What the hell does one buy a nine year old girl? Mack stared at the rows of pink boxed dolls, all staring and smiling, unmoving. She shivered. They were terrifying, unnerving, useless things. Did little girls really like playing with them? Mack had never grasped the concept of playing with dolls. A tiny fluttering thought danced through her mind - dolls were Quinn's area of expertise. Well, Quinn's childhood self anyway. Maybe Mack should have left the gift buying to her. But here she was, in the toy section of the department store, feeling conspicuously out of place with her knee high motorcycle boots and leather jacket, like she was a punk who'd somehow found herself at a makeover party by mistake and didn't quite know what to do with herself, except run for the nearest exit. Mack fought the urge and took careful steps down the aisle, glancing every so often at the dolls. They all looked the same. She could feel her face creeping into a disgusted expression, so made an effort to keep it neutral.

From the shelf, a petite, too-skinny-to-be-healthy, blonde doll smiled sweetly through a screen of plastic, inviting and friendly. The kind of friend who'd stab you in the back and smile in your face about it, Mack thought to herself, passing the blonde doll over, and checking out the next one, which was exactly the same, except for the clothes. A sigh ripped itself from Mack's chest. Was Beth even into these things? Beth didn't seem like the doll type. She was the rough house type, who'd climb trees and catch butterflies and burn ants up for fun. Well, maybe not the ants, though you could never tell with kids, especially capricious Beth. Mack reached the end of the aisle and wandered over to the next one, filled with the 'boy' toys, action figures and cars and Spiderman masks. She paused and picked up a lightsaber. Somehow she didn't think Shelby would appreciate Beth running through the apartment with a sword to smack things with, though Beth would probably love it. So she left the lightsaber on the shelf, next to the tiny figures of Darth Vader and Obi Wan Kenobi battling invisible enemies.

Nothing seemed right. Beth wasn't the type to play boardgames or logic puzzles or with race cars. Mack left the store empty handed, her chest tight with the stress of not finding anything. She'd have to talk it over with Quinn. She knew Beth better, after all. Squinting at the sudden sunlight, Mack ambled down the street, hands the pockets of her jacket, aimless and dejected. Left, left, left, right, right, the streets quietened somewhat, the flow of people sticking to the main roads, the well known places. Mack had veered off, into a quiet street, a narrow alley. She'd never been there before, but part of her loved the wandering, the random turns and the lost feeling she got in strange places. The alley was mostly graffitied brick walls, but further on, signs hung from the brick, tiny shops tucked away from the New York bustle. Someone burst out of one of them, cradling a brown paper package in his arms. He didn't smile at Mack as he hurried past, but clutched the package tighter. Mack noticed he had strange symbols tattooed onto his fingers. Alchemical signs, she thought. She wandered closer to the store, interested.

The window display was draped in purple fabric that tumbled down and collected in mountainous pools on the floor. A few books on the occult and witchcraft stood propped open at the foot of the display, and above them, dreamcatchers spun slowly from the ceiling. But it was the fairies that caught Mack's eye - ceramic figures of them, regal and glittering, sitting on the table with mischievous smiles. She slunk in through the door and stared around her at the interior of the shop, more filled with books than she thought it would be. The dust in the air made her throat close.

"Can I do anything for you today?" a man asked from the front counter, lifting a hand to scratch his goatee.

"The fairies. In the window," Mack faltered.

"Oh yes. We have a collection of them along this wall. Was there something particular one you were looking for? A statue? A music box? A keyring?" the man asked as he led Mack to the aisle, which, she found, was very well stocked with an assortment of fairies.

"Um," she said, bewildered by the lot. Why was she even looking at fairies? She picked up the figure nearest to her, a small thing, with green wings and a lopsided hat that looked like it should be made from felt, but her finger, running across it, told her it was stone. It grinned at her. Gently, she put it back down on the table that held the collection. She cast her eye over the rest of them, uneasy with the shopkeeper at her shoulder, watching. She ran a finger over a piece with the fairies in a circle, hands clasped to form a ring.

"Oh yes, the fairy ring. An excellent piece of work, and reminiscent of course, of ritual. It is best placed on the coffee table to encourage happiness and family wellbeing," the man explained, but Mack had already moved on, her eye caught on a wooden box, dark mahogany, the lid opened to reveal three fairies suspended in midflight over some pebbles, a small tree behind them.

"And this?" she prompted the shopkeeper.

"A music and jewellery box. Contrary to most music boxes, this one only operates when the button on the side of the box," he indicated to it, "is pressed, rather than when the lid is opened. The fairies rotate in their respective positions."

Mack pressed the button. The grass of the sculpture immediately lit up, illuminating the fairies, and m a smaller light on the tree, which, Mack noticed, had a hole at the bottom, presumably leading to the fairy realm. The fairies turned, as the shopkeeper had said, with music tinkling softly from invisible speakers. Mack reached out and tentatively pulled the draw of the jewellery box from its crystal handle. It slid open without any effort. Mack could smell the heady wood scent of it, and breathed deep to savour it. A smile began to curve her lips. This was it. This was Beth's gift. The Fairies of Central Park was her favourite story from Quinn. She would love the music box. She nodded at the shopkeeper, who gingerly picked it up and took it to the front counter. Mack played with the zipper on her bag while he scrounged around for a box.

"How much?"

"One hundred and twenty five dollars," the shopkeeper replied, and Mack ground her teeth at the price. It definitely was not worth that much. Why didn't she ask about the price before she told him to bring it to the counter? But then, this was her first gift for Beth. It may as well be one that was more expensive, to make up for all the years that the kid's birthday cards said 'from Quinn' instead of 'from Quinn, Mack and Damien'. With a feeling that was almost guilt for spending that amount of money, Mack handed the cash over. The shopkeeper must have sensed something, because he grimaced and pulled out a leatherbound book with blood red stones set into the cover, placing it on top of the box.

"A complimentary Book of Shadows, because you spent over one hundred dollars," he explained at her confused expression. She had no idea what a Book of Shadows was, but she wasn't about to give back the free book. Free things were hard enough to come by as it was in that city. She mumbled her thanks and took the box and the Book of Shadows with her, tucking them under her arm.

The alleyway seemed colder than before, and longer, the tricks her imagination played on her when she was slightly creeped out. And there was definitely something creepy about the tucked away New Age shop with its fairies and Books of Shadows and its purple drapery and its shopkeeper who talked as if he'd grown up in a different century. She hurried back into the familiar New York streets, glad to be away from the place, which had only seemed scary in retrospect. Maybe because she had a little more time to think about its unusualness, without it being flaunted in her face. She shook her head. She didn't need to go back there again, at least. And now she had a gift for Beth. The day seemed brighter for it.

"Mack! Mackenzie!" someone called out to her from behind. Mack turned slowly, recognising the voice, but hoped with every ounce of her soul that she was wrong, that her ears weren't hearing it right. But no. There she was. Rachel Berry, grinning and scurrying in between people to get to her. Whatever brightness the day acquired from buying Beth's gift disappeared.

"Hi! What a coincidence, that we keep running into each other like this," Rachel laughed breathlessly.

"This city's too full of coincidences," Mack muttered under her breath. Rachel didn't seem to hear that. "What are you up to today?" she said a little more loudly.

"Oh, you know how it is. Running from costuming to rehearsal. I'm going to try find a gift for Beth while I've got a minute to spare. It's not really to spare, but it has to be done."

Mack nodded, gripping the package a little more tightly. Whatever Rachel was going to get for Beth, she bet it wasn't a music box with fairies. She suddenly felt a little silly. What if Beth didn't like it? Do nine year olds like music boxes? Would she even have jewellery to keep in it? Mack bit her lip. Well, it was done now.

"I was just walking around. Trying to be inspired," she said to Rachel, who nodded understandingly, her eyes full of sympathy. As if Mack needed sympathy, she thought to herself, her mind turning poisonous against Rachel. She wouldn't understand a thing about writing. All she did was prance around on stage.

"Quinn used to write. In high school," Rachel smiled sadly. "She gave it up. But she was really good. I always thought she should be a writer, like Sylvia Plath, or one of those other writers with a tragic history but who write so hauntingly."

"Sylvia Plath killed herself by sticking her head in an oven," Mack growled. A part of her acknowledged that if things had turned out differently, Quinn just might have gone the same way as Plath. She had damn good reason to, all those years ago, when they were teenagers with little direction and parents that didn't love them the way they always believed parents should. Damn Rachel and her bringing up Quinn's writing. Damn that they agreed on something about Quinn. Mack thought that Quinn should have stuck to it too, though it would have killed her because Quinn was much better at it than her. But Quinn didn't want to. She chose her path. It wasn't for Rachel to judge that, just like it wasn't Mack's.

"I didn't mean the lifestyle, I meant the writing, inspired by the tragedy of her life. And she has had a tragic life. Her high school life, I mean. Obviously it's not tragic now. She's got you and Damien and work and she's happy," Rachel flustered, noticing how her words sounded in the still air between the two of them. Mack forced herself not to glare. She threw joviality around her like a masking cloak.

"Of course! I knew what you meant! But she's all past that now. Like you said, she's happy. The happiest she's probably ever been. But writing wasn't for her, even if she was good at it. Follow your passion, and all that stuff that your little Glee club taught you guys, that's what she's doing."

Rachel nodded. Silence hung between them, deadening the air with awkwardness.

"Well, it was nice seeing you. I have to go, but no doubt I'll see you at Beth's birthday! I can't believe she's nine! Come see another show sometime with Quinn, won't you? I'll let you know when the current one opens!" Rachel grinned, already trotting away, her high heels stabbing the pavement with every step. Mack gave a non committal nod that she hoped passed for interest, relief flooding her chest that Rachel was leaving. Someday she was going to have to get used to the fact that she would keep running into her in New York, but today was not that day. She doubted she ever would get used to running into her. Maybe she would just hate her less. The hatred was tiring, and as she slumped off home, the music box tucked under her arm, she wondered if it ever would fade, or if she was doomed to despise her for as long as she lived.

She was still seething when she stepped into her apartment, clutching the strange Book of Shadows in one hand and the box in her other, fumbling for her keys as her hands lost their grip.

"Whoa! Careful there Spiderman," Quinn slipped her hand under the box that was about to sent one hundred and twenty five dollars worth of wood and ceramic and tiny wires hurtling into pieces across the floor. Her balance regained, Mack placed a quick kiss on her girlfriend's lips.

"Spiderman?" she raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"It was the only thing I could think of off the top of my head," Quinn shrugged, grinning. "I probably should have gone with Doctor Octopus, huh?"

"Your sense of irony is astounding."

"You love it," Quinn laughed, pulling Mack close enough that her breath, brushing Mack's neck, made her skin crawl in needy shivers.

"Mmm, I do," she murmured, running her now free hands up Quinn's side, then down again to play with the hem of her tank top. Quinn kissed her jaw, but stepped back.

"Not now, Mack. I have to go back to work. I just needed to get out of there for a bit. I needed to see you. And you came bearing gifts," she cocked her head to the side slightly, and Mack rolled her eyes. It was like Quinn to ask a question without asking. She explained about Beth's gift. Quinn pried open the box and unwrapped the music box, gasping when the lights turned on and the music began tinkling through the apartment.

"Oh, it's perfect! Beth is going to love it. I knew sending you to buy her something was a good idea!"

Mack watched Quinn, a small smile softening her face as the blonde woman looked over the music box, running a finger over the wood, over the ceramic fairies, their delicate wings, their bright hats, their impossibly thin legs, and she knew something then that she'd always known, but didn't often tell herself: she'd be spending the rest of her life with this woman. If people could belong wholeheartedly to each other, then she belonged to Quinn; the very cells in her body clamored for it to be known, to grip Quinn and kiss her with everything she had. But Mack was content to watch her admiring the music box from a few meters away. For all her traumatic teenage years and her nerdy comic book references and her high flying job, Quinn still harboured a side of her that was a little girl, taken by the simple beauty of music boxes. Mack went and wrapped her arms around her from behind, kissing her neck softly.

"And what's this?" Quinn held up the strange book that the shopkeeper had given Mack. "It's blank. But it's nicely bound."

"The guy at the store gave it to me. He called it a Book of Shadows, or something like that," Mack shrugged.

"You went into a store for witchcraft?" Quinn detached herself from Mack's hug and spun around to face her, an eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"A Book of Shadows is a modern witch's spellbook. You're supposed to fill it in yourself. He thought you were a witch?" Quinn eyed Mack up and down, taking in her motorcycle boots, her leather jacket, the faded grey tank top she was wearing underneath it, and burst out laughing. Mack crossed her arms over her chest defensively. How was she supposed to know what a Book of Shadows was? And there wasn't anything particularly witchy about the shop, apart from the books in the window, maybe, but didn't all New Age stores have that sort of thing, along with semi precious stones and tarot cards?

"Wait," Quinn said, her face straightening, "do I need to start checking the cupboards for weird plants and concoctions and voodoo dolls? Or under the bed or in the closet?"

"Hmph. I'll show you in the closet. Asshole," Mack muttered. Quinn sidled up to her, grinning her lopsided grin. She uncrossed Mack's arms and slid into them.

"If I remember correctly, you've shown me the inside of several closets. And janitor's storerooms. And bathroom cubicles," she murmured in a low voice into Mack's ear, hooking an arm around the back of Mack's neck.

"And if I remember correctly, the bathroom cubicles were always your idea."

Quinn chuckled, and ran her lips down Mack's throat, till, pushing the jacket aside, she came to her pulse point, where she nipped lightly with her teeth. Mack groaned. She felt her breath hitch in her chest.

"I thought you had to go back to work."

"Uh huh."

"Then what are you doing?"

"You know teasing you is my favourite sport," Quinn retorted. Mack rolled her eyes and shoved her off. She picked up the leatherbound Book of Shadows, running a finger over it. The leather was soft, her finger leaving a dent in the cover. Flipping through it, she found the paper was of good quality too. At least that shop didn't give you a terrible free gift, she thought to herself. She still couldn't believe he'd thought her a witch though. What the hell does a witch even look like? She thought back, remembering the man who'd scurried past her, with the alchemical symbols on his fingers. He wore a leather jacket too. She bit her lip. Maybe she did look like a witch. And this book. Well, it was really just a nicely bound notebook, really. She didn't see why they had to give it such a fancy name.

"You know those stories you're always telling the kids? About the monsters and the fairies and whatever else, that live in New York?" Mack turned to Quinn, the blank notebook in her hand. Quinn nodded, frowning. Mack flashed a grin and thrust the book out to her. "Get writing. That's going to be your contribution to Beth's gift."

"But you're the writer!" Quinn protested weakly.

"And you're the story teller. Besides, what else are we going to do with this notebook?"

"Well, we could use it to collect spells to use against Rachel Berry," Quinn smiled slyly.

"Quinn! I always knew you'd be into black magic," Mack laughed.

"That girl's really starting to get on my nerves. I could deal with her flirting with me, if she didn't start appearing at my workplace too, asking for favours. Did you know she came to see me today? She turned up at the studio, pulling me out of my office, away from my job, just to ask me if I knew anyone who could manage sound for a stage production, because their last one left. God, she probably terrorised the poor person. I wanted to slap her in the face," Quinn growled, slumping against the dining table.

"That sneaky bitch. I ran into her today and she didn't breathe a word about seeing you. I can't believe her! Quinn, I know how much you love New York, but I can't stand being in the same city as that woman anymore. She's going to try something with you, I just know it, and I can't keep worrying about it. I trust you, but I don't trust her. I swear to god I'm going to rip her throat out the next time I see her," Mack glowered, all her anger from earlier in the day flooding back to her. Rachel fucking Berry was a problem and becoming larger by the second. All Mack wanted when she moved to New York with Quinn was a simpler life, with less of the drama of Lima, where you couldn't do anything without the whole freaking town finding out about it.

"I'll help you bury the body. I know some people," Quinn's grave reply came. It took Mack a full ten seconds before she realised that her girlfriend was joking. She slouched forward in half hearted relief. "C'mere," Quinn pulled Mack into her. "I know she's a pain in the ass, but New York's home. The good things outweigh the bad. And if she tries anything with me, beyond the flirting, I promise you won't be the one ripping her throat out. Ok? We just need to keep our cool. She isn't a threat to us. To you. I love you. I moved to New York with you. And you're the one I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. Rachel Berry be damned!"

Mack lay her head on Quinn's chest, and listened to her heartbeat, the steady rhythm, as steady as the woman it resided within. Of course, Quinn was right. Rachel would only be a threat if one of them let her. And their relationship was watertight. She sighed. For better or for worse, Quinn was right.