Well hello, my lovelies! Back with a new chapter. Not as long as the previous one but pivotal to the story's progression.

I would like to say a big big 'thank you' for all your reviews and follows. And, of course, to my best friend Dina who keeps reading this fanfic even though Faberry is not her bag of chips.

I deeply apologize for my spelling or grammar mistakes. I don't have a beta. So, if anyone's interested, please don't hesitate to PM me.

I do NOT own Glee or its characters. But I own a vast variety of tea and coffee blends 'cause I'm a caffeine junkie.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, as well. Don't forget: Read & Review. All comments are welcome.

~ Chapter 4 – What Kind of Fuckery Is This? ~

Rachel's lungs were burning. She was struggling to breathe as she tried to avoid colliding into unsuspected New Yorkers. The bustling streets of the big city were making it impossible for her to find a clear pathway to run on in order to get to the safety of her home in time. Her head was spinning, her knees were weak and she was hyperventilating. Is this what panic attacks feel like? Is THIS a panic attack? Why haven't I researched it before? I should have been prepared in case it happened. Well, it's too late now, isn't it? I am dying, aren't I? Oh God, I am dying! My Broadway career hasn't even started yet. It isn't fair. Deep breaths! Deep breaths! Quinn's hands. More deep breaths! Keep breathing, Rachel Barbra Berry! Quinn's moans. Oh for the love of…

Her internal rant came to an abrupt stop when she felt someone pulling her forcefully. Breathing heavily, mouth agape, she looked behind her. A tall middle-aged man was grabbing her arm, raising his eyebrows motioning for her to look at the street. There were people on her side of the street and on the opposite one, waiting patiently for the pedestrian light to turn green. Cabs and cars speeding, driving past her, causing ripples of air to cover her face with brown locks. Death by walking into moving traffic it is! That's wonderful! She turned around, feeling a little embarrassed, and silently thanked the stranger.

The light turned green after what seemed to be decades and off she was again. Fast on her heels, she zigzagged through the busy street with the sole purpose of reaching her home. Her shelter.

Finally walking through the threshold, she shut the door of the loft and leaned her back on it. She took a deep breath to calm the nerves and brought her hands to her face covering it. This was so messed up. The young diva had never experienced something like that before. Yes, she had had her share of drama and angst, but this was new territory. She had broken up with Finn, which was followed by her attraction to a fellow student, Brody. They had kissed once and the attraction was evident. Then all hell was unleashed when a certain blonde came to New York to visit her and Kurt. They had sex. The one-night stand kind of sex. The earth-shuttering, mind-blowing kind of sex; at the memory of which she curled her toes, still feeling tingles all over her body.

Rachel was utterly confused. She couldn't make heads or tails of the whole situation. Was she attracted to girls? Was she attracted to Quinn? Was she gay? Was she bi? Was she going crazy?

Well, not entirely impossible.

She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass and an already opened bottle of Pinot Noir. With heavy steps, she walked to the living area and sat comfortably on the couch. She poured a glass of the dark red wine and brought her knees to her chest. Sighing heavily she desperately tried to rearrange her thoughts. She needed to make some sense of the situation.

It wouldn't bother her if she liked girls. She was raised by two gay dads, for God's sake. Half of her friends were gay. And she knew she had admired other girls' bodies quite extensively at locker rooms or showers at times. But it had never occurred to her that she might have the slightest attraction to girls. Her admiration of female figures and beauty had always been attributed to jealousy. So what was this? What did it mean?

It was an utter shock to come to the realization that she might be attracted to women. That's what got to her; the surprise. Well, among other things. She had forever thought of herself as a ruler straight girl. Now her ruler might be bending a little. Ugh! This is so frustrating, she thought and took a sip.

Startling her from her thoughts, her phone buzzed. She had a text message. Suddenly her heart rate picked up, thinking that it might be Quinn. They had left things quite horribly and she couldn't help but wonder if the blonde would avoid her or be mad at her or confront her. Hell, she didn't even know what she herself was going to do.

Quickly, she grabbed her phone from the coffee table with trembling hands, nerves getting the best of her. Disappointed she read the text message sent from Brody. He was checking up on her, wondering if she was feeling any better. She punched the keys forming a reply, assuring him that she was ok and that she was going to turn in rather early.

Yes, she was avoiding him. That much was clear. She didn't know what else to do. The boy was great. He was thoughtful, sexy and she really liked him. It was just that her mind was a farrago of conflicting thoughts and she couldn't deal with him right now. Being honest with herself, she admitted that her avoidance was a tiny teeny bit convenient since she felt a little guilty towards the boy.

Brody sent her another text message, bidding her goodnight. Rachel smiled at that. But soon her smile faltered as another thought flitted her mind.

Quinn had left since this morning. It was the evening. Was she home? Did she get there safely? Would the blonde even let her know that she did, given their current status?

Worried, Rachel started biting her thumbnail, considering her options? Should she call her? No, no, no...no! Should she text her? And how exactly would I go about that? Should she get Kurt to call her? He is going to ask questions wondering why I couldn't do that for myself and I am NOT ready for that drama. Should she call Quinn's dorm? I have no idea which dorm she's staying in. Not that she knew anybody there that could provide her with the information she needed. She imagined the conversation between a Yalie staying at Quinn's dorm and herself (-"Yes, hello, I wish to find out if Quinn Fabray has reached her room safe and sound." –"Umm…who are you?" – "Just…nobody.")

Ok, stalker much? She thought huffing.

She was flat out worried now. What if she got hit by a car? What if she got mugged? What if she got pushed in front of a train by a maniac? What? Psychopaths are everywhere nowadays!

Afraid that she was wasting time and deeply concerned that the blonde was lying face down in a ditch somewhere, she quickly typed a text message and hit 'send'.

A reply could not come too soon.

Quinn opened the door to her dorm room and quickly stepped in. She threw her toiletries bag on her desk and started frantically drying her hair with a towel. She sat down on her chair, feeling weak on her knees. The memory of her and Rachel's interaction last night was fresh in her mind and it made her stomach do cartwheels inside her. She closed her eyes, focusing on drying her hair. It didn't go well. She was hearing Rachel's moans again. She was feeling gentle fingers rake her shuddering body. God, this is too much! The room felt too hot right now, it was too small. She stood up and started changing into her sweats and worn-out grey T-shirt. What next? She needed to keep busy. She needed to NOT think of Rachel right now.

She started pacing in her room, trying to think anything but last night. Her schedule for the week, laundry, the psych paper she needed to hand in at the end of the week, Rachel's neck (shit!), her friends from Yale, Santana, Rachel's gruff voice claiming how wet she was (oh my god!).

She stopped pacing and placed her hands on her head as if it would prevent her mind from thinking that way. The blonde would give everything not to have a functioning brain right now.

She reached for the top shelf of her bookcase and grabbed a bottle of Merlot. She considered grabbing the bottle next to it for a second, but laughed bitterly and went for the wine; it would be a while before she had tequila again. That's for sure! She cursed herself under her breath for not getting around to buying some proper wine glasses yet and grabbed a coffee mug from the small cupboard above the kitchenette. She turned on her laptop, sat down on her bed, her back on the wall and poured herself some wine. Huh! If Mom could see me now. "Drinking wine from a mug, Quinnie? Really?" she heard her mother's voice inside her head. She let out a small laugh.

The sweet liquid filled her mouth and burned just faintly on its way down. Quinn needed to calm down. She needed to keep her raging thoughts at bay. She needed to make even a small bit of sense of all this. Talking to Santana had been helpful, but then the memory of last night assaulted her senses, mercilessly at that, messing her up again; creating a mishmash of confusion, guilt, desire.

Frustrated, Quinn tried to organize her thoughts. No matter how much she didn't want to admit it, Santana was right. She had to be honest with herself. On Graduation Day, she had made a promise to herself to always stay true. She was going to chase her dreams, being the best version of herself. A fighter. She was going to be happy.

Has she been happy though? Thinking of her life since she got into Yale, a smile crept up. She was happy there. She had made new friends, kept in touch with her old ones, she was enjoying her classes, getting straight As. She was dating David, her psych professor. Her smile faltered. Shit! David. Guilt ran through her body, making her feel sick. Let's put another one on the Cheated-by-Quinn-Fabray list! Fuck!

She didn't want to be that person ever again. She didn't want to be HBIC anymore. She didn't want to be her egotistical, manipulative old self. She was long past her.

But that didn't change the fact that she had been dating her professor. She knew it was wrong. She didn't even like him that much. It was just that that whole teacher-student complex can really get to you sometimes. David had a way of making her feel like a woman. Not that she didn't feel like a woman herself. He just had this reassuring way of talking and treating her; it made her feel like a grown-up. It made her feel protected somehow. Maybe Santana was right after all; maybe she did always need a man to define who she was. Shit…

She didn't want to be like that. She wanted to be independent. She wanted to be able to be happy on her own. Make her dreams come true and having no married 35-year-olds on her side to define her. She would define herself.

Her relationship with David suddenly disgusted her. What was I thinking? Falling for the classic "I'm divorcing my wife"? Fucking hell…

She poured some more wine. It had numbed her brain a tad and it was easier now. She started feeling that sweet buzz, that sweet tingling at her nerve terminations.

Rachel's laughter echoed in her ears. Guhhh…

Being honest with herself, she hesitantly admitted she liked having sex with the girl. It was good, someone would say.

Okay, let's try once more with feeling.

It was great. It was perfect. It was eye-opening. It was the kind of sex that at the faintest recollection of it, it would send shivers through your whole body and start a fire deep inside. It reminded Quinn of when she was younger and realized she couldn't see quite well from afar. Her mother had taken her to the ophthalmologist's and after their trip to the optician's, Quinn could see clearly again through her eyeglasses. The world seemed like it was born again. It seemed vivid. Vibrant. It seemed perfect.

What did it mean? It was the second time it happened and she remembered it this time. She remembered liking it a lot. Did she like girls?

Probably.

Was she bisexual?

Highly possible.

Wait.

Quinn remembered Santana talking about how she finally realized she was gay. The Latina had confessed that, during her process of finding out her sexual identity, she had to picture herself having sex with guys. And then girls. At the end she would register her reactions to each one and find out the truth.

Seems reasonable. The blonde shrugged.

Quinn closed her eyes and took a very deep breath. She pictured herself with David. His hands touching her, his chin – rough to the touch from shaving, scraping her skin. Her name falling from his lips.

Nothing.

Okay.

Maybe David wasn't the right choice. So she moved to the next best thing.

Puck.

Breathing deeply again, she let her mind free. She pictured Puck on top of her, gently raking his big hands over her body. Undressing her, his mouth on her skin.

Nada.

This wasn't going anywhere. She considered thinking of Finn, but that wasn't happening. She definitely wasn't about to scar herself for life and never have sex again. It was bad enough that having sex with David and Puck was as arousing as having sex with a German Shepherd.

Having a sip from her wine she moved to her next option.

Rachel.

Okay. Let's do this.

Quinn cracked her neck, stretching her long neck from her shoulders. She closed her eyes again and air filled her lungs supplying them with oxygen. Loose strands of dark hair on her white skin, Rachel's delicate fingers leaving a hot trail on her skin, dipping inside her, their bodies melding perfectly one into the other.

Damn.

Quinn sighed and lowered her head.

Was she gay?

Yeap. It was a fairly legitimate assumption.

Well, if her Mom could see her right now. Probably the whole drinking wine from a mug thing wouldn't matter so much. Compared to the gay thing, of course; Judy Fabray was a classy lady after all.

The blonde let herself enjoy the irony and laughed to herself.

When her brief moment of happiness ended, she sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

So this is how it feels to have your life turned upside down. Ha! I thought sophomore year at High School was enough. But no, I had to experience it again. Fuck my life…

A small pang in her stomach reminded her that she had yet another question to answer.

But she wasn't going to get into that right now. She was exhausted. Further exploration into her sexual identity would have to wait.

She placed her mug on the floor next to the bed and slipped under the warm covers. The nights in New Haven were getting colder and colder. She pulled a hand out of the covers to get her phone and set the alarm for the next morning.

She felt her stomach flutter. Her heart beat considerably faster, skipping a couple of beats here and there.

A text message from Rachel.

She let a shuddering breath leave her body. She was nervous.

Why the fuck am I nervous? Shake it off, Fabray.

Of course, she was nervous. It was Rachel. Rachel who she had sex with the night before. The way they had left things this morning, she didn't know where they stood. She had no idea what that message would be. Was Rachel mad? Was she sorry? What was she thinking about all this?

With a trembling hand she unlocked her phone and read the message.

Hello, Quinn. I'm sorry to bother you but I was rather worried. Did you get home safe? –R

Quinn felt a warmth around her heart. Butterflies fucking around in her stomach. She tried not to smile but she couldn't help it. The corners of her mouth turned up as she was typing her reply.

Safe and sound. Thanks. Have a good night, Rach. –Q

A few minutes later sleep would find both girls. Each tucked in tight in their warm covers, in their own beds. Each with their own endless thoughts raiding their minds.

Both thinking about what they were doing before the last time they slept.

"Kurt, have you seen my black strappy shoes?" Rachel yelled, her voice echoing through the whole loft.

"Weren't you wearing them the other day?" Kurt's voice sounded from somewhere in the living room.

Rachel was standing amidst a mess inside her bedroom scratching her head, trying to remember where she had put her favorite, black strappy shoes.

"Yeah…." She said lazily.

"Rachel!" Kurt's head popped from the doorway startling the brunette. "You've got like a hundred pairs of shoes. What do you need that one in particular for?"

"It's my lucky pair!" she whined.

"We're going to Lima, honey. Not the casino. Finish up. We're going to miss our train."

It was the weekend just before Christmas. Rachel and Kurt had promised their respective families to go back to Lima and spend the holidays together. They would surely miss New York (especially with all the Christmas parties they had already been invited to) but they had missed their families more. So they were looking forward to getting on that train and travelling back to their hometown. Hence Rachel's restlessness. It wasn't the fact that she couldn't find a pair of shoes, even if it was her favorite. It was the whole trip that made her nervous.

The brunette had woken up panting and sweating after a restless sleep. A deep, sultry voice had been ringing in her ears. Locks of soft, blonde hair had been covering her tan skin. Straight, white teeth had been leaving their mark on her neck. Delicate fingers had been…well, they had been everywhere. It was a restless sleep indeed. Rachel had never had such a vivid sex dream before.

It had been more than three weeks ago that she had slept with Quinn. It had been more than three weeks ago that they had argued. It had been more than three weeks ago that they had last talked; the blonde's text message assuring her safe return to Yale had been their last form of communication.

And now here she was, packing for her and Kurt's trip back to Ohio, where it was very much likely that she would see the blonde again. She didn't know where they stood. Since she had regained full memory of their night together, she kept wondering if Quinn had remembered as well. She kept wondering how to handle the situation with her; would the blonde be angry? Would she avoid her? Would she laugh it off, blaming it on the alcohol? Would she even be there?

That last thought shot a pang to the brunette's chest. Fuck. Three weeks afterwards and this is still utterly confusing.

Rachel let out a heavy sigh and sat at the edge of her twin bed. She had tried so hard to make sense of all this. She had listed her feelings for the whole situation. Literally. She had typed and printed a list of how everything that had happened affected her. The list was even color-coded. So far, she knew she felt bad for dismissing Quinn like that on that fateful morning. She knew she dreaded their next interaction. She knew she was attracted to girls. She had even made a special effort to make that clear. She started noticing her reactions when she was close to other girls. She would walk down the street with Kurt, for instance, and let her eyes roam freely onto slim physiques, firm buttocks and luscious breasts. All of that whilst earning a few odd looks by her best friend. Rachel never noticed.

She did notice though when Kurt had come home one day and found her on the couch crying happily in front of her laptop screen to the movie Imagine Me & You. Kurt had silently passed her the tissue box, his eyes expressing his perplexity fully.

Rachel also felt guilty when it came to Brody. They still weren't dating, much to the boy's disappointment. He had asked her out many times on numerous occasions, but the diva had always kindly declined. She was avoiding him. She had to clear her head before making a move and she couldn't cloud her judgment by going on dates. Especially when a certain blonde kept violating her thoughts and visiting her dreams.

Ugh!

"Seriously?! Are you still not done?" Kurt was at her bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest, looking at her incredulously.

"I'm done, I'm done…there!" the brunette assured him stuffing a scarf in the bulky suitcase before zipping it closed.

"Finally! Let's go!"

"Why are you so nervous today?" Rachel asked curiously as they were putting on their coats and hauling their luggage to the front door.

"Ugh! It's the whole Blaine thing. I really miss him and all but I have no clue how to be around him after everything, you know?"

"I know."

This is a mistake. This is going to be a total disaster. Awkwardness all around! I should go back. No! Why the fuck is that guy staring at me like that? Pervert.

Maybe she won't come. Maybe she'll stay in New York. Maybe I'm worrying for nothing. Maybe I should ask Santana if she knows. Hell no! I'll never hear the end of it.

And what if she comes? So what? It's just Rachel. Quinn sighed.

I really should have sent her a text congratulating her on her win at the Winter Showcase thing.

Is she going to be mad? Nah, it's Rachel.

Well, it is Rachel. She may be cool about what happened between us and throw a complete tantrum about forgetting to send her my congratulations. You could never tell with the girl.

Fuck. I really should have gone through with that. How hard would it be?

Truth was the blonde had typed a lot of messages congratulating the diva but ended up erasing them all.

The cab screeched into a halt, putting an end to her reeling thoughts. Quinn paid the cab fare, retrieved her luggage from the trunk and stared at the house in front of her.

So many memories. Of all kinds.

Slowly but with purpose, she walked down the pathway and stopped at the front door to ring the bell. After a few seconds, the large door opened, revealing a giddy and so much loved face.

"Quinnie! You're here!"

"Hey, Mom!"