So, before we get started on Part Four, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who's favorited, followed, and/or reviewed. The response has been amazing and I've gotten some really great comments. Thanks, all! Now, without further ado, Part Four . . .

Part Four: A Choice To Be Made

Quinn couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this, if she had ever felt like this. Her head was screaming with pain, her stomach felt like it had hardened overnight, and God was clearly punishing her for last night's events because the sun was shining ten times brighter than normal. Yet, she had never felt this warm, this peaceful, and this safe before.

Granted, Rachel hadn't woken up and freaked out yet, but still the feelings remained. And for the moment, Quinn could just revel in the feeling of being wrapped in Rachel's arms.

God, she was beautiful when she slept. Her brown hair fanned out across the pillows, her face devoid of any conflict, her mouth just perfectly poised with the corners pulled up in the tiniest smile. Quinn wondered what Rachel was dreaming about, but she had a feeling she already knew: Broadway, Funny Girl, stardom, . . . maybe . . . even love.

Quinn leaned up to place the softest of kisses on Rachel's forehead and snuggled in closer to the brunette's warmth. She felt Rachel stir ever so slightly. "Mm . . . Quinn," she breathed out on a sigh, her hold on Quinn tightening.

The smile that Quinn felt sneak across her face was unavoidable, because she knew Rachel wanted to be holding her. Quinn wasn't taking advantage of an unconscious Rachel; if anything, she was making Rachel unconsciously happy, and that in turn, made Quinn happy. It left her feeling starstruck.

"Quinn?" she heard in a, still sleepy, but much more alert voice.

Quinn looked up to see that Rachel's eyes were now open and staring at Quinn as if waiting for the situation to catch up to the blonde and for Quinn to freak out, but that wasn't happening. Instead, Quinn smiled calmly and said, "Hi."

Rachel still looked a little confused, and it was honestly kind of adorable. "Hi . . ." she replied with uncertainty. Slowly, her eyes began to widen a little more as she became more and more aware of their positions. She tried to let go of Quinn and move away, but Quinn had a hold on her as well and had no intentions of letting go.

"Don't," Quinn told her, pulling Rachel back in. "Unless I'm making you uncomfortable, don't. I like this, it's comforting having someone so close like this." Quinn felt Rachel gradually relax. "Thank you, for taking care of me last night. You didn't have to do that."

Hesitantly, Rachel lifted her hand to smooth Quinn's silky strands of flaxen hair like she had the night before when comforting Quinn. "How much do you remember?"

The blonde tried unsuccessfully to hold in a laugh. "Um, well. . ." She thought hard about it. "I remember drinking and dancing with Santana at the bar, and then . . . I think we might've been talking. Next thing I remember, I was here and you were holding my hair back and . . .. Did we actually dance in the living room, or was that part a dream?"

"No, that actually happened. I didn't know you liked Lifehouse," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "Oh, and you and Santana will not be drinking alone together from now on–"

Quinn groaned. "Oh, God. What did I do this time?"

"Aside from trying to take your top off because you were overheating, and then ultimately asking me to do it for you because you lacked the motor function to do so, you didn't do anything," Rachel explained, causing Quinn to look down and see that she was wearing a lightweight camisole.
"Santana, however," the diva went on, "decided that, after sleeping for several minutes while I was taking care of you, she was going to literally fall out of her room and cut in on our dance, singing– very loudly and off-key, might I add– "Sex on Fire" by Kings of Leon. Then you began trying to sing over her and let me tell you, "Sex on Fire" and "You and Me" do not make a good mash-up. Afterwards, Santana got a bit handsy with you, you got a bit irritated with her, so I gave Santana a ZzzQuil liquicap and you the tank-top you're currently wearing, and sent you both to bed. . . in, um, separate rooms."

Quinn started laughing and found she couldn't stop. Rachel caught the giggle-bug and soon after was laughing hysterically as well. They laughed until they cried and their chuckles subsided enough for Quinn to finally comment. She pulled herself up a little so that she could lay her head on Rachel's shoulder and exhaled a tranquil breath.

"I'm sorry you had to put up with all of that," she said when her breathing finally evened out. "But I'm kind of glad you sent me to your bed last night." The way that Quinn was looking at Rachel made Rachel's throat dry up like the Sahara. "And thanks for not taking advantage. Not that Santana ever took advantage, but . . . just . . . I'm sure I wasn't the easiest person to deal with."

"Well," Rachel began, putting her hands together and setting them between her head and pillow as she turned on her side to face Quinn fully, "I'm not sure if you remember what I told you last night, but I'll tell you again. I'm honored to be your friend and help you when you need help, and it makes me feel important that you trust me to do that."

Quinn copied Rachel's position, laying on her side with her hands folded under her head. "You've never lied to me before, recent scares and prostitute boyfriends aside. You've never given me a reason to not trust you, Rachel." She reached out and grasped Rachel's bare wrist when the other girl frowned broodingly. "And I am truly sorry for not confiding in you about my . . . one-night stand? With Santana. I was just scared you would react badly."

Rachel snickered dryly. "Which I did."

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe at first, but in the scenario I had in my head, you never spoke to me after you found out. You haven't left yet," she admitted.

Rachel opened her mouth and it wasn't until then that Quinn realized how close their faces had gotten throughout their conversation. Quinn felt herself becoming mesmerized by those big, brown eyes, and found herself leaning in ever closer. It was like she was watching them from the outside but through her own eyes as well, and she didn't care to question it when her gaze shifted from Rachel's eyes to her lips.

She wanted her.

"I–" Rachel breathed, and she was so close that Quinn could feel her breath.

Then the door banged open.

"Morning, bitches!"

There had been a lot of moments throughout their friendship when Quinn had wanted to slap Santana (and a few when she actually had), but never as much as in that moment, when the words that Rachel had been about to speak to her died on the girl's rose petal lips and the easy glow in her brown orbs was suddenly extinguished. Quinn made a mental note to shove Santana down the nearest set of stairs. Or maybe just the next available elevator shaft.

"I need to go shower," Rachel said quickly, darting from the room with a speed that wouldn't be expected of a five-foot-nothing girl.

The anger of Santana ruining her moment with Rachel had faded, and in its wake was the earth-shattering realization that she had had a moment with Rachel. She was confused and shocked and amazed and cautiously happy, because Rachel hadn't pulled away, and that had to mean something.

Meanwhile, Santana stared at Quinn until she couldn't take the silence anymore. "What the hell just happened? Clue me in, Q, 'cause I'm jodido lost."

Quinn numbly sat up and moved next to Santana on the edge of the bed, and Santana sat with her entire body turned toward the blonde, waiting with an amount of patience that was completely out of character for her. Quinn tried desperately to process everything:

the warmth and the words and that slow lean in when Quinn felt everything building between herself and Rachel. She wanted her. And in true Fabray fashion, she had been recklessly about to take her.

"I . . . I almost kissed her," Quinn whispered eventually, her voice hoarse. She glanced up to Santana, and for the first time she really looked at Santana instead of seeing through her. "I wanted to kiss Rachel, Santana. Like I really wanted to kiss her. And I . . ." – she looked to Santana with apprehension and incredulity in her gold-green eyes – "S, I felt something."

Santana looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Um, well, yeah. That's kind of what happens when you've been sharing this massive sexual-tension with the girl since freshman year," Santana returned, as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Quinn shot her a quizzical stare and the reality hit Santana like a matador bull. "Santo mierda, Q, are you just now realizing this?"

"You're not?!" Quinn nearly shrieked in outrage, jumping out of her seat. "You knew I was in l– That I had this. . . this . . . crush on Rachel all these years, and you never thought to clue me in?"

"Whoa!" Santana snapped, standing up and facing Quinn head-on. "Don't be playing the victim with me, Q, I know you better than that! If I'da come right out and told you that you had the hots for Man-Hands Berry, you woulda made my life a living hell. You think I didn't try to throw you a couple of hints? Do the words 'stop making out with Berry' ring any bells?"

Quinn dropped back down onto the bed, her eyes glazed over with shock yet again. "I thought I hated her. I made her think I hated her. I did so many horrible things to her. How could I have not known?" the blonde asked, more to herself than her friend.

"De Nile in't just a river runnin' through Egypt, Fabray; it's a tricky bastard. It really messes with your head, makes you see everything back asswards," Santana said in her own variation of comfort. She could see the conflict running through Quinn's mind reflected on her face.

"But what does it mean?" Quinn whined, laying her head on her best friend's shoulder.

"It means that you're gay for Rachel–"

"What?! Quinn shouted indignantly, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

" – and there's nothing wrong with that!" Santana continued in a yell in order to be heard over Quinn's reproach. "Seriously, Q, it's not the end of the world. I'm gay, and I'm your best friend who fell stupid-in-love with our other best friend, broke her heart, and got bitch-slapped by karma so hard that now I'm broken too and she's moved on with her life and then I had a one-night stand with you and hurt our other other best friend–"

"–What were you saying about nothing's wrong with being gay?" Quinn shot back sarcastically.

"–And suddenly I'm realizing that maybe I'm not the best example," Santana admitted, continuing on pointedly.

She looked at Quinn with a wicked smirk that the blonde rarely saw on the raven-haired girl these days. "But, speaking as someone who's been there, done you, and tapped that"– Santana ignored Quinn's squawk of half-indignation and half-laughter –"you're actually pretty damn good at this. Too good to be a one-timer, anyway.

"Look, Quinn, you have feelings for Rachel," Santana said. "Real feelings. Like I had with Brittany. And I think it's time to face facts that –when you really think about it– those feelings have been there for awhile, and they're not going away." Santana paused. "Take it from someone who knows a whole lot about what happens when you let fear control what you do, it never ends well."

The raven-haired girl played with a bright blue band on her pinky finger. "Love is . . . honestly, it's fucking terrifying, Quinn. It just is. And all these fairytales about true love and 'happily ever after'? It's bullshit. True love and happiness? They're things that take endurance and heartache and hard work to get, and even then it's still hard. But maybe that's what makes it so great. Maybe love is so great because it's worth all that pain and struggle."

Santana met her eyes and Quinn could see the heartbreak and self-regret swimming in those sharp, dark eyes as the brunette said, "So you have to decide whether it's worth the risk. Whether she's worth the risk. You have a choice, of putting your heart on the line and facing the pain, or turning around and getting back on that train and going home to the safety of those ivy-covered walls with a big 'what if' hanging over you. But it is your choice, and no one can make it for you, not even Rachel."