AN: sorry that this has taken so long - life is totally getting in the way of writing at the moment, so updates are unfortunately going to be few and far between. Thanks for continuing to read - it does have a story arc planned, I promise. And thank you very much for the reviews - it is always good to get feedback that a few people are actually reading this.

Chapter 4 - Reunion

Santana swallowed another paracetamol and chased it with the bottle of San Pelligrino that sat waiting on her desk. Her head was throbbing. Not the horrendous pounding of when she had first awoken, but throbbing nonetheless, and she wished that she was anywhere but in the office with a stack of files on her desk that some attractive paralegal had deposited with a flash of a smile. Yeah, Santana Lopez was not feeling her best.

She was concentrating hard on the text before her, a small frown line between her brows, when she felt the unusual sensation of someone watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to rise, knowing before she did who it was.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she looked up from her work. Quinn leant against the doorframe, a familiar smirk on her lips, and Santana could swear that not a day had gone by since they had last seen each other.

'Hi,' the blonde smiled, unable to hide the excitement that flickered in her expression. Santana knew her too well for that.

'Fabray,' she tried to keep her tone level and Q raised an eyebrow.

'Lopez.'

And before she knew she was moving, she found herself out of her desk chair and across the room, pulling the blonde roughly by the front of her shirt into her arms, crushing her tightly in her embrace.

'Two years? Two years Quinn? Christ!' she swore, feeling the woman's answering strength as she returned the embrace, holding onto the Latina with an intensity that Santana knew equalled her own. They were closer than family. They had always had something, but in the years that had passed between the tragedy and the doctor's flight to Cambodia, Quinn had become closer to her than a sister. Santana had always felt that she could see Quinn better than she could see herself and it was true in reverse as well.

The scent of her, the sweet smell of coconut and spice, was new. A perfume or shampoo that the blonde hadn't used before, well at least not before she had left the country. Santana pulled back and looked at her critically. Sun-kissed skin, ragged blonde hair that had grown out of its original style, faint smile lines about her eyes… but the hazel eyes were the same, that same thinly veiled exasperation as she tolerated Santana's scrutiny.

'Two years!' she slapped at the other woman's arm, once, twice, before her eyes focussed in on the thin scar that ran smoothly up into the blonde's hairline, faint but unmistakable. 'What the hell? What the hell is this? How did you get this?'

'It's a scar, Santana,' Quinn smiled faintly.

'I can see that, smart arse, how did you get it?'

'Bike accident,' Q replied vaguely.

'On one of those moto things? Were you wearing a helmet?'

'I do now,' Q replied with a shrug. There was no way that she was volunteering more information.

'I should kick your ass, Fabray,' the lawyer growled.

'I missed you too, Santana,' Quinn seemed unperturbed and Santana hit her arm again.

'Seriously, two years! Two YEARS! And you come back covered in scars.'

'In fairness, most of the scars were there before I left,' Quinn remarked somewhat darkly, 'and besides, Jasper always said that my scars were the most beautiful thing about me.'

'Which is why you shouldn't listen to that baboon,' Santana snapped, continuing her critical survey whilst holding the blonde at arms-length. 'He is clearly deluded.'

'He's an artistic genius.'

'Same difference,' Santana pursed her lips, frowning, 'you're thin. Are you eating?'

'Now you are seriously starting to sound like your mother,' Quinn rolled her eyes.

'Answer the question, Fabray,' Santana replied sternly.

'Of course I'm eating, you doofus,' Quinn shrugged her friend's grip off her, and wrapped an arm about the Latina as she led her into the office, 'which is partly why I'm here. I've had this little sushi craving for eighteen months, and I can't stand it anymore. I made a reservation for two at Mishima. You and me, San. Can you take a break?'

The brunette looked at her incredulously.

'At Mishima? Finally dipping into that inheritance of yours?'

'I'm getting over my guilt complex,' Quinn shrugged. But there was something about the blonde's studied casualness that reminded Santana of the pain that still lingered beneath the surface. She knew Quinn Fabray like the back of her hand. She bit her lip to stop the words that she wanted to say from tumbling from her lips.

'I have no issue helping you spend your fortune,' she quipped instead, catching the flicker at the corner of Q's eyes. Yeah. Santana Lopez could still read Fabray like an open book, and for a moment she felt a pang of regret for the girl that she had once known, the one who hadn't had this darkness hidden behind her hazel eyes.

It was almost an hour later that Santana watched with a bemused expression as Quinn devoured the last of a platter of sashimi. She may be eating delicately, dipping the tuna in a carefully balanced mix of soy sauce and wasabi with her thin chopsticks, but Quinn was showing absolutely no sign of stopping.

'Seriously, Q, have you actually been eating over there?'

'That question is getting old,' the blonde replied pointedly.

'You know it is going to be the first thing that my mother asks me,' Santana defended herself, 'and the second one is why the hell you are staying in some stupid hotel when you should be staying with me and B.'

'I don't want to impose….'

'Bullshit, Q, you are practically an extra limb to me, and you know it.'

Quinn snorted at that analogy none-too delicately, her lips curving into a small smile once more, and in a display of affection that was quite unusual for her, she reached out across the table and covered Santana's hand with her own. The Latina looked down at that hand, at the pearly shine of scar tissue that twisted itself around the blonde's forearm. She had never gotten used to seeing it.

'I've missed you, San,' Quinn met her eyes.

Santana felt a genuine smile curve her lips.

'If you think that you are going to get me to say something mushy, then you can think again, Fabray,' she responded.

'No fear of you getting soft,' Quinn laughed, targeting a piece of yellow tail.

Santana glanced around, taking in the sharp business suits and designer clothes that frequented the tables about them. Mishima was one of the most exclusive sushi restaurants in Manhattan, and had a reputation for some of the best sushi outside of Japan. Not only was it a miracle that Q had managed to get them a table, but it was a total miracle that she had been allowed into the premises dressed as she was. Santana knew that she herself fit in with the rest of the clientele, her business suit was tailored with enough finesse to let her blend with the other members of the business district, but Q in her slightly outdated traveller's chic stuck out like a sore thumb.

'You may want to reconsider your wardrobe choices whilst you're in New York,' Santana commented. 'Traveller chic went out of fashion with Angelina Jolie eight years ago.'

'Believe it or not, there are limited shopping districts in Phnom Penh,' the blonde quipped with a saccharine smile, 'and I don't give a shit about what people think of me here.'

The Latina laughed, 'you will change your tune once you see Kurt, mark my words, Fabray.'

The blonde smirked in response, knowing that it was probably true.

'So between stuffing your face with sashimi and rainbow roll, do you mind telling me why the only person who seemed to know that you were coming back was my son?' Santana pressed, her voice taking on a slight edge that made Quinn's back straighten. It may be subtle, but she knew Santana well enough to know when she was preparing for a fight, and Quinn was never one to be caught off guard.

'To be perfectly honest, the only person who has spoken to me over the last six weeks from New York has been your son,' she replied succinctly. She fixed her eyes on the brunette as she bit into the last piece of salmon from their platter.

'Do you want to explain to me why you didn't talk to me about what has been going on between you and B?' she asked quietly. And from the surprise on Santana's face, she knew that the brunette had not expected the question.

'B talked to you about it?' Santana demanded defensively and Quinn placed down her chopsticks gently.

'Carlos did,' she replied.

Then more gently she shrugged, 'why else do you think that I'm here, San?'

It was three in the afternoon by the time that Quinn managed to navigate through the faintly memorable maze of traffic to the little house in the suburbs that looked so familiar. Out of everything that had brought her back, this was the part that scared her least. She turned off the engine, and looked up at the house that had not changed in the two years since she had left. Before she had even managed get out of the car, the front door had swung open and the dark haired boy had thrown her against the side of her rental, knocking the air out of her with the force.

'Carlos!' B's voice was halfway between exclamation and reproach. But Quinn ignored her as she hauled the boy into the air with effort. She had been involved with enough kids to know how to handle them without treating them as fragile little ornaments.

'Jeeez Carlos, you've grown!' she groaned, dropping him down again and looking down into the large dark eyes, 'what are you, twelve now?'

'I'm seven!' he shouted.

'Are you sure?' she teased, 'you look waaaay too big for a seven year old.'

'I'm seven!'

'Sure thing, wiseguy, we can check the math later,' Quinn slammed shut the door of the rental car and let Carlos lead her proudly indoors to where Brittany was waiting. Seeing Brit was nothing like seeing Santana. Where the Latina was all tough exterior and sarcasm, biting remarks and quick wit, Brittany looked at her with that softly understanding way that always made Quinn want to cry. Her eyes, so blue, held a natural serenity that Quinn had never known for herself, and she doubted that she ever would. Britt had an inner peace, whereas Q was forever in turmoil. In the true sense of the word, Quinn felt that she and Santana were soulmates… they understood each other innately, in the way of people who are carved from the same bedrock, whereas B was a step apart, enlightened perhaps.

B said nothing as she enveloped her old friend in her arms and the smaller blonde closed her eyes, enjoying that strangely special feeling of being held in Brittany's embrace. It had been about a year since Brit had left Cambodia, and in their time together out there Quinn had felt that she had shared with the taller blonde something crucial about herself, about how she had moved on from the girl who had left two years before. She had shared the side of her that had been forever changed, and B had understood in a way that Santana and Rachel never would.

'I missed you,' Brittany's words were whispered faintly in her ear.

The moment was broken as Carlos nuzzled his way in between them, bouncing with barely contained excitement.

'Come on, Auntie Q, come on! I need to show you everything…'

Brittany couldn't quite contain her smile as she watched her son run around excitedly gathering anything and everything to show to Q who had taken up residence cross-legged on the floor. So often now she was struck with the realisation that he was growing up, that time was ticking by and her little boy was forever reaching for the next level, each step taking him further away from the child she had nurtured through from carrying him as a baby, to watching his first steps. Like all children he was so desperate to be bigger and older and more grown-up, but it was moments like this, when he displayed such uncontainable excitement, that she remembered that he was still her little boy.

She carefully poured the boiling water onto the fresh mint leaves, crushing them absently with a spoon, and recognised the unfamiliar pang of guilt that was gnawing in her belly. Brittany was not accustomed to guilt. She rarely felt the emotion, but right now, with Q sitting on her living room floor, the guilt had started with a vengeance. She had to admit it was easier to justify her actions with the blonde far away, but with her here, sitting cross-legged, playing with her son… It had her questioning everything that she had done. Even now, upstairs, in her den, there were the final three publicity designs for The Young Idealist. She had spent so long over the last twelve months watching two dimensional representations of Quinn, editing them, playing with the sound, the colour, the words, that she had almost forgotten that the girl was three dimensional too. That she was spontaneous and real.

In her excitement about the documentary, Brittany hadn't really let herself think about the person behind the images. She had used Quinn's darkness, Quinn's pain and vulnerability to tell her story, in the same way that Jasper had once used Quinn's scars to sell his photographs. There was something compelling about her, about the wounds she had suffered. It was with a chill of fear that Brittany realised that now.

'Here,' she smiled as she handed Q the steaming Turkish glass.

'Thanks,' the answering smile reached the doctor's hazel eyes and Brittany felt almost nauseated by the knife of conscience that was twisting in her belly. The Young Idealist would hit the big screen in eight weeks, even if she had wanted to, there was no way that she could stop it now – it was beyond her control. And the publicity roll would be kicking off in just two weeks time...

'Are you alright, B? You look white as a sheet…'

Quinn's concern snapped her from her thoughts and she sat herself down gingerly on the edge of the couch.

'How long are you staying?' She asked.

'Forever!' Carlos interjected, having picked up on the last question as he dropped his remote control car onto the floor beside his aunt.

'Two weeks,' Q replied instead, ruffling Carlos's hair in a way that he never let his mothers do as he knelt down beside her, 'this is super cool…'

'No one says stuff like super cool in New York,' Carlos snorted.

'I do,' Quinn replied with a smirk, 'because I'm super cool. And don't you forget it, wiseguy… Now show me how this thing works…'

Two weeks. Two weeks. It would be close, but it was likely that Q would miss the start of the blitz of publicity. The aim had been to hit hard and fast, snare people's attention, for the interest in documentary film was narrow and when taking a target to the big screen it was important to capture the public's attention… at least that was what Simon had said.

Two weeks. God, she prayed that Q would miss it. There would be nothing more freaky than seeing your own sunlit face on a billboard. Not even Brittany could come up with an explanation for it. But then what…? Would she have to keep this a secret from Q forever? Was there even any possibility that she could? It was impossible, surely impossible… but then Q was practically on a different planet. She had been for two years, and there was nothing that Brittany could ever imagine would bring her back… except Rachel. Always Rachel. But Quinn had burnt that bridge a long time ago.

Her hands were shaking, she realised with alarm, even as she watched the blonde and her son play about with the remote control car. While the reality of lying to Q about the documentary was totally unfeasible, Brittany could not bring herself to tell her, she couldn't even imagine the reaction that she would get. And so the only option was to lie… and to hide it. Just for a little while longer, until the whole thing was over. And she knew exactly who it was that she should call to keep Quinn's focus away from prolonging the trip to New York. The very person who had helped chase her away in the first place... Brittany resolved to call Fiona as soon as possible.

It hadn't taken Carlos long to persuade Quinn to take him out on his bike… In fact, it had been something that she had promised when they had been talking over Skype in the preceding weeks and with B looking as exhausted as she was, Quinn had no difficulty with persuading the blonde to let her steal her kid away for another hour or so.

'Does Cambodia have seven days in a week?'

'Do they have monkeys everywhere?'

'Do the kids only eat coconuts and bananas? I don't like bananas.'

She had been subjected to the onslaught of questions for an hour, and it showed no signs of stopping, even with Carlos's smaller legs peddling at twice the speed of her own. As a kid, Quinn had loved her bike. She had always been out on it, ever since she had learnt to ride, even though Franny had always been faster and better and on a bigger bike than hers. She had always wanted to be outside, and she couldn't imagine the claustrophobia of growing up in a city like New York.

'Why is my Momma taller than you? But you both have blonde hair?'

'Do both your mommies have blonde hair?'

'Will your children have blonde hair? Because I don't and my Momma has really blonde hair.'

Pelham Bay Park was as close as it got to the countryside within New York, and actually, as parks go, Quinn had to admit it wasn't too bad. When she had last been back, Carlos had only been five years old, but she had taken him here to help him learn how to ride his bike. It was something that Santana had tried to join in with but rapidly realised that she did not have the patience for, and had watched on, smirking, as Quinn and Carlos had struggled. She doubted that Carlos remembered that now, though Quinn would be the first to admit that the power of memory is a weird and wonderful thing.

'Why is water wet?'

'When the lightening hits it, why don't all the fish die?'

'Do you eat fish? Aunt Rachel doesn't because she is an actress. And actresses have to pretend to hate things, when really they don't.'

They weaved in and out of the oak trees and the salt marshes and Quinn's thoughts were pulled to Rachel against her will. I hate you so much right now. Rachel had hissed those words at her before she left for Cambodia, furious tears streaming down her cheeks. I fucking hate you… Quinn wished that Rachel hadn't meant it at the time, but she knew that she had. She had meant every word, and it had echoed hollowly around inside her head for days… weeks and months… Until the memories started to fade, the distance had started to numb the pain, and Quinn had known that she should never go back.

'Where does the sky end?'

'And how much does it weigh? Why doesn't it fall down on top of us?'

As luck had it, life had somehow equipped her with the ability to answer difficult questions, but her conversations with Carlos were bringing her to the edge of her theoretical reasoning. When she had been younger she had been just as curious as him, maybe every child was, but her parents had answered everything with the same theme – 'because God made it that way'. It was a very versatile answer, it seemed, and though her faith had stretched and contracted, become something indefinable and personal, she had resolved never to ever answer any child's question with those words. In her mind it was somehow equivalent with telling him to shut the hell up.

They had been riding for fifteen minutes when Q pulled them off the track. They dropped their bikes between the trees and Carlos took her hand to follow her up onto the small ridge of rocks that looked out over the fields.

'Drink some water, tiger,' Q instructed as they sat down together on the rocks, gazing out over the park with the golden light of the falling sun reflecting off the landscape. You could hardly believe that you were still in the city, and Quinn felt more at peace away from the noise and the traffic.

'How did you get so smart, Auntie Q?'

That question threw her for a moment, before she found the answer that she knew Santana would approve of.

'When I was your age I ate lots of vegetables,' she replied straight-faced. Carlos narrowed his eyes.

'That's a fib,' he deducted.

'Oh really?'

'Yeah, really. Cos loads of people eat tonnes of vegetables and they don't know why the sky is the sky and the sea is the sea and not the other way around, they just say that that is the way that it is...'

'Well eating vegetables is good for your nutrition and good nutrition is good for your brain, which makes thinking easier… so taking good nutrition by eating all your vegetables is very important…'

'…Ok…' Carlos pondered that one rather reluctantly, before his attention skipped ahead once again. 'So when are you going to kick some behind?'

Quinn spluttered on the water she was drinking at the time of his question. Clearly she had been more vocal than she had intended about her intentions, and Carlos, being the sponge for information as he was, had clearly picked up on it. He apparently anticipated her turning into a ninja or something.

'It is more… abstract than that, Carlos. We use words not fists when sorting out problems, okay?'

He certainly looked less than impressed by that as well. She leant forward to talk to him more seriously, holding his dark gaze.

'What is most important in all of this is that both your parents love you very much, Carlos. And I love you very much, and I know your Aunt Rachel does too, and your Uncle Kurt,' she paused, glancing out again at the sun that was already heavy in the sky, 'what you need to do, what is most important, is for you to be loving and supportive to both your Momma and your Mami. That is what they need right now. Do you think that you can do that?'

He nodded silently, chewing on his bottom lip. He drank some more water and Quinn was grateful for the small silence that stretched between them. It was over too soon, as Carlos, of course, had another question on the tip of his tongue.

'Why don't you have a wife, Auntie Q?'

Quinn sucked in her breath through her teeth at that. It was no question of theology or physics, but that made it all the more difficult. How difficult it was to answer. Because I haven't met the right person yet. Well that was just a lie, plain and simple. She had met the right person at the age of five and they had sat in the reading corner in kindergarten holding hands as they flipped through a picture book. Quinn wasn't sure if she actually remembered that memory, or whether it was something that she had constructed in her mind after being told the story over and over again by Rachel's dads. Her own father had made her transfer kindergartens after finding her inseparably joined to the Berry-girl, in retrospect he should have made her move state. Because I was never good enough for the girl I loved. Now that was closer to the truth, as self-destructive as it was. Because I was scared. Because I was controlling. Because I loved her too much.

'Because I never asked her to marry me,' the words slipped out as a whisper, and despite their lack of context, Carlos seemed satisfied with the answer. For a moment he looked serious, deep in thought.

'When I grow up, I'll marry you,' he stated earnestly and she couldn't help but smile in response.

'When you grow up, you will have your own adventures, Carlos, and you will meet your own soulmate somewhere along the way…'

Darkness was falling when they finally returned to the Pierce-Lopez house in suburbia, and from the smell as they entered the foyer, Quinn knew that dinner was not far away. She shooed Carlos upstairs quickly to wash himself up before dinner, and meandered through to the kitchen, startled by its strange mixture of familiarity and unfamiliarity. She was surprised when she entered to see a woman who was neither Brittany or Santana at the kitchen counter.

Fiona Allen, Rachel's publicist, leant casually back against the counter, eyeing the blonde with unveiled suspicion. The years had not changed her, Quinn realised, letting a wry smile curl her lips. Fiona was still the hard bitch that she had always been. That was something that Quinn had to admire about her, that unyielding strength. It didn't make her like her any more, but there was a mutual grudging respect between them.

'So,' Fi's voice was as distant and cool as Quinn remembered her to be, 'you're back.'

Hazel eyes flicked to hers almost dismissively. The two of them alone together… it was too reminiscent to Quinn of a time in her life that she would rather forget, a time when she had been so desperate to make the wrong choice. She had thought that they could be happy, Rachel and she… She had wanted so desperately to be with her. Wanted it too much. But Fi had been right then, she had been the voice of reason that Quinn had found it difficult to allow herself to hear.

'Don't look so worried,' she replied dryly, 'I'll be gone again in a couple of weeks.'

Fiona did not look reassured by the statement. Her impenetrable gaze steadily focused on the blonde who had, for so long, been the source of all her problems.

'Don't do anything stupid whilst you're here, Quinn,' she advised.

'I'm not here for Rachel,' the blonde reiterated firmly, leaning her elbows down on the counter. Fiona scoffed in response, leaning forward to mirror the blonde's posture. If it was meant to make her look intimidating… well, it was working. But Quinn had actively given up being intimidated by other people in med school. Life wasn't long enough for it.

'You are always here for her,' Fiona stated.

Quinn smiled softly.

'Not anymore,' she murmured. And at least part of her believed that it was true. More than ever she knew that you can never undo the past, no matter whether it was shaped by truth or lies.

AN: thanks for reading. Please review