Quinn is lazing back on the bed, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor. Rachel is in the bathroom and has been for close to forty-five minutes.

"Rach, you said this was casual," Quinn calls, glancing down at her outfit, a tight-fitting plaid shirt with a tank top underneath and loose jeans, leather jacket lying by her side. They're taking her motorcycle to the restaurant. "What's taking so long?" Rachel's reply is muffled due to the closed door. "You do realise you could be wearing a garbage bag and still look gorgeous, right?" The response this time sounds more enthusiastic but still garbled.

She hears the bathroom door unlock and exhales. "Finally," she whispers then her breath catches in her throat as Rachel walks… no, struts… into the room in her black stiletto boots. "Wow." She watches as Rachel smiles and gives her a twirl, her figure shown off by the tight, dark jeans and low-cut black top showing off just a hint of cleavage. Quinn sits up and moves off the bed to pull Rachel to her. "Well, this is just unfair. You look at least a thousand times hotter than I do. And you decided not to wear a skirt!"

"Well, we're taking your deathtrap to the restaurant. A skirt just does not go with that mode of transportation. It's your loss." Rachel rolls her eyes and swats Quinn's roaming hands away. "We don't have time."

"That's probably a good thing," Quinn remarks and reaches behind her to grab a helmet for Rachel. "For you."

"It's going to mess up my hair," Rachel complains, "Even though you do look ridiculously hot in the jacket."

"You promised," Quinn says, pulling on her jacket and zipping it up.

"You had an unfair advantage," Rachel says, letting her eyes wander over the taller woman's body, stopping at the couple of inches of collarbone that are just visible between the tank top and the shirt.

"Come on, we're late," Quinn says, reaching for Rachel's hand and grabbing her own helmet as they leave the apartment.

"Should you even be driving this thing with your arm in a cast?" Rachel asks. Quinn sighs in exasperation.

"Rachel, if I can do what we did in bed last night with this thing on, I'm pretty sure a ten minute ride to the restaurant will be a breeze," Quinn says, flexing her fingers with a smirk on her face. She helps Rachel with her helmet before pulling her own on and wheels the bike out of the garage. She climbs on and waits for Rachel to figure out how to get on behind her. "Seriously, that was the most unattractive thing I've ever seen you do," Quinn jokes, laughing as the roar of her engine drowns out Rachel's response.

Less than ten minutes later they arrive, Rachel's gloved fingers gripping Quinn's waist. She hops off the bike with surprising finesse and glares at Quinn through her visor before pulling the helmet off.

"That was terrifying!" she exclaims, jabbing a finger at Quinn's shoulder.

"Did I go too fast?" Quinn asks innocently, climbing off the bike and easing her helmet off, careful not to disrupt her wig.

"Fast?" Rachel splutters. "You… The… Oh my god, I'm so angry I can't even talk!"

"Babe," Quinn says in a placating tone, reaching for Rachel's hands to slide the gloves off, "I'm sorry." She lifts Rachel's fingers to her mouth and lets her lips ghost over the tips. Rachel sighs in frustration. "I'll go slow on the way home."

"I'm taking a taxi!" Rachel says but the anger has gone from her voice. Quinn takes Rachel's hand again as they walk across the car park.

"You can't stay angry at me all night, Rach," Quinn says, pulling the shorter woman back when she tries to walk on ahead. She leans in and brushes her mouth against Rachel's ear. "I'll make it up to you." She feels Rachel shiver and knows that the brunette is going to forgive her.

"Fine," Rachel says, then pushes her lips against Quinn's. "Love you."

"Love you too," Quinn responds, a grin on her face. "Let's go feed me to the wolves!"

A waitress guides them through to a private room near the back of the restaurant where four people are already seated and four empty seats wait for them.

"Rachel!" the first man stands to embrace the petite brunette in a bone-crushing hug. "You look fantastic."

"You too," Rachel responds, smiling up at the man.

"And this must be… Alexis?" he asks, turning to Quinn.

"Alex," Quinn corrects, shaking the man's hand. "And you're Richard?" He nods in surprise. "Rachel made sure I was very prepared. She's had me memorising flashcards for the past few days." Richard laughs in response.

"That does sound like something Rachel would do," he says. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You too," Quinn says then turns to the others at the table. "Daniel, Theresa and…Gregory?"

"She's showing off," Rachel says, sliding an arm around Quinn's waist. Quinn notices the others exchange glances. "I showed her a couple of photos of you guys and Alex has a photographic memory, isn't that right, sweetie?" Quinn gives Rachel a quick grin.

"Sure is," she replies. "Can I get anyone a drink?" she asks, addressing the table again.

xxxxx

It turns out that Quinn has very little talking to do throughout the first two courses of the meal. Jack, another Tony winner, has everyone spellbound with his tales of debauchery from Broadway.

"We've all heard these stories a million times," Theresa says quietly to Quinn as the dishes from the main course are being cleared away. "We should really be questioning you, making sure you're good enough for our Rachel."

"I think Rachel has impeccable judgment," Quinn replies with a grin. "Going by her friends anyway." Quinn gestures around the table. Theresa's throaty laugh draws everyone else's attention, especially Rachel's who slides a hand across Quinn's thigh, squeezing it lightly. Quinn turns to look at Rachel with a smile. "I was just telling Theresa that you have great taste."

"I can't argue with that," Rachel replies, leaning in to press her lips against Quinn's. Jack catcalls and Rachel pulls away, but moves her chair closer to Quinn's, leaning against the taller woman.

"Rachel says that you're working on her movie," Richard says.

"I was, but not at the moment," Quinn says, holding up her arm which had been refitted with a smaller cast a couple of days beforehand. "I'm out of action for a couple more weeks."

"What happened?" Daniel asks. He starred in Les Mis with Rachel, Quinn remembers from the countless facts Rachel has bombarded her with.

"We were filming one of the fight scenes and messed up my cue, ended up in the wrong place at the very wrong time," Quinn says. "You get used to injuries though when you're a stuntwoman." This is all part of the story they'd concocted. "So Rachel knows all of you from Broadway? She's dying to fly me up to New York so we can go see a show together. My knowledge of musicals is - what did you say, Rach? - 'frightfully abysmal'."

"It's beyond abysmal," Rachel says with a nod and a roll of her eyes then launches into a story that Quinn doesn't even catch half of because she finds herself captivated by the look on Rachel's face, the smile on her lips, the laugh that bursts from them. Rachel's eyes catch her and the brunette blushes under the intense gaze.

"Can I get anyone another drink?" Quinn asks, turning back to look at the table.

"I think it's my turn for a round," Richard says and stands up at the same time as Quinn.

"I'll help you then," Quinn says, following him out of the room. They walk to the bar in silence. Richard looks pensive. "What's on your mind, Richard?" Quinn asks after they've placed their orders.

"I'm worried about Rachel," he says. "She went through a really tough time about four years ago, I think? A friend of hers passed away, someone she knew from school… maybe she told you?" Quinn shakes her head though instantly regrets that decision. "Then it's probably not my place to… she's different. She's not the Rachel I first met when we were fresh out of university, she was so bubbly and full of life and then… this friend died and it was like a switch was flipped. I hadn't seen her for close to a year, I was in London, and when I got back to New York, it was like she'd been replaced by a robot or something." He pauses as though he's collecting himself. "But now, she's a lot more like the Rachel I remember. This is the happiest I've seen her in four years." Quinn digests this even though she's heard similar things from Kurt. "I don't think any of us want her to go back to the other Rachel." Quinn remains silent watching the bartender place all of the drinks on the trays in front of them.

Rachel senses immediately that something has happened when Quinn sits down. She slides her hand into Quinn's and squeezes it to get the woman's attention. Quinn gives her a smile but instead of it making Rachel buzz inside, a horrible sinking feeling rushes over her body. Quinn barely says two words for the rest of dinner.

Quinn's silence continues all the way back to the apartment where she disappears into the bathroom to remove the alterations to her appearance. Rachel is sitting on the couch, head resting on her knees, when Quinn walks into the room, shirt unbuttoned and barefoot. Rachel feels her heart hammer.

"What happened?" Rachel asks. "What did Richard say?" Quinn stretches out her arm before grabbing her sling, hanging from the back of her desk chair, and sitting down at the opposite end of the couch.

"He said that he hasn't seen you this happy in four years," Quinn says, fussing with the sling until it sits comfortably.

"Oh," Rachel says, "Well, that's true. I am happy."

"I know," Quinn says. "I don't want that to change."

"Then you really need to find a way for us to be together when this is over," Rachel says, grabbing the hand on Quinn's unbroken arm. Their fingers link together and Quinn closes her eyes, unable to bear the look on Rachel's face any longer.

xxxxx

For the third night in a row, Quinn finds herself awake, staring over Rachel's shoulder at the alarm clock. 3am. She closes her eyes, hoping that she'll doze off but gives up two minutes later. She needs to find a way of occupying her mind that doesn't involve waking Rachel up. The shorter woman, wrapped up in Quinn's arms, is exhausted as it is. Carefully, Quinn extracts her arm from Rachel's grasp and edges backwards off the bed.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Go back to sleep," Quinn says, walking around the bed to kneel in front of the brunette, "I'm just getting some water."

''Kay," Rachel mumbles, smiling as Quinn presses her lips to the brunette's. "Miss your face…" Quinn quirks an eyebrow at Rachel before shaking her head and chuckling softly to herself as she leaves the room. Sometimes she could hold entire conversations with the petite woman while she was fast asleep.

Quinn pours herself a glass of water and settles down at her desk, opening her laptop. The bright screen causes her to grimace but her eyes quickly adjust; she taps in her password and waits for the inbuilt camera to take a photo before watching the computer open up a host of programs for her to use.

She sets the water down and picks up the file on top of a pile of folders sitting next to her laptop, flicking through the contents. The bomb kid, Derek Lynch, stares blankly up at her from a photo. A transcript of Jackson's interview with the boy - Quinn still refers to him as a boy given that he looks fifteen at the most despite him being nearly twenty-two - is attached to the photo and background information that Michaels had collected for her. The folder below contains information relating to Derek's cousin, Kyle, who Derek named almost immediately as being the person who gave him the bomb and the letter.

Quinn taps a few times on her keyboard and connects her headphones. Derek's nervous voice fills her ears and she grabs a pen, ready to make any notes, anything that she missed even though she's listened to the recording five times. She forwards through the first thirty seconds where they'd established who Derek was and why he was on set.

"I work there," he says. "A friend of mine got me the job. All I do is serve food." Derek's voice trembles and Quinn smiles at the thought of how terrifying it must be to have Jackson looming over the top of you, scar shining in the half-lit interrogation room.

"Who gave you the bomb?" Jackson's low, rumbling voice causes Quinn to turn up the volume.

"I didn't know it was a bomb, I swear. I thought it was a fake. I thought he was just trying to scare…" Derek's voice cuts off as Jackson talks over him.

"Answer the question and this will take a lot less time," Jackson says. "Who gave you the bomb?"

"My cousin," Derek blurts out, "I haven't seen him in months. He just turned up outside the set and called and…"

"His name?" Jackson asks, voice rising over the boy's.

"Kyle. Kyle Lynch."

"So he turned up outside the set," Jackson says. There's a moment's hesitation before Derek takes a shaky breath.

"He was waiting outside a car. A really nice car. The windows were blacked out. I couldn't see anyone else inside. He gave me the envelope, a key and the bomb. I swear I didn't know it was a real bomb…"

"Yes, we got that," Jackson says. "What kind of car?"

"A Mercedes," Derek says, "I don't know the model. It looked brand new."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"He told me that I just had to hang around the set and wait for the bodyguards to catch me. He told me to look suspicious," Derek says. "And then I started to panic. Kyle gets messed up in bad stuff all the time. My mom took him in for a few years and…"

"What happened when the bodyguards followed you?"

"I found the trailer I was told to find and tried to open the door but the key wouldn't work and I dropped it… then I realised that I had to get rid of the bomb…"

"And you set the countdown off?" Jackson asks.

"I panicked. Two guys were pointing guns at me," he says, sounding close to tears now. "Look, he said if I didn't do this, then he'd kill my mom."

"Then you should have informed the police," Jackson says.

"The police won't…" Derek takes a deep breath, "They never pin anything on him."

"Why?" Jackson asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"The stuff that happened when he was in Iraq," Derek says. "He used to be this awesome guy. He was this guy that I could look up to. And then he went to Iraq and when he came back, everything was different. He… It's like there's a switch inside him. He'll be fine one second, then the next he's punching his fist through walls and trashing our house. My mom calls the police but by the time they get there, he has her convinced that it's her fault and that he can't help the way he is."

Quinn stops the recording and taps her pen against the empty pad of paper in front of her. She pulls up another program and taps in Kyle's name. She scrolls through the information quickly, pausing at his military career. He'd been in Iraq at the same time as her, stationed in a high-risk zone. A list of crimes follows his discharge in 2024. Crimes that he was never punished for all due to a defence of insanity. Quinn frowns and opens a case that had been thrown out just six months ago. It's an assault claim made by a former girlfriend. Quinn pulls up her details and jots them down, figuring that it can't do any harm to pay her a visit.

She listens to the rest of the recording and thinks of nothing else to write down. Feeling slightly less hopeless, she shuts down her laptop and heads back to bed, feeling Rachel shiver as she pulls back the covers even though it's a warm night.

"Where did you go?" Rachel asks, sliding her fingers through Quinn's, holding their joined hands above her heart.

"Nowhere, sweetheart," Quinn says, kissing the back of Rachel's neck and letting her eyes drift shut at last.

xxxxx

Agent Montero, Michaels' date at the Emmys, is assigned to watch Rachel the next day while Quinn and Michaels go to question Lynch's ex-girlfriend.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asks, eyeing her replacement bodyguard warily.

"We're just following up on a lead," Quinn says, smiling reassuringly. "We'll be back before you finish here. Honest. Agent Montero is perfectly competent." Rachel nods and watches as Quinn and Michaels leave the studio. Her agent buzzes around her as she settles into the make-up chair, asking inane questions that she's not in the mood to answer.

"So explain again why we're interrogating Lynch's ex-girlfriend," Michaels says as he drives towards the address scrawled on Quinn's notepad.

"I'm grasping at a very limited supply of straws," Quinn says, watching the city fly past as they drive down the highway.

"Right."

"Someone is covering for this guy," Quinn sighs. "He can't just disappear. It's like he doesn't even exist. No-one knows where he is, no-one knows where he's been. Maybe he decided that he could persuade his ex-girlfriend to let him lie low for a while. The police have a warrant out on him too. We just have to hope they haven't been to question her."

"The police?" Michaels looks confused for a second.

"Well, that's our cover story," Quinn says, "Detective Inspector Michaels." She holds up two badges and passes one to Michaels.

"Did you steal these from a cereal box?" he asks, grinning as he pockets the badge. Quinn rolls her eyes and continues to stare out the window. "Casey, if you stare any harder at that window it's going to break. What's up?"

"I need to find a way out," she says softly, not turning to look at Michaels.

"Out? Of The Organisation?" he asks, sounding surprised. "But you can't go back to civilian life…"

"I know," she says, "But I also can't not be with her. I can't break her like that."

"What do you want? You shouldn't throw your life away…" Michaels argues.

"She is my life," Quinn interrupts. "She's been my life since I was sixteen years old. And I messed things up before. I don't want to do that again." Michaels falls into silence and stares at the road ahead, signalling when they reach the exit that will hopefully give them some answers about the elusive Lynch.

"So am I the good cop or the bad cop?" Michaels asks as they pull up outside the house. Quinn chuckles and climbs out, slamming her door and checking out the neighbourhood. They walk up the path together and Quinn knocks heavily on the door.

A minute later the screen door opens and a thin brunette, wispy hair curling around her face, peers back at them.

"Melissa Santos?" Quinn asks, pulling off her sunglasses. The woman nods. "I'm Detective Casey, this is Detective Inspector Michaels." They hold up their badges. "Could we ask you a few questions?"

The woman hesitates before pushing the door open. Michaels goes in first, nodding to the woman with a smile on his face.

"Just in here," Melissa directs them into a small lounge room. "What's wrong?" Quinn stands next to the window as Michaels sits down on an armchair. He gestures for Melissa to sit down on the couch.

"We're trying to locate Kyle Lynch," Michaels says. Melissa visibly recoils at the mention of his name, her eyes growing wide.

"I haven't seen him," she says quickly, "Not since that day when they threw out my case. Is he in trouble?"

"We're led to believe that he's always in some sort of trouble, Ms Santos," Quinn says with a tight smile. "We're just checking known acquaintances to get an idea of where he might be."

"I haven't seen him," Melissa says immediately. Her hands have started shaking and Quinn frowns.

"Ms Santos, can we talk about your case?" Michaels shoots her a glance. "I mean, why it was thrown out."

"They said he was crazy, that he wasn't in control," she says and shakes her head. "He knew exactly what he was doing."

"We've spoken with his cousin," Quinn says, pretending to check the name on her notepad, "Derek. It sounds as though Kyle is a dangerous man to be around."

"Only if you're a woman," Melissa says, her eyes fixated on the ground now. "He would never hurt Derek. Or any of his friends." Quinn and Michaels share a look.

"Did Kyle ever talk to you about Iraq?" Michaels asks. Melissa bites down on her bottom lip.

"Only when he was mad," she says. "He'd go on and on about one of the women in his troop. How she ruined everything, how it was unfair that she got promoted over him, that if he'd been in charge they wouldn't have lost so many men." This hangs in the air as both Quinn and Michaels absorb the information.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time, Ms Santos," Michaels says, getting to his feet, "We're sorry for the intrusion."

"One more question," Quinn says, pushing away from the window ledge. "Do you happen to have anything that Kyle wrote? Letters?" Melissa shakes her head.

"He never wrote me letters," she says, "And after the case was thrown out, I threw out everything he'd ever touched." She walks to the door with Quinn and Michaels. "You should speak to Gary Sullivan."

"Gary Sullivan," Michaels repeats. "Is he a friend of Kyle's?"

"They were in Iraq together," she says, not offering any further information.

"Thank you, Ms Santos," Quinn says, sliding her sunglasses back on as they walk down the path again. Neither speaks until they've pulled back onto the highway.

"At least we have some sort of motive now," Michaels says, glancing over at Quinn.

"We need to find out who the woman was," Quinn says, "And find Gary Sullivan."

"I'll get right on it, boss," he says, driving back towards the studio. Quinn feels the anxious knot in her stomach that had formed the minute she had left Rachel start to loosen.

xxxxx

Quinn groans, rolling her shoulders as pushes another couple of keys on her laptop. She hears paper rustle behind her followed by light footsteps and then Rachel's hands run down her neck, slipping under the tank top to massage her taut muscles.

"That's good," Quinn mumbles, forcing her head back to look at Rachel. Only it isn't Rachel. It isn't the Rachel she knows. Quinn scrambles away, pushing her chair out of the way and running out of the lounge into the corridor. The front door is bolted shut and footsteps are gaining on her. A hand grabs her arm, the broken one still encased in white plaster and she pulls out her gun, firing shots wildly at the monster behind her.

Quinn blinks into the darkness of the room, sitting upright, her breathing uneven as she tries to calm down. Rachel's hand on her back makes her jump and she turns, relieved when it's her Rachel. Not the monster from her dream.

"What happened?" Rachel asks, rubbing her hand in circles on Quinn's back.

"Just a nightmare… you were… you weren't you," Quinn says, closing her eyes for a second. "You were… like a zombie. I guess."

"It was just a dream, Quinn," Rachel says soothingly, "Lie back down." Still trying to regain control of her breathing, Quinn allows herself to be pushed back onto the pillow. Rachel lies down with her, half-covering Quinn's body with her own, her hand slipping beneath the cotton tank top Quinn's wearing.

"Rachel, what are you…" Quinn doesn't finish her sentence as Rachel's fingers find their mark. "Mmm."

"I'm making you forget all about your dream," Rachel says, letting her lips drag down Quinn's neck. "Is it working?"

"Like a charm," Quinn whispers, twisting her fingers in Rachel's hair.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asks, her lips still brushing against a sensitive spot on Quinn's neck. "You've been in a bad mood since Michaels called earlier."

"He didn't have any news," Quinn says, her eyes fluttering closed under Rachel's ministrations. "We have two teams trying to find these guys and so far, nothing. It's like they've disappeared off the face of the earth." Rachel's hand cups Quinn's breast and she rolls the pad of her thumb over her nipple.

"You'll find them," Rachel says.

"But…" Quinn starts, guilt rising up in her chest.

"Quinn, I trust you," Rachel states. "You're not going to let anything happen to me." Quinn nods and brings Rachel's face up towards her own, kissing the brunette softly. She lets a grin slip over her features as Rachel starts to slide down her body, pulling down her sweatpants as she goes, her supple tongue dancing over Quinn's skin.

xxxxx

Rachel's in the middle of shooting a scene when Quinn notices Michaels talking to Hank at the other side of the stage. Hank is holding a piece of paper, another letter. Quinn whips out her cell phone, typing a frantic message to Michaels.

"Michaels, get that out of here."

She snaps her phone shut and watches the men retreat, turning her focus back to Rachel. Despite everything that's going on, the shorter woman's performance on camera is perfect every time.

Quinn waits for the director to yell 'cut' before taking out her cell again to call Michaels. "What does it say?"

"'Bang bang,'" he says. "That's it."

"All of the weapons on set have been checked, haven't they?" Quinn asks, glancing around at the hundreds of extras all carrying replica guns.

"Yes," Michaels says. "And the set is locked down. No-one is getting near the stage without going through three of Hank's guys."

"Quiet down, people," a voice yells and Quinn hangs up, sliding the phone back into her pocket. She frowns as Rachel takes up her position, an extra is pointing a gun straight at her chest. They'd practised this scene the night before.

"Trust me," Quinn had said, "I know what it's like." Rachel had smiled up at her and pretended to shoot. Quinn had jumped in the air and landed heavily at the base of the bed. "Like that."

"But only with a lot more cursing," Rachel had said, rolling her eyes. "You've never been shot in the chest."

"Lucky us," Quinn had said, crawling back up the bed to kiss Rachel, both women immediately forgetting about the scene.

The smell of the smoke bombs brings Quinn back to the present. Her phone starts vibrating in her pocket but she can't answer, not at this part of the scene. Her eyes catch movement at the other side of the set and she moves among the camera equipment to get a better look. Her phone starts vibrating again but stops quickly. A message.

"Sullivan," is all it says. Quinn glances back up, hand already grabbing for her gun as she runs towards Rachel, darting between bodies and smoke. The extra levels the gun at Rachel's chest, but it's not him Quinn has her eyes on. The man at the other side of the set raises his rifle to aim.

There's a commotion as the director starts yelling about Quinn being in front of the cameras but she doesn't hear any of it. The extra fires the gun at the same moment as the half-hidden man. Quinn launches herself at Rachel, knocking her to the ground. The former blonde lands a few feet away, not moving.

Two more shots ring out and people start screaming and running.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice is hazy in her ear. "Alex? No!" She feels a hand press against her chest. "No, Alex, look at me."

"Casey," Michaels skids to a halt next to her, pushing her onto her back. "Shit." She stares up blankly, breath leaving her in tiny pants.

"Rach," she whispers.

"Casey, you've been shot," Michaels says, pressing a wad of cloth against the bullet wound.

"Rachel," she says again.

"Baby, you're going to be okay," Rachel says, appearing above her. Quinn notes that the lights above make Rachel look like an angel and she smiles in spite of the pain ripping through her chest.

"Read the letters," Quinn wheezes out as Rachel's face starts to swirl. She closes her eyes and feels a hand grab onto hers, Rachel's fingers tangling around her own. "Promise."

"I promise I'll read them," Rachel chokes out through her sobs.

"I love you," Quinn mutters then everything fades to black and she feels weightless, suspended in the darkness.

The pain stops.