quinn feels a bubble in her chest… a bubble of pride. She's proud because she has a purpose, one nobody but Rachel has given her, because she alone is able to bring out the unbridled joy from the little diva, one that Quinn has never seen brought about by Finn, an ex-boyfriend of the past, or her parents, or even Puck. In the presence of her parents, Quinn feels miniscule, that all she has accomplished in her high school career has amounted to nothing. Beside Rachel, she feels as though she can take on the world, so long as the girl she has come to love is with her.

She didn't mean for the next action to happen, she just wanted to hold her hand. But Rachel doesn't complain when Quinn leans down to press their lips together again. In fact, she takes her hand away to join the other as they are placed loosely on the blonde's shoulders, feeling the girl's arms pull her close in the familiar way they have come to wound around her waist. Kissing in snow fall is something new for both of them— the heat of their mouths is welcoming against the cold. They can feel snowflakes land and melt on the exposed skin of their faces, sending little ripples of electricity to intensify their kiss, and the absolute quiet pressures them to keep quiet, making their kiss that much more simple but all the more to be savored.

Breaking away slowly, Rachel feels a lingering affect, one that nearly causes her to blurt out three words but manages to swallow them. It's too soon. One cannot fall in love this quick. For a moment, she imagines having said those words aloud, to Quinn, and of all the different reactions she could have received. The prospect of some of them excite her, and then other frighten her, but overall, she's thankful she has said nothing.

Instead, "You're beautiful."

The reaction is immediate and makes Rachel giggle as she lifts one of her covered hands to nudge Quinn's chin back up as she began to timidly duck her head. Her cheeks are more red than they were from the cold and her eyes absolutely sparkle, the depth of the hazel easy to become lost in.

"I've been called that so many times," Quinn mutters, her eyes unwavering in Rachel's, "But it has never meant as much as it had coming from you."

Maybe because I love you.

Again, the words are on the tip of her tongue but they remain there. Rachel smiles and puts a little distance between their bodies, her hand slipping down Quinn's jacketed arm to find her hand and take it.

"You're looking a little red," Rachel teases, taking a step and bringing Quinn along with her, "Maybe you need some hot chocolate to warm up with."

"Maybe I just need you," Quinn counters, a small smile on her lips. Rachel feels a tingle run down her spine, that smile seeming a little different than it was a moment ago. She giggles and continues to walk, Quinn keeping easy pace and a tight grip on her hand. They walk in comfortable silence, the snow falling against their backs now, and the beginning of melted snow in their clothes seeps through to chill the flesh beneath. Their boots make muffled crunches in the crisp fall and soft shades of light become stronger as they pass under another street light in the way they had come, back towards Rachel's house. They retrace their previous footsteps, drizzled over in the time since they made them.

It doesn't take long and they are walking up her drive again, the warm glimmering off the windows beckoning for them to come inside. Unlocking the front door, they move inside, kick off their boots, and shed their wet outwear.

"Did you bring clothes to change into?" Rachel asks, pulling the wet fabric of her long sleeved shirt from sticking to her elbow.

"Actually, yes," Quinn replies, grabbing her bag from the first step and climbing it, "Are you going to change?"

Rachel looks up to answer but the reply is lost in the look she finds staring at her. Quinn's face may seem blank but her eyes smolder in the dark. An entirely different mood settles in the air and a tremble reaches to her toes. Rachel nods and follows Quinn up the stairs, wondering if it's just her that feels the tension or if it was intentionally brought on.

A new problem arises as Rachel climbs behind Quinn. It's a problem of leering and there's not much she can do about it but accept that she's maybe a bit of a pervert for watching the way the ex-cheerleader's hips sway and how her ass fills her jeans appreciatively. Biting on her lips, Rachel only manages to take her eyes away once they reach the top and breathes a silent sigh of relief.

In her room, Rachel turns and shuts the door as Quinn places her bag on the end of the bed and opens the drawstring, taking a new shirt from inside. Rachel glances sidelong as she moves to her dresser, Quinn grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it up with a little difficulty, the wet patches of her shirt still sticking to her arms. Abandoning her dresser, Rachel steps over, her hands reaching to run up Quinn's arms. It might be her imagination but she thinks she felt a shiver run through the girl's body. Her fingers meet the wet material of her long sleeved shirt, peeling it away from her pale skin. A few assists later, and Quinn takes the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Rachel casts her eyes down before she can be lured into hazel but lands on the faint pink lines along a rather toned abdomen for one has given birth to a child. She lifts a finger to skim over a stretch mark, watching as goosebumps trail in the wake of her finger. A hand catches her wrist and she can't help but look up at Quinn's face, to see her reaction to her stomach being curiously touched. As soon as their eyes lock and Rachel has that second to register the intensity of darkening irises, their lips crush together. The spark is powerful, igniting the little tremble in Rachel's stomach into a fire. She doesn't mean to be aggressive but it comes out in the way her free hand flies up to seize a handful of soft, blonde hair.

Quinn moans, the vibration resonating past Rachel's mouth and to the center of her being. She's pushed backwards, her captured wrist rising above her head as her knees hit the end of her bed and she falls backwards, Quinn's body flat against hers with the thin obstacle of one shirt keeping from skin on skin contact. Even if this isn't their first time, Rachel feels like it is, the little snippets of the Christmas party not enough.

Like Quinn read her mind, her other hand grabs the hem of Rachel's shirt, tugging it up. Arching her back off the bed and pressing further into the blonde, earning another low moan, Rachel allows her shirt to be brought up over her chest before they have to break apart. The moment their mouths part, Quinn is tearing the shirt away. Hands freed, Rachel reaches up to grab Quinn's face and bring her lips back, hungry for the cool taste of her tongue after walking out in the snow.

They gasp in unison, their bare stomachs meeting in what truly justifies as the first time. The pause too long, Rachel wraps her arms around Quinn's neck. She moves her head beneath Quinn's chin, her mouth seeking skin along the neck she finds by kissing and then nipping. An arm slides beneath her head as Quinn props herself up. Her other hand tickles down Rachel's side, thumb brushing her hip bone and then pressing into the soft skin just inside it, just above the waist band of her jeans. The press shoots to Rachel's core, creating the dull throb there to quicken and result in a particular hard bite high up on Quinn's neck.

She groans and strangles out, "Rachel…"

"No marks?" Rachel husks the moment her lips scrape the blonde's ear. She runs her tongue along the shell, breathing as she does, the reply in Quinn's throat stuttering. "No promises."

It must be some kind of challenge because Rachel suddenly feels nails dig into her hip, enough to surely leave bruises. She gasps out and digs her own nails into shoulder blades, fingers catching on Quinn's bra. Without meaning to, Rachel pulls and somehow, the clasp of the bra pops open, the straps falling down Quinn's arms.

New urge, Rachel pushes back on Quinn's shoulders as her legs wrap around her waist, causing them to roll. Quinn falls back against the mattress and before she can make another move, Rachel leans down, moving her thigh between the girl's. Quinn takes a shuddering breath with the pressure against her center, and Rachel steals the gasp, taking Quinn's bottom lip between her teeth.

In a moment, Quinn pulls away her bra then trails her fingers up Rachel's ribs. She finds the clasps and unclasps it, her fingers then grazing across shoulder blades to grab the straps and take them down Rachel's arms. Discarding the item, Rachel pauses in her leaning position as she soaks in the sight of Quinn topless in the dim, blue-tinted light. She must've gazed too long because a new flush creeps up Quinn's chest, but to make up for it, Rachel ducks down and takes a proud nipple into her mouth. Reflexively, Quinn's hands tangle themselves in Rachel's long hair, her head tilting back as Rachel drags her tongue across her peak, her teeth following over tenderly. The transition between smooth and then rough causes Quinn to whimper, fingers undulating. Moving to her other breast, Rachel gives it the same attention, each whimper from Quinn serving a clench in her stomach. Her mind now a fog, she doesn't think when she takes her tongue and laves it down the subtle indention of Quinn's abs, leading to the waistband of her jeans. Her hands meet to quickly undo Quinn's jeans, nails scratching as they curl under the waistband and pull down, taking underwear with it, met with little resistance.

Rather than staring and wondering how someone can look so perfect and more for the sake of keeping Quinn from doubting herself, Rachel drifts her eyes up to Quinn's, locking as she moves forward and her tongue touches sweet folds. Quinn's breath hitches, her mouth dropping open, her brows furrowing, and Rachel swells with ego, her tongue delving down through the blonde's wetness, tasting her. A hand leaves her hair to ball up the sheets, the muscle in her bicep flexing with the force of her pull. Rachel snakes her tongue around, gliding back up to tease a sensitive bundle she knows aches for attention. The pleasure too much, Quinn breaks eye contact and throws her head back, letting a guttural groan from her open mouth. Rachel drags her teeth over her clit, back arching jerkily, and sliding her hand down a quivering thigh, doesn't wait for Quinn to adjust as she pumps two fingers in.

Already, her walls are tight and her legs envelop around her head, only one hand able to hold one away. Quinn's moans echo in the dark room, her noises heavenly to Rachel's ears and hell to her building desire. She thrusts her fingers fast with each beat of need she goes through, and it doesn't take long for her tempo to become so quick, so deep, and then stop because Quinn is crying out, crying out her name, and her muscles trap Rachel's hand. She's sure hair is being torn from her head but the pain somehow blossoms along her scalp as pleasure and her eyes close to enjoy the vibrations through her mouth, feeling Quinn ride out her orgasm.

Once she can move, Rachel removes her fingers and crawls up Quinn's body until she is hovering over her, the skin of their hips skimming one another. When she opens her eyes, Quinn moans absently at Rachel's full, glistening lips and then watches, mesmerized, as Rachel raises her two fingers and runs her tongue over them, sucking them of Quinn's juices. Licking her lips, Rachel leans down and tilts her head to kiss Quinn, smiling when Quinn moans at her own taste on the brunette's tongue.

Like the taste was a spur, Quinn surges up, rolling them. Air leaves Rachel's lungs with a huff as she's thrown to the mattress again. There's no sensual process as Quinn practically eye-fucks her while her fingers undo jeans and then pushes them down. Rachel kicks them away, lifting up to kiss Quinn, but catches air. A set of teeth sink into her neck, a cry erupting from her throat, and a thigh nestles against her bare center, grinding into her and sending shockwaves up to her ribs. Those teeth attack her neck, only a couple kisses in between to soothe marks she feels rising, and that thigh is joined with fingers as two slide through her slit, scissoring against her clit and forcing out groans. Quinn's mouth thankfully moves to Rachel's ear and breathes hotly against it before speaking.

"I've had so many ideas about what I wanted to do to you," she utters, even her words moist, "I can't even begin to tell you about the daydreams I've had during class."

With this new bit of information, of Quinn imagining fucking Rachel in the middle of school, Rachel whines.

"I've wanted you for so long, it hurts," she continues, the emphasis in her words matching a particular grind of her thigh and slide of her finger, "I've wanted to have you bent over tables, or on a teacher's desk. I've wanted to fuck you in the showers when I'm cold and lonely and everyone's gone. I've wanted to fuck you so hard in a janitor's closet that when you leave, people know you just had amazing sex because you can't walk straight. And I've especially wanted you on those awful nights when I had to finger myself when you could have been the one doing so."

At the conclusion, she thrusts three fingers in. Rachel cries out, the hands on Quinn's back suddenly raking nails down her spine, hard enough that angry red welts will remain for days. Using her thigh against the back of her hand, she does as Rachel did and doesn't allow time to adjust. She begins a deep, slow pace, head lifting so she can watch Rachel's face, her free left hand fisting up Rachel's hair as she leans on it beside her head. Rachel knows Quinn is getting off on seeing her reactions but there's no way she can train her expression into anything else than the way her eyes are screwed shut, her mouth is open and taking breaths between bursts of gasps and groans, and her hands refuse to release nails from digging into Quinn's proud hips. The burn in her stomach is so concentrated, pain in her legs muscles as her heels push into the mattress— she can't even form the beginning of a coherent sentence. All that is going on in her mind is the fact Quinn Fucking Fabray is fucking her better than she could imagine, her words swimming in her ears.

Bright lights pop behind her eye lids and her spine hurts from arching so fast off the bed. She doesn't process that she is the one screaming, or that her nails are sinking so hard into Quinn's flesh that she is about to draw blood. All she knows is that she has exploded and is drifting off to heaven. Slowly, her hands unfold, falling from Quinn's waist, and her back meets her bed again. Her eyes don't open but she knows Quinn is lying down beside her, pulling the blankets from beneath them to drape over their bodies. She does roll into the warmth of Quinn's body, feeling the slip of their skin from sweat. An arm moves beneath her head, holding her closer to what could be the nook of Quinn's neck, and a hand rests over her waist, legs entangling.

Just before she drifts off, she tries to smile when Quinn kisses her lips.

December 29th, 2012 — 11:40 a.m.

When she wakes up, she's alone.

Praying to God that last night wasn't a vivid, very detailed dream, Rachel sits up to be reminded it wasn't. Her legs feel wobbly even seated and the sheets fall from her bare chest to expose her to cool air. Wrapping the sheets around her, she stands, a hand planted on the edge of the bed to balance her. She starts for her door when she finally hears singing in her bathroom.

It sounds like a phone is playing Pandora and the song Quinn sings along to is Please Don't Go by Mike Posner. Quinn's voice is angelic, her voice mirroring Posner's in the perfect way a woman can to a man's. Smiling at how suitable the song is for the both of them, she listens until it ends. Even when the next song begins, Finally Found You by Enrique Iglesias, Quinn doesn't sing along.

Walking from the door, Rachel goes back to her dresser. She realizes how amazing she feels, how absolutely happy she is, and opens her drawers with a smile. She selects her outfit for the day, which just happens to be another pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. Finding some underwear, she takes her clothing and puts it on her bed, sitting and grabbing her phone. She's checking a couple messages from her fathers and Puck and doesn't notice Quinn creeping out of the bathroom.

Out of nowhere, She Looks Like Sex by Mike Posner again plays, and Rachel turns to see Quinn putting her phone on the table where Rachel does her school work at. A sly smile is on the girl's lips, her blonde hair hanging around her shoulders in tousled, wet locks. A simple white towel is wrapped around her chest, held up by a hand, as the other the other gestures to the beginning of the song.

"Forget them other boys, baby, forget them other guys," Quinn sings, her voice parallel to Posner once more. Rachel breaks into a smile, hugging the sheets and her phone to her chest as Quinn continues, taking slow steps forward.

"That ass makes me oooooh!" Quinn practically moans, singing the next lines as such and making Rachel giggle. The chorus comes along and Quinn is before Rachel now, kneeling, hand still holding her towel, the other tracing her features.

"She looks like sex, sex, sex, sex," Quinn repeats, her expression coy and her eyes playful. She doesn't say the next line as she leans forward, Rachel leaning down, and their lips spark as they kiss.

"I'm convinced Mike Posner wrote most of his songs for us," Rachel announces, laughing gently.

"So am I," Quinn agrees, standing and moving back around to the end of the bed where she set her clothes when she woke up. Rachel gathers her things and passes Quinn just as the blonde drops her towel to dress. Forcing herself to not look back, Rachel shuts the bathroom door, sets her things down, and hops in the shower.

She isn't in long when the door opens again and Quinn walks in, humming an unknown tune. Rachel has the urge to cover herself even if the glass is warped so that you can't even make out features through the barrier, but Quinn doesn't seem fazed in the least and stands before the mirror, a curling iron in hand. Rachel looks over her shoulder as she tries to go back to her shower, making out the movement of the blonde styling her hair. She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her heart from stoppering in her throat, the idea of her being naked in the same room as Quinn doing things to her that should have been satiated last night.

Her shower finishes and Quinn's putting away her makeup bag. Wanting to wait until the girl leaves the bathroom, Quinn has another idea and takes the towel from the toilet. She opens the shower doors with her infamous eyebrow raise, eyes focused on Rachel's, and hands over the towel.

"You don't need to hide from me," she says.

Rachel takes the towel with a blush, thankful that the hot water has already given her skin a glow so that Quinn doesn't actually see it. Plucking up the courage, she wraps the towel around herself and leans forward, capturing the blonde's lips for a moment.

"I'm not hiding," Rachel says as she steps out of the shower, "I just don't want a reason to have to take another shower… or a cold one either."

"If that's the case, then I always need a cold shower," Quinn jests, winking.

After that, Rachel dresses comfortably and the pair of them moves downstairs. Quinn sets up Friends in the living room, rather to watch that than some musical, and Rachel scrounges the kitchen for something to make.

"I really need to go shopping before my fathers come home," she notes, gnawing on her nail as she peers through the refrigerator.

"I don't think they'd blame you if you didn't," Quinn chimes in, walking into the kitchen. She leans against one of the counters. "It's not like the weather has been the best. Have you told them?"

"I mentioned the snow, just not the depth of it," Rachel admits, looking sheepish as she shuts the door.

"I can settle for cereal you know," Quinn says, shrugging off the counter and opening the door. She takes the Cap'n Crunch box and shakes it, a smile coming to her lips with what is left being enough for her. Rachel smiles and turns around to take out the soy milk, and when she sits at the table, Quinn has already found Rachel's bran cereal, two bowls, and utensils.

The two eat in comfortable silence until Quinn leans back and quite bluntly announces, "Well, last night was unexpected."

Forcing herself to swallow, Rachel looks up. "Are you regretting it?" The fear in her voice is obvious and she wishes it wasn't so painful.

"Of course not," Quinn backtracks, leaning forward to grab Rachel's hand, "I just thought that, even if it wasn't technically our first time, you'd want it to be something much more special."

"Well, it was special," Rachel shrugs a shoulder, feeling heat return to her chest.

"Yes, well, I thought there would have been planning on your part at the very least," Quinn smirks, "Maybe even candles and a back massage to set the mood."

"I don't have to plan everything!" Rachel says defensively, though Quinn was right. She takes her hand away to pretend-pout and brings her bowl to the sink.

She only gets to turning around and Quinn is right behind her. She sets her hand on either side of Rachel, against the lip of the counter, and leans in, trapping her. Her very presence sends a shudder through Rachel, her warm breath faint across her jaw. The look she is giving her parallels the one from last night and Rachel vaguely wonders if this is how it's always going to be— Rachel succumbing to the power of those burning hazel eyes.

The next movements are gradual, heavy with purpose. Quinn's eyes never waver from Rachel's as she closes the space between their mouths and presses their lips in the perfect way they meld together. Of their own accord, Rachel's hands rise to tangle her fingers through Quinn's hair, a little flag in the back of her mind reminding her to not disrupt it. She doesn't need sex hair to alert her parents to what she has been doing all these days. Not that they seem to care…

"Quinn?" Rachel wants to say but instead whimpers. The question mark in her voice is the only thing that keeps Quinn from taking the shorter girl right there against the counter.

"Yes?"

"What do your parents think you're doing?" Her eyes are still closed and their lips are still touching but suddenly they aren't. She opens her eyes to see the expression of guilt on her face before it flits away.

"They think I stayed the night at Santana's last night," she says, meaning to sound confident, like there isn't a problem in the answer. It comes to Rachel's attention just then how close she is to Quinn now because beneath that seemingly level tone is that guilt she saw.

"What about Christmas?" Rachel asks, training her voice to keep from cracking.

Quinn takes a step back, seeing the direction their conversation is taking. "I said that Santana's parents are fighting again and her dad skipped out again for the night and she needed me."

"Do your parents even know who I am?" Rachel asks, the light coming to what should have been shed before all this even happened.

A shake of her head is all the rest of the pieces she needs to the puzzle. How Rachel didn't figure this out sooner, she doesn't know. All she does know now is that Rachel hasn't even been mentioned in their family, that all this time they have been spending together is a secret while Rachel dances in the kitchen in front of Puck because of how seemingly perfect their relationship is going. Is this how they're going to work? Are they going to spend the rest of the year a lie in order to protect Quinn from the scorn of her family at the prospect of their daughter dating another girl?

"Where do we stand, Quinn?" Rachel questions, feeling herself close in on herself a little in the way her arms wrap protectively across her chest. Even clothed she suddenly feels so naked.

"What do you mean?" Quinn repeats incredulously but in a soft tone, "You know how I feel about you, Rachel. You know how I've felt about you for a long time."

"I do now," the brunettes corrects, "but you're still hiding it. It's in plain sight but no one sees it. No one saw us kiss that day at the coffee shop and no one knows we've been spending every day together since Christmas. And why now? If you've liked me all this time, why are you just now doing something about it?" As she voices her new questions, she looks up, knowing her eyes are hardening as they land on Quinn's, that the closeness and comfort has dissipated from the air. Even though they stand a mere two feet apart, it feels so much more and it continues to spread.

"I want to figure things out before the rest of the world knows," Quinn starts, her façade falling at the expression she receives. It's very rare to see Quinn Fabray in her true, raw form and it's quickly showing on her face. "I've wanted to tell you, Rachel, but it was never right. You were either with Finn or focused on our Glee club tournaments or we were pretending to hate each other."

"Pretending? I really thought you hated me." Just thinking about it makes Rachel want to flinch but after all the practice she perfected in keeping her chin high and seemingly unaffected by her words keeps her from doing so.

"Because I was raised to believe the feelings I have are sinful!" Quinn insists, "My entire family is strictly Christian and anything against our religion is worthy of becoming disowned. I was disowned, remember? If they knew how I felt about you, about what we have done, I would be back on the streets for good."

"So you'd rather lie, as you did before now, in order to appease your family?" Rachel says, sounding much more harsh than she means to, "Do you not think that if you were disowned I wouldn't help you? Puck wouldn't help you? You have people who actually care about you for who you are and not what you stand for."

"Jesus, Rachel, do I have to say it?" Quinn throws her hands up, frustrated now, but with an edge to her voice that Rachel isn't quick enough to recognize before the blonde says, "I'm scared! I am scared of my feelings, of my family, of God, of the attention we would draw if we were open about our relationship! I always have control and if it slips from me for one second, I lose it all. I just wanted to focus on getting to you, to having you, to being with you before everyone else has to be let in our secret. I thought you would understand!"

I thought you would understand. The words bounce bitterly inside Rachel's head and this time, she flinches. She flinches at how loud Quinn's voice has risen and the accusation at the conclusion of her monologue. She should understand but somehow, it just felt like betrayal. It felt so much more real but knowing that the only person who knows of their relationship besides themselves is Puck seems so superficial. She wants to leap into Quinn's arms and have her hold her, whisper sweet things in her ear, kiss her jaw with those full, sensuous lips, but her feet stay planted and her eyes cast down, watering with tears that threaten to fall.

It hurts so much because she has never loved anyone the way she loves Quinn now. Knowing that only half of Quinn wants to be with her is not enough because the days they have spent together were filled with a complete Quinn, one who actually makes Rachel feel loved and whole and right. The fact that half of her still remains with the social norm of her family and society crushes her.

"Rachel, please," Quinn begs, her voice much softer and gentler than the last she spoke. She raises a hand, meaning to touch Rachel some way, any way, to see her eyes, to convey how contrite she is, but she fails, as she fears that she will always do, and drops her hand.

"Maybe you should go," Rachel utters, a hand flying up to swipe beneath her eye to catch the tear before it tracks down her cheek, "I need time to think."

"I don't want to leave you," Quinn says, sounding slightly panicked. Rachel knows it's because she feels herself losing control but she can't help that her chest aches and she just wants to be alone, to think.

When she doesn't say anything, Quinn swallows and forces her face into something that could pass as impassive if one didn't read her hard enough. She almost leans forward to press a fleeting kiss to Rachel's lips but with the way her head is ducked and her eyes won't meet hers, she resists the urge and slowly moves from the kitchen, hoping Rachel will call her back. When she doesn't, she wills her feet to carry her upstairs to gather her things and then back downstairs. Even at the bottom of the landing, her heart continues to sink and she grabs the knob of the front door, closing her eyes for a second, letting the cold metal bite into her palm. Still no sound is heard from the kitchen and she unlocks the door, steps outside into the cold, not quite so magical, winter and doesn't bother to put on her jacket.

From inside, Rachel pads silently to the front door, hidden behind the wood and peeking through the frosted window. Alone, she lets her tears run errant and watches Quinn collapse into her car, shutting the door, but not turning on the car. She stares forward, at her steering wheel, hands in her lap, fighting with herself. Rachel can practically feel it. She suddenly grips the steering wheel and shakes it, more herself than the actual car. She has a fit for a split second, her conflict emerging, and then it disappears just as quickly as she jams her keys into the ignition. She carefully reverses down the driveway and Rachel thanks her God as Quinn drives just as carefully down the road, even upset and still in control enough to know to be smart on the dangerous roads.

Once her car is out of sight, Rachel bites her lips to stop the sob from escaping. In a matter of a few minutes, her whole blissful world, built up by Quinn, has toppled. She turns and slams her back against the door, her head hitting the wood but her mind not registering the pain. She clenches her eyes, wanting the tears to stop, and rubs her hands over her cheeks angrily. Trying to catch her breath, she springs off the door and walks into the living room, turning on the space heater by the couch and nestling herself in a couple throw blankets. She reaches out from her nest to grab the remote and turn on Friends for background sound before huddling further in her blankets. Her hands curl beneath her chin, holding her chest like she fears it'll fall apart without the support, but the only thing that could really support her heart from breaking is Quinn and she isn't here anymore.

A couple hours pass and Rachel has dozed off. That is, until the front door bangs open and she bolts up, "Quinn!" leaving her mouth in a tone of desperation unlike her.

"Quinn?" Puck says as he strides into the living room. Whatever else he had to say died with his smile and his cocky saunter. Immediately, he sets the paper bag on the ground and throws off his coat, nearly falling on top of Rachel as he sits beside her. His hand touches her cheek and his scratchy thumb wipes away the rough paths of dried tears.

"What happened?" he asks, taking in her swollen, red eyes. He glances at the TV, seeing it on the main menu that it returns to once all the episodes on the disk are finished playing and figuring she must've fallen asleep.

"Quinn and I had an argument," Rachel croaks out, her voice constricted in her throat as she thinks back to the morning, "It was pretty serious."

"About what? What's going on?" Puck sounds so concerned, his dark brown eyes so fraught with confusion, that Rachel breaks into a water smile and just wraps her arms around his neck. Automatically, his circle her ribs, pulling her tight against his chest. She can smell his distinct smell, since Puck doesn't wear cologne. He smells good, indescribable, and maybe just a bit like Old Spice since he does have to worry about BO, being a boy and all. In his muscled arms, against his warm chest, she feels safe, but she can't help realizing Puck safe and Quinn safe are two different kinds of safe and Quinn's arms feel much more intimate.

Since she hasn't divulged anything of the morning argument, Puck settles with not having to hear it. She did say it was serious and Rachel Berry is one to talk. If she isn't talking, then something is definitely wrong and all he can do is sit there and hold her. Maybe get her to sleep some more. But not before one thing…

"You should talk to her," he whispers through her hair, leaning back against the couch subtly, "call her later tonight."

"Maybe," Rachel answers, muffled by the collar of his shirt. She rests her head on his shoulder, turning in his lap so that she is more cradled than embraced. Puck supports her spine along his arm, his hand resting on her side respectfully. His other hand grabs a blanket and throws it over her legs before resting his hand on her thigh. He just nods, accepting her uncertainty, and rocks just barely. Using his foot, he digs his toe beneath the remote and then kicks up, sending the device sailing through the air towards them. He catches it with his hand with a chuckle, like he knows how impressive his little feats are, and Rachel scoffs sleepily, closing her dry eyes. Puck presses "Play All" and the Friends episodes start all over, the volume low to blur their words and laughter.

When Rachel wakes up again, she is back to lying on the couch, amidst her many blankets. She sits up, feeling lagged from sleeping during the day. She rubs her recovering eyes and stretches, looking to the other couch where Puck has glanced up to see her waking, earphones in his ears. He gives her a crooked smile and then turns his attention back to the laptop on his knees, watching something as lights dance on his features.

Standing, Rachel throws the blankets back on the couch and walks to the kitchen. She finds a glass and fills it with water from the tap, taking a big drink. She feels her sweatpants pockets for her phone but meets her leg beneath the material. Finishing her glass, she sets it in the sink and jogs upstairs, taking a deep breath and forcing away thoughts and images from her mind that begin to remind her of why she is asleep so late in the day.

Upstairs, she takes her phone from her nightstand. There's a replied message from her fathers after what she sent this morning and then one other. Her heart drums unintentionally and it's because the text is from Quinn.

I'm sorry. Could I call you later?

Rachel gnaws her lips as her thumbs tap over the screen, Whenever is fine appearing in the reply box. She hits send without thinking, not wanting to think because she doesn't know how to feel.

A few minutes pass and her phone doesn't light up with Quinn's name on screen. She sets it down and lays back in her bed, failing to keep from rolling her head in the pillow to look at where she laid last night, Quinn's hands roaming her body, her lips traveling her skin, whispering things against her that had sunk in to the bone. It isn't lust that fills her stomach but nostalgia, feeling like last night was much longer ago and they were different people then.

A vibration drives itself into her chest and she sits up, knowing her phone is really what is vibrating because Quinn is calling her. She takes another deep breath and picks it up, sliding the "Answer" bar and holding the receiver up to her ear.

"Hi," comes Quinn's timid voice, sounding like she might have cried herself. It makes Rachel choke up.

"Hi," Rachel repeats, drawing her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers, the line static-y with the low wavelengths of her apology.

"I am too," Rachel admits, looking down at her bedspread, her fingers skimming the material.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Quinn rejects, "And if it's possible, I have even more to be sorry about."

It feels like someone has punched Rachel in the gut, or as close as she can imagine it to be. All she can recall is what it's like to have a stinging, cold slushie thrown in your face to match the stinging humiliation of a hallway's worth of students laughing at you.

When she doesn't say anything, Quinn continues, "I need to see you tomorrow."

An idea pops into her head. "I know where we can meet, if we aren't meeting long."

"I don't think you'd want to," Quinn murmurs. Rachel winces.

"Okay. Do you know where that small pond is, a couple miles outside of my neighborhood in the park?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you there after lunch."

It sounds like Quinn is struggling with something before she says, "Okay."

"Goodnight, Quinn," Rachel says, feeling tears in her eyes again and hating that she has cried so much already over something that wasn't even a real relationship.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

Hanging up, Rachel heads back downstairs, into the living room. One look at Puck and the Mohawk'd boy is up and back at her couch again, lifting a blanket and accepting her into his lap. Her wraps her up and holds her, humming something deep in his chest so that his warmth combined with his vibrating melody puts her to sleep before she has a real chance to cry.

December 30th, 2012 — 2:30 p.m.

"I'll be here when you get back, okay?" Puck says, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. He had to go home last night so Rachel woke up with a note scrawled in his bad handwriting so she wouldn't feel abandoned. It was nice enough to wake up to but didn't help the hole in her stomach.

"You don't have to be," Rachel assures, putting her coat on and sniffing, "I know your mom can't be too happy about your lack of presence at home."

"I'm not too happy about her lack of presence at home," Puck counters, mimicking her pedantic tone. He smiles. He mats down her hair meant to be in a soothing gesture and places a kiss on her forehead. She returns the smile with half the enthusiasm and gives him a quick hug before taking her keys from her purse, and leaving through the front door.

She jogs to her car, unlocks the door, and hops inside, shivering already. It hasn't snowed since the night Quinn was over so the roads have improved slightly, a Good Samaritan of the neighborhood having gone up and down the streets, sprinkling salt. Rachel turns on her car, sputtering to life with the lack of use recently, and revs it up in park to get the engine warmed up so she can turn on the heater. She didn't tell Quinn what time to meet exactly, but knowing the blonde, she'll probably already be there, waiting. She's always early.

Once she can turn on the heater, she does, and then the radio. One More Night by Maroon 5 plays and though it is a little uncanny, the song is too catchy and Rachel reluctantly adds her magnificent voice to Levine's.

She drives through the neighborhood and then outside of it, hardly noticing her surroundings, her mind on idle as she sings from song to song. The catty-corner chains on her tires give her peace of mind whenever she spots an ice patch but she still slows to pass over it before resuming a practical speed. Eventually, the houses thin and then an expanse of trees with a cement walk way cleared by shovel appear. The trees, barren and skeletal, are topped with tufts of snow, while beneath them, snow forts dot the forest floor. It was the best place to build, the snow not as high and packed as the snow unhindered by the trees. She smiles, thinking back when she used to build her own forts and command boys to attack for her. They more than often attacked her but somehow, she always felt like she controlled them.

Approaching a parking lot, her assumption is proven true as she spots Quinn's car. She pulls into the parking lot and parks a couple spaces away, turning off her car and keeping herself from immediately snapping her eyes over to find the blonde. When she tucks her keys into her jeans pocket and steps out of the car, locking the doors, does she turn to look.

Her eyes reflexively land on Quinn's hazel. Even in the distance, they shine but not the typical shine that Rachel has grown to see whenever the blonde looked at her. This kind of shine is of tears and regret and fear. Being able to see these emotions so blatantly scares Rachel and she fights panic and other emotions from suffocating her lungs. She pushes her hands into the warmth of her coat pockets and takes a couple tentative steps in Quinn's direction. The blonde shuts her car door and rounds the front, walking over and slowing as she approaches.

What she does next is unexpected and against what they spoke about the day prior. Quinn lifts a hand to firmly but tenderly take Rachel's left hand from her pocket. She falls in step beside her, her fingers threading with Rachel's tightly, and she pulls her forward, angled for the entrance through the wrought-iron fence to the park. Rachel sucks in a sharp, cold breath and brings her eyes back to the asphalt peeking through patches of ice and matted snow. Together, they walk hand in hand into the park, following the shoveled path.

Silence is the only greeting between them. Their boots crunch in unison against the crisp snow beneath their feet, having melted and then frozen in the night. Quinn doesn't swing their hands but keeps them tight by their side. She doesn't try to hide it by pressing their sides together, but actually gives Rachel some space, their hands suspended together. In her peripheral, Rachel can see Quinn looking forward, her lips a thin line. She wears a little, layered beanie on the crown of her head, covering her ears. Her long blonde hair falls in tangled curls around her shoulders, fluttering in the gentle breeze accompanied by winter that nips the exposed skin and stings the eyes.

They walk this way for what seems much longer than the few minutes it takes to get to the pond. Despite the apparent cold of the night to freeze over the water, the pond is roped off with signs every couple yards warning residents and visitors alike to please refrain from ice skating on the pond. They walk right up to the rope, Rachel unable to keep from poking the toe of her boot against a peg and pushing it around in the snow.

Something forces her to look up and she meets Quinn's eyes evenly, watching her. Quinn blinks, something else entirely flashing in her eyes, and instead of disappearing, it remains there, taunting Rachel to figure out what exact emotion is swimming in those amber orbs.

"I love you."

Simple. Easy. Blunt. Three words. No prologue. No forewarning. Just three simple, easy, blunt words.

But that's just it. They're not simple. They're not easy. They are definitely blunt with nothing to prepare Rachel for the full weight of them falling so entirely from Quinn's lips. Her breath catches in her throat, too cold and stabbing, but it doesn't matter. Her mind reels for a second before stopping and everything beside Quinn's angelic, cold face falls away. She can't feel her hand in Quinn's anymore but flexes her fingers, reaffirming they are still locked together.

She loves me.

"I—" but the words are cut off by warm lips pressing against her own and she has to close her eyes to soak in the spark that lances between them, knowing they still have that to look forward to. When Quinn pulls back, it's with a rush of air, like it is the most regrettable thing she has to do. The worst has yet to come.

"Please," she pants, eyes still closed, brows furrowed like she is in pain, "Don't. Say. It. I told you I love you because I do, I love you more than I thought I was capable of feeling for one person but you have proven so much to me, opened my eyes to things that I never thought I could see… I just had to tell you. And it might be the last time I tell you."

"What?" Rachel strangles out, throat seizing up, "Why?"

"Because I won't see you tomorrow," she replies, licking her lips, eyes still closed. She leans forward the last few inches to rest their foreheads together, needing the contact between then, their fingers still wound together for dear life. "I may hate myself for never taking the risk or I may hate my family for not letting me be who I want to be. Do you understand?"

Tomorrow, she'll either tell them or she won't Rachel tells herself, closing her eyes as well. She understands and she gives the smallest of nods. It may also be the last time she hears Quinn tell her she loves her because, if she doesn't tell her family, she won't allow herself to be near Rachel again, to save her the heartache, and if she does tell her family, who knows how they may react. They may disown her, they may repress her, they may deny the fact their daughter is in love with another girl and forbid her to ever see her again.

"What about after graduation?" Rachel whispers, her heart fighting to pump through the ache washing in waves over her entire body.

"I won't make you wait for me," Quinn murmurs, "It isn't fair. You deserve to have a full, happy life, and after all I have done to you, I won't do this worst thing of all to you."

"You're worth the wait," Rachel insists.

"No," Quinn bites, "I am nothing to wait on. I used to humiliate you, bully you, torture you. I tore you down because I tore myself down every night I tried to convince myself I wasn't in love with you. I made you sophomore and junior year hell to make up for the hell I was living inside my head. I prayed to God every chance I got for him to help me, for me to see the reason behind why I had such feelings for you, to change my ways, but he never answered and I realized it was because there is nothing wrong with how I love you. I won't let you wait a minute on me. I won't let you hold yourself back when you can move on and become the star you are meant to."

"You can't stop me," Rachel fires back, pressing her forehead harder against Quinn's, "because I will wait for you tomorrow and I will wait for you while the clock ticks those last ten seconds."

"Don't hate me," Quinn warns urgently, "You can't hate me."

"I will always love you."

December 31st, 2012 — 12:05 p.m.

"Nervous?" Puck asks, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders. His other hand holds a bowl of Rachel's bran because they don't have much cereal left and he didn't want to make anything else. After his third complaint, Rachel threatened to sock him in the mouth if he doesn't stop dissing her favorite cereal.

"For lack of a better term," Rachel deadpans, staring at the tile of the kitchen, "What if she doesn't come?"

"She has to, Rache," Puck soothes, tilting the bowl afterwards to take a drink of milk, "She loves you."

"What if that isn't enough?" she asks for the umpteenth time.

Abruptly, the bowl clatters in the sink and Puck is standing before her. He cups her cheeks and guides her eyes to meet his, again, his dark chocolate capturing her and his honesty all the more powerful.

"I'm not exactly an advocate on love but I can see it in your eyes and I can see it in her eyes— you love each other and she will come."

Rachel lets herself absorb up every bit of Puck is gazing into her and then jumps against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and lifts her into the air, spinning her, her pleated skirt whirling in the air. She squeals and moves a hand to hold down the back, wanting to remain modest despite the lack of an audience.

"I love you, my hot little Jewish American princess," he announces loudly.

"I love you too, Noah," Rachel laughs as she is set back down and Puck dances out into the living room.

Following him, she plops down on the couch to watch another disk of Friends. Puck hurries about, setting up everything for their little party. Rachel made it clear that this time, the party must be much smaller. The clean-up process of the last one was too long and arduous. Finding random cans of Red Bull behind drawers and such is not fun to clean up and especially with the idea of her fathers finding out about what she has been doing while they were gone.

A knock sounds on the door and Rachel jumps up. Seeing Puck prepare to sprint before her, she darts down the hallway, giggling when she feels his hands on her shoulders, trying to stop her from reaching the door before he does. They end up piling up into the door, surprising the person on the other side. Puck twists the knob and slings the door open, pushing Rachel away.

Outside, Sam shivers, holding a couple plastic grocery bags.

"Puck said you needed food?" he says questioningly. Seeing the cute boy face and the shaggy blonde hair, Rachel squeals again and grabs his arm, pulling him inside. Taking the bags from his arms, he laughs and gives her a one-armed hug while Puck puts his boots and jacket on to get the rest of the groceries from Sam's car.

In the kitchen, Rachel rifles through cereal, milk, some organic crap that is so stereotypical, it makes her laugh, and organizes everything onto their proper shelves. Working keeps her from thinking and not thinking too much keeps her from worrying if Quinn is going to show up tonight. Crumpling up the plastic bags and storing them in a rope sack just inside the pantry door for later use, she awaits the next onslaught of groceries.

"Who paid for this?" Rachel asks as the door shuts and the two boys walk in with the last of the bags.

"I did," Puck answers, sitting a case of beer on the counter with a roll of eyes from Rachel, "You said you needed more groceries in the house so I snagged some extra dough."

"Wow, Noah," Rachel sighs, taking the beer and setting inside the refrigerator for later. He laughs behind her and she leaves back into the living room, letting the two chat and put away the rest of the food.

Back on the couch, she glances over her shoulder with a bemused smile at the bar Puck has set back up and the table for beer pong. Rachel remembers the Christmas party and how Blaine got her and Quinn to do shots with him and Kurt. A surge of pride at being the second fastest to down her shots goes through her chest and she smiles, before pushing it all away because Quinn is all too overwhelming in her head and she really just needs to watch more Friends.

After a couple minutes, the two boys walk from the kitchen. Sam tosses a football across the way, Puck diving into the couch to catch it with a bark of a laugh.

"Don't throw things in the house!" Rachel snaps, sitting forward and pointing with the remote threateningly.

"What? Not even you?" Sam counters, smiling his wide, wide smile and leaning down to grab Rachel's arms and pull them over his head so he could pick her up. She begins screaming for him to put her back down even as he stands with her over his shoulder. Again, her hand goes back to hold down her skirt but Sam bats the hand away to slap her ass jokingly.

"Nuh uh," Puck interjects. Rachel peers around Sam's other shoulder to see Puck pointing with one hand, the other drawn back to throw the football. "Don't touch my little princess like that, bro."

"What you gonna do?" Sam taunts, raising a hand again. Rachel slaps at his wrist but he keeps his hand poised, waiting for Puck to react to his next impending slap.

Suddenly, Rachel is whirling around, screaming, as Sam dodges the football launched at his head. It bounces off the shoulder not holding Rachel and ricochets to hit a picture frame and knock it to the floor with a shatter.

"Noah Puckerman!" Rachel shrieks, coming to a halt once Sam realizes the damage. She slinks off his arm, stumbling at the height, and then runs over to the broken picture of her fathers in Cancun.

"Shit, sorry, Rache," Puck apologizes timorously, walking over to pick up a couple jagged pieces of glass. He pulls away when Rachel decks him in the arm.

"Jeez, do you know how much your punches hurt?" he asks, looking like a hurt puppy as he rubs his arm.

"Don't throw things in the house!" she repeats, picking up the picture and setting it back. She points at the glass. "Clean up the mess."

"Yes mom," he mutters, sweeping the shards into his palm. Rachel rolls her eyes and looks at Sam, who appears just as sheepish. He offers a small smile, strange for his big mouth, and she can't help but smirk at how adorable he is.

The rest of the afternoon drags by, Puck and Sam employing themselves to decorate with tacky streamers and banners that shout "Happy New Year's!" or "2013!" with little blue stars that hang off curly strings. Rachel complains about the lack of gold stars and Sam huffs as he trudges back out to the store, only to return with a package of gold and silver streams with gold stars on them. She pecks him on the cheek, which seems to lift his spirits, and he continues about adding to the already festive living room and kitchen. Rachel has to intercept a Solo cup on its way to Puck's mouth to keep him from starting on the drinking too early and he reluctantly puts his drink away in a cabinet with a hinge that creaks so that "the little bossy party-pooper" as Puck put it, hears when he tries to sneak it again.

Pausing in the middle of the living room after nudging away the coffee table for the dance floor, Rachel pulls out her phone. She knows she doesn't have a text from the one person she wants to hear from more than anyone else, considering they haven't talked since they parted ways after their walk around the frozen pond where Quinn actually revealed she was scared of ice skating ("because who's genius idea was it to skate around on razor blades and then decided to do jumps and pirouettes?"). She answers a text to Lauren Zizes about wondering if there needs to be more alcohol with a scoff and a polite rejection, and then stares blankly at her screen. Her background is the night sky, each individual star beaming. Somehow, the idea of her stars and the purpose they hold in which she hopes to become a star, doesn't seem to matter so much anymore. She'd much rather have a picture of her and Quinn, holding hands, one kissing the other's cheek, or doing something silly so that when someone sees the picture, they smile and point, saying "Aren't they just perfect for each other?"

Because Rachel thinks so. Scratch that. She tucks away her phone with a tight smile, knowing her and Quinn are perfect for each other.

Their friends begin to arrive at 8, first Tina and Mike, carrying a platter of vegan-friendly party food to which Rachel thanks them profoundly and whisks away to prepare. Blaine and Kurt show up next, looking fabulous as ever, with Finn in tow.

"Hi, Rachel," he greets, sidling inside the door before she could close it, as if she would be so rude as to slam it in his face. She considered it.

"Hello, Finn," Rachel returns, putting on a kind face though she'd rather not be talking with him right now.

He gestures with one of his large hands, "How are you?" He has that little smile to the corner of his lips, the kind he gets when he is a little uncomfortable and trying to figure out what is best to say or do in the situation.

"I am fine, thank you," she says, sensing Kurt approaching before he walks up.

"Hey!" he says excitedly, wrapping his arms around Rachel's neck in an embrace. Hurriedly, he whispers, "I'm sorry I had to bring him Dad said it would be good for him if he got out more often and I really hope you aren't mad."

Rachel laughs and pulls away, shaking her head, "I'm not mad, Kurt. The more the merrier, I guess." She turns to Finn, "Make yourself comfortable. It's nice to have you here."

Finn's small smile grows wider and he thanks Rachel before loping off into the living room, hands stuck deep in his pockets. Rachel laughs beneath her breath and pats Kurt's cheek, the boy sighing, and she turns away to the kitchen.

Not soon after, Puck walks in, that damn red cup in hand and a curious expression on his features.

"Yo, you're not mad about Finn being here are you?" he jerks a thumb in the direction of the living room, his voice low, "I can get him to leave if you're uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Rachel declines, taking a cracker and some substitute cheese to eat. She leans against the counter with one hand. "He deserves to have a good New Year's just like the rest of us. I'm completely over him and our breakup. I happen to love someone else, you know."

A sly grin comes to Puck's face and he sidesteps over, slinking his free arm around her side.

"Quinn really has your heart, doesn't she?" he says, that seemingly sly smile actually a smile of content in hiding. Rachel nods, blushing, and then grabs his cup, taking a big drink. It burns more than one would expect a mixed drink to and she hands it over, slapping the back of her hand against his chest.

"At least dilute it a little, Noah," she admonishes, stepping from his arm to walk into the living room while finishing her cracker.

Just as she passes through the entry way into the living room, from the hall comes a loud voice and two figures. She already guesses who they are before facing them.

"The party has arrived!" Santana announces, throwing her arms in the air. Brittany giggles at her side and then prances over to the bar happily, Puck quickly manning the drinks to mix something up for her. Santana greets a few of her friends before her eyes land on Rachel and she lifts a lip.

"What are you wearing?" she asks, disgust lining her words.

Rachel looks down at her skirt and sweater, the usual Rachel Berry style. Since she think the party wasn't going to be as big and important as the Christmas party, she didn't try to dress up as much. She felt much more in her own skin with her animal sweaters, even if wearing a hot dress can feel free and liberating.

"This is a new sweater," Rachel tries to defend, pick at the end of the sleeve.

"You can't wear any of this junk after what you flaunted Christmas Eve," Santana snaps, grabbing Rachel's hand, "We are changing right now."

"Have you had anything to drink?" Rachel asks curiously, letting herself be dragged away from the living room and up the stairs. In front of her, Santana laughs and that's all the reply she gets.

Once in her bedroom, Santana makes a few quips about the look of the room and then begins scrounging through the closet. Rachel guesses most of her clothing isn't very pleasing from the amount of Spanish the Latina is uttering in distaste. Santana herself is wearing a skin-tight dress and fur vest, heeled boots tied up to her knees and accentuating the curve of her ass that Rachel has to look away from.

"Staring, Berry?" Santana has an eyebrow quirked and a pleasantly cunning glint in her eye, her hand halted on a hanger.

Rachel flushes and looks somewhere else, stuttering an excuse. She hears her hangers clanking together and then the muffled footfalls of Santana's heels on her carpet as the darker girl walks over. Surprisingly, a hand slides underneath the corner of Rachel's jaw and she's is forced to look up at Santana, her eyes wide with shock and her tongue leaden in her mouth. A thumb grazes the line of her jaw tenderly.

Santana holds another dress, a little more modest than the one she last wore, but that doesn't matter in comparison to the darkening of her already deep brown eyes. She stands directly in front of Rachel, smirking, her fingertips feathering over Rachel's hairline behind her ear.

"What are you doing?" Rachel somehow gets out, unable to pull away from the caress.

"You didn't let me kiss you at the last party," Santana replies simply and Rachel can't help glancing at her full, red lips. She feels a twinge of guilt in her chest for giving even a fraction of a second to imagine what it would be like to kiss the Cheerio and looks back to Santana's eyes, wishing it was Quinn who is touching her face. Everything would be so much easier if Quinn was just here.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Rachel says, remembering Quinn ask that very line the last time Santana made a move on her.

"Brittany understands," Santana provides, her fingers now tracing down Rachel's neck and against her will, raising goosebumps in the wake, "She knows I have a little crush on you."

"On me?" Rachel sputters, standing and finding the courage to bat away Santana's hand. This is so wrong. Another beautiful cheerleader girl who has tortured her for years is revealing some form of feelings for her victim?

"Oh, come on, you were staring at my ass," Santana calls, her hand slapping her bare thigh in exasperation. That's how short her dress is. "You wouldn't be looking if you didn't like what you saw."

"Maybe I just appreciate your body," Rachel counters, though it comes out weak and sounding more like a compliment. She crosses her arms over her chest.

Santana just looks at Rachel, waiting for her to backtrack from the compliment. When she just sees the little diva blush further, she rolls her eyes and sighs. Taking the dress from the hanger, she tosses it over, and while Rachel is busied with catching the dress, she steps closer and grabs her chin.

"If Quinn doesn't show up for the countdown, I will kiss you," she warns. Rachel feels a flutter of surprise and panic at Santana's knowledge of their secret relationship and it must show on her face because Santana gives a shred of humorless laughter. "I know about you two. Why else would Quinnie have looked after you all Christmas Eve like some clingy girlfriend already? Remember, Berry. No Quinn, my kiss."

With that, she lets go of Rachel's face and strides out of the room, shutting the door to leave Rachel alone to change.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

The entirety of Glee club with the exception of Quinn is at the party. Music plays from the surround sound her fathers had spent a weekend configuring, leaving Rachel pleased to know that the Christmas party didn't screw them up. A couple Gleeks dance in the space provided, Santana and Brittany of some of them, and more than once has Rachel caught Santana eyeing her, Brittany wearing a knowing, sultry smirk. To cover up her flush, Rachel makes sure to nurse her beer slowly, keeping her eyes away from the Latina. Out on the patio, Mercedes, Artie, and Joe laugh boisterously about something the wheelchair-confined boy was describing, and in the kitchen, she can hear Kurt and Blaine rummaging around the food, having already had a couple shots and enjoying their buzz. Puck leans against his bar chatting with Mike while Tina dances with Sam. A couple other friends are off doing their thing, or in Finn's case, chilling on one of the couches with a drink in hand and occupying themselves.

Polishing off her beer, Rachel stands and fixes the hem of her dress. She avoids glancing at Santana and walks over to the bar, setting the glass bottle down before Puck, wordlessly asking for another.

"How many have you had already?" Mike asks, directing the conversation to Rachel as Puck cracks the top of another beer and slides it to the little diva.

"Just two," she says nonchalantly, taking a sip from her third. She shrugs a shoulder and lets her eyes flit to Puck for just a moment. In that moment, he nods imperceptibly, understanding her downcast mood. A certain blonde hasn't made her appearance yet.

"Are you in the mood for a dance?" Mike suggests, pushing off the bar in case she accepts.

"That's sweet, Mike, but no thank you." Rachel gestures with her beer and takes another drink.

"What about a game of beer pong, one-on-one?" the tall Asian attempts again, taking a long step back and presenting the uninhabited table set up again for the specified game.

With a dramatic sigh, Rachel nods, letting a smile come easy to her lips. Mike fist pumps and grabs the case of beer Puck is handing over the bar to fill up the empty Solo cups. Rachel engages one end, takes a last pull of her bottle, and sets it on a cabinet near her. She watches as the dancer pops open a can of beer and begins filling a quarter of each cup. Finished with his end, he hustles around the side of the table to Rachel's, smirking at her as he begins with her cups. Puck rounds the bar and holds up a ping pong ball before the brunette. He kisses it with a flourish and hands it over, explaining "for good luck!"

Holding the ping pong ball poised, she waits for Mike to reach his end before asking, "Bounce or toss?"

"Whichever," Mike shrugs, rubbing his palms together in anticipation for their game.

Hoping Puck's luck helps her, considering her abilities only range in music and not athleticism of any sort, she aims and flicks her wrist down. The ball bounces and clips the last cup on Mike's side, not making it into any of his cups. With a whoop, Mike catches the ball and then takes stance, choosing to toss instead of bounce. After a second of concentration, he flicks his fingers, the ball sailing in a small arc before plopping perfectly in a cup.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel plucks the ping pong ball out and takes the cup, downing it. She throws the cup Puck's way to take care of, giving him a dirty glare for his poor luck, and then decides to toss this time. Aiming, she does the same as Mike and pops her fingers, the ball bridging and hitting the rim of a cup and landing in another.

"That's my girl!" Puck cheers, Mike taking the ball out to drink his cup.

The game continues, neck and neck, though Rachel suspects Mike is purposely going easy on her. In the end, he wins with two cups left over and Rachel is in a nice, hazy state of mind. She bounces into Mike's arms for a big hug and thanks him for the game, which actually has succeeded in taking her mind off Quinn for the time being.

She picks up her previously abandoned beer bottle more out of habit than wanting to drink even more, excuses herself, and makes her way to the bathroom. She averts the dance floor and kitchen, really needing to pee and not be sidetracked, and breathes a sigh of relief when she's home free. Locking the bathroom door behind her, she sets her beer on the sink and relieves herself. Once at the sink, washing her hands, she looks up into the mirror and the absent-minded smile fades.

The last time she was in this bathroom, she didn't see herself in the mirror. She had been standing in front of Quinn and all she could see in the mirror was long blonde waves down between shoulder blades clad by a white mini cardigan. She remembers it as the first time she saw that shine in her green-gold starburst eyes, when she admitted she felt safe and wanted to spend time with Rachel rather than anyone else. She came to that party because of Rachel. Maybe she came because she thought it was finally the right time to try and prove her feelings. In a way, she did. She showed that they were friends, that they had some level of trust, and it paved the way for their night to continue developing into something that seemed like a mistake when it really opened them to what they were too scared to reveal.

Conflicted, Rachel looks down at her hands beneath the spout of warm water and slaps the tap off. She grabs the towel hanging on the rack and wipes her hands off. She wants to be happy, to relive the past five wonderful days she just spent with Quinn, but at the same time she is upset. She is upset because Quinn isn't here and she might not come at all and she'll have to kiss Santana, which is pretty much just as good as kissing to seal the deal with the Devil and accept that a relationship with the girl she loves won't happen.

Throwing the towel back on its rack, she leans against the sink, closing her eyes tightly. She breathes heavily through her mouth, in, out, and tells herself not to cry. She's thinking too much again and there's always a time and place that is right to do that. In a situation like this and for the sake of her sanity, she can't afford to overanalyze everything right now.

Standing straight, chin up, and swallowing tears, she grabs her beer and takes a strong drink before leaving the bathroom.

The majority of the night is spent walking around, beer in hand, socializing with her friends and catching up with them over the break. A lot of them have been spending time with family and friends, deciding that it is best to use their money on things that they'd like rather than go out of town to see other relatives. About half of the Glee club is well on their way to drunk and it's quite hilarious listening to their accounts of festivities on all their free days. Rachel feels pretty good herself, which serves to solve many things on her mind, and she even gives in to a dance with Mike and Tina. The two sandwich her and laugh, Tina a good couple inches taller actually, and make fun of Rachel's height. Even in her heels, she is still easily the shortest person at the party and it is well aware. After the song, Rachel pries herself away despite their attempts to persuade her to keep dancing, and goes to have a seat. She knows Finn is trying to find the courage to talk to her at the bottom of his cups but every time he tries to make eye contact, Rachel pretends to be distracted by someone else in the room.

Eventually, the hour she dreads nears. The music is switched off and the TV is turned to a program showing live coverage of Time's Square. It gives Rachel a strange swell of pride, seeing the land she wishes to associate herself with some day. Crowds cheer and celebrate as in ten easy minutes, the east coast will ring in the new year. Abruptly, Mercedes and Kurt jet through the living room, bags of confetti in their hands, hollering and whooping and throwing the shreds of sparkly paper through the air. Shouts and laughter erupt at the confetti raining around and Rachel looks up to watch it fall around her face, tickling her cheeks. She should be happy, she is with people she cares the most about, but none of them would matter if the one she loves was here. On the outside she appears to be fine, tipsy even, mingling with her friends, but on the inside, she is tearing slowly apart. She won't have the kiss she wants to have and each passing minute slices a little deeper into her chest.

Picking the pieces of glossy, shredded paper from her hair, someone wraps their arms around her waist and spins her around. For a wild second, she imagines Quinn being the one whirling her around to face her, but instead, Sam grins boyishly down at her. He slides one hand up into hers while his other arm remains wound around her waist. He lulls them into a sort of slow dance.

"How are you?" he asks, his voice lowered so it is a conversation just between the two of them. For someone has had about three beers and a couple shots, he's pretty stable and his words hardly slur.

"I'm fantastic," Rachel fibs. She feels fine but not the best she could or should be. Her lie must be weak however because Sam gives her an expression of skepticism.

"Quinn's not here," he says, twirling them, "I dated her, remember. I was with her long enough to know the little shifts in her attitude and pick up little quirks here and there. She likes you. And you're not as happy as you could be if she were here."

Rachel's eyes dart nervously around them, making sure no one is listening. It's not that she's afraid for her reputation but that she is afraid for Quinn's. Quinn is so secretive and mysterious and she wanted to keep their relationship on the down low until she could figure things out for herself. If anyone overhears what Sam is saying, it could really ruin any chance, no matter how slim, they might still have by causing Quinn to become angry and possibly feel betrayed.

"No one is paying attention, Rache," Sam soothes, taking a step away from the crowd to alleviate her nerves, "I just wanted to talk to you to let you know I understand. I know you have Puck but if he isn't available at the time, you have me, too."

He gives her a small smile again, his baby blue eyes so caring, and Rachel can't help but return the smile again. She leans up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek, chuckling through her nose. He spins them once rapidly, earning a laugh from the short girl, and then pulls away, the only connection between the two of them being their hands they still hold. His eyes hover past her shoulder and his eyebrow twitches with intrigue. Rachel looks over her shoulder to see Santana sauntering over, a seemingly innocent smile on her face. It looks more like a smile that a psychopath should be wearing.

"Hello, Guppy Mouth," she greets. She reaches up to take their interlocked hands and pry them open, sliding her smooth hand in Rachel's. Sam ignores the name and rolls his eyes at Rachel. Rachel gives a silent apology and he waves it away, smiling.

Now that Sam is gone, Santana turns her attention to Rachel. That smile now has a quality of triumph.

"Ready for our kiss?" Santana asks, her hand snaking around Rachel's waist and pulling them close. Rachel can feel the heat of the other's body through her dress and tries not to focus on how attracted she could be to the Latina if she wasn't so caught up on another girl.

"No," Rachel admits simply, deciding to keep even eye contact.

"Good," Santana says as if it were the answer she was looking for, "Only two minutes to go."

"Why won't you kiss Brittany?" Rachel asks, hoping she could stall Santana for those two minutes and miss the countdown so she wouldn't have to kiss her. If she doesn't kiss anybody, does that mean the chance to date Quinn is still there?

"Because I get to kiss her and do much more any time I want," the darker girl purrs. Rachel suppresses an eye roll. She can smell the alcohol on the girl's breath.

"Since when did we become friends?" Rachel starts again, keeping her hands light on Santana's hip and in her hand, despite the fingers that capture hers tightly.

"Please, Berry, we've been friends for a while," Santana scoffs, "When I finally got used to how annoying you were, I realized you aren't as bad as I thought and we could actually get along."

"Lucky me," Rachel deadpans, appearing to be distracted by something else in the room. A hand suddenly has her chin again and she's once again looking into dark, dark eyes.

"Do you know when you act disinterested or the slightest bit hard-to-get, it just makes me want you more?" Santana voices, her tone velvety thanks to her Hispanic background.

"Sucks to lose at your own game, huh?" Rachel fires back, getting a little fed up with Santana's antics. She just wants Quinn.

Santana opens her mouth to say something, her eyes narrowing predatorily, when someone shouts "Countdown!" and the volume on the TV is turned up. So much for stalling. Instead of saying anything, Santana's mouth curves into a suspecting smile and she pulls back to wait for the impending countdown.

Rachel's heartbeat spikes. She feels adrenaline begin to lace into her veins, the alcohol in her system doing little to make matters better. She glances at the TV behind Santana, the giant disco ball atop the tower lights up and a big screen below it begins the timer. A bright 10 flashes on the screen. Everyone in the room chants along, their voices combined. Her breath hitches even though she feels like not enough air is reaching her and she can't bear to look at Santana's face again.

Quinn isn't here.

Quinn isn't coming.

Quinn said she loves her and Rachel told her she loves her back. Puck said that kind of love would be enough but it obviously isn't because a giant 5 crashes against her, knocking more air out of her. She feels the tears prick her eyes, her mouth open without anything to say, and her hands go numb. With nowhere else to look and not wanting to see those damn numbers count down the last moments of 2012, her eyes meets Santana's.

What she is met with surprises her. Her dark eyes now hold a pinch of saddening recognition. That triumphant smile is gone and it suddenly occurs to Rachel that Santana understands how much Quinn truly means to her and isn't some game that started at the Christmas party.

The voices continue to cheer with the numbers.

Rachel blinks away tears and tries to register what it all means.

Santana takes a short breath and leans in, the furrow to her brow relaying just how sorry she is, the kiss no longer some kind of prize but a metaphor that interprets that if Quinn isn't here, then there is no relationship.

January 1st, 2013 — 12:00 a.m.

"That's my kiss!" someone shatters the hysteria of reaching 1.

The room goes silent save the TV displaying the celebration of Time's Square and no one bothers to do anything about the volume.

Slipping out of Santana's grasp with no resistance, Rachel turns. Her heart stops. A tear slips down her cheek. She lets out a sharp sigh of astonishment.

The room parts to make way for Quinn as the stricken blonde hurries across the threshold. Rachel stands still, hoping this is true and not some twisted figment of her imagination, but when those hands cup her face and those lips transcend on hers, she knows it's not and Quinn is really kissing her. Her body melts against hers, her hands flying up to grasp Quinn's wrists so hard her knuckles turn white. She's pulling her close, kissing her deeper. Her eyes screw shut, tears still falling, making their cheeks slick. She feels Quinn's body release a held breath and somewhere in the background, in the distance of the world falling away like the day at the pond when Quinn said Rachel's three favorite words, the brunette can hear the ecstatic praise from their friends, all their dim shouts and applauds and whistles.

But none of them matter. Nothing matters.

Rachel is the first to break the kiss, pulling back to affirm that it is really Quinn. She's met with the hazel eyes she's come to adore, filled with unshed tears. Rachel lets a shred of laughter escape her damp lips, and flings herself into Quinn's arms. The blonde sobs into Rachel's neck, holding Rachel impossibly tight around the waist, keeping her suspended in the air, every line of their bodies pressed together. Hidden by the curtain of chestnut hair, Quinn begins to cry, holding the one person in her life that can make her feel like she is important, the one person in whose eyes she is perfect.

This is where they're meant to be and this is who their meant to be with.

A/N: I've really fallen in love with this story and through my hectic schedule, have actually put some much more thought and detail into this story than I originally planned... so I apologize for taking so fucking long to write this whole chapter. I did have to fit like six days in here or something, so I hope you all forgive me.

I do have one last part to end the story with and it won't be nearly as long but just as sweet. I hope you have all enjoyed it as much as I have writing it!

Many loves and kisses!

-x