A/N: A little stocking stuff for your holiday of choice. Hopefully it will make for merry and bright. I can never thank everyone enough for reading and commenting, so again, thank you. It is very much appreciated. It makes me positively giddy - even more than spiked eggnog.
Chapter Four: The Meter is Running
DAY ONE:
To Do:
*Get lay of the land.
*Get the word out.
Quinn was out of the house before first light.
Three days wasn't a very long time. She wasn't even going to count any time spent yesterday either. They had already lost two days while Rachel cried over her missing pet and Quinn didn't want to waste another moment. She didn't wanted to have to look this girl in the eye and tell her that they couldn't find her cat.
Quinn's plan was to just walk the area – to see if there were any tell-tale signs of feral cat activity or obvious cat traps, places where cats would be lured in and then get caught. Many a missing cat had been inadvertently trapped in a neighbors storage shed or basement or garage. She also wanted to see if there was construction or street work or building maintenance going on in the area. Inside cats could become frightened by loud new sights, smells or sounds and feel the need to escape to new surroundings and hide. And, even though he was a neutered male, Quinn was especially curious to see if any of Rachel's neighbors might have a female cat in heat. Other male cats spraying or hanging around a residence would be good evidence of that.
Rachel's townhouse was in the back of the complex and the whole development was set off the main cross street. One of the biggest threats to an inside cat suddenly outside was being hit by a car. It could still happen, but it was less likely on quieter side streets and parking lots. Similarly, it pretty much ruled out construction noises as a factor.
There wasn't a lot green space in front of Rachel's townhouse, but there was behind it. She backed up to a wooded park-like area. While it might be picturesque to look at out the window, it made for the possibility of predators. Cats were particularly susceptible to becoming prey for coyotes, stray dogs and even the odd bobcat or raptor. The fact that Mr. Arnstein was a big cat worked in their favor. There were other smaller, easier prey available when confronting with a hissing, swatting 20 pound cat versus an average seven pound cat.
Walking the street behind Rachel's, Quinn happened upon what was always a good ally. There was a woman outside in her driveway feeding several cats. There was almost some kind-hearted soul who couldn't resist feed a stray animal and before they knew it, they were feeding lots of stray animals. Cats in particular would gravitate to these residences, especially if they left out food.
Quinn walked up the driveway.
"Excuse me," she said pleasantly. "Good morning. I can't help but notice that you have an entourage."
The woman smiled.
Quinn offered her business card and explained what she was doing. She had a copy of their flyer folded in her pocket and pulled it out. The woman took it and asked if she could keep it.
She told Quinn that she would be more than happy to keep an eye out for the runaway and would also ask her immediate neighbors to watch as well. She also agreed that they could put a trap on her property if they wanted to if it came to that. Quinn thanked her for her time and started back to her car.
Going through Rachel's parking lot she caught another good break when she happened across one of the maintenance crew and she immediately introduced herself. He said his name was Esteban.
Between her broken Spanish and his broken English, she told him what she was doing and he said he would keep an eye out for the cat and took her business card. He also alerted her to a fenced-in dumpster several buildings down where he always saw cats lingering for scraps. That would be another ideal location for a trap. He said they did have a window washing crew working in the complex in the past week, but it was on the opposite side from Rachel and she doubted that would have been enough to frighten the big cat.
She thanked him and continued back to her car. It was too early to try and talk to Rachel's neighbors and she needed Rachel to talk to her complex to see what the policy was regarding her putting up missing pet flyers. If they put them up just to have them taken right back down, that was just wasted time spent.
=^..^=
Rachel had finished her morning work-out and was reaching up to close her blinds in her guest bedroom when she noticed someone walking down the street behind her townhouse. She recognized it as Quinn, the woman from the pet agency.
She watched as she walked up the driveway and approached the lady who fed all the neighborhood cats. She saw her hand over what she presumed to be her business card and a few minutes later, she pulled something out of her back pocked, unfolded it and handed it to the woman. They talked for several more minutes and then Quinn waved and started walking back down the driveway and crossed the street.
She crossed the hall into her bedroom and peered out the window just as Quinn approached one the maintenance workers she saw regularly in the complex. He was nice. He often carried her packages inside for her and fixed her hot water heater when it leaked all over the garage so she didn't have to buy a new one.
For some reason, Rachel felt the urge to run outside and talk to the girl. Maybe it was because Quinn was the only person who'd even remotely appeared to understand her profound sense of grief. It was ridiculous, of course. She wasn't even dressed yet and besides she hardly knew this person. She clearly hadn't found her cat yet and Rachel had no new information to offer her so there wasn't even any reason to speak to her.
Then again, she could just say hello and maybe offer her a cup of coffee. That was just being polite, wasn't it? That wouldn't seem, well, strange, would it? No, it would be friendly. That was okay.
Having reached an internal detente over the idea, Rachel grabbed her shoes and her keys and started toward the front door. She hopped around, slipping on her shoes, and then briskly walked out into her driveway. She saw Quinn crossing to her car and her heart sank. Then, instead of going inside, which was the rational thing to do, she started to sprint across the parking lot.
"Quinn," she yelled, once she got close enough.
Quinn paused upon hearing her name and turned to see Rachel hurrying toward her. She was dressed in what appeared to be lounge pants and a short pink heart-stenciled t-shirt and wearing pink Crocs. If Quinn had to guess, she would swear the little brunette was still in her pajamas.
"Quinn, hi," Rachel said brightly, breathing heavily. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Quinn said, offering her a smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you, uh, this early. Or, even at all."
"Oh," Rachel said, her smile fading.
"No, it's just..." Quinn shook her head at her own bluntness. "I mean, it's so early."
"Oh yes, I see," Rachel said, perking up again."I'm a morning person as a rule."
Of course you are.
"I was wondering if maybe you might like some coffee?" Rachel offered, trying to find just the right polite tone. "I just made a fresh pot and I happened to see you."
Happened to see me? What, with a telescope?
"Um, sure," Quinn said, mentally fumbling for an excuse and coming up empty-handed. "Sure, okay."
"Oh, yay," Rachel squeaked and actually did a giddy-hop-skip step. She started back across the street toward her house, chattering amicably about something. Quinn followed along behind, twisting a hand through her hair and wondering if she'd lost her mind this morning.
All of her needy client semaphore signal flags were at full-mast and waving furiously. Her vision, however, was obscured because at the moment she was too busy staring at Rachel's ass in her lime green lounge pants. She was having a Puck-worthy mental debate as to whether or not the girl was wearing underwear when Rachel stopped abruptly. Quinn plowed right into her.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, " Quinn stammered, inwardly cursing Puck because this was all his perv-ass fault. "I don't, I didn't... I just..."
She finally quit trying to even finish her pitiful excuse and just threw her hands up in resignation.
"No," Rachel laughed, "It's fine, I'm fine. I should be more careful. I was just saying that I've spoken to all my neighbors so they are aware of the situation, pet-wise."
"Oh," Quinn said, finally comprehending what Rachel was saying. "Great. That's great."
"I just wanted to save you from duplicating any efforts, " she said reasonably "I mean, given our time constraints."
"Yes, sure. Understood," Quinn remarked, nodding. She wondered what else relevant to actually finding Mr Arnstein Rachel might have said while she was butt-gazing her like a total perv. She made a mental note to do something evil to Puck for no reason when she saw him.
Rachel unlocked the door and held it open for Quinn. She stepped inside and waiting in the living room as Rachel came inside and closed the door. The interior was spacious, tidy and inviting. To her real surprise it was neither pink nor particularly girly. It felt authentic, lived in and not like something put together in a designer's workbook for the sake of appearances. She must be seeing a very real side of Rachel and it felt comfortable.
"We can have coffee in the kitchen, if you like," she said, motioning to the table. "Or, if you prefer, we can go up on the patio – it's really quite nice at this time of the morning."
"Sure," Quinn told her. "The patio sounds great."
"Excellent," she said, beaming. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Fully dressed, plus-sized," she said.
Rachel tilted her head slightly and squinted at her, puzzled.
"Cream and sugar, lots of both," Quinn explained.
"Oh, I see," Rachel nodded, making a mental note. "Is rice milk okay?"
"Umm, sure, I think so," Quinn said shrugging.
Rachel fixed their coffee and handed Quinn hers. She picked up her own mug and a small box of breakfast cake and nodded her head for Quinn to follow her up the stairs and out onto the patio.
"Oh wow," Quinn said, walking out and taking a seat at the patio table. "This is really nice. Your home is lovely, Rachel."
"Thank you," Rachel said, smiling sweetly at the compliment.
They sat quietly, sipping their coffee.
Quinn found herself staring at Rachel. She would stop only to find herself doing it again a few moments later.
"Why are you doing this?" Rachel asked, blowing on her hot coffee.
Quinn choked slightly.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said, rolling her eyes at herself. "I mean, how did you come to be doing this kind of work for a living?"
"I know, " Quinn said. "It's a little... different."
"Different is good," Rachel said with an easy smile. "You'll have to pardon me for saying, but you don't really strike me as the customer-service type."
Quinn laughed.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said immediately. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"Trust me," Quinn insisted. "You haven't. And you're right, I'm not exactly. I just kind of fell into all this."
"And the plot thickens, " Rachel teased, quirking her brow slightly.
"Not really. I mean, I pretty much started in college," Quinn told her. "I had a... friend who lost her dog and was practically inconsolable. Everyone was sort-of running around like headless chickens looking for it and it just kind of occurred to me that there might be a better way to approach it."
"And was there?" Rachel asked, intently "I mean, did you find the dog?"
"Yes and yes," Quinn said. "Turns out someone had basically walked off with it, but we got it back."
Yes, but only after she and Santana threatened to beat the crap out of the person who took it if they didn't return it.
"It just kind of turned into a part-time thing from there, " she continued. "Once I graduated, after floundering around a little, I thought I'd try it for awhile until something better came along. I'm still waiting."
Rachel nodded, leaning on her hand, totally focused on Quinn.
"It looks like you've done really well," she said. "I mean, you have a nice location and a staff. I was very impressed."
Quinn chuckled and nodded.
"We do okay," she said with a shrug.
In Hollywood, appearance could be deceiving and nothing was ever as it seemed.
The real story behind Little Bo Peep was that when Quinn and Santana were first out of college they were both bored, working dead-end temp jobs and eating boxed macaroni and cheese, ramen noodles and frequently supplementing with the free sample servings at various local grocery stores. On a giggling, beer-fueled whim they sat down one weekend and wrote a screenplay.
Owning mostly to beginner's luck, naivete and Santana's brash fearlessness, they found an agent and he successfully shopped it to a producer of moderate note who optioned for 18 months while he, in turn, made the rounds and pitched it to various studios.
With a nice mid-five figure check now in their possession, the two of them upgraded their meager lifestyle. Quinn used the money to put a down payment on a small house in a trendy zip code and she started her business out of their garage while still working temping jobs.
Santana lived with her until she and Brittany moved into a place of their own together, Then, after days of listening to him crying poor and pitiful, she'd let Puck talk his way into Santana's old room.
When the producer extended his option for another 18 months, they split another nice check. Quinn took the opportunity to sell her starter house for an obscene profit and, with Puck now in tow to split expenses and manual labor, she bought a bigger renovation project in a much better neighborhood with an even trendier zip code. The two of them spent the next 12 months covered in saw dust and inhaling paint fumes while they converted it to their liking.
She also moved her business out of their garage and into the modest storefront that Rachel saw. It was a piece of rental property owned by Santana's boss. He loathed dealing with constant tenant turn-over and Santana recognized an opportunity. She locked Quinn into a very favorable long-term, low-rent lease. She even manage to get a sublet clause so they could sublet it and, very likely, turn a profit, if they ever needed out from under the rent.
"Actually, we all do other things now and then," Quinn explained. "Well, I mostly do this, but everyone else has another working life besides this."
That was also something of an understatement.
The notion that one person, let alone four, could eke out a living looking for lost pets was, at best, a stretch, even in Los Angeles. The truth was they all worked other jobs as needed and like so many in Hollywood, they were linked in and around the entertainment industry.
Quinn was the only one who worked the pet finder job mostly full time, while Brittany was the only one of their core four who was trying to make a go as a performer full-time. Santana's income supported them and she worked for Quinn when she could.
Puck did crew work and got a job now and then as an extra or a walk-on. He was currently working his way through culinary school and saving to buy his own food truck, a plan Quinn whole-heartedly endorsed and planned to help fund when he was ready if she could. When he had time and ambition, he got work catering now and then and, thanks mainly to Santana, he was making inroads into starting a small craft services company.
Santana was the only one who had what they all considered a real job. She was a publicist.
Shortly after their film option deal came about, Santana went to work for their agent, first as an administrative assistant, where she learned the business, and then eventually as a publicist with his agency. She was quietly biding her time, building her contacts and just waiting for the right time and opportunity to come along so she step out on her own.
Until then, it was still a win-win for all of them because she had real industry contacts and got real industry perks with her job. They went to premieres and promotional events frequently. It was fun and also a phenomenal way to network. She also pitched work their way whenever she could.
Rachel smiled.
"What did you study in school?" Rachel implored. "I mean, if you don't mind my asking."
"No, I don't mind," Quinn said, putting her coffee down. "I was pre-law, then business, then just whatever would get me out in four years. I ended up with a marketing degree. I worked in an advertising agency for about 15 minutes before I realized I hate it."
Rachel noticed her eyeballing the coffee cake and casually nudged the box in her direction.
"Please," she told her. "As much as you like."
Quinn smiled and took another piece.
"This is really good," Quinn said, stuffing a forkful in her mouth.
"It's sinful, I know, " Rachel agreed. "I try to stay away from it, but I just can't. It's my biggest vice at the moment."
"You're doing pretty well if crumb cake is your worst sin," Quinn insisted. "I've stopped counting mine."
"Somehow I don't believe that," Rachel said, frowning.
"That I have vices or that I've stopped counting them," Quinn asked, licking the sticky frosting from her fingers.
Rachel watched, eyes wide, head tilted, mouth slightly open, utterly transfixed. She stayed that way until she realized that Quinn had asked her a question, then she blushed furiously.
"Gosh, I'm sorry," she said, her blinking. "I was... actually I don't know what I was doing."
She laughed nervously and Quinn looked at her curiously.
"It seems there's a lot of that going around," she said, tweaking her brow up.
Rachel's cheeks tinted an even darker shade of pink and Quinn smirked.
That was all..interesting.
"I just can't imagine that you would have that many vices, I guess," Rachel continued, trying to regain her train of thought. If there was a point she wanted to make it had vanished completely. She had no idea what she meant to say before the frosting incident.
"Trust me," Quinn said solemnly. "I have plenty of vices."
"I'll have to take you at your word on that," Rachel said, still shaking her head.
"Well, it looks like we have at least one in common," Quinn said honestly. "Because I can now add this crumb cake to the list."
=^..^=
Quinn could tell Puck was cooking before she ever went inside the house. So could half the dogs in the neighborhood as the fragrant grill smoke wafted down the block. She could also hear Puck and Santana bickering back and forth loudly in the backyard as she walked into the garage.
"It's too hot," Santana insisted.
"I'm telling you, it's not," Puck said emphatically. "Look, I'm the expert here."
"You're an expert at being fucking wrong," Santana replied. "And when you burn up $50 worth of prime steak, I'm going to roast your ass on it. Then you'll be able to see for yourself."
"Santana, just go in the house," he barked. "I've got this covered, thank you."
"I know you for damn sure ain't my mama," she barked. "So you don't get to tell me what to do."
So much for a quiet evening.
Quinn rolled her eyes and shouldered the garage door open.
"Hey Q," Brittany greeted her warmly when she stepped into the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Mojo in a blissed-out petting-induced coma on her lap.
"Hey pretty blonde girl in my kitchen," Quinn teased. "Stop spoiling my fat cat."
"He's my favorite," Brittany said. "Loki is mean."
"He's just misunderstood," Quinn told her. "Like me."
"You're not mean," Brittany insisted.
"Yes, I am," Quinn said, grinning.
She dropped her purse and backpack in the empty chair next to Brittany and then leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
"I'm glad you're home, " Brittany said with a pout.
"Why?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "So I can put them both in time out?"
"Maybe," she confessed. "They don't fight so much when you're around."
"That's because they know I'll hurt them if they do," she whispered in her ear. "I'm mean, remember?"
"That's not true," she said, casting her blue eyes up at Quinn. "And you won't."
Quinn put a finger to her lips and winked.
"Our secret, B," she said, tugging the refrigerator open and pulling out a bottle of water.
"It's about damned time you graced us with your lazy presence," Santana fussed, stalking into the room. She snagged the water out of Quinn's hand and twisted the cap off. "Why is it so fucking hot in here?"
She drank greedily.
"Maybe because every door and window is wide open and the oven is set on solar flare?" Quinn suggested, diving back into refrigerator again. "Brittany, hon, do you need anything? Or were you just planning on taking my next one?"
"I'm good," she said, holding up her drink.
"You're out of beer," Santana told her while fanning herself and rolling the cool water bottle across her forehead. "Brittany, you're going to rub all the fur off that spoiled Chia pet."
"No," Quinn corrected. "You and Puck are out of beer."
Santana narrowed her eyes at her.
"Fine, if you want to be all technical and shit," she said. "Puck said he thought you might bring some."
"And you sound like you're actually surprised that he's wrong. What am I, the beer fairy?" Quinn asked. "Maybe Puck still believes in the tooth fairy, too?"
Right on cue, Puck rolled into the kitchen. He was dressed in flip flops, cargo shorts and an apron emblazoned with the phrase: "It's All in the Way I Handle My Meat." He had a ridiculous chef's hat squashed on his head.
"God, the neighbors," Quinn muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Q, did you bring beer?" he asked sounding somewhat frantic.
"No I did not," she told him.
He groaned and flailed around dramatically like he'd been bee-stung.
"Give Brittany some money so she can make a beer run," he demanded, staring at Santana.
"Oh, I know you're not talking to me" she told him, taking a menacing step toward him. "And I know you did not just order B to go fetch your damned beer."
"Yes he did," Brittany said, nodding. "I heard him."
"I so am and I so did," he said, mocking her tone. "She's not busy and you want it as much as I do. You know Q won't go and get it."
They both looked at over Quinn with pleading puppy dog expressions on their face.
She scoffed and slammed her water on the counter.
"Goddamn it," she grunted loudly then grabbed up her keys. "Only because I know you two won't shut up about it until someone goes."
She glanced at Brittany who smiled at her. On her way to the door she spied Puck's wallet on top of the television and grabbed it.
"Hey," he protested, scowling.
She pulled out a twenty dollar bill and tossed it back down.
"If I hear another word, I'm not going," Quinn said, staring at him.
He started to open his mouth, but Santana grabbed his nipple and twisted. He yelped like a girl.
"What? You means guys don't like that?" she asked, smirking. "Drive safe, Q."
She held up two bills and Quinn smiled and closed her hand around them.
"If you need anything else, tell me now," Quinn insisted. "This is my one and only grocery run."
"Can we have fondue?" Brittany asked hopefully.
"We're having steak," Puck scoffed, shaking his head. Santana reached for his nipple again but he scuttled out of her reach, wincing.
"I'll make you fondue tomorrow," he told her. "The kind with cake, like you like."
"I guess we'll be back for dinner then," Santana smirked.
"Crazy bitches," he muttered under his breath. Rubbing his chest, he stomped back out to the grill.
Santana laughed wickedly, then she leaned over and kissed Brittany. Mojo hissed and swatted at her grumpily. Santana hissed back at him and he flopped down and stalked away after Puck, hoping for scraps.
"You shouldn't be so mean to him," Brittany told her, eyes closed as Santana kissed softly on her neck.
"Who, Puck or that walking basketball of a cat?" Santana asked.
"Puck," Brittany said.
"He shouldn't make it so easy," Santana purred, nuzzling against her.
She took Brittany by the hand and tugged her out of her seat.
"Come with me," she requested. "Let's go in the other room and not watch some television until Q comes home."
Brittany giggled and trailed after her.
=^..^=
Quinn walked up the aisle, resting her elbows on her cart and scanning the shelves. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, she was mostly just killing time before she had to go back and play referee for the rest of the evening. Hopefully the fermented contents of her cart would ease the tension considerably. She wanted to find something fun for Brittany and tossed in a bag of gummy worms.
"What are these?" a male voice asked behind her.
"Artichoke hearts," a female voice replied.
"Why do you need these" the man asked again. "Do I like them?"
There was a loud scoff.
"I don't know, but I like them," the woman replied impatiently. "That's why I need them."
"We should get something I like, too," the man whined.
"Seriously?" the female retorted. "I hardly think nasty chemical-laced wax-covered cupcakes and spray-foam squeeze cheese are on my shopping list.
Boy, that sounds like love, Quinn thought, smirking.
"That's like two things," her male companion fretted. "You have a whole cartload."
"We'll find something else that you like, don't we always?" the female insisted.
The couple steered themselves around Quinn, who glanced up briefly and then resumed her searching.
"Quinn?" a suddenly-familiar voice called. She jerked her head up and saw Rachel standing in front of her, beside a nearly over-flowing shopping cart which had a large, nondescript young man attached to the handle.
"Hello again," Rachel said, smiling.
"Hey, Rachel. Yeah, again, wow, " Quinn said, straightening up. "So are you stalking me now or what?"
Rachel's eyes widened and then her brows furrowed anxiously.
"Uh, no, I.. we...," she stuttered.
Quinn bit her lip and then smiled.
"Rachel, I'm kidding," she admitted.
Rachel broke into a nervous laugh.
"You'll have to forgive me," Quinn explained. "I'm not used to being around people who actually listen to me much less take anything I say literally."
Rachel giggled and pulled at her hair.
Quinn looked at the stockpile in Rachel's shopping cart..
"Are you feeding bears?" she quipped.
Rachel followed her gaze and laughed loudly,
"Um, sort-of," she mumbled, sounding somewhat embarrassed. Quinn saw that she glanced up at the young man standing next to her who was staring back and forth between them.
"Um, this is Quinn," she said formally. "She's my... this is the woman who's helping me find Mr. Arnstein."
The man's face scrunched up and he looked...well, the word constipated sprang into Quinn's mind.
"Quinn, this is Finn," Rachel said. "He's my... um."
"Boyfriend," he said helpfully. He was surprised Rachel forgot the word. She usually never forgot words.
"Oh," Quinn said sounding slightly surprised.
Rachel shifted back and forth, fidgeting.
"Hi," Quinn said, holding out her hand. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Finn," he said, shaking her hand lightly. God, she hated that.
"Flint?" she asked.
"Finn," he repeated.
"Finch?" she repeated.
"Fi...nn," he drawled, dragging it out.
"Fi..lch," she repeated at the same cadence.
"Finn, you know, like a fish." he yelled slowly.
"God, she's not deaf, Finn," Rachel said under breath, mortified.
"Fish, right, got it." Quinn said, nodding, chuckling to herself.
She saw Rachel's eyes shift to the contents of her own cart and now it was her turn to blush and groan. She had five cartons of Mexican beer, a dozen cans of cat food and a super-sized bag of gummy worms. Rachel put her hand up to her mouth to cover her grin.
"It's really not as pathetic as it seems," Quinn insisted, shrugging. "My home has been invaded by latent adolescents. It was either shop for them or listen to them whine and fight all evening. I'm hoping they'll drink themselves into stupors early."
"Nice friends," Finn muttered.
Rachel slapped him, hard from the sound of it.
"Ex-cons and mental patients need love, too," Quinn said non-nonchalantly.
Finn look aghast and Rachel stifled a giggle.
"You'll understand why I don't want to linger too long," she continued. "Most of the good stuff is bolted to the walls, but it still doesn't pay to trust them for too long."
"Always nice to see you," Rachel said earnestly. "I hope I'll see you soon."
"Likewise," Quinn said nodding. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
There was a moment of awkward smiling and then the parties started their separate ways. Rachel and Finn had gotten about half way down the aisle when Quinn turned toward them.
"Oh, nice to meet you, Fink," she said loudly
She heard Finn scoff in frustration and she could see Rachel's shoulders shaking slightly. Finn started to turn toward her, probably to correct her, but she saw Rachel take his arm and pull him along.
God, talk about piss-poor casting, Quinn thought to herself. She didn't want to even wonder how someone like him manage to pull someone like Rachel. He was clearly fighting out of his weight class. Maybe Puck would have been a better choice after all.
=^..^=
There weren't any emergency vehicles parked in front of the house when she returned and she immediately breathed a sigh of relief. She carried the beer into the garage and deposited it into the spare refrigerator and then carried her other groceries into the house. Puck was puttering in the kitchen and Brittany and Santana were nowhere to be seen.
She placed her bags on the counter.
"Where's the beer?" Puck asked, rifling through bags.
"In the garage," she said absently. "Why am I not seeing Santana and that blonde girl she hangs around with?"
"They're asleep on the couch," he told her. "I was hoping to see some hot girl-on-girl but they passed out before it got good."
She chuckled.
"I'm telling Santana you said that," Quinn told him.
"Like she hasn't heard that before," he chided.
"Saw your hot wanna-be girlfriend at the grocery store, " Quinn told him.
"Oh yeah," he said, pulling potatoes out of the oven. "Which one?"
She rolled her eyes.
"The one with the nice ass," she added helpfully.
"Again too many options, gotta be more specific," he said, pausing to think.
"Rachel, you shithead," she said annoyed.
"Oh, you mean, your hot wanna-be girlfriend," he said, nodding.
She scoffed.
"I don't know why I even bother to speak to you," she complained.
"Cause you're an idiot," Santana said, walking into the kitchen, yawning loudly.
"Must be," Quinn agreed.
Santana looked around and then looked pointedly at Quinn and threw up a hand as if to say, "Where the fuck?"
Quinn pointed toward the garage and Santana disappeared out the garage door.
"So what's with this Rachel chick?" Puck asked, pulling out plates and handing them to Quinn. She started setting the table.
"Well apparently, she's somebody's girlfriend," she told him. "She was with some guy. She introduced him as her boyfriend."
"Let me guess," Puck said, pointing with the tongs he was holding. "A yuppie suit with a $500 haircut."
Quinn shook her head.
"Nah, not even close," she said, grabbing up silverware. "Some lumpy Sasquatch-size sort. Actor maybe, I dunno."
"I hate when dolts like that get hot girls," Puck fretted angrily. "Makes me want to mercy fuck them just so they know what they're missing."
"Oh right," Quinn said, glaring at him in disgust. "Puck, patron saint of maidens dating beneath themselves."
"Did I honestly just hear him say what I though he said?" Santana asked, carrying two six packs of beer in from the garage.
"Yes, you did," Quinn told her.
"Oh you funny, delusional little impotent man," Santana said laughing. "If anyone is getting a pity lay, it's you. Hey, gummy worms!"
Santana made to grab for the package, but Quinn snatched them away from her.
"Those are for B," she told her and Santana pouted.
"Oh stop," Quinn said, frowning. "You know she'll share. Besides, we're about ready to eat. He may be a dick..."
"A limp dick," Santana corrected.
"Stop lying about the state of my dick," Puck barked. "It's a mighty oak."
"More like a willow" Santana insisted.
"Regardless, he makes a mean dinner." Quinn noted.
She dug her fingers playfully into Puck's ribs, then patted his bare back.
"Thanks for cooking," she told him, smiling.
"See, this is why he stays, " Santana grumbled, sipping on her beer and boosting herself up to sit on the counter. "You're too nice to him. Makes him think he still has a shot."
"Quinn doesn't like Puck like that anymore," Brittany said, walking into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. "Besides, she likes Rachel now anyway."
"Brit, hon, just stop with the Rachel talk," Quinn scolded.
Brittany frowned and sat down at the table looking chastised, but then Quinn held up the gummy worms and her eyes lit up.
"After dinner, okay?" Quinn insisted. Brittany nodded and Quinn handed them to her.
"Who's Rachel?" Santana asked, her curiosity peaked, and Quinn groaned.
"She's a just some client," she insisted.
"She's just some banging hot chick," Puck corrected, setting a platter of steaks on the table. "Q has a thing for her, but apparently she's got a boyfriend."
"So?" Santana said with a shrug. "That's no big deal."
"First of all, I don't have a thing for her, " Quinn insisted. "And second, if I did, which again I don't, I don't do the boyfriend drama."
"You said he was a tool," Puck reminded her.
"I did not say he was a tool, " Quinn protested. "I said he was kind of dough-boy and Yeti-like. I have no idea if he's a tool or not. And besides, even if he is, I don't care. Not my problem."
"Brit, baby," Santana asked, hopping down. "What do you want to drink?"
"Water's fine, " she told her. Santana walk to the fridge and pulled it open. She grabbed two bottles of water and handed one to Brittany and the other to Quinn.
"So what's the deal with this girl," she asked her quietly "And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"
"There is no deal," Quinn insisted. "And it's not the first you're hearing of it. She's the one that was crying in my office yesterday. Brittany is... it's just wishful thinking on their part. There is not thing, seriously."
Santana sat down next to Brittany.
"Oh yeah, that one," she said with a grin and immediately looked at Puck. "She's an actress, right?"
"Yes, I think so," Quinn answered.
"What's her name again?" Santana asked.
"Rachel Berry," Brittany told her to Quinn's obvious displeasure. "But she doesn't smell like berries. She smells like lavender."
Santana smiled at Brittany and patted her on the leg, then she pulled out her cell phone. Quinn eyed her suspiciously. Puck swore under his breath in the kitchen and Quinn walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"What else do you need help with?" she offered sincerely.
He looked around and shook his head.
"I think we're good to go," he told her. "Wait, you can take this."
He handed her a basket of bread. She carried it to the table and then pulled out a chair beside Santana, who was still caught up in something on her phone. Quinn took Santana's second beer and moved it over to Puck's plate. Before Santana could confront her about it, Puck walked to the table and sat down.
"Ladies, your magnifeast awaits," he announced dramatically. "You may hold all your applause until the end."
Quinn and Santana both rolled their eyes and Brittany clapped excitedly.
"Eat up, peeps," he said, spearing a steak with his fork.
"Wait," Brittany said. "Say grace first."
"Fine," Santana muttered, putting her phone aside.
Everyone bowed their heads.
"Good God. So let's fucking eat already. Amen."
=^..^=
DAY TWO
To Do:
* Set traps
Quinn pulled into the parking lot and shut off the ignition. Puck's crappy pick up truck shuddered and sputtered and finally shut off, but only after backfiring loudly and belching a plume of oily, black smoke in protest.
That's lovely at the crack of dawn.
She put her hand on the door and pulled the handle, but the door didn't budge. Scowling, she pushed her shoulder hard against it once, twice and finally it creaked open, screeching painfully. Nothing about this truck was easy or subtle.
"Piece of shit," she muttered, slamming the door. It bounced open again, as though in spite, and she growled and pushed it closed. It was one good slam away from duct tape. At least it wouldn't be noticeable against the gun-metal gray primer.
She walked around to the back and dropped the tailgate so she could start baiting her traps. She had brought eight in all. It was a lot – overkill actually. No doubt she was going to be catching and releasing a lot of strays. Because Mr. Arnstein was such a big cat she had to step up to a size large than she normally used – these would hold a raccoon and even a bobcat.
She made a mental note to call her favorite contact at the closest no-kill to see if they work some kind of a deal with her. At the very least, she'd like to snip anything she caught before she turned it back out. The males were quick and easy, but the females were a different matter.
The traps were nothing elaborate or complex – just a mesh wire box frame with a drop-spring door mechanism that triggered by pressure and closed behind any animal when it entered the trap lured by bait. They were, however, humane and highly effective, particularly for cats, which tended to be more visibly active at night. The animal might not be too happy, but it wasn't harmed and the traps were highly portable and releasing any wayward animal was just a matter of raising the back door of the trap, which pulled completely free.
She really meant to get these set out the night before, but the time got away from her. Now she had this small window this morning to bait and set them and then she'd have to check them later to make sure they were still baited and empty. She would keep them in shade as best she could so that any animal she caught wasn't sitting in the open for hours.
She planned on putting three around Rachel's complex and three off-site in the wooded area behind. That was probably going to get anything but a cat there, but it was worth a try. She had contacted the property manager at Rachel's complex and had his permission to put them out and she also attached her business cards to the traps, in case some concerned citizen had any questions as to her motives.
For bait, she was going to first try chicken wings. She used all kinds of things, but she found sardines and chicken worked best. Rachel said Mr. Arnstein wasn't big on fish flavors, so she was going to go with chicken first. She had a small container of chicken wings she'd grilled and she tied them so they dangled freely as far back in the trap as she could. She wanted the cat to walk all the way in and step on the pressure plate that released the drop door. Once the bait was set, she slide the back door into place again and securely latched it and double-checked because rounding up cats twice was because they'd escaped once was nearly impossible.
She had already lined the bottom of all her traps, so now she covered this one with an old beach towel. Most cats like enclosed spaces and a trapped cat would hopefully relax eventually rather than thrash frantically and possibly harm itself.
Now that it was baited and covered, she was ready to set it out. Her first location was the dumpster that the maintenance man had showed her yesterday. She shimmied along side and got behind it and pushed the trap underneath the back corner. Once she had it positioned where she liked, She raised the door and set the pin, activating the pressure plate in the rear of the trap. Once set, as soon as a cat stepped on it, the plate would drop and the door would snap shut behind them, trapping them neatly inside. Quinn also tucked a small tin of fresh water in the farthest corner of the trap. It was too hot and the water would probably evaporate quickly, but it was better than not having it at all.
That was one trap baited, set and ready for occupancy. Now she had seven more to go.
She put one in farthest corner of Rachel's front porch. It wouldn't surprise her if Mr. Arnstein wasn't coming back and trying to get in the house again. He certainly wouldn't be the first fat, spoiled inside-only cat who soon tired of the rigors of life in the wild and tried to find his way back to high-end wet food and air conditioning if he could.
She carried the third trap down the side yard and tucked it in a far corner of Rachel's back property line, under a shrub. She was on her hands and knees putting water in the trap when she heard a voice call out above her, "Now I understand your comment about crawling around on your knees."
She chuckled and looked up, squinting against the glare, and saw Rachel smiling down at her from her deck.
"How long have you been watching me?" she asked, wondering just what exactly she'd been staring at given her current position.
"Oh, not too long," she remarked slyly. She'd actually been watching since Quinn pulled into the parking lot. "So do you really think that's going to work?"
"I'm cautiously optimistic," she told her, not wanting to get her hopes too wildly inflated. She was starting to appreciate how easily that was to do where Rachel was concerned because the girl took everything to heart. "We'll know soon enough."
"I just made fresh coffee," Rachel said hopefully.
Quinn hemmed, quirking her mouth. She really had a full schedule.
"I stopped and got coffee cake on the way home last night," she added, sweetening the carrot as it were.
"I'll come around," Quinn said, shaking her head at her complete lack of willpower over all things pastry.
Rachel squealed and clapped and Quinn laughed. If only everyone was that excited at the thought of sharing her company.
She crawled back beneath the hedgerow and double-checked the trap and then scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off as best she could before starting around to the front porch. Rachel left the door open for her and she walked in, closing the door behind her.
"I'm just fixing your coffee," she called from the kitchen. "Fully dressed."
"Right," Quinn said, nodding.
"You can go on up if you'd like," she told her. "I've got this covered."
"Okay," she said. "But I've got to watch the time."
"It's okay me as well," Rachel replied. "I have an audition. We'll just have a quick bite."
"Can I take something with me? " she asked.
"No, no, " Rachel said. "I've got it."
Quinn climbed the stairs and walked out onto the patio, marveling once again at the view.
"I promise I won't keep you," Rachel said, nudging through the doorway with a serving tray. Quinn moved quickly to take it from her as she was starting to list to one side.
"Oh, thank you," Rachel said gratefully. She started pulling items off the tray and putting them on the table. "Thank you. Please, sit."
Quinn pulled out Rachel's chair for her and then pulled out her own and sat down.
"It's blackberry today, " she told her, serving the coffee cake. "I promise, you'll love it. It's from Frangelico's – they're just right up around the corner. Their food is so... addictive. Everything is just yum, it takes me forever to decide sometimes. I stand at the pastry case and just stare – eventually I just want one of everything."
"Thank you," Quinn said, taking the plate from her. She picked up her fork and started to dig in, then realized she probably was being rude and waited for Rachel to sit down.
"No," Rachel said, fussing with napkins and a plate of fresh fruit. "Please, go ahead. You've been working already. Just eat, I'll catch up to you. Don't worry about that."
Quinn smiled and went back to cutting up her coffee cake. Taking a first bite, she closed her eyes and chewed, savoring.
"Sinful, right?" Rachel asked.
"Positively," Quinn said, taking a second bite, literally trying not to moan out loud.
"It's okay," Rachel said, noticing her face. "To make noises, I mean. It's almost better than sex."
Quinn choked and reached for her coffee.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said, "I'm too blunt for my own good sometimes."
Quinn laughed, waving her off.
"No," she told her. "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. I certainly understand about the addictive nature of food porn so no need to apologize."
"How did your dinner go last night?" Rachel asked lightly.
"It was fine," Quinn said, shrugging. "No blood was spilled, no glass was broken. Good all around."
Rachel laughed.
"It sounds like fun, " she said truthfully.
"Nah, just boring," Quinn said, pulling a face.
"Somehow I don't believe you," Rachel insisted with a laugh.
"So maybe you'll come sometime, "Quinn said casually, without really thinking about what she was saying or, more to the point, who she was saying it to. "You can see for yourself how madly dull we all are."
"Sure, I'd like that, " Rachel said instantly to Quinn's horror. "It would be fun. And I can bring dessert."
She motioned toward the coffee cake with a happy expression on her face.
"Great, yeah," Quinn nodded, a tight smile twisted on her face.
Holy crap - she so did NOT just fucking actually invite her to come over to dinner sometime? She was just kidding... wasn't she?
"Yeah, you can bring your boyfriend, Fizz, too, " Quinn added and Rachel's expression faltered noticeably.
"Oh sure," she said without enthusiasm. "I guess. He might be busy, though."
"What does he do?" Quinn asked, wondering.
"He's an actor," she said. "Well, he wants to be. Right now he mostly works for his dad."
"Oh," Quinn said, nodding like she was interested.
"He's a producer," Rachel explained. "Finn works his crew – mostly as a PA."
Now she was slightly more interested.
"Anyone I would know?" Quinn asked lightly.
"Lane Hudson," Rachel said, nodding. "He's quite successful."
Rachel wasn't exaggerating. Lane Hudson was a major television producer with dozens of hit series under his belt and the accolades, awards and influence to go along with them. Rumors were he was looking to start making films. Quinn was dumbstruck that dolt she met last night was Lane Hudson's kid. Thankfully she only thought it instead of letting it tumble out of her mouth.
"I know the name," Quinn said truthfully.
Now she was curious. That probably explained why Rachel was with him, but it certainly didn't explain why she was still auditioning for parts. Surely the boyfriend had influence enough to at least get her auditions with his father, didn't he?
"I know what you're wondering," Rachel said quietly.
"You do?" Quinn asked, furrowing her brow.
Rachel smiled
"You're wondering why I don't get work on his father's shows?" she said.
Quinn bit her lip self-consciously.
"Um, yeah," she confessed. "The thought occurred to me."
"The same reason he doesn't, "Rachel said, blinking. "His father doesn't believe in giving favoritism to actors. He won't consider anyone until they're established on their own – not even his own son and especially not his son's girlfriend. I'm afraid he doesn't really care for me too much."
"Gosh, why not?" Quinn said quickly, frowning.
"I'm pretty sure it's because he thinks I'm just using Finn," she said. "Which is, of course, ridiculous. We've been on-and-off for awhile and I've never once asked him for anything from his father or his family. I don't want to make it that way."
"I'm sorry," Quinn said."I'm sorry that he's like that and I'm sorry that he's too stupid to see how wrong that is."
"Thank you," Rachel said. "It's alright. I just look at it as incentive, you know. It just makes me want it even more."
"I can understand that," Quinn said, nodding. "Good for you. You don't need those kind of strings. You'll make it without all that."
"I hope so," Rachel said wistfully.
"You will," Quinn said emphatically.
Puck was right. The guy was a tool. Apparently a legacy.
Quinn glanced at her watch. Their quick bite had turned into a lost two hours.
"Oh my God, Rachel, is that the time?" she said anxiously. "I'm so sorry to just eat and run, but I have to go."
Rachel looked at her watch and blanched as well. How did that happen?
Quinn drained her coffee and shoveled her coffee cake into her mouth. She started gathering up her dishes.
"No, no, leave them," Rachel insisted. "I'll take care of it."
"No, Rachel," Quinn said, shaking her head. "The least I can do is help clean up."
They collected their dishes and Quinn carried them downstairs on the serving tray and put everything in the sink while Rachel put away the leftovers.
"I can do these dishes for you right quick if you like, "Quinn offered.
"No, Quinn," Rachel said, tugging on her wrist. "Come on, I'll get them later."
"Thank you for the coffee," Quinn said, letting Rachel pull her through the living room. "And the conversation. I don't know how it got to be so late?"
"Me, neither," Rachel admitted. "And you're welcome."
"It was nice," Quinn told her.
"So maybe I'll see you then tomorrow," Rachel said hopefully, leaning up against her door.
"Maybe," Quinn said, offering a smile. "Oh, break a leg or whatever it is you're supposed to break, but not really."
"Thank you," Rachel said.
"Bye," Quinn said with a nod, then she trotted off down the driveway. At one point she turned, looked back and saw Rachel still watching her. She waved and Rachel waved back.
Once she saw that Quinn was safely back to her truck, Rachel turned and went back inside. She shifted into full-panic mode because she was now seriously running late and would have to scramble to make her audition on time.
Where had the time gone, she wondered as she dashed up the stairs.
=^..^=
Again, thank you for reading. Now please, commence with your comfort and joy.
