Chapter 4

She's upside down, suspended thirty feet in the air as Kevin, their stunt co-ordinator pulls on her harness, securing it before the next shot. Somehow, at this angle, the world makes more sense Rachel thinks as the blood rushes to her head. The past few days have been a strange upside-down experience, her thoughts and emotions zipping all over the place. She wants to blame it on home-sickness. She sometimes gets like this when she's away on location for too long, but she's only been on the shoot for two-and-a-half weeks, so that hardly makes sense.

"Okay, places!" James, yells from below and Rachel clears her mind, slipping effortlessly into the psyche of her character.

Eight more takes and a splitting headache later, Rachel is lowered to the ground as the shoot wraps for the day.

"It's looking good," James mentions as she comes up next to him to observe the last few shots from the little screen beside him. "You've got the falling motion down just right."

She smiles, her face lighting up at the always welcome praise. "Well, daily Pilates does help with flexibility." She glances at him again, "Have you sorted out the location for the fight-scene?"

He nods absently, "Yeah, Marcus is on it." Rachel's eyes flit back to the screen as she watches repeats of herself being dangled from the harness. The blue background will later be replaced by a cityscape and it will look as if she's falling from a bridge, attempting suicide. It isn't often that she's this invested in the background workings of a film, but this is a small-budget indie picture and it works best when everyone's a team. She'll save her ego for the big Bruckheimer productions.

Once she's satisfied with the footage, she heads back to her little trailer. It's tiny compared to the luxury suites she's stayed in, but at least the production costs allowed them to rent a decent guest house for the duration of the shoot. She didn't make a habit of taking such small projects, but the script, the story of a young woman, battling with her sexuality and identity in a small, conservative town, spoke to Rachel and she couldn't turn it down. The words were raw and powerful and the character moved her. That and the fact that she and James had attended NYADA together meant that she accepted without hesitation.

The minute she's in the privacy of her trailer, she kicks off her pumps, swallows two Advil and falls into the surprisingly comfy sofa. An hour later she wakes up to find the sun has partially set and she's been drooling on the armrest of said surprisingly comfy sofa. Wiping her hand against her mouth with a tinge of embarrassment, despite the fact that there's no-one around to see her, Rachel reaches for her phone to check the time.

17:03 and three missed calls.

Two of the numbers cause her heartbeat to escalate. The third is unknown. She presses play and hears Quinn's honeyed voice come through the speaker:

Hey Rachel, it's Quinn. Hope you're okay. I had a really great time on Tuesday. Sorry again about the dessert. Although you did distract me with your tales of the big city, so I still think you're to blame for the burnt brownies. Anyway, um, Puck's band is playing a gig on Friday night and he wanted- well we both thought, at least I figured since you still don't know the city all that well, you should come. It's nothing fancy. So I'll a text you the directions. If you decide to come. I mean, I'll text you anyway and you can decide. Or whatever. Okay, so I'll see you on Friday. Maybe. Oh, and if you want, you can bring someone. Or not, whatever. Anyway, uh…bye.

She's cut off by a harsh beeping sound and Rachel fights the urge to immediately call back just to hear that voice. It's funny, Rachel thinks, how Quinn Fabray who single-handedly ruled the school for so many years and then, even after her fall from grace managed to put the fear of God in people's hearts, has turned into this fumbling, adorkable hipster who seems even more clumsy when Rachel's around. It's something she finds incredibly endearing. Like she's getting to see the real Quinn. A Quinn that was hiding underneath all those layers of Mac concealer and later pink dye. A Quinn she always suspected was there, but very rarely glimpsed. That low, breathy voice is still playing in a loop through her head when the next message comes through.

Hey baby. I've been thinking about you. So I ran into Debbie at the gym this morning and apparently she heard from Joyce's agent that FOX is talking about a David E. Kelly action pilot for the fall. You know how I've been thinking about breaking into TV, right? Anyway, I'm going down to LA this weekend to talk to Stan. I hope you're not too lonely over there. Lola misses her mommy. Don't you, girl? Tell mommy you miss her. Tell mommy you-Yeah, she rolled over and walked away. Anyway, call me when you're done filming. Love you, babe.

Guilt, Rachel has learnt over the years, is an interesting, amorphous thing. It doesn't always attack head on and knock you senseless. Sometimes, it's subtle, sneaky and laced with self-deception. It's the latter kind that makes its way around her heart as she listens to her fiancé's voice. She smiles into the phone as she warms to David's lazy, Californian accent. She imagines him in her apartment, which he had unofficially moved into two months prior, probably standing in a shorts and t-shirt, despite the fact that it would be considerably chilly in New York City. You can take the boy out of Venice Beach, she thinks wryly. Her relationship with David had come as a surprise, even to her. He wasn't really the type of guy she'd dated in the past. Not that her demanding schedule allowed for much dating, although the few flings Rachel had had were with theatre actors. She'd had a brief tryst with a record producer, but that hardly counted since she immediately ceased contact after he mentioned a certain fetish he had with shoes and...insertion. But David, David was different. For one thing, he had very little professional training, a face made for People's Sexiest everything list and a bad-boy rep. With films like Last Bullet for the Win and Ninja's Decree under his belt, Rachel was pretty certain that he'd be the last person she would fall for. And yet, she had. There was something about him that drew her in. He was persistent about perusing her, almost to the point of arrogance. She remembers once after turning down his dinner offer for the hundredth time, he had flashed her that toothy grin and, running his hand through that beach-blonde hair he winked and said, "You know, for someone so short and loud-mouthed you're unbelievably hot, Berry."

She thinks that's the moment she was sold. She still wouldn't be able to tell you why though. But his persistence paid off and under that cocky swagger, she met the real David. The boy who grew up in a tense, loveless household, whose mother died when he was fifteen. Who left home at seventeen just to be away from his domineering father. She saw beneath the façade he showed the world and she loved him for it.

So, she looks past the fact that he eats meat like a starving lion and that the only musical he'll watch is Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd because of the blood and gore. She doesn't mind that he's a night-owl while she's a morning-person or that he sleeps on her side of the bed when he spends the night. She doesn't mind because she loves him, she really does. So the fact that she's been away from home for almost two weeks and she doesn't necessarily miss him, doesn't bother her as much as it should, because it's only been two weeks, right? And she loves him and that's enough. Right?

Puck's voice comes over the receiver next. And she makes a mental note to save his number so that it doesn't show up as 'unknown'.

What's up, Miss Hollywood? Listen, I don't know if Quinn told you, because she was kind of being a pussy about it, but my band's playing at The Tub tomorrow night. You should come. It'll be awesome and if I tell people you'll be there we might actually get a decent crowd for once. Think about it. Oh, also, Q's playing bass, so you'll have something to look forward to.

Rachel rolls her eyes slightly as she brings the phone away from her ear. She's suddenly buzzed. The fatigue she felt earlier, completely evaporated. She supposes her brief nap had something to do with it, but she's more convinced it's got to do with the fact that she'll be seeing Quinn…and, and Puck and his band playing. She's excited to see her friends.

With a long, frustrated sigh, she falls back into the plush cushions. Rachel doesn't do repression. She doesn't do denial. She's spent way too many of her teenage years in therapy (voluntarily, of course) to know that nothing good comes of it. So she knows that it's no good pretending she isn't at least slightly attracted to Quinn Fabray. But, as Dr Stein always told her, facing ones emotions and acting on them are two very different things. Besides, just because she finds Quinn attractive and happens to occasionally remember certain details of their once rendezvous or whatever one would call it doesn't mean that she wants to be with the girl for goodness sake. Anyone with eyes and a healthy libido would find Quinn Fabray attractive Rachel reasons, annoyed that she's even having this discussion with herself. With a huff, she reaches for her phone and dials David's number, resolved to spend some quality phone time with her fiancé.

...

By Friday evening, Rachel's phoned Puck to confirm that she'll indeed grace him with the honour of her presence. She didn't quite put it like that, but Puck was just pleased that he got to tell 'the guys' that he'd managed to get a Hollywood star to come and see them. She tried telling him that she'd much rather be referred to as a Broadway actress, but apparently, the title didn't have as much 'swag'. Thus far, the paparazzi have been surprisingly mellow and Rachel is hopeful that they won't cause too much of a scene if she arrives unguarded at the bar. Since her last feature film, in which she played Penelope Cruz's estranged daughter, the role which earned her a Golden Globe nomination and had her tipped to win the Oscar, her Tinsel Town worth has increased exponentially and the paparazzi, something she rarely had to worry about while she was on stage are now a constant bother.

She's resisted the urge to phone Quinn, arguing that Puck would confirm her attendance. Rachel's not sure why she's suddenly avoiding Quinn, but after her two-hour long phone call with David the night before, thoughts of the blonde girl are suddenly attached to an emotion very similar to guilt and while Rachel doesn't believe in denial, she does believe in self-preservation, so she prefers not to think about where these feelings are coming from.

...

The Tub is surprisingly upmarket compared to what Rachel had pictured. It's hardly The 40/40 Club, but it's certainly not the dingy student dive the name suggested. She gets there as the band is setting up and the place is already rather crowded. She wonders if Puck was lying when he said they had a hard time getting people to come to their gigs. Based on the turn-out, they're obviously rather popular. She attempts to blend in as she makes her way to the bar, snaking between the crowd until a cool hand on her shoulder has her spinning around.

Quinn is standing there, wearing an outfit that has Rachel gawking like a teenage boy at a Playboy centrefold. She knows she should close her mouth, in fact, her brain is screaming at her to stop ogling like an idiot and say something, but she fears that saying something would prove rather counter-productive. Quinn, for her part, stands there, with a half-amused, half-concerned expression. And Rachel curses the skin-tight jeans, her plaid, button-up vest that shows off those toned arms and smooth pale shoulders. Doesn't she know it's customary to wear a shirt underneath the vest, Rachel thinks with a hint of desperation.

"Hey, there you are! Are you okay?" Quinn finally asks when it looks as though Rachel's about to pass out and Rachel nods, hoping she doesn't look as faint as she suddenly feels.

"I'm just thirsty," she says, motioning towards the bar. "It's kinda hot in here."

"Yeah," Quinn sidles up next to her and takes her arm to lead her to the bar. "Mac's been working on the AC. C'mon. I'll buy you a drink before we start."

Rachel allows herself to be led by Quinn, ignoring the flutter in her stomach every time the blonde's bare elbow brushes against hers. "Who's Mac?" Rachel asks once they finally reach the counter.

"Hmm?" Quinn turns to face her fully and Rachel's struck by the intensity of her gaze. She's wearing make-up. It's the first time since she's seen her that she's been in make-up and though Rachel's pretty sure that Quinn's only gotten more attractive with age, with or without the use of artificial products, the addiction of colour to her lids has made her hazel eyes burn with light. Right now, they seem to be dancing with honeyed flame across Rachel's face. God, she suddenly needs that drink.

"You-uh," Rachel tries to find her bearings, her gaze moving away from Quinn's. "You mentioned someone named Mac."

"Oh." Quinn distractedly gestures towards the barman. "He's Vanessa's dad. He owns the place."

"Noah's girlfriend?" Rachel asks.

"Yeah." Quinn shoots her a grin. "Pretty neat huh? That's how they met. Puck was playing here and V was waitressing." She finally catches the skinny, pierced bartender's attention.

"Heeey, Q," he says, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Lou," she says shortly and gives him a smile.

"Who's your friend?" Lou rakes his gaze over Rachel in a way that can only be described a lecherous. Rachel almost jumps as Quinn's fingers curl around her forearm possessively.

"This is Rachel," Quinn says, her smile turning cool. Those eyes that were hot just a moment ago become icy and Rachel feels a shiver of something, something she refuses to acknowledge shoot through her from her hairline to the tips of her toes.

Lou's brow furrows. "Oh, shit," he says, realisation clouding his face. "You're Rachel Berry." He breaks into a wide grin and looks at Quinn for confirmation. When she rolls her eyes he lights up. "Oh fuck me! My sister's gonna fucking flip when I tell her you were here."

Rachel looks between Quinn and Lou, slightly perplexed. "Um, is he always like this?" she asks shooting Quinn a sidelong glance.

"Think of Puck in high-school and subtract five years," Quinn says wryly. Causing Rachel to smirk.

"Listen, can I get your autograph?" Lou asks, his eyes fixed on the sliver of cleavage between Rachel's top.

"Hey," Quinn snaps her fingers next to his ear. "How about you get us two tequila sunrises and I won't tell Mac about your maraschino cherry addiction."

Lou gulps. "Sure. Yeah, Q, coming right up."

Rachel watches in amusement as he scuttles away and glances at Quinn. "I'm impressed."

The blonde turns to her and those eyes warm up again like magic. "What do you mean?"

"You," Rachel leans back against the bar. "You being all head-bitch-in-chargy. It's very-"

"'Sup, Jewbabe!" Puck's voice comes from behind her, stopping Rachel from finishing her sentence. And part of her is grateful, because really, what the hell was she about to say? She hates that being around Quinn, being around those eyes makes her feel so…reckless.

"Hello Noah," she says, turning to face Puck who is standing next to an insanely gorgeous, unbelievably tall woman who looks like the love child of Chanel Iman and Blair Underwood, both of whom Rachel has met.

"This is Van," he says, slipping his arm around the taller woman's waist. "Baby, meet Rachel Berry."

Vanessa holds out her hand. "Hi." Her voice is low, sort of raspy. Something about her reminds Rachel of Santana. "I'm a huge fan," she says sincerely, her aloofness breaking as her mouth moves into a smile.

"Thanks." Rachel returns the smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She turns back to Quinn who is nudging her with a glass.

"Here you go, superstar." Quinn winks at her playfully and Rachel blushes. She knows she blushes because she actually feels the warmth rising from her neck towards her cheeks. It's not fair that Quinn gets to do this, she thinks suddenly and irrationally. She needs to decide if she's going to be cute and bumbling or smooth and charming. She can't be both, Rachel decides, taking a gulp of her drink.

"You ready to play the best set of your life, Q? You better bring your A-game" Puck says, his gaze directed at Quinn.

Quinn raises her brow at him. "I wouldn't even be here if Bas hadn't crapped out on you guys. I'm doing you a favour." She looks at his side, "No offense, V."

Vanessa shrugs, "Nah, you're right. And thanks, by the way for doing this. You're an amazing bassist. Don't listen to this douche."

"Heeeey," Puck puts his hand over his heart as if wounded and Rachel giggles which has Quinn looking down at her with a smile.

"Whatever," Puck continues, grabbing Quinn's drink out of her hand and swallowing it in one go, earning a punch from her. "Let's get this show on the road." He and Vanessa make their way towards the stage and Quinn turns to Rachel.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Of course." Rachel feels the slow burn of the tequila move through her body and thinks that she's just found her new favourite drink. "I'll be fine right here, Quinn. I've got a great view of the stage and Lou and my beck and call."

Quinn groans slightly and Rachel laughs a little. "Seriously, get up there. I want to see you in action."

Quinn bites down on her bottom lip and Rachel wonders in she's imagining it or if Quinn's suddenly nervous. "Okay," she says softly and then she's skipping towards the stage and Rachel's trying very, very hard not to stare at her as she goes.