Disclaimer: All rights belong to Glee & its crew as well as the lovely people who wrote, directed, and produced The Proposal.

A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews (especially the one from Mrs and Mrs Berry-Fabray), your words do not fall on deaf ears.

Love 'em. And all the follows! There are some author legends that I can't believe that have clicked that little 'follow' square (to name one: daniethegirl—seriously, if you haven't been reading Fake It Til We Make It, drop everything now).

Also, this chapter is Rachel's point of view, as she hits town with the girls. Just a heads up.

Previously:

It's quiet for a minute before there's a lot of rustling. Come on. If she's having a princess and the pea moment she better damn well get over it, because I'm sleeping on the fucking floor even though there's a huge ass bed that could hold four people.

"Well," she finally grumbles. "Looks like I won't be getting much sleep with the sun streaming in."

I point the remote to the walls and click a button. The shades fall into place, blocking out the incessant Alaskan summer sun. Hopefully that'd get her to keep quiet.

She clears her throat. "Thank you."

I sigh and roll on my side. Two more days, Fabray. Two more days.

Chapter Four (Rachel POV)***

A high pitch beep cuts through my hazy sleep state, and once I realize which world is reality—the phone—I want to crawl back under the covers and stay there forever. Only, the bed I'm on is softer than mine, and the white duvet is not at all similar to my dark red comforter at home. The pillows smell different, too.

The phone stops pinging and I sigh, trying to fall back asleep. The sun is still peeking out from the corners of the weird shades and I have no idea what time it is.

I'm really beginning to hate Alaska.

My cell starts beeping again and I groan. This is technically a vacation, right? Why do I have to deal with work? Don't misunderstand me, I love my job. If I didn't, I wouldn't be conning the government with poor Quinn, or even indulging in the idea of marrying her—she has quite the reputation, you know. Still, there are some definite drawbacks to the job; for example, (early?) morning phone calls.

"Quinn. Phone," I call, out of habit.

No answer.

I start groping around the bedside tables and drawers. "Quinn!" The only thing I succeed in doing is knocking a few books onto the floor. The phone starts ringing again, and if someone's calling me three times at a time I should be sleeping, I know it's important.

"Crap. Quinn, Quinn, phone." She's either an extremely heavy sleeper or she's ignoring me. "Quinn!"

"Yeah... right," she grumbles.

I growl. "Quinn, where is it?"

"Purse, side pocket," she replies, her voice husky from sleep. I shiver a little but focus on the task of finding my bag. I can just see the outline of it sitting on a chair beside the bed, and make a leap for it.

Instead, I fall halfway out of the bed, with less grace than I'd like to admit. My legs are very much tangled in the sheets and they get stuck, leaving half of my body hanging off the bed. I grunt and manage to reach far enough to snatch the phone and bring it to my ear before it reaches voicemail again.

"Hello," I answer. There's static on the line. "Hello?" This time I manage to catch tidbits of a voice, crackling in and out of the receiver, so I untangle myself, grabbing a robe to throw on. "Hello?"

"Ms. Berry? It's Frank…"

"Frank! Frank, darling." Shit! I jump up, shouting into the phone so he can hear me. "Darling, Frank."

He says something else, but the reception is spotty again. "Are you there? Hello? Hello?" I pull the phone away from my ear to double check that the call is still in progress. It is. "Crap."

"I have horrible service, Frank," I say loudly, and begin to pull on some boots. "Give me just one minute!"

"Oh, my God! Rachel!" Quinn roars, sitting up to glare at me. The half-state of sleep she is in leaves her glare much less imitating and much more adorable, though. Not to mention her bed hair. She looks like a little lion cub. I shake my head and try to concentrate on the problem at hand.

I do lower my voice, though. "One... one minute. Frank, hold on just a second."

Once I've got both boots on, I rush out of the room and out of the house all together, stepping out onto the lawn.

"Frank, hold on."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, no, no, no," I say. Shit. "Okay, what's wrong, Frank?"

"I'm not doing Oprah. You bullied me into doing it! There's a reason I haven't done an interview in the past decade." Well, it's been a little more than a decade if we're being honest here, I think. You're a bit of a hermit, pal.

"I'm awkward, okay? No one likes me, and I don't want to embarrass myself further. If I stay in, people see me as one of those troubled geniuses. I'm fine with being that person—"

"Frank," I interrupt. "Frank, I'm sorry you feel I pressured you into doing Oprah, but—"

"You're not even listening! You're going to make me miserable. Do you even want me to be happy?"

"Of course I want you to be happy," I rebuke. You're the one who is ruining my happiness, Frank. All I wanted was a bit more sleep. Just a little more shut eye.

"Then listen to me when I say I'm not doing Oprah. I've seen what happens. I've lived it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"No, no you don't. Look, I'm begging you. No, I'm not. I'm ordering you to drop the interview." He pauses. "Okay, that was harsh. Please, Ms. Berry, just cancel Oprah. How are people supposed to like me? I'm sitting next to a fucking goddess—really, people pray to her. People worship her. And me? I'm nobody. I'm a weirdo, freak, four-eyed loser who can't even catch a baseball. No one likes me. I'm going to go on there and I'll choke or trip or something terrible will happen and everyone will just laugh and laugh and—"

"Frank. Frank. Frank, darling," I interrupt, before he starts hyperventilating. "Frank? It's going to be fine. I can just call them and I can cancel."

"Yes! I'm better as the misunderstood artist. You're getting it now."

"You are…" There's some barking behind me, and I turn to see that demon puppy prancing in dewy morning grass. I eye him wearily. "You are so right, Frank."

He begins talking again, but the white fluffball is inching towards me. I take a few steps back and he bounds towards me. I groan and start making gestures at the demon, trying to get him to stay or sit or go home or whatever else he's trained to do besides hate me.

"Ms. Berry? Are you even listening to me?

Freaking devil puppy."Yes, Frank, of course I'm listening to you."

"Then you agree?"

"Yeah... yes," I say. He's silent, and I know he is unconvinced. "I love listening to you, Frank."

The thing starts yipping at me again. "Sit. Sit," I hiss.

"Excuse me?"

"No, not you, Frank." The dog is still dancing around me, and I briskly walk a few paces before stopping. It doesn't follow me, but starts chasing around a butterfly.

"What…?"

I decide to just change the subject. "Frank, if I may get down to it, okay, I think it would be a mistake to back out." I hear a hawk screech. "Because, Frank, for so many years, you have inspired me with your beautiful words, and I feel that..."

The puppy starts barking, so I hiss at it to be quiet. "Dog, I'm on the phone."

It doesn't listen to me.

Like doggy like owner, I suppose.

Where was I? Right. Beautiful words. "I think it's time the world gets to enjoy your words as well. They are just so rich with passion and I think that we should all be privy to..."

The hawk screams again, and this time I see it circling above me. Wasn't there something about hawks? Or was that eagles? Is that thing a hawk or an eagle? Is there even a difference?

"And... Frank, I just..."

It starts to circle lower and lower and suddenly it's making a dive for the demon fluffball.

"I just want you to be happy, Frank!" I rush out, sprinting to the puppy, which is just being snatched up. Well, fuck.

"Give me that dog!" I yell at the eagle, willing it to be as afraid of me as my employees. It doesn't work. "And I need, Frank, for you to hold on just a second. Can you hold a second?"

"Give me that dog!" I shout again. They're both out of reach now. "Come on! Come on, come on, come on." I cannot lose my Gammy-in-law's dog, in the first twenty-four hours, no less. They're going to think I did it on purpose!

And Quinn! Shit, Quinn's going to hate me. She's never going to forgive me. "Come on!" I say again, and chuck my phone at the bird without thinking.

Miraculously, it works. The hawk lets go.

But there's still one tiny problem.

I have to catch a little dog before it hits the ground and splats a pancake.

No pressure, Rachel.

God, these are the times I wish I played sports. Tripping over my big rain boots, I just manage to scramble into place and catch him before he can flatten out as skykill.

"Okay! Okay, gotcha." I tuck him under my arm, taking a deep breath. Okay, now for the phone. It's lying a few feet away and I bend down to pick it up. "Frank, Frank. Frank? So sorry, so sorry."

"What happened?"

"So sorry. I dropped the phone." That was believable, right? Minus my heaving breaths and the adrenaline now coursing through my bloodstream. But it's over now. And the demon dog is safe. I wasn't going to get killed by my in-laws.

Right. Time for business. Time to reign it in and show why I'm the boss. Why I'm Rachel Barbara Berry and don't you forget it.

"Now, listen, Frank. I don't want to sell you on anything, but this is your legacy, this book."

The eagle cries out again, and I spin around to find it headed for me.

For Christ's sake.

"And I think it's up to you to present your legacy to the world…"

The hawk is not slowing down. Why won't it slow down?

"And call me tomorrow with your decision…"

I start sprinting, dog jiggling against my hip. "And my phone is on all the time!"

Then it's swooping down, talons extended, and I duck for my life, throwing my hand over my head. "Okay, bye-bye."

Next thing I know it's gone, along with my phone. How it managed to snatch a cell phone from my hand but wasn't able to keep a hold on a dog with too much fur, I don't understand.

"No! Wait!"

Frank's gonna hate me. He's never going to trust me again. I'm going to lose his deal, and that'll be just the beginning of my end.

"No! No! No. No," I mutter to myself, chasing after it. It squawks back at me in victory.

The dog squirms in my arm and I look down at it, getting an idea.

"Take the doggy!" I say, and wave the puppy around in the air, trying to get the eagle's attention. "Look at the doggy. I need that phone. Take the dog."

I know I'm whining pathetically but I really can't help it. It's not like anyone is around to watch, anyway. "Take the dog. I need that phone! Here. Take the dog."

The hawk is gone by now but I'm so frustrated that I don't stop. It could come back. And if I don't keep the dog up, it won't know and I'll lose my chance. And I've gotta keep the dog up so the eagle can…smell it? Do birds smell?

"Take the dog. Take the dog. Take it. Take it."

I stop spinning around and just hold the dog above me like Simba during the Circle of Life. It's rather fitting, if you think about it. "Look! Give me my phone. Come on."

"Please, just give me my phone," I plead. "Come on. Right here."

I'm ready to just sink into the ground and never get back up. I'm ruined. The eagle knew what would be worse—it tricked me. I'd rather be slaughtered out here by my in-laws than go back to New York without Frank's interview. Think about it, at least my death in this sorry-excuse for a town would give Stephen King his next novel. It'd be the perfect way for an editor to go out.

God, I really hate Alaska.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I jump a little at the voice. Quinn is walking towards me, her hands tucked into an old sweatshirt's pockets. Her hair is still a glorious mess and I don't think I've actually noticed how blonde it is before. I attribute it to the bright sunlight.

I gesture towards the house. "Oh, my God. Your grandmother was completely right. The eagle came and tried to take the dog." Quinn stops in front of me, raising her eyebrow. I hesitate, slightly distracted by her, but manage to finish the story. "But then I saved him. Then it came back, and it took my phone."

I finally put the demon dog down and it runs back into the house, leaving Quinn looking at me for a moment like I'm crazy. Traitor.

"Are you drunk?" She finally asks.

"What? No! I'm serious." I look back up at the sky, daring the eagle to come now. "He's got my phone, and Frank's calling me on it—"

"Relax, all right? We'll order another phone, same number," Quinn says. "We'll go into town and get it."

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. "Really?"

"Yeah. Okay?" She asks, and I nod.

"Oh, okay. All right." I nod again, convincing myself that everything is going to be fine. This blonde, shining in the stupid Alaskan sun, is my savior.

"Well, you can go then," she says, nodding towards the house. "You have to get ready."

I'm going somewhere? "For what?"

"Going out with Mom and the girls," she says, shrugging.

"I don't wanna go," I complain. "Why aren't you coming?"

"Puck wants to take me out on a pre-bachelorette party, 'because even though Rachel is smoking hot, it's depressing to commit to sleeping with one person for the rest of your life.' So apparently I need one last party."

I furrow my brow for a moment, eyes narrowing at her. She puts her hands up innocently. "His words, not mine."

"Fine. What are the girls doing, then?"

"Shopping, sightseeing. And a surprise."

"I hate shopping. I hate sightseeing," I mutter.

"You'll love it. You're going." She sighs, stepping closer to me.

My breath hitches. "I don't wanna go. I'm not."

"You're going," she says, and starts to pull me into a bear hug. "You are. Give me a hug. Don't want them to think we're fighting."

I push at her, annoyed. "I don't want to touch you. No, I..."

"Come on. Hug time." Her arms tighten around me, and I can't exactly say I hate it. "Hug time."

"I don't wanna... Quinn." I sigh and give up. Surrender to the warmth. It feels like she just got out of bed. Or rather, I just got back in bed. I close my eyes at the contact, enjoying the softness of her worn hoodie.

"There we go. Yeah, that's nice," she murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into my back. I take a deep breath and notice she smells like citrus. "Yeah. That's nice. There we go." I'm not really sure who is talking anymore; it could very well be me.

Her hands start traveling lower and lower until one of them starts patting my butt. I open my eyes and huff. I can feel her smirking. "Isn't that nice?"

"Yeah," I say, over sweetly. "If you touch my ass one more time, I will cut off all of your lovely, blonde hair in your sleep. Okay?"

"Yeah," she says, pulling back and looking slightly pale.

"There you go. Alrighty now." I reach up to cup her cheek. "So we clear on that?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Yeah," I repeat, smirking, and pat her cheek a few times before heading into the house. "Such a good fiancée."

"Yeah, I hope you are ready for your big surprise," Judy says, "because this is one of Sitka's greatest treasures."

"Right?" Santana says, chuckling. I still don't understand why she's here. She should be with Puck and Quinn, out celebrating. To be honest, I think she's still interested in Quinn.

"Oh, yes. Oh, yeah." I respond when I notice them all staring at me, and laugh along.

I hate surprises. Which Quinn is very aware of.

I don't understand why she's putting me through all of this.

We stop outside a restaurant on the waterfront, which looks like a large shack. Judy turns to me, beaming. "Okay, this is the big surprise I was telling you about. You ready?"

"Oh, Rachel, you're gonna love it!" Gammy says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sam's the only exotic dancer on the island. But we're lucky to have him."

Suddenly my flight instinct is kicking in. 'Exotic dancer' in a small town can only be a nice way of saying…

"Work it, Sam!"

…stripper.

There's a blonde guy on the stage, currently ripping off a tux, leaving the bowtie and a very small pair of boxers on. He starts flexing his biceps and rocking his body to the beat of "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

Relax, don't do it, when you want to, go do it / Relax, don't do it, when you want to come…

It's blaring through the speakers and there's a spotlight centered on Sam.

"Wow," I say, unsure of if there's a word that can accurately describe what I'm feeling right now.

Anxious? Shocked? Mortified?

This is why I don't do surprises.

Quinn's family and Santana drag me to the table in the front row, giggling and cheering Sam, who is enjoying every moment of his tease, even if most of the place is flocked with older women.

And I don't mean cougar-old.

"Over here, Sam! Over here," Gammy says, and tucks a few dollar bills into his boxers. He bounds back on stage when she smacks his ass, placing a chair in the middle.

Santana whips a bridal veil out from god knows where, and sticks it on my head before I can protest. My eyes widen in realization of just what she plans to do. "Santana, no—"

"Over here, honey," she calls out to Sam, winking at me. "Show her what she's gonna be missing."

He catches sight of me and immediately stops his ab rolling, patting the chair instead with a crooked smile. "Come, my sexy princess."

"Yeah!" Judy says, pushing me to the stage.

"Oh, no. Not necessary," I say. Okay, where's the exit? "It's a really nice gesture, but I really need to just..."

"Go on, Rachel. Get up there!" Gammy shouts.

"Come dance," Sam says rather than asks, not leaving room for argument.

The crowd is going crazy and Sam is starting to move towards me and I'd really rather not be dragged up there with all of his nakedness, so I stand.

"Okay," I say, and begin to mutter. "Pluck my eyes out. Okay. All right. Here we go."

"Go, Rachel! Go, Rachel!"

He smirks at me and motions to sit in the chair, which I do. "Hey."

Wow, he has enormous lips. "Hey—" He swings a leg up and around me so that his butt is in front of my face. "Oh," I squeak.

"Give it to her, Sam!" I hear Judy say. Oh, please God, no. "Go on, Sam! Give it to her!"

"That's a move I haven't seen." Gammy says, cocking her head to the side.

Santana is doubled over, shaking with laughter. "Look at her face!"

After he finishes a dance routine, he stands by me, pivoting between a pelvic thrust and jutting his ass towards me. I look towards Quinn's family for help, and Gammy makes a smacking motion.

"I don't want to touch it." I mumble. "I don't wanna... No." I look up at him with pleading eyes. "Very sweet." Now let me go.

"Smack him!" What is it with this woman and smacking? She's ninety!

"I'm sorry?" I say innocently.

"Smack his ass."

I roll my eyes. "Smack it, of course. Okay."

"Smack him, Rachel!"

"Rachel, give it to him!"

I cringe and count to three before slapping his ass. Quinn owes me big.

"Yeah!"

"Can I get down now?" I ask, praying to the heavens that that was the end.

They nod, still laughing uncontrollably. I thank them and say I need another drink, but really I just need some air. I grab my cup of shrimp and head out the side door, where there's a deck overlooking the pier.

I glance from my cup to the ocean below me and fling the shrimp into it. "Free. Be free."

I'm not even there for a full minute before someone bursts through the door and stands next to me.

"Hey! There you are," Santana says. "How are you holding up?"

I smile at her, wishing she would just let me be. I get it, she's meant to be with Quinn. Just let me be free. "Oh, fine. Fine. Just working on my tan."

She chuckles, turning to gaze over the harbor. "Yeah, the Fabrays can be a bit overwhelming at times."

I snort. Someone's good at understatements. "Yes, yes."

She hums. "It's a little different than New York, huh?"

Completely. I can't believe Quinn even grew up here. She's such a city girl.

Still, I play nice to the Alaskan. Especially this one. She kind of scares me. "Little bit. Little bit. You ever been?"

"No," she says, pressing her lips together. "That was always Quinn's dream, not mine."

I glance over at her. "You guys were pretty serious, huh?"

She shrugs. "Well, I mean, we dated in high school and all through college, but we were kids."

Wow. That's a long time. No wonder there's still some tension. "And you guys called it off because of...?"

"Well." She turns to me and sighs. "I shouldn't even be telling you this. Quinn will kill me. Besides, it's her story to tell."

"But you were involved in the story too," I point out, curiosity getting the better of me. "And it's in the past, right?"

Santana nods. "Still, just…don't tell her I told you, okay?"

I nod, and she turns back to the blue waters. "The night before we graduated school...she proposed and said she wanted to elope and run away to New York with me."

I furrow my brow. Quinn, a hopeless romantic? Maybe I wasn't too far off with that proposal story. "And...You said no?" I fill in.

"And I said 'no,' yeah." Her eyes are kind of watery, but I think it's more out of nostalgia than regret. "I've never been anywhere but here. This is home."

She loses herself for a moment before shaking herself out of her thoughts and patting my arm. "But anyway... you're a lucky girl. She really is the best, which you obviously already know."

"Oh, yep." I smile, nodding. "Yep, very much so, yeah."

"Well, cheers to you guys." She raises her bottle and I hold up my empty plastic cup in return.

"Thank you."

With a swig, she looks back in the restaurant's direction. "Looks like Sam's wrappin' it up." She gives me a wave and a wink before heading back inside. "Go, Annie!"

I rest my elbows on the deck railing, closing my eyes against the light breeze.

What am I doing here?

Quinn and Santana…they have so much history. They spent practically half of their lives together. Me being here will just mess that up. I was joking when I asked Quinn if she had been saving herself for someone special, but I'm starting to think she actually had a plan, or at least a fantasy.

I'm the worst boss in the world.

Scratch that. I'm just a terrible person in general. Finn was right about that.

I should just turn myself in. But at this point, I'm in too deep.

"I've never seen him so..." Judy trails off, still high off of the exotic dancing. If you know what I mean.

"No, he really got down," Gammy says.

"He's wonderful." I add in, before Judy gasps and I look up to follow her gaze.

"Oh, no," she murmurs. "Quinn! Quinn, honey, is everything okay?"

Her daughter doesn't answer, instead continuing to hack at a misshaped log. She's all sweaty, and if her current state of butchering a defenseless piece of wood is any indication, something has pissed her off.

I've never seen her like this before.

But it's…hot.

Wait, what?

"Quinn!" Judy calls again, before rushing to the house.

I turn to Gammy. "What... What's she doing?"

She shakes her head and takes my arm. "Something's up. It's best to leave her alone."

When we get to the porch, Gammy excuses herself to take a walk along the beach. I promise to let Judy know, and step into the front room.

Well, I thought it was the front room. Now, it's just a minefield of screaming.

"Why is Quinn out there hollowing out that old stupid canoe again?" Judy asks, furious. I don't think I've ever seen her without a smile, and now that I have, it makes me a little upset.

"Well, maybe she's planning to escape," Russell says, shrugging. "What?"

"I am so tired." Judy whispers.

I clear my throat and both turn to me. "Think I'm gonna go upstairs, take a shower, wash off Sam's coconut body oil."

I chuckle and Judy tries to smile. "Sure."

"Gammy's out for a walk. I, uh, had a great day today. Thank you."

She nods, and I take that as my cue to leave. I get as far as the bottom of the stairs before they resume their argument, and I hesitate by the stairs.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, I mean…" Russell sighs. "I just had a frank conversation with her about her future."

Judy laughs without humor. "Well, yeah. That's a good idea. That's a good idea, Russell, because she will never come back home now."

The dog scampers into the kitchen and yips at me. I glare at him, and point to the window, trying to indicate that next time I will feed him to the eagles. He perks his ears, hushing up. I stick out my tongue.

"She is my daughter. I only get to see her once every three years because of you. Because of you. I've had enough!" Judy exclaims. "You are gonna be supportive of her marrying Rachel, and that is that."

There's a pause, which I assume is a staring match, before Judy continues. "You know, if we're not careful, we are gonna end up in this great big house, just you and me alone, you and me and everything that we're angry about. And God forbid that they should have a grandchild that we never get to see!" She huffs.

"You are going to fix this, Russell. I mean it. Fix it now." I hear footsteps and hurry up the stairs before they see me hovering.

What? Is it a crime to want to know more about my future wife?

I didn't think so.

*Side note: Areen28 asked why there's a male stripper. Good question. Rachel could be bi. I mean, Santana's there too. But Sam's the only exotic dancer in town and they're fond of him, kinda like that stray cat in your neighborhood, y'know? So it's more of a pride of the town-joke thing than actual stripper.