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

A/N: Sorry this one's pretty short, but I'll make up for it next chapter. Thanks again for all the follows, favorites, and reviews!

Previously:

My voice cracks out before I can hit the high note, and I chuckle while she starts laughing again. "God, I can't sing that high."

It takes us a while to calm back down, and even then, I can't get the smile off my face.

Then it hits me. I don't just like her.

I'm falling in love with her, with my fiancée.

Fuck.

Chapter Six (Rachel POV)

I jolt upright in bed, hair flying in front on my face. I blink a couple times, looking around and muttering. "Huh? Where am I?"

Boarded windows. Dark room. Huge bed.

Oh right, Alaska. Stupid, godforsaken Alaska.

I groan. What time is it? Glancing around at the wall, I can't believe there isn't a clock in the room. Seriously, who doesn't have clocks? I look over at the bedside table and notice a digital clock and reach over to check it. What time is it? Oh, only eight. It's still early. I let out a breath and lean back into the pillows.

Then I catch sight of myself in a mirror. "Oh, God."

I'm a twin image of the grudge right now. A little bit of mascara that I'd missed is smudged and there are pillow marks all over my face. I frown, and start lightly slapping at my cheeks to make them flushed so they'd hopefully cover up the marks.

What if Quinn saw me like this?

I freeze. Shit, Quinn's in the room. I peek over the edge of the bed, and relax when I see she's still sound asleep, with her own mane of hair tousled up. Except mine looks like a bird nest while hers is the epitome of sex hair.

Oh, god. That's one image I shouldn't have conjured, for the sake of my own sanity.

I turn back to the bedside table, wiping at my eyes until they're less smudged and apply a light layer of lip gloss. When I've managed to somewhat tame my bed head, I tuck my hair around my shoulder and snuggle back into the pillows to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Well, the universe made sure that wasn't going to happen.

There's two short knocks on the door, before Judy speaks up. I can hear Gammy laughing with her. "Room service. Breakfast for the happy couple!"

My eyes widen when I realize Quinn is still on the floor. I sit up and lean over the bed, hissing at her to get up. "Quinn! Quinn!"

She grumbles and rolls over.

"Quinn!"

Nothing. I reach behind me and grab a pillow, slinging it at her head. "Quinn!"

This works, and she picks her head up, attempting to glare at me.

I snap my fingers and point to the spot beside me, motioning for her to come. "Quinn, your mother's at the door. Get up!"

"Oh, fuck." I hear her mumble, and she jumps up, gathering the makeshift bed in her arms.

"Just a second!" I call out to Judy, remembering she's outside and probably wondering what's going on.

Quinn throws the blankets on top of our bed and slips in beside me.

"Oh, God," I say, grabbing one of the blankets to toss off the bed. "Not the baby blanket."

"Okay," she mutters to herself, still not fully awake, "all right."

The blanket gets caught on other sheets and I keep tugging. "Not the baby blanket. Get it off, get it off, get it off."

I finally get it free and throw it across the room. Quinn rolls her eyes at me.

There's another knock at the door.

"Wait a second. Hold on," Quinn says, then stares at me, furrowing her brow.

I raise my eyebrow. "What? What?"

"Are you wearing makeup?"

"What? No." I dip my head down so my hair hides my blush. "Of course not."

"Okay, what do we do?" she asks, sitting about three feet away from me and looking uncomfortable.

I roll my eyes and lay down on my side. "Just spoon me, spoon me..."

She scoots closer to me and suddenly I'm very aware of her body heat. Or maybe it's mine? Quinn presses her front into my back, and I feel her arms snake around my waist. One of them brushes my boob, and I sit up, gaping at her.

"Oh, my God! What was that?" She just copped a feel!

She looks at me pointedly. "I'm sorry. It's morning."

"What do you mean, 'It's morning?'"

She gestures between us and at the bed, and I get it. Right, the morning after. I nod and lay back down against her, and we shuffle into weird positions, none of them feeling comfortable.

"Are you OK?" Judy calls, anxious.

"Coming. One second. Yep," I respond, trying to settle down.

"Come on in. Everything's fine," Quinn adds.

"You're on my hair," I whine, and she raises her arm so I can pull it out from under her. "Okay, just..."

The door opens and Gammy and Judy walk in beaming and carrying trays of steaming breakfast food. We stop fidgeting, and it's a surprisingly comfortable position, if only the awkwardness would go away. I'm leaning against Quinn's chest, her arm curled around my shoulder. I can feel her breathing under me, and the slow rise and fall is calming. At some point, our legs had tangled together. She takes my free hand in hers.

It's nice. It's warm. It's…

"Oh, wow," Quinn says, snapping me back to reality.

"Smells good," I add, smiling.

"Cinnamon rolls," she hums in appreciation.

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone to that trouble," I say.

Judy waves my comment off. "Oh, you're family now. It's no trouble."

"Hey, you have room for one more?" Russell strides in the room, stopping behind her.

I feel Quinn tense under me. "Wow. Could we not do the Brady family meeting right now? We just got up, if you don't mind."

"Mhm." I start drawing random patterns on her palm with my thumb.

He ignores us. "Your mother and I have come up with a proposition and I happen to think it's a terrific idea—"

Judy steps forward, bouncing on her feet in excitement. "We want you to get married here tomorrow!"

I nearly choke. "Tomorrow."

"What?" Quinn says, breathless. "No. We leave tomorrow."

"We'll buy you plane tickets for a day later," Russell counters.

"That's not necessary," Quinn replies, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Well, you're gonna get married anyway," Judy argues, "so why don't you get married here where we can be all together, and that way Grandma Annie can be a part of it."

"Oh," I say, slowly. "Oh, we're... no…"

"No," Quinn says, a little too firmly.

"No, it's Gammy's birthday tomorrow. Big day for her," I add. "We don't want to ruin it. That's, you know—"

"I've had 89 birthday parties, I don't need another one!" Gammy interrupts.

"Oh, Gammy," I say, wincing. No no no, this is not happening.

"It would be a dream come true for me to see my one grandchild's wedding," she says, eyes sparkling. Sparkling. "A dream come true!"

"So you'll do it?" Judy asks us.

We both pause before shaking our heads in the negative.

"Before I'm dead?" Gammy deadpans.

I can't believe she played the death card!

"Okay," Quinn and I say in unison, giving her a thumbs up.

Well played, Gammy.

She smirks. The ninety year old woman smirks at us.

That damn little old lady. I make a mental note to steer clear of her from now on.

"Okay, we will do everything," Judy says, clasping her hands together. "And you can get married like we did, in the barn."

"It's a Fabray family tradition," Russell adds, staring at Quinn. The blonde's grip around me tightens.

"Oh, wow!" I say, and look up at Quinn, trying to draw her attention away from her father. "Wow! I've always wanted to get married in a... in a barn."

She looks down at me, eyebrow quirked in amusement before agreeing. "I have."

"It's a sign!" Gammy yells. "A sign from the universe that you're meant to be together."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. You have no idea, Gammy.

"We must give thanks, I tell you," she says, walking out of the room. "Come, come. We must give thanks."

Russell starts walking out too, but Judy keeps standing at the end of our bed, grinning at us. It's making me a little uneasy. "Okay, I know I should leave you alone now…"

Quinn nods pointedly.

"But we're just so excited! I know you're excited, too."

"It's crazy," Quinn mumbles into my hair.

I smile. "Really excited."

Judy gives us a little wave before inching out of the room.

"Yeah! Go. Go." Quinn calls after them, watching her father reach out to guide Judy out of the room. "Go…"

The door shuts with a click behind them and Quinn and I let out a deep breath.

Thank god that's over.

It's weird, I suppose, but neither of us moves from our position for a while. Quinn is probably just lost in her thoughts, and I, well, I…

I was in the bed first?

Okay, so I don't really have an excuse for not putting distance between us.

There are worse crimes.

"Oh, my God."

I tilt my head upwards, furrowing my brow at Quinn's outburst. A hand flies up to run through her hair. "When my mom finds out that this whole thing is a sham she's gonna... she's gonna be crushed."

The arm around my shoulder rises to point at the door "And my grandmother's gonna die!"

She moves to sit up and I follow suit. Quinn groans, burying her face in her hands and muttering swears under her breath.

"Your mom's not gonna find out," I say, frowning.

"My father. What's with that?" She turns to me, exasperated. "The wedding thing? Where'd that come from?"

I shrug, pulling her in for a hug. "She probably got him worked up into it. It's fine. She's not gonna find out."

Quinn is still tense and I can tell her breathing is shallow. I'm not exactly sure what to do, but I know what I want to do—calm her down. I rest my chin on her shoulder, wrapping both arms around her and rubbing the sides of her arms in an attempt to soothe her. "They're not going to find out."

"God. Rachel!" Quinn protests, but leans back into me. "What do we do?"

"Quinn, they're not gonna find out, okay?" I murmur. "Just relax. It's gonna be okay." I can feel her losing the tension in her shoulders, and start rubbing circles with my thumbs instead. "It's not like we're gonna be married forever. We'll be happily divorced before you know it."

She smiles a tiny bit and I chuckle.

"It will be fine. It'll be fine," I repeat and pull back when I realize my mouth is practically pressing against her neck. I clear my throat, which is suddenly very dry. "You okay?"

She stares at me for a beat before responding. "Yeah."

We both glance down to where my arms are, still wrapped around her. I give her a squeeze and force myself to get up, walking to the tray of food. "I'll get us some coffee."

"Yeah," she mumbles, eyes never leaving me.

There's a significant amount of tension in the room, and I can't stand it much longer, so I try to lighten the mood. "So, would you like a cinnamon soy latte?"

I turn back to her and smirk, catching her eye roll.

"You're right, you know," she says. "Get a quickie divorce, we'll be fine."

I smile at her and pour coffee into two mugs. "Absolutely."

"Gonna be fine," the blonde says, trying to convince herself. "Everything is going to be great."

I nod, mixing in sugar and cream. I think I see Quinn checking me out in my peripherals, and turn to face her fully. She blushes, and I know for sure. I smirk, glad I wore the lacy black set of sleepwear last night.

"But this little fiancée better learn how to cook, so she can take care of her partner. Keep my woman happy," I tease, turning my attention back to the food. I set the mugs on a tray along with a plate of cinnamon rolls, remembering she seemed pretty excited about them before the wedding bomb was dropped. "I don't want her leaving me for another woman."

She snorts. "Come on. Haven't left you yet, Rachel."

No, no you haven't. But it's only a matter of time.

I pass her the plate of food, and she takes it into her hands. When I don't let go, she looks up at me, raising her eyebrow. "I got it. Let go."

I hesitate but let go. I'm hit with a feeling that I can't name, but it feels like a bitter aftertaste. Like the shock after an epiphany you really didn't want.

Quinn frowns. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I say, even though the ceiling above me is spinning. Air. I'm suffocating in here. I need air. I stand up and she jumps a little at the sudden movement. "You know what? I'm gonna go."

She glances around the room confused. "Where?"

"I just kinda feel like going outside," I say.

"Okay," she says, watching me move across the room. "That's the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah," I say, blushing. "I know. I'm just... I'm gonna go to go to the bathroom, and then I'm gonna go out, outside."

"All right," she says, looking amused.

I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "All right."

I close the outside door behind me carefully, making sure the demon dog can't slip out and chase after me again. I've had enough of that dog, especially after the whole… clothingless contact with Quinn, which, if I'm being honest, wasn't all bad. Nevertheless, this time I really might let the eagles take the dog away.

I head over to where Quinn said a path would be in the woodland, and find a bike on the way, leaning against a pile of wood. I glance around, and seeing no one in sight, hop onto it.

The woods are beautiful, just starting to change color in the late summer. It looks just like the video I play in front of my elliptical in the morning. Only the air here is cleaner, fresher. It's vibrant, radiating with life.

It's just what I need to draw on for strength to stick out the rest of the weekend. There's another day to struggle through, thanks to Russell's ingenious idea of a wedding. I don't even have a dress! People kill themselves trying to plan a wedding in a few weeks, much less a single day.

Not that it matters, because it's not real.

It's not real, Rachel.

I pick up the speed on the bike and start talking aloud to clear my head. "Okay, you just... Just have to focus, Rachel. Just focus. This is a business deal."

Strictly business. The feelings you are feeling towards Quinn aren't real, they're part of the role of a doting fiancée. It'll all be over. We'll get a divorce and it'll all be just a weird memory. Quinn can return to Alaska, Santana will feel bad, and they'll reunite over the "pain" I've caused her and live happily ever after.

Not that it matters, because…

"This is just a business deal. Business isn't personal." The bike bumps over a few fallen branches and I tighten my grip on the handlebars to steady it. "Everything's gonna be just fine."

The universe seems to disagree, and the bike picks up speed as it goes down a rocky hill. I thought Quinn said this was an easy hike—there are practically jagged cliffs.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. But can you blame me?

I try to brake and slow down the bike, and it works just enough so I can control the steering. "OK, this is a little rough. I can do this," I mutter.

The trail turns a sharp left and I manage to turn enough that only a few branches scratch me. "Oh, my God," I yell. "God, I hate nature! I hate it."

I just want to be back into New York City with my fake nature view.

Screw the fresh air.

"It's…not stopping, not stopping. Why are you not stopping?" The trail is going to make another sharp change in direction, and this time, something is caught in the tire or the handlebar or whatever controls the steering of this damn machine and I shriek in frustration, knowing I'm going to crash.

And I do. Right into a big bush. I backpedal myself and the bike out and pause with a huff. I glare down at the bicycle. I feel like it's mocking me, and pound against its handlebar. "Stop, stop, stop it, stop!"

I get off the seat and let it fall sideways before giving it a kick, which immediately has me hopping on one foot and cradling an injured toe, wincing. As I hop, I get closer and closer to a large root until I land on it and lose my balance, ankle wobbling, and collapse onto the ground with a wail.

The sky and treetops above me start to blur as tears build up. I sniffle and curl up on my side, ignoring the fact that I'm laying in dirt.

"I just wanted some air," I whine.

I fully intend to let myself go, to just stay curled up in this Alaskan forest. What's the worst that can happen? At least here I won't have to face my problems. I won't have to live with the guilt that I'm ruining Quinn's life. I know I told her that her family wouldn't find out that our engagement was a sham—is a sham, but who is to say they won't be heartbroken, anyway? A divorce is no better.

And Quinn deserves happiness, even if that means being with Santana, no matter how much I think she deserves better. At least Santana would be a step up from me. What kind of boss forces her employee to marry her?

Maybe I should just lie here. Let the eagles pick at my remains.

I sigh, taking in a deep breath.

The sound of drums reaches my ears and I sit up, squinting around me. Oh, god. This is how horror movies start. There's a girl alone in the woods, she hears a creepy noise—yup, there's the chanting—and she walks toward it and gets murdered by some crazy cult.

I stand up and start walking towards the noise, brushing dirt off my clothes and plucking leaves from my hair and ignoring the nagging feeling that I shouldn't be heading for the creepy cult.

"What is that?" I wonder aloud, and step around a bush to see a little old lady in an eagle cloak, chanting around a fire pit and clapping her hands to the beat of the drum.