Hey, guys! I've got a problem…I'm looking for this amazingly awesome show that typically airs Tuesdays on Fox at 9/8c. It used to be a pretty kickass program with storylines that were a bit fantastical, but engaging. I tune in every Tuesday, but I can't seem to find it. Instead, I watch one big clusterfuck that seems to go in about twelve different directions and gets more ridiculous each episode. Uh, does anyone know where my show went?

Lol, slightly frustrated rant over. Don't mind me, I'm just venting, lol. On a happier note, this was a fun chapter to write! I'm sorry about the delay, but I moved from the Midwest back home to California, so I kinda was preoccupied. As an apology, I'm giving you guys lots of goodies in this one: some lady lovin' between our favorite trio (kind of), Brady gets the rather insistent boot complete with a Diva smackdown, courtesy of Rachel, Sloane and Mia kiss for the first time – which of course means that technically Quinn and Rachel do as well – some football shenanigans that end in some inadvertent cuddle time, and a juicy new direction for the plot (no pun intended). Hope you all enjoy this one!

The theme for this one is going with the flow. Or, in this case, going with the sexual flow. More specifically, the changes in sexual flow. As you can probably guess, someone's flow is changing course. Now if only she would realize exactly what that meant…


CHAPTER 8

It was part of the McKinley lore that Puckerman parties were downright legendary in the McKinley social spectrum. Everyone knew they happened, but getting invited to one meant that you weren't a loser. It was a chance to solidify your social status. Everyone knew something epic always happened at a Puckerman party, and if you were cool enough, if you knew the right people, you'd be privy to the legions of inside jokes that stemmed from the night.

Puck's parties weren't huge – there simply weren't enough people deemed popular enough for that to be. So, normally, when people entered, it was someone familiar. They were afforded a casual glance, you know, just to make sure they actually belonged there. But people looked when Rachel Berry walked into the room. She wasn't quite aware of the attention, she was actually on the phone with her fathers, making sure they were aware of her plans. It was difficult to look away. She just had an aura about her. It was like in the movies when the It Girl walks in glowing and in slow motion – they parodied it in Not Another Teen Movie. It was an aura of complete confidence and it made her hated and admired in the same breath. Where her peers still fumbled with their identities, Rachel was secure in hers. She knew exactly who she was and refused to appease the masses.

However, the masses could not ignore the fact that Rachel Berry was hot. Her ridiculously long legs and pert ass seemed almost otherworldly on her petite body, and she teased them all highlighting those features in a pair of short jean shorts paired with cute flats. A smooth shoulder peeked out from her top, and she flicked her long hair behind her.

Rachel squeaked as she found herself lifted into the air. She laughed, however, as she found herself face to face with the trademark Noah Puckerman leer.

"Damn, babe, you look fine. Fortunately, the Puckster is available for use with ten fingers and one large–"

"Noah!" Rachel cut him off with a giggle, winding her legs around Puck's waist as she gave him a hug hello. "That was horrible when you used it on Monica Rizzo. What makes you think it would be any better on me?"

Puck grinned, bracing his palms on her ass to support her weight. "Because you've already felt the Puckster's lady lovin'," he reasoned. "You know I'm good for it."

"Noah, you know better than that," she scolded playfully.

"C'mon, Starlet," Puck growled. "Help a Jew Bro out." He rolled his hips against hers teasingly. "You know the lovin' between us is mad hot."

Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck. "Be that as it may, Jew Bro, just because I've lost my virginity to you does not give you license to request sex any time you want it. You know I wish to be wooed."

He leaned in, nipping at her pulse point, knowing that was where she went absolutely wild. "I know, Starlet. Just givin' you the heads up. The Puckerone is always ready and willing for you."

Rachel giggled, running an affectionate hand through his Mohawk. She leaned in, kissing his cheek. "Thanks, Noah. I shall keep that in mind."

He laughed, setting her down. She wrapped her arms around his waist, gazing up at him adoringly. Seeing her look at him like that, it seemed like all was right in his world. He knew that he would do anything for her, no matter how they ended up. She was his Jew Babe first and foremost.

"Hey, Rach?"

"You do know that I love you, right?" Puck flushed, running a hand over his Mohawk, one of his rare nervous tics. "Like no matter how shit goes down between us or whatever, you'll always be my girl."

Rachel beamed. "Yes, Noah, I do know that."

Puck nodded gruffly and turned around. He caught the collar of some hapless underclassman jock passing him and yanked the younger boy back. Swiping the closed can of beer from the boy's grasp, Puck shoved the other jock away and popped the top. Tossing his head back, he chugged the alcohol down and tossed it into one of the many garbage bags situated around the house, already starting to fill with like empty cans. "Alright, I'm gonna get drunk. All this emotional shit is seriously giving me the twitches." He turned to the rest of the party.

"Alright, fuckers, game time! Anyone who's not a lameass pussy come to the den." Clomping down the stairs, he gathered them around the large coffee table. "Game of the night, Drunk Jenga!"

Rachel eyed him warily. "What's Drunk Jenga?"

"The best drinking game ever!" Puck grinned, plopping a cylindrical box on the tabletop. "I picked it up from a buddy down at Ohio State's football camp. Basically, it's like the game Jenga. You take out a block from anywhere on the tower and put it on top. The thing is," he turned a bunch over, "the blocks have things written on them. Whichever block you take, you have to do what's written on it. Some are drinking related, others are a dare, and like five of them are blank. If you're the one to knock the tower down, you have to finish your drink."

"Some of them require another person," Puck smacked a deck of cards onto the table. "And these will tell us who the lucky recipient will be."

The excitement of the game, combined with the silly fun of the dares, entertained the group of teenagers. Through the course of ten minutes, Mike Chang had to wear his boxers on his head, Puck gave away three drinks while taking two himself, Finn had to do the chicken dance for thirty seconds, and one of the freshman hockey players had to serenade everyone with a Disney song. Rachel successfully wiggled a block from halfway down the tower, turning it over with a hesitant frown.

"Lap dance."

Puck pumped a fist as Rachel placed the block on top of the tower. "Yes, I was hoping someone would pick that!" He grabbed the stack of cards and slid one out. A seven of hearts. He counted seven people over from Rachel, landing on Santana.

"Lopez, it's you."

Santana sauntered over to the chair, easing herself down. She cocked an eyebrow to Rachel, a clear challenge to the little diva.

"Make this worth my while, Tiny," she teased.

Rachel's eyes narrowed in response. With a toss of her hair, she moved over to the iPod dock, scrolling through the songs until she found the one she was looking for.

Ciara
Uh-huh

Catch me in the mall
You know I buy it out
G5 plane, yeah I fly it out
Jiggas in the back look like Lex in them 28

Naw you can't get her
If you ain't got plenty cake
ATL, Georgia, booties look like this size
23 waist, pretty face, thick thighs

Santana's eyes widened as Rachel advanced on her, a teasing smirk playing on her full lips. She stopped in front of Santana, hips swaying side to side, her arms stretched over her head. Santana gulped. Rachel crooked a finger, swinging a leg over Santana's hips to straddle the Latina in the chair. Bracing her hands on the back, one over each shoulder, Rachel leaned over, her body snaking up Santana's teasingly brushing their breasts together before slowly grinding down.

I can do it big
I can do it long
I can do whenever or however you want
I can do it up and down
I can do it circles
To him I'm a gymnast
This ring is my circus

I market it so good
They can't wait to try-ah-ah-ah-ah
Me-e-e-ay-ay
I work it so good
Man, these jiggas
Tryna buy-ah-ah-ah me

Rachel mirrored the lyrics, her body rolling up and down, side to side, rotating in a languid circular motion. She was like something out of a Shakira music video, fueled with Beyonce, with a touch of the woman lending the vocals, Ciara. Santana's mouth sagged at the sight of Rachel's hips and torso gyrating as though the spirit of some belly dancer possessed the tiny frame before her.

For her part, Rachel had to admit it was rather fun eliciting this sort of emotion from Santana. She was well aware that, while not entirely prudish, she was much more sexually conservative than her best friend, and their discrepancies were constantly a source of lighthearted ribbing. However, Rachel was very much capable of radiating the same sexual energy as the Latina, and she relished the chance to show that.

They love they way I ride it
They love they way I ride it
They love they way I ride it
They love the way I ride the beat
How I ride the beat, I ride it

They love they way I ride it
They love they way I ride it
They love they way I ride it
They love the way I ride the beat
Like a motherfuckin freak

Santana breathed heavily through her nose, muttering under her breath in Spanish. Her knuckles had gone white as she clutched the chair, desperately trying not to react to the heavenly body winding and working above her.

"So, friggin' hot," she groaned. "Ay Dios mio, asi mamita…What the hell, Berry? Where has this been and why haven't you broke this out before?"

She very nearly died as Rachel turned around, her booty popping like she was born to do it. Santana wasn't exactly sure what was more incredible: the fact that Rachel's pert ass was bouncing like a pro, or that it was Rachel Berry doing the bouncing.

As the last notes of the song faded out, Rachel did one more roll up, before swaggering away, her hips moving tantalizingly back and forth. Santana stayed in her spot for a long moment, gulping down breaths of air before staggering from the chair, grabbing her drink, and downing the rest before disappearing into the kitchen to make another.

Puck's leer turned downright lecherous as he decided he had enough spank bank material to last him the rest of his high school career. He held out a hand that Rachel high-fived with a laugh.

"Starlet, that was badass!"

The sensual seductress vanished, and prim, proper Rachel Berry returned. She grinned, taking her drink and sitting back in her spot, folding her legs demurely underneath her. "Thank you, Noah."

A few others went with some great hilarity: Sam took a body shot off of one of the freshman Cheerios, a basketball player stripped down to his boxers and sang "I'm a Little Tea Pot," and a soccer girl took her bra off and put it on the outside of her shirt. When Brittany pulled the "Make Out" tile, all the males sat up straighter as she carefully placed it atop the tower. Puck snatched up his Deck of Fate, thumbing out a card and smacking it atop the table. Everyone leaned forward to see the king of spades winking up at them. Counting around the group brought it all the way back to Rachel.

"Berry-licious, you're up!"

Brittany caught the deer-in-the-headlights expression adorning the smaller girl's face, and she hastened to reassure Rachel. "Don't worry, Rach, San is cool with it. It's like her number one fantasy right after me and a–"

"Britt!" Santana practically sprinted back to the circle, having caught the beginning of Brittany's unconscious admission.

Comprehension dawned in light blue eyes. "Oh, sorry. Forgot that's a secret." She smiled brightly at Rachel. "You ready?"

Rachel nodded dumbly. "I guess so." She cast another glance towards Santana who had settled down into the circle. They may be best friends, but Santana was still highly territorial when it came to Brittany. "You're not gonna shank me after, are you?"

Santana's lips curled in a smile that often set fear thrumming through the hearts of McKinley. "Eh…"

Rachel grumbled under her breath. "Yeah, that's reassuring."

Brittany giggled, scooting closer. "No worries, Rach…sweet lady kisses are like the best thing ever."

Without anything further, she leaned in, pressing her lips to Rachel's. The brunette let out a squeak before relaxing into the kiss. Rachel inhaled sharply through her nose as Brittany's skillful lips slid across hers. It was different than the previous kisses she had ever experienced. Finn had been sloppy at best, overeager and grabby. Puck was controlled, almost mechanic, his experience in the arena making him almost methodical when he kissed. Brittany, however, was perfect, the 'just right' to her Goldilocks. Soft, gentle lips move against hers, Brittany's tongue coyly asking for permission. Unconsciously, Rachel's lips parted, a moan stilling in her throat as Brittany's tongue invaded her mouth, teasingly playing with hers. Oh, sweet Barbra…Brittany was masterful, nipping at her upper lip, licking at her bottom, playfully moving her mouth out of reach. Rachel didn't know whether she did so unconsciously or not, but she found herself leaning forward to reestablish contact. With one final playful lick and a small giggle, Brittany leaned back.

Rachel exhaled deeply, unaware that she had held her breath as her eyelids fluttered open. It seemed as though every single pore in her body tingled.

"Oh, wow…" Santana was the first one to speak. "That was totally hot."

Rachel knew her face was flushed as she snuck a glance towards Brittany. The blonde was busy reassuring her girlfriend, and Rachel swore that it was just familiarity with the situation in that she felt utterly comfortable with the affectionate display.

It was one of the last memories Rachel had of the night, but she was certain she was alright with that notion. As the pleasant void greeted her for the night, she remembered the idle thought that flit through her mind: girls were awesome.

The morning after came with much confusion, and Rachel woke up with the hangover to end all hangovers. Pinned down by the combined limbs of two other people, she surveyed her surroundings, not entirely certain she wasn't still slightly drunk. She was half-naked in Puck's bed, only in Puck's football jersey, Santana was on her right in her bra and boyshorts, and Brittany was lying half on Rachel's side, half on top of Santana in a tanktop and panties. She groaned as she remembered giving Santana a lap dance, receiving a lap dance from Brittany, making out with Santana, Brittany, and Puck, and taking a body shot off a sophomore Cheerio. She was pretty sure it was Tricia Dash. And she was also pretty sure she enjoyed every single minute of it.

Rachel whimpered even more, burrowing under the covers. She had always been a proponent of a fluid sexuality, but it didn't mean she wished her flow to be so…flowy. At least not right now. She might have been secure in her identity, but life tended not to be so kind when it came to certainties such as that. And this curveball it just threw her was a tricky one, indeed.

Yeah, Rachel was certain drinking games…especially ones with stupid little blocks with stupid little dares were the worst idea ever

The concept of homosexuality was not a foreign one to Rachel Berry. She had been raised by two gay men, her two best friends were in a lesbian relationship, and three of her four closest male friends were gay. However, Rachel had never identified herself as anything other than straight. She had acknowledged attraction to a few women in her lifetime, but none of that attraction was enough to warrant appeasing a certain curiosity. As a result, all of her previous romantic relationships had been with males. So these feelings she was experiencing towards Quinn Lucas were quite foreign to her.

And right now, her object of the confusion was right in front of her, engaging in one thing that Rachel could readily admit made Quinn exceedingly attractive. It was no secret that Rachel found talent to be quite irresistible, and Quinn Lucas was certainly very talented when it came to the broad range of emotions she had to portray as Sloane Gerard. Right now, Quinn was currently on-set in the middle of the Greensborough town square, standing opposite of Anson Blake as their characters engaged in some verbal tussling.

As the scene ended, Chris made his way over to Rachel while Quinn disappeared towards the wardrobe trailer.

"Rachel?"

His other leading lady didn't answer, merely stared ahead with an interesting expression on her face. It was part concentration, part consternation, and Chris wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Knowing when to let it go, he tried to get her attention again.

"Rach?"

He scratched his head for a moment, pondering the best way to grab Rachel's attention. He smirked. "Rachel Berry, this is your places call. Places please for the top of Act One!"

Jerked from her ruminations, Rachel reacted unconsciously on habit and bolted upright, head swiveling wildly from side to side. "I'm ready, where's my mark? Breath spray, please!" She looked around in confusion when the scene before her was neither the backstage area of the Marquis Theatre that had housed Millie nor the backstage area of the Ambassador Theatre where Chicago performed. Instead, all she saw was Chris Keller's smirking face.

"Alright there?"

Rachel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Just fine, Chris."

Chris nudged his glasses up his nose with his index finger. The gesture was so him: unconscious and endearing in a totally dorky sort of way. "Are you sure? I know this shooting schedule isn't something you're used to."

Rachel giggled, her voice oddly pitched in an effort to sound normal. "Sure I'm sure, Chris. Why wouldn't I be?"

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "You're being weird, Rachel."

Rachel swelled up defensively. "Weird? I'm not being weird, who's being weird?" She sighed, ducking her head. "I'm being weird, huh?"

Chris's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Yeah. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Chris, I promise," Rachel assured him. "I've got a lot on my mind, that's all."

He nodded, respecting Rachel's decision to keep whatever was bugging her close. "Anything I can help with?"

Rachel shook her head. "No. It's a 'me' sort of thing."

He seemed to take that at face value. "Alright." Chris nudged his glasses up his nose again. "I don't mean to put more on your plate, but we made some changes to the schedule. Instead of waiting, we're going to do that first kiss scene between Sloane and Mia tomorrow. Will you be alright with that?"

"Of course," Rachel replied, nodding with a smile. She waited until Chris was gone before she rolled her eyes skyward. "Sweet Barbra, someone up there is having the time of their life…"

xxx-xxx-xxx

"CUT!"

Rachel looked up from her spot on the floor straddling Quinn. Chris approached them a frown on his face.

"Sorry, ladies, you guys are doing fine. I'm just not liking this dynamic." He waved to their positions on the floor. "I don't want this to be a domination sort of thing. This is something you guys are working through together, and how this works should reflect that."

He took a step back, rotating around the set. "Give me a minute to rework this for a second. I like the dialogue, I like the feel. Keep that intensity." He turned to the smaller of the two women. "Rachel, I like the slow build. Keep trying to rile Sloane up. The point is that you push her to that breaking point." He smiled at Quinn. "Quinn, same with you. Keep a very predatory sort of feel to it. Give me a moment, and I'll get back to you on some changes."

Rachel glanced down at Quinn, noting the blonde was huffing some pretty harsh breaths. "You alright? I slammed you pretty hard on that last one?"

"I'm a big girl, Rach," Quinn chided gently. "I can take it." She poked Rachel's sides, causing the brunette to squeak and squirm. Quinn bit her lip, fairly certain that move backfired, and she swallowed hard as she fully registered how close Rachel was pressed up against her. "Rachel?"

The other woman seemed lost in her own world. "Hmmm?"

Quinn gestured to their positions. "You, uh, want to get off me?"

Rachel's eyes widened, and she scrambled off Quinn. "Oh, sorry!" She held out a hand, helping the blonde to her feet.

"Whew," Quinn teased. "I thought I was going to be suffocated there for a second. Someone's been lax on their elliptical."

Rachel's eyes narrowed, but the smirk on her face indicated she hadn't taken offense to the dig. Still, hands were thrust upon hips, and a tiny foot stomped in indignation. "Quinn Lucas, I'll have you know, I take great care to ingest a diet catered towards an optimal healthy lifestyle. That, paired with a rigorous exercise regimen, puts me at an ideal weight for my size!"

Quinn couldn't help it; she started to laugh, loving the reaction she just wrestled from the little diva. Perhaps it was a bit mean, but she loved when Rachel went off on her indignant rants. Just yesterday, she remembered Anson being an unfortunate victim of Rachel's "ignominy of horse-drawn carriages" dissertation.

Chris smirked as he approached the two women, noting Quinn's highly satisfied smirk and Rachel's cross pout. "Do you two ever quit?"

If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn they planned what happened next. Quinn and Rachel rotated to him. In unison, two heads tilted to the right then shook.

"No," Quinn answered first.

"Where's the fun in that?" Rachel finished.

"Like friggin' Phil and Lil," he muttered. Shaking his own head, he motioned to the script. "Alright, here's what we're going to do…" Chris outlined the plan, motioning to the various parts of the set. He looked to his leads. "Do you guys think you can go with that?"

Quinn nodded, eyeing Rachel. "I think so. Rachel looks fairly light today."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. She glared, smacking her costar on the arm. "Jerk!"

Quinn merely chuckled.

"One of these days, I'm seriously going to put you two in time out," Chris threatened.

"Oh, Christian, you wouldn't do that. You enjoy our witty repartee just as much as we do," Rachel teased as she flounced to her mark.

Quinn followed, pointing back at the brunette. "Yeah, man, what she said."

Chris threw his arms out wide, addressing everyone and no one at the same time as he made his way back behind the camera. "Seriously, who's the director here, again?"


Sloane stormed into the barn in the backyard of the Gerard home, just past the tree where her punching bag hung. They hadn't used the structure in over a decade, and Sloane had commandeered the space in high school to serve as her safe haven away from the world. She never needed it more than she did today.

The irate Marine paced back and forth, muttering under her breath. So many emotions ran through her mind that she found she couldn't just focus on one. Rage, hurt, annoyance, all of it seemed to blend together in a myriad that seemed to battle for dominance. She let out a frustrated growl, lashing out with a punch, the solid impact that would have occurred denied as her strike met thin air. Again and again, she struck out, her invisible foe another myriad, this time of faces. Again and again, she was denied the satisfaction of impact, her fists meeting with nothing.

Frustrated beyond all comprehension, Sloane sank to her knees, her hands dangling uselessly at her sides. She desperately wanted to cry, wanted to force the tears from her eyes, wanted to feel something other than this despair, this hopelessness. But none would come. Yet another satisfaction denied to her.

"Figured I would find you here."

Sloane didn't look up. "Go away, Mia."

"I don't think so." The doctor stood in front of the kneeling Marine, arms crossed over her chest. "That would be too easy to let you wallow in your self-pity."

Sloane kept her eyes firmly fixated on the ground beneath her knees. She didn't want to see the pity in Mia's eyes. "I think I deserve it," she mumbled. "You saw what happened."

"What I saw," Mia fired back, "was Sloane Gerard running away like a little bitch."

That finally got the reaction she was waiting for as Sloane's eyes snapped to hers.

"Fuck. You," Sloane grit out. "You don't get it at all."

"Then explain it to me," Mia entreated.

"You don't know what it's like," Sloane hissed. "Expected to be something, expected to fit the pretty picket fence package they put you it. You have no idea how hard I tried to be their All-American princess, marry the quarterback, have the two-point-five kids, be the perfect little housewife." Sloane hung her head. "I tried," she murmured, the anguish clear in her voice. "But I couldn't do it. Now they know why."

"Is it so bad they know?" Mia posed. "Is it really that awful that you're out to the town, even if you were forced out of the closet?"

Sloane's responding laugh was cold, derisive, and self-pitying. "Just another thing they can mock me for," she scoffed. "Sloane Gerard, the dyke of Greensborough."

"So you would have been content in the closet?" Mia challenged. "You would have hid this part of yourself from everyone?"

"Why not?" Sloane posed. "Military made me do it."

"You're wrong," Mia retorted. "Things have changed. You can be out if you want."

"Yeah, well, better in the closet then give them another reason why I don't fit in."

"Coward," Mia spat.

"What?"

"You heard me." Mia advanced, placing herself into Sloane's personal space. She reached out, shoving the Marine back. "Fucking pussy ass coward."

Sloane bristled, clambering to her feet. "Don't test me, Doogie. You don't know shit."

"I know you're full of it, Sloane Gerard," Mia answered. "You're so desperate to fit in this little Greensborough bubble that you're willing to hid who you truly are. And that is BULLSHIT." Mia punctuated her rant with a sharp shove that sent the Marine stumbling backwards.

"Alright, that's it." Sloane rolled up her sleeves. "You asked for it, Doogie."

Mia lofted her chin. "Bring it, Rambo."

Sloane stalked forward, shoving Mia back. "Insufferable know-it-all!"

Mia returned the shove. "Closet case poser!"

Sloane swiped at Mia, growling as the smaller woman ducked under the blow. "Self-righteous bitch!"
Mia kicked out with a high roundhouse that was blocked. "Insecure wannabe!"

"Why do you care?" Sloane yelled, huffing out a groan as her hook was parried, Mia wrapping an arm around her neck in a headlock. Sloane managed to kick a leg out, catching the back of Mia's knee, causing the brunette to buckle. Sloane squirmed out of the hold. "Why do you fucking care so much?"

"Because you're more than this," Mia grunted. She swung her leg around, swiping Sloane's ankle, sending the Marine tumbling down onto her back. "You deserve more than just half a life."

Sloane braced her hands over her head, flipping to her feet. "How do you know?" she growled, bearing down on Mia with wild swings. It was obvious her strikes were half-hearted. "What makes you so damn sure I deserve that, huh?"

"Because you mean something to me!" Mia roared. Moving deftly to the side, she parried the oncoming blow, wrenching Sloane's arm down and around her back in an arm bar. Mia drove her shoulder forward, forcing the Marine face-first against the barn wall with a resounding crash. She used her hips and forearm to pin Sloane there.

"You are better than this, Sloane Gerard. Do not let them define you."

Mia's voice had softened to a plea. "Don't you get it? You don't fit in here because you're better than all of this. You're beyond this small town existence. You're beyond this version of the American Dream. That's not a bad thing."

Mia released her hold, whirling Sloane around and shoving her back against the wall, holding her by the shoulders.

"Embrace the difference because it means you've gone beyond and survived. Not only have you survived, you've thrived. You know you can go beyond these city limits and still be the same cool, calm, dashing Sloane Gerard."

Mia's hold relaxed. Her eyes softened. "I really like that Sloane Gerard."

Sloane's lips parted in shock as deep, hazel eyes rested on dark brown. She seemed to study Mia for a long time. Her chest rose and fell with her harsh, shallow breaths from the exertion. Mia swallowed hard, afraid she had gone too far when she found herself jerked forward into an embrace. She gasped, bracing her arms against Sloane's shoulders. That gasp transitioned sharply to a moan as Sloane's lips descended down, insistently capturing hers.

Mia's eyes fluttered shut as the sensations gripped her like a vice. Their kisses started slow, exploratory. They parted, eyes locked, and assurances passed before they succumbed to the carnal urge rushing between them, fueled by desperation and need. Their kisses quickened, dissolving into an immersion of pure, unadulterated emotion, building up rapidly to a crescendo. Neither seemed willing to yield, rushing steadily into this collision of mouths and bodies.

It was a fight for dominance, a battle of wills over who was feeling more, who was willing to give more. Sloane growled low in her throat, flipping them around, boosting Mia up. The smaller woman let out a grunt, her back slamming against the unyielding barn wall. Long, tan legs winding around Sloane's hips.

Mia whimpered. It seemed as though everywhere she felt something, lips, hands, fingers. She let out a hiss as lips ghosted over her jaw line, latching onto her pulse point. She grunted, desperately trying to feel more, even as all senses threatened overload. A moan erupted low in her throat as Sloane's hand traversed the planes of her stomach, sneaking up her shirt to palm a breast.

"Sloane…"

The sound seemed to startle the Marine back into the present, and Sloane abruptly let go, stepping back from Mia. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, and her hair was tousled and unkempt. She looked thoroughly ravished.

Sloane's mouth flapped open and shut comically, but no sound was emitted. A flush tainted her cheeks, the color a deep red.

"I…I have to go."

Turning sharply, she fled the barn, disappearing out into the distance. Mia stared in the spot where the Marine once stood and sank to the ground, her head in her hands.

Oh, dear…


"CUT!"

Rachel let out a shuddering breath, gasping for air as she continued to sit on the floor of the set. She closed her eyes, forcing her rapid heartbeat to calm. As she centered herself, her ears perked up, hearing the shuffling of footsteps indicating that Quinn had returned to the set.

"Get a hold of yourself, Berry," she chastised herself softly and clambered to her feet.

"Awesome!" Chris enthused. "Oh, I love those angles." He looked to his stars. "I think we're good, ladies. I think you guys are done for the day." He turned to the rest of the crew. "Let's set up for that next scene. Someone get Gordon and Ellen here if they're not already somewhere in the vicinity?"

"Good, awesome, yeah…" Rachel rambled as she retreated away with barely a backwards glance, her walk a tad too fast to be casual. Quinn was left with a strong sense of déjà vu.

As she stayed for a bit to compose herself, even as Rachel practically sprinted away, Quinn couldn't stop licking her lips. Brittany was right; Rachel's lady kisses really did taste like berries.

xxx-xxx-xxx

She kissed Quinn.

She kissed Quinn.

She.

Kissed.

Quinn.

Okay, technically Sloane kissed Mia, but those were Rachel Berry's lips on Quinn Lucas's. And Rachel Berry really, really liked it.

Weird?

Yeah.

Totally.

Dear Patti LuPone, now what?

She could hear a voice berating her, one that sounded eerily like Santana's. For Christ's sake, Berry, get your shit together or I swear on all that is holy I will sit on you. I mean it this time.

She knew that technically, their kiss wasn't real, she knew that it was acting, yet she can't help but fixate on everything. Quinn's touch ignited something in her, set her aflame with a passion she hadn't felt in a long time, sparked the burning embers of arousal that reminded her of that first time. Pardon the pun, but it was hot.

Her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions, Rachel strode to her trailer, seeking solace so that she could properly process everything that just transpired. She frowned as she noticed her dog sitting on the steps of her trailer, growling at the closed door.

"Hugo? Honey, what are you doing out here?"

Hugo merely clambered to his feet, his teeth bared fiercely, and his growl intensifying.

Puzzled at her dog's weird behavior, Rachel merely frowned, intent on taking some time alone to ponder what was currently going on in her mind. She wrenched open the door, and her eyes widened in shock.

Oh.

My.

Bernadette Peters.

This wasn't what she had in mind when she said she wanted to christen her trailer with Brady. She had imagined herself as a participant, not a spectator. But seeing Brady's naked ass bobbing in the air, obviously on top of a woman she was fairly certain wasn't her, Rachel was decidedly not a participant in the sexual encounter currently transpiring on her couch.

"Oh my God, that freaking figures."

The two figures started, and Brady's wide, panicked eyes met hers as he and his tawdry affair scrambled to cover themselves at the intrusion. Brady nearly face-planted on the floor as he stumbled to his feet. "Rachel! This isn't what it looks like."

Rachel merely cocked an eyebrow. "I know you need a diagram most of the time, but I'm pretty sure I can suss this out on my own." Deciding she had neither the strength nor could muster up the effort to care, she simply raised her arm and pointed. "Out."

Brady approached her, arms held out in a conciliatory gesture, completely ignoring the blonde he had brought in with him. "Rachel, please. Let me…"

"I don't care," she cut him off, sidestepping his embrace. "Out."

Brady continued to protest and plead, making excuses trying to justify his behavior. Rachel rolled her eyes. With a strength garnered by both adrenaline and annoyance, she hauled both to their feet, shoving them out of her trailer and making a note to get the couch fumigated.

Brady pointed back to where his clothes were scattered on the trailer floor. "What about my…"

He trailed off as twin bolts of dark flame snapped in his direction. "You're fucking some bimbo in my trailer, on my movie set, when you're supposedly here to see me," Rachel pointed out. "No, you may not have your clothes. I will be burning them once I finish contemplating more pressing matters."

"Rachel, don't be ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous, Brady, is that you had neither the sense nor the foresight to take your dalliance somewhere I wouldn't so easily stumble upon you," Rachel mocked. She turned to the woman hovering at Brady's shoulder, equally naked and trying to preserve some sense of modesty despite the circumstances. She recognized the blonde as Lexie McMillan, a reporter from Broadway Buzzline, a basement-tier online blog that seemed to be geared more towards the drama than anything.

"Just a word of advice, honey," Rachel remarked to the busty fake-blonde, her tone deceptively sweet. "I wouldn't pursue acting as a career. Your imitation orgasm was subpar at best. Trust someone who knows from personal experience."

"Don't do this, Rachel," Brady warned. The threat lost its fervor with the desperation in Brady's voice. "You need me!"

Rachel swelled, puffing up with indignation, the glint dangerous in her dark eyes. "Excuse me? I need you? I need you?"

Brady spluttered as Rachel's full-on Diva Mode grabbed his bluster and bravado by the balls and bitch-slapped it silly. The tiny woman loomed over him, lips twisted in a condescending sneer. This wasn't the wide-eyed ingénue who was just emerging onto Broadway that he had charmed and wooed. This was the veteran performer, the Tony-winner, and Broadway's most sought-after star. Needless to say, he was mercilessly outclassed.

"Need I remind you that one of us made a Broadway debut before she graduated college," she snapped, glaring down at him as though he were nothing more than shit on the bottom of her shoe. "One of us won a Tony award for said Broadway debut. One of us has never had to look for a job; jobs came to her. And one of us is now starring in a major motion picture after being personally invited on by the director." Rachel's eyes raked up and down his form. It was a clear dismissal. "The other one of us is currently unemployed."

Brady opened his mouth, trying to get a word in edgewise, but he was brutally shut down by a sharp look. When Rachel's Diva Mode was on a roll, nothing short of a nuclear disaster would stop her. The sneer adorning her face was downright vicious and might have had a bit of Santana in it.

"Now, between the two of us, it seems that one of us is a bit mistaken about their worth in this relationship. And newsflash, Brady Shaw…oh, excuse me Bartleby Schneider…it isn't me." Rachel slammed the door before another thought came to her, and she wrenched open the door again.

"And in case any of that was vague or ambiguous, I'm dumping you. We're done."

Quite thoroughly verbally put in his place, Brady resorted to begging once again. "Rachel, baby…"

He trailed off as a feral growl sounded. It wasn't one coming from a human. No, this one was canine-like in its timbre. He gulped as he found himself staring into a pair of fierce dark eyes, and he remembered quite forcibly ejecting Rachel's puppy from the trailer for his little sordid encounter. Hugo was practically vibrating with anticipation, quivering limbs and bunched muscle waiting on his mistress' signal. A twitch of Rachel's head, and Hugo bolted out of the trailer straight towards him, barking his furry little head off. Brady wasn't the brightest bulb but even he had enough sense to run when a vicious dog was chasing him. His girlish screams echoed through the lot.

Rachel moved towards the couch before thinking better of it. She changed course and sank down onto the chair in front of her vanity. The thrum of arousal still vibrated through her body from the roots of her hair all the way to the tips of her toes. It was only magnified tenfold with her heated confrontation.

Her mind drifted back to the scene, more specifically to everything that happened during those short minutes. Quinn's strength as she easily lifted Rachel and supported her weight, the delicious press of Quinn's body as it pinned hers against the barn wall, that intoxicating smell of whatever sweet and flowery perfume she always used, her strong, gentle hands with their slightly calloused fingertips, and Quinn's lips. God, her lips.

What the Joel Grey was she doing?

She was straight!

Right?

Right?

…Right?

Okay, there was a few times where she might have strayed to the other side of the fence, but she was drunk, and it was Puck's stupid Jenga game that made her do it. She always did believe sexuality was fluid, but her flow flowed more towards the penis end of things…literally.

The door to her trailer opened and Rachel bolted to her feet, ready to tear Brady a new one. She relaxed, sinking back to her chair when she saw it was Santana.

The Latina smirked, but Rachel could see it was half-hearted. "Was that Brady I saw running down the lot butt-ass naked and being chased by Hugo?"

Rachel nodded morosely. "I caught him with that bimbo from that online Broadway blog." She motioned towards the couch. "You might not want to sit on that."

"Ew," Santana commented. "Wait, the bimbo from Broadway Buzzline? Lexie McMillan? The one we don't like…like, at all? That's who was with him?"

"Yeah."

Santana seemed to fidget like a child scared of asking a question. "So…can I beat the shit out of him now?"

Rachel let out a feeble chuckle. "No, San. He's not even worth it."

"Well, yeah…but would make me feel better," Santana muttered, casting a dark glare in the direction she had seen the idiot last.

Rachel cocked her head, noticing the lack of Santana's better half. "Where's Britt?"

Santana's smirk grew downright evil. "Filming Brady's Naked Mile to the gates. I think I saw Anson with her. He's got his phone too, getting another angle. She wants to get a shot when he actually has to leave the studio. There are paps and reporters camped out all over outside the parking lot. She's already got some great shots of Lexie. There won't be any talking her way out of this one."

Rachel smiled feebly. "Have her send me a copy."

Santana eyed her closely. "You don't seem too torn up about Cheater McCheaterton doing the nasty in your trailer.

Rachel shrugged tiredly. "I've got other things on my mind."

"Like Quinn?"

Goddammit, was she really that transparent? Rachel sighed. "…Maybe."

"You booked it really quick after that kiss scene," Santana remarked. "You must have been pretty freaked out."

"I am," Rachel admitted. "Where is all this coming from?"

"You're attracted to her," Santana stated frankly. "So what?"

"I'm straight," Rachel argued.

"Bullshit," Santana countered. "You've done stuff with girls before." She pointed to herself. "Firsthand experience, remember? Besides, you're like the champion of fluid sexuality. Don't be a hypocrite now that it actually presents itself as an issue."

Santana perched herself atop the vanity. "What's really got you so wigged?"

"It's Quinn," Rachel answered meekly. "She's…Quinn. Even if this was a plausible situation, she's like Miss Unattainable."

Santana considered that point. "Okay, yeah, she's still got the Ice Queen thing going on and no one has really seen her with like anyone, so it's not like we can confirm if she's straight or not."

"See?" Rachel prompted.

Santana rolled her eyes. "You have got to stay up with the tabloids," she chided the smaller woman gently. "Look, it's still a possibility, though. There have been rumors that she actually might be gay, she's just very private about her sexuality. She's not closeted, she's discreet."

Rachel merely shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything, Santana," she insisted. "Every star has been accused of being gay at least once in their career."

"Are you afraid of being labeled a gay actress?"

Rachel look wholly offended. "No! Of course not! That would be highly hypocritical considering my fathers."

"Then what's the problem?"

Rachel shrugged. "If I do take this chance…" she eyed Santana shrewdly. "And that's a big if…I want to be certain that this could happen. I want to be sure that I won't be rejected."

"But isn't that like the very basis of love?" Santana posed. "Putting yourself out there and all that shit?"

When Rachel shrugged again, Santana cocked her head. "Look, Tiny, real up as usual. I just want you to be happy. No matter if it's with Eve or Steve and as long as it's never Finn or Brady. Quinn makes you happy. Would it really be that bad to just go for it?"

Rachel pondered that for a long while as Santana retreated to give her privacy.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Rachel was still pondering Santana's remark when a knock on her trailer door sounded and Quinn stuck her head in.

"Hey."

Inadvertently, Rachel couldn't help but smile. "Hi."

Quinn gestured down to the Rottweiler squatted obediently at her feet. Hugo looked mightily pleased with himself…in an evil, 'I just did something bad' sort of way. "I brought back Hugo."

"Thanks." Rachel whistled, giggling as he bounded forward and leaped into her lap. She rubbed his head as he bestowed affection on her. "Good boy."

Quinn cleared her throat. "I, uh, heard about Brady."

Rachel shrugged, her fingers stilling as she scratched behind his ears. "It's whatever."

Quinn looked up at her through her unruly hair. "You want to talk about it?"

Rachel sighed, letting Hugo down as he squirmed in her lap. "I don't want to burden you."

Quinn smiled. "Friends aren't burdens."

Rachel eyed the blonde. "Sure, I guess." She stopped Quinn as the blonde moved towards the couch. "Don't sit on that."

Quinn's nose wrinkled as she realized the only reason why Rachel dissuaded her choice of seat. "Ew." She reached out, tugging on Rachel's hand. "Up."

Rachel frowned even as she stood. "Huh?"

Quinn moved around her, sank down on the chair, and tugged Rachel down to sit on her lap. Rachel stiffened as Quinn's arms wound around her waist. The pull of the tender touch surrounding her wormed through her defenses, and the brunette relaxed, melting into Quinn's embrace. She snuggled down, laying her head on Quinn's shoulder, relishing in the comfort even as her conflicting thoughts battered against one another. She shivered as she felt gentle fingers combing through her hair. She had to be a masochist. That was the only explanation for her subjecting herself to this torture. Because this was nice. Maybe a bit too nice…

"So what happened?"

"Found him fucking a reporter from one of those online Broadway blogs," Rachel answered.

"Bastard." Quinn's face twisted distastefully. "Kind of stupid, wasn't it? I mean, here of all places?"

Rachel nodded emphatically. "Right?"

"So then what happened?"

Rachel recounted the exchange, comforted by Quinn's fingers stroking her back. "Then he had the gall to say that I needed him!"

"And you don't," Quinn defended.

"Naturally!" Rachel agreed. "I am more critically acclaimed, more financially successful, more universally adored." She puffed up indignantly. "I am a hot commodity, dammit!"

"And I don't doubt it," Quinn assured her.

Rachel deflated. "So why did he cheat on me?" Big brown eyes looked up at Quinn, the vulnerability shining in the depths. "I was a good girlfriend. I was very attentive, I wasn't crazy or obsessive – a trait that was detrimental to prior relationships, I should add – so why wasn't that enough?"

It broke Quinn's heart to see Rachel like this. All the blonde wanted to do was wrap the tiny diva up and shield her from all the bad stuff. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Rachel's face.

"Because he's an idiot," Quinn firmly declared. "He had the most amazing woman in his life, and he took you for granted. He saw you as a way to further his own career."

Rachel sighed. "I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with. I know I'm high-maintenance," she admitted. "I just want…I just want someone to think I'm worth the trouble…"

"Oh, sweetie," the endearment slipped effortlessly from Quinn's lips. "You're more than worth it. Brittany once said you were like a ray of sunshine, and she's right." Quinn pressed a comforting kiss to Rachel's hair. "The world's less brighter when you're sad."

"Brady didn't think so," Rachel grumbled. "He just saw me as his golden ticket to Wonka's chocolate factory."

"Brady cheated on you with a fake blonde with even faker tits," Quinn deadpanned. "Needless to say, I don't think he doesn't have the best judgment around."

Rachel cocked her head. "How do you know they're fake?"

Quinn shrugged. "Some people just do. Besides, I saw her running away from set. Normal boobs bounce; they didn't move. Like, at all. And her nipples are like Snow White's Seven Dwarfs; you name them based on their appearance. In her case, one's Perky, the other's Droopy."

Despite herself, Rachel snorted with laughter, tucking her face into the crook of Quinn's neck.

Quinn smiled softly at the sound. She drew her arms tighter around the diva. "You deserve better than him, Rachel."

Rachel's head bobbed up. "You're right, I do. Someone with my talent shouldn't be bogged down by the mediocre." Her features twisted with determination. "I deserve extraordinary!"

Quinn was the master of the death glare, but even she took a mental step back when Rachel stood up, her eyes flashing resolutely and determinedly. "Come on."

Quinn clambered to her feet, dutifully following Rachel. "Huh?"

"You and I are going to indulge in some therapy. And since I don't condone violence, this is as close as I'm going to get."

Quinn resisted the urge to scratch her head as Rachel gathered up the clothing strewn on her trailer floor in a plastic bag and rummaged around her trailer, plucking little trinkets from shelves and surfaces, shoving them into a separate bag. "Uh…okay…"

Rachel turned to the door and marched outside and in the direction of the props and special effects trailer where the prop master sat hunched over his work table, touching up one of their prop guns.

"Hey, Tom."

Tom jerked up in surprise. He looked to the source of the address and smiled, though he eyed the actress warily. He, like everyone, knew what had just happened and was unsure how their little diva was dealing with it all. "Uh…hi, Rachel."

"Do you by chance still have that lighter fluid we used for that fire scene a few days ago?"

"Uh, yeah, of course." He hesitated before asking. "Why? Because just so you know, I'm wholly against lighting people on fire."

Rachel lofted the two bags. "Burning bridges, so to speak. Not people, don't worry. If you would be so kind as to supervise?"

Tom chuckled. "Sure, Rachel."

By this time, a few of the cast and crew had gathered around to watch the festivities. Rachel didn't seem to mind. After all, the breakup itself had all been pretty public. Not many people had missed Brady's naked form bolting across the lot, Rachel's puppy literally nipping at his heels. Humming to herself, Rachel tossed down the clothes she had gathered from her trailer onto the ground. She upended the other bag, spilling the contents atop the pile. Finally, she withdrew a photo of Brady he had given her for something or other and dropped it derisively, a crowning item, so to speak. Grabbing the gasoline can from Tom, she doused the entire thing liberally. Still humming – Quinn was pretty sure it was the tune of Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" (oddly fitting) – Rachel accepted the proffered matches. An almost sadistic grin on her face, she struck a match, flipping it onto the saturated heap.

There was a sense of extreme satisfaction as the pile ignited with a rather impressive surge of flames.

Tom let everything burn for a bit before dousing the flames with a couple of spurts from the fire extinguisher. Rachel nodded her head. She forced a smile on her face and turned to the gathered crew. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry my eyes out."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Quinn, Brittany, and Santana stood outside Rachel's trailer, all three of them staring dubiously at the closed door. Rachel had disappeared into the depths, Hugo in tow, and had been blasting sad music and breakup songs for about five minutes. They hadn't heard much other than the occasional sniffle, but it was still distressing for all three to know that Rachel was crying.

Quinn bit her lip, visibly anxious for her costar. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"Rachel?" Santana nodded. "Oh, yeah. She'll be fine. Give her another…" She looked down at her phone, noting the time. "Two minutes or so."

That was oddly specific. "Huh?"

"The time Rachel takes to get over relationships can be calculating by adding her general attraction to her significant other on a scale of one-to-ten, to her general satisfaction concerning intimate relations, again on a scale of one-to-ten, the sum of which is multiplied by the approximate duration of the relationship in years, taking into account her attachment to the significant other in question." Brittany recited absently, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

Quinn did a double take. "Is she serious?"

Santana shrugged. "Sadly, yes. It's a tried and true formula. You see, Tiny rated Shaw as an eight on the general attraction scale, mostly because he was as close to her Broadway dream man as she had ever gotten. His only knock was his lack of ability to sustain critical high notes. But, he's shit in bed, so she rated him a three, I think. They dated for…" Santana paused, thinking about it for a second.

"Almost a year," Brittany supplied.

Santana nodded. "Yeah. You can do the math if you really want to."

"So?" Quinn was unsure of what that meant in terms of Rachel's state of mind concerning the break up.

"She'll get over it quickly." Santana assured the blonde. "Puck, on the other hand…"

Quinn's brows drew together. "Rachel dated Puck?"

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, for like three months before they realized it felt like weirdly incestuous…that's the word, right, San?"

"Yeah, baby," Santana answered with a smile. "And it was. Still, Rachel gave him a ten in attraction because, let's face it, Puck is a fine piece of ass. She also rated him a ten for sex. They only dated for three months, but you've seen how their relationship is."

"But she got over him?" Quinn surmised.

"Yeah. Mostly because it was pretty obvious they were just meant to be friends, no matter how hot the sex was between them."

All three pairs of eyes snapped upward as Rachel's trailer door flew open and a picture frame sailed out of the depths, smashing into a million pieces on the floor below.

Santana sighed, lofting her eyes to the heavens and thanking the greater powers that Rachel was done shooting for the day and no paparazzi were around to witness this breakdown.

"I'm gonna go check on her."

"Okay. Give her a big hug for me. I'll be there in a second." Brittany turned to Quinn. "Can I talk to you?"

The shorter blonde tilted her head, a bit unsure of what Brittany could possibly want. Still, she acquiesced. "Sure. Why don't we go to my trailer for some privacy?"

Brittany nodded happily. "Awesome."

Quinn smiled as Brittany skipped ahead, the taller blonde obviously knowing where her trailer was. She opened the door, ushering Brittany inside. Rachel's lithe personal assistant sunk down on the couch, turning big, blue eyes up to Quinn.

Quinn made herself comfortable, returning Brittany's gaze. "What's up?"

The other blonde frowned, seemingly in her own head. "You know, people think I'm stupid. Sometimes, I can blame the stuff I say on that. People overlook me, thinking I won't understand stuff. But I do. Sometimes I need to work it out in my own way."

Quinn's brows drew together. The opening was random, yet so Brittany. She knew Brittany had a unique way of thinking, but never to the point people would so blatantly disregard her. "I'm sorry people think that."

Brittany waved off her concern. "No, it's okay. When people overlook me, they forget I'm there, and I get to see stuff that other people might miss. It's how I figured out you're a dolphin."

Quinn had to admit the blonde was very perceptive. She was open but discreet about her sexuality in deference to her privacy standards.

Brittany cocked her head. "You know how Rachel and I became friends?"

Quinn shook her head. She admitted she was curious how that particular friendship came about.

"In middle school, she defended me against a bully. He called me retarded, and she stood up for me." Brittany smiled at the memory. "She even kicked the crap out of the guy. He was huge too."

Quinn smiled at the visual. A tiny Rachel Berry against the big, bad bully.

"You know, Rachel's one of the few people who really get me," Brittany remarked. "I think it's because she takes the time to really listen and understand. And she's super patient. She doesn't make me feel stupid for not getting stuff right away. She asks questions but not the mean type." Brittany cocked her head knowingly. "That's how she got you to open up, huh?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah. No one took the time to get to know me. They just saw the Ice Queen and never bothered."

Brittany mirrored the nod. "Yeah, same. They just saw the ditzy blonde and figured I was stupid." She shrugged. "It's okay, though. You really only need one person to totally get you, right?"

Quinn smiled, thinking how much more content she was now that Rachel had insight to the facets of her personality she normally hid from everyone else. "Yeah. You do."

"Because when one person gets you, they can explain it to everyone else," Brittany commented sagely. She straightened, looking intently at Quinn.

"Alright, so this is me being like totally serious because I love Ray like a sister if my sister was like pocket-sized and super loud. She may be really smart about other people's feelings, but she can be really stupid about her own. That's why she dated a guy in high school that was like Godzilla height to her itty-bitty person like in the movie." Brittany cocked her head. "Come to think of it, he liked to smash things too…" She shook her head, bringing herself back to the point she was making. "Anyway, he was kind of a butthead and didn't treat her right. He fed her animals when you know how she is about that whole thing."

Quinn nodded, knowing how strict Rachel was concerning her vegan diet – although the brunette definitely made a concession to ice cream once in a very long while.

"Look, the thing with Ray is that you gotta be super patient with her because she's still trying to understand what the flutters in her stomach mean. I know she's a dolphin, I know you've been a dolphin for awhile, and I know you totes want in on Ray's sweet lady kisses, but you gotta let her figure it out on her own."

Again, Quinn nodded solemnly.

"She's super confused right now because you're making her feel all weird inside and she doesn't know why. It's like when you're doing a puzzle and you've got almost all the pieces, but you're missing a few so the picture doesn't look right? That's where Ray's at. She's put together the puzzle, and it looks like something, but she's not sure what because she's missing some important pieces. She just has to find them so she gets to see the whole picture."

Brittany eyed Quinn closely, her bright blue eyes acutely perceptive. "Do you get me?"

Surprisingly, Quinn completely did. She couldn't help but be grateful to Brittany for providing this rather helpful insight. It gave her hope in a way nothing else did. She nodded. "Yeah, Britt. I get you."

Brittany smiled brightly. "Awesome. Just so you know, I'm totally rooting for you. You make Ray like supernova shiny. It's cool. Lotsa pretty colors."

She cocked her head as though she heard something in the distance. "I gotta go. Ray's done crying. Now she needs to go drink away her sad tears. That's the next step in the process. Don't be surprised if you get like a page-long super drunk text." Brittany bounced to her feet, wrapping her arms around the shorter blonde. "See you, Quinn!"
Quinn chuckled. "Bye, Britt."

As Brittany flounced down the steps of Quinn's trailer, dancing to a beat in her head, Quinn couldn't help but smile. She didn't care what anyone else thought. Brittany-Freaking-Pierce was a genius.

xxx-xxx-xxx

Once they hit the weekend a couple of days later, Rachel really did seem to be over her disastrous breakup with Brady. As expected, Broadway Buzzline had run a particularly scathing article about Rachel's breakup filled with rather inaccurate details that bordered on slander, and no one had been surprised to see that Lexie McMillan's name adorned the byline. What had been more amusing was the backlash from multiple firsthand reports from many more reputable sources refuting the facts stated in the article – which painted Brady as a victim to an overbearing, narcissistic diva – not to mention the countless videos that had surfaced showing the confrontation in nearly its entirety. Rachel still was unsure how those found their way to the mass media. Needless to say, Broadway Buzzline posted an apology for the gross misinterpretation of the facts and noted that Lexie McMillan was no longer employed at the blog. Despite that win, Rachel had to believe that this wasn't the last she was going to hear about the subject.

Currently, she was lounging on her freshly fumigated couch, Hugo's head on her lap, during a break. She glanced up, smiling as Quinn stuck her head in the doorway.

"Hey."

Hugo jumped up, loping to the blonde, barking as he recognized his favorite person besides his mistress. Quinn wrestled with him for a bit, kissing the top of his head before turning her attention to Rachel.

"Hey."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I see how it is. The dog takes precedence."

Quinn shrugged. "Sorry. He's cuter."

Rachel narrowed her eyes playfully. "If you're here just to insult me, you can leave," she deadpanned.

Quinn grinned. "So sensitive." She laughed as she dodged the thrown cushion. "I just wanted to know if we're still on for this weekend."

Rachel's face fell as she remembered Quinn had offered her house for a small party to watch Noah's playoff game. "Oh, Quinn, I totally forgot. I don't know if I'm up for it."

"Come on, Rachel," Quinn refuted, shaking her head. "You need this more than ever. You need to be surrounded by your friends and people you care for."

"Please?"

"Now that's just unfair."

That exchange was how Rachel, Brittany, and Santana, with Hugo and Reno in tow, found themselves knocking at Quinn's door loaded with supplies bright and early Saturday morning. Rachel's über-meticulous mind assigned tasks to everyone and they got Quinn's place ready for the party. After a few false-starts on the grill ("Chill, chicas, I gots this." "San, I don't think–" "Hijo de puta!" "Dear Patti, San, I know you've threatened to light me on fire, but I never thought you'd actually try it." "Shut it, Streisand…do I still have both my eyebrows?"), they had meat and grilled vegetables sizzling on top and even a separate section for Rachel's veggie burgers, just in time for their guests.

As Quinn's house gradually began to fill, Rachel was in her element, playing co-hostess, milling with her friends and connecting with the new people Quinn invited. When their guests had first started to gather, she had grabbed Quinn by the hand, steering the blonde around to meet her friends. Most of them were like her, Broadway implants trying to broaden their careers. A few were strictly theatre people who operated out of the small but growing LA theatre community. Quinn had actually recognized a couple of them, some had appeared as extras or in guest spots for Queen of Babble.

Quinn was filling up a chip bowl when she heard Rachel squeal happily, flinging her arms around a brown haired man. She couldn't see his face, only the back of his head, but it was obvious Rachel held this man in high regard.

"Quinn, I want you to meet my good friend Jesse St. James."

Quinn's smile froze on her face as she looked into the familiar blue eyes as Rachel dragged the elder man towards her. Of all the times she thought she was going to see a blast from the past, right here in her own living room was far from the scenario she envisioned. At Carmel, the members of Vocal Adrenaline were veritable deities in the social spectrum, and Jesse St. James was their Zeus. Unlike the jocks and cheerleaders who lived to pick on the basement-dwellers of the hierarchy, Jesse simply ignored those he deemed unworthy. He wasn't mean but he also didn't go out of his way to be nice, either. Therefore, losers like Lucy Fabray were invisible to him. That was fine with her. Rather invisible than stuffed in a locker…

Jesse smiled, holding out a hand. "Miss Lucas, a pleasure."

Quinn returned the smile. "Quinn, please."

"Ah, then you must call me Jesse." Jesse's brows drew together, his blue eyes searching hers. "You know, watching you on TV, I never really realized it, but seeing you up close…" Jesse frowned. "I feel like I've met you before."

Quinn tensed, but didn't show her discomfort. She had much practice with keeping her emotions in check and undetectable. She schooled her features to a neutral look tinged with curiosity. "I'm sure I'd remember you if we'd met before."

"No, you're right." Jesse waved a hand. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable…"

Quinn waved a hand. "No, it's fine."

"I should do this before Rachel comes back and boxes my ears, but if you ever think about doing theatre, give me a call." Jesse held out his hands as Quinn opened her mouth. "I know, I know, that sounds a bit pretentious, but I might have a part that would interest you." He shrugged. "I like your work. I think you'll really be validated as an artist if you dabble in live theatre. Just a thought."

Quinn nodded "I'll think about it." As Jesse disappeared back into the party, she couldn't help but stare after him. Maybe she wasn't as invisible as she thought…

xxx-xxx-xxx

Quinn's house had never been livelier. Every inch of the sprawling grounds held anything an intrepid football fan would need for the playoff game. Quinn had opened up the screen doors leading out to the deck where the hot tub was open, the bar was stocked – Declan had appointed himself bartender – and the grill was sizzling with a variety of meats and their vegan alternatives and even a few vegetable skewers. Bowls of chips and dip and snacks covered the counters of the kitchen, and the huge television in the living room fed sheer energy from surround-sound system. Fresh from the divisional playoffs, Puck's Chargers faced off against the top-seeded Indianapolis Colts for a bid to the Super Bowl.

The atmosphere was highly festive as Rachel and Quinn's friends mingled with one another, Broadway melding with Hollywood, trading stories about their respective industries. The moment the pregame show began its broadcast, the entire group gathered in the living room where they fit comfortably, staring at Quinn's massive television.

Here is the Hit Man, Noah Puckerman, making his way into Lucas Oil Stadium. His smash-mouth, aggressive style of football will be the biggest threat to the Colts' offense.

Everyone cheered as the camera panned over Puck in a dapper gray suit and navy blue tie as he made his way to the visiting team's locker room. He had his game face on, playoff stubble in full force. Quinn grinned as she caught a glimmer of a gold star pin adorning the left lapel of Puck's suit jacket.

Quinn chuckled, motioning to the pin. "Did you give that to him?"

Rachel nodded with a grin. "Yup! Right before the draft. Now it's one of his many good lucky charms. You know how superstitious athletes can be."

He will definitely be a factor. Noah Puckerman is so versatile in that he really does do it all: he can stop the run, he can cover that flat, and he's a very, very good tackler. Once he has you wrapped up, you're going down. The Chargers are going to have that middle locked up.

"Fuck yeah, they are!" Santana hollered at the television. "My boy Puck is serving up a grass casserole with a side helping of whup-ass!"

Jesse chuckled, sipping his beer as he gestured to Santana. "I missed that. When's she gonna start speaking Spanish?"

Rachel laughed. "Not until the game actually starts."

"Oh no," Santana groaned suddenly. "He brought back the 'hawk…"

"He what?"

Rachel's eyes snapped to the screen, and sure enough, a familiar haircut adorned the top of Puck's head. It wasn't the traditional Mohawk he had rocked in high school. He had arranged the longer hair on top of his head into the distinct skyward point that ran down the center of his scalp before the sides tapered down to his closer-cut hair. It was stylistically more of a faux-hawk than anything, but it was still bordered on ridiculous just like it did in high school.

Rachel shook her head. "His mom is gonna freak…"

They have been two of the best teams in the AFC this year. The Colts and the Chargers. The Colts earning the right to host this championship game today as the AFC's top seed here at Lucas Oil Stadium. The winner goes to the Super Bowl.

The camera panned over to the Chargers idling at the visitor's tunnel. Puck looked like a rabid dog as he stood at the head of his white-jerseyed team. Rachel beamed, spying the captain's patch affixed to the right breast of his jersey. She knew how proud he was to be named one of the team captains, an honor he had been denied at McKinley in favor of Finn Hudson (for what reason, they were trying to figure out almost ten years later). It seemed almost ironic to Rachel. The "star" of McKinley's team was the Golden Boy, freely given everything: the captainship, his quarterback position, all without truly trying hard. Puck, on the other hand, had to work for his spoils; and the bounty he had reaped was the product of good, hard work. No one had ever expected Noah Puckerman to make it out of Lima. He had told him all to suck it. It was why the tiny little patch meant so much to him. He was more than just one of the stars of this professional team. He was pone of their leaders. Puck and the other two captains led the team out of the tunnel, seemingly grinning as the boos sounded from inside Lucas Oil Stadium.

The camera circled around the Charger's bench where Puck was firing up the defense. She wasn't sure what as he rotated around the huddle, but she was certain there were quite a few swear words interspersed around the general message of "maim" and "kill."

San Diego won the toss and deferred the kickoff to the second half. The group cheered as the teams lined off for the kickoff, and the announcers voices sounded through the speakers.

The battle for the AFC Championship is right here. Let's go down to Steven Towson on the sidelines.

The camera panned over to a man standing just behind the Charger's bench and holding a microphone. Behind him, the Charger bench bustled, taking care of some final pre-game tasks.

Guys, I talked to the Hit Man, Noah Puckerman, before the game and asked him what it's going to take to stop this explosive Indianapolis offense. His answer? Pretty simple. "Hit them so they don't get up."

That comment drew a roaring shout from the group in Quinn's living room as the Charger faithful in the room, cheered for their favorite players. Quinn looked in amusement as Rachel, Santana, Brittany, and a few of their friends raised their arms up, fingers wiggling, humming lowly as the San Diego kicker jogged towards the ball. As the kicker's foot impacted with the ball, they thrust their arms down and punched a fist in the air.

"WHOO! GO CHARGERS!"

Declan chuckled, looking to his best friend. "They just get more hilarious every day."

Branson takes it out of the endzone, smeared by the Santos. Indianapolis to start at their own eighteen, and let's meet the defensive starters for the Chargers.

Puck trotted out on the field, leading the way to the huddle. They were a massive bunch, very intimidating as they took the field. Those unfamiliar with Rachel, Santana, and Brittany when it came to their football eccentricities could only watch with amusement as they went through one of their ridiculous dances.

Declan nudged Quinn again. "Seriously, most hilarious trio ever."

xxx-xxx-xxx

As the game began, it was clear that the contest would be featuring everything they could have possibly wanted in a playoff game: Big hits, big plays, and a whole lot of excitement.

Second down and eight for San Diego. Moore out of the shotgun. Two tight ends, one receiver spread. Matthews with him in the backfield. The snap…Five step drop, Moore going long!

Santana surged to her feet, hollering at the top of her lungs. "¡Cachala, cachala! ¡Cachala, hijo de puta!"

There was a collective inhale as the ball spiraled down towards the receiver wrapped up in double coverage. All three players jumped, the white jersey sandwiched between two royal blue ones.

Jump ball! Falls incomplete. Third and eight.

There was a collective groan as the ball fell harmlessly to the turf.

"Ay Dios mio," Santana mumbled. "¿Quien les enseño a jugar a estos idiotas?"

"Don't worry, San," Britt assured her lover. "There's gonna be a big gain on the next play. San Diego's gonna run it, and the Colts are looking for the pass. Look, they're in Cover 3. The Colt's strong safety will never be able to catch Matthews."

There was a mixed reaction at that statement, but sure enough, the Chargers handed the ball off to Gabriel Matthews, their star running back.

Matthews up the gut, finds the hole! Oh, big block from Knoxville! And there he goes! Forty, thirty five, thirty…down to the twenty, fifteen. Finally downed at the twelve. Huge run for Gabe Matthews. First and ten at the twelve!

"Dude," Rachel stated to the general group. "Never doubt the Britt Vibe."

"Is she like psychic?" Quinn's costar Pierce Olivier asked, nodding to Brittany.

Quinn laughed. "No, but it sure seems like it."

All throughout the game, it had been a defensive battle with neither offense being able to gain much ground. Puck had been completely on fire, closing up the middle, completely halting the run game, and even harassing the quarterback every so often. However, late in the third quarter, the Colts had marched down the field into Charger territory and were threatening to score.

Critical third down here for Indianapolis.

The camera moved over to Puck as he approached the line of scrimmage, barking out to his fellow defenders. He moved up behind the nose tackle, whispering something into the man's ear before backing up to his position.

The quarterback whirled, handing the ball off to his running back. Just when it seemed as though there was a shred of daylight up the middle, Puck charged forward, driving the running back into the ground, well short of the first down.

Oh! Stuffed at the line by the Hit Man!

That hole closed up real quick.

The room exploded in hoots and hollers as Puck stood up and celebrated his tackle with a slashing motion with both hands before breaking into a short Dougie dance. He leaped, banging shoulders with another one of the defensive linemen as he trotted off the field and the special teams unit came on.

xxx-xxx-xxx

San Diego led 28-24 at the two-minute warning in the fourth quarter. The Puckerman contingent back in Quinn's living room were showing their own fatigue. The game had been remarkably back and fourth with a handful of lead changes, and the Colts had the ball and a full field to cover. A long bomb and a couple of run plays marched Indianapolis downfield to a first and goal with time winding down.

"Jeeze," Santana groaned, flopping down on the couch with another beer at a timeout. "Football is not good for the health."

Rachel shot out a wry smirk as she plopped down beside Quinn, handing the blonde a beer. "Yeah, and screaming at the television set helps so much."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Would be better if the friggin' San Diego offense would pick it up a bit."

Quinn nodded her agreement, running her fingers through Rachel's hair as the brunette lay against her shoulder.

"Game's back on," Declan warned them, pointing to the television.

Everyone perked up and gathered around the big screen as Indianapolis took their places at the line of scrimmage. There was an intensity in the movement. Both lines facing off, muscles bunched like a pack of dogs waiting to be unleashed. The clock showed five seconds left, just enough time for one more play. Puck paced just behind the defensive line, a caged animal ready to pounce.

This is it. Fourth and goal. The ball is on the one. A field goal will not do it for the Colts. They need this touchdown.

The entire living room looked as though they were on the edge of a cliff, ready to tumble over. The entire season came down to this final play.

"Que no anoten, Dios. Que no anoten…" Santana mumbled over and over as she clasped her hands over her mouth.

Handoff, Griffith leaps, Puckerman there to meet him…NO! No gain, no touchdown! The Chargers are going to the Super Bowl!

"YES!"

Quinn's living room exploded in chaos, as the entire group celebrated. Rachel jumped onto Quinn's back, squealing as the blonde twirled her around in circles.

"¡En tu cara! ¡En tu puta cara, imbecil!" Santana roared as she jumped up and down, throwing her arms around Brittany in celebration. "In your fucking face!"

Puck scrambled away from the pile, sprinting out to the middle of the field. His celebration dance had never been more fitting than right at that moment as he was mobbed by the rest of his teammates.

Puck broke through the throng of his celebrating teammates and raced to the sideline behind the San Diego bench where a group of Charger fans were stationed, a camera hot at his heels. He reached out, bringing a gorgeous blonde down from to stand in front of him. Her hands in his, he descended down on one knee. No one knew what he was saying exactly, but the gesture was pretty obvious, her answer even more so when she nodded frantically, leaping into his arms.

Santana halted mid-sentence, and her eyes went wide. "Did he just?"

Rachel's arms froze against Quinn's neck, and she nodded numbly. "Uh-huh."

"Did you…?"

Rachel's head swung from side to side in the negative. "Nuh-huh."

"His mom is going to kill him," Brittany commented idly, completely nonchalant as though Puck hadn't just proposed to some mystery woman on national television. She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. "You think he'll let us be in his wedding party?"

xxx-xxx-xxx

Puck sat down in the chair in front of his locker in the mostly clear locker room, completely drenched in champagne, a championship cap perched on his head. He booted up his computer and pulled up a Skype window and initiated a call to his favorite ladies. His eyes widened as he saw three faces squeezed into the small screen. They didn't look too happy. He shot out a charming grin.

"Uh, you guys catch the game?"

"Oh yeah, of course," Santana started.

Rachel nodded. "Found it very interesting at the end."

Brittany grinned widely. "You gots some 'splainin' to do, Puckerman…"

"Guys, I was going to tell you about her…"

"Bullshit, Puckerman! You were just too much of a pussy to subject her to the test," Santana challenged. "I wouldn't have been surprised if the first time we met her was at the wedding!"

"Look, it was a spur of the moment thing!" Puck protested. "I don't even have a ring or anything…" He scratched his head. "Well, yet."

"Tell us you've at least been dating her for over six months," Rachel interjected.

"And that the next story we hear isn't you eloping to Vegas," Santana cut in.

"Eight," Puck affirmed. "I know this is crazy and frankly, I'm a bit scared for my life between you three, Mom, and Ruthie, but I'm in love with her. I can't explain it."

The three girls exchanged a look. Puck was extremely hesitant to admit anything beyond attraction to a woman.

"Well, tell us about her," Rachel grunted reluctantly. It was a concession of sorts.

"And don't tell us she's a cheerleader," Santana warned him.

"NO!" Puck protested. "That's like against league rules. She's one of the Charger Girls' sister."

Brittany clapped. "Are we going to meet her?"

"Yeah, once I get back to San Diego. You can give her the third degree all you want."

Rachel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "She's coming over for dinner," she cast a glance in Quinn's direction, receiving confirmation with a nod, "Quinn's hosting, and we are going to get to know your girl–"

"Brooklyn," Noah supplied.

"Brooklyn very well," Rachel finished. Again, his three best friends exchanged looks. Rachel spoke for the group, albeit reluctantly. "If she makes you happy, Noah, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

xxx-xxx-xxx

Rachel and Quinn sat beside each other on the sofa of Quinn's living room, now devoid of all people. The two starlets passed a bottle of Patron Silver between them. Some random television show or other played on the screen. They weren't watching it. It was just white noise to them. Hugo, Charlie, and Reno lay in a heap beside them, a tangle of fur and limbs. Their humans were well on their way to getting drunk. Said humans weren't sure why, but the festivities of the day drove them both to the tequila.

"That was eventful."

Rachel hummed her agreement, taking a pull. "I can't believe Noah proposed. He hasn't had a steady girlfriend since…well, me!"

Quinn smirked, nudging Rachel's foot. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"No," Rachel mumbled, returning the nudge.

Quinn persisted, knocking Rachel's foot again. "Are too."

Rachel scowled, knocking Quinn's foot back. "Am not."

"Liar," Quinn retorted, taking a drink.

"Alright, a bit," Rachel admitted. "I've always been his best girl. Now he has someone else. We haven't even met her. I'm being replaced by some…faceless no-name."

"We actually did see her face," Quinn corrected. "She was kind of hot."

"Not helping."

"Sorry." Quinn smiled softly, leaning back against the couch. "I think you're always gonna be his best girl," she assured the brunette.

"It's stupid, I know, but everyone's paired off, and I'm…" Rachel sighed. The tequila was really starting to get to her. She was rambling. Still, she took a long pull from the bottle. "Stuck in a fantasy. Brady was supposed to be everything. He was a perfect leading man. He was…" Rachel thought of a proper analogy. "The Taye to my Idina."

"Maybe you're looking in the wrong fairytale," Quinn offered. She held her liquor a bit better, but they had all drank a good amount before, during, and after the game. "Maybe instead of looking at Prince Charming, you should be looking at Shrek."

"So I'm supposed to be looking for an ogre?" The confused look on Rachel's face was priceless.

"No," Quinn laughed softly. "I mean you should look outside the norm. Don't be so fixated on finding your leading man. Just find someone who makes you happy, regardless if that person fits the criteria of the Fiyero to your Elphaba or the Tony to your Maria or the…Marius to your Cosette."

Rachel beamed. "I'm impressed. You've been doing your research."

Quinn chuckled. "Anyone can Google."

Rachel frowned thoughtfully. "Although I feel as though I should note that many fans of Les Miz believe that Cosette stole Marius from Eponine, a much more deserving character. I personally believe that given the chance to possibly portray a role in Les Miz, I would prefer to play the role of Eponine. 'On My Own' is a wonderfully heart-wrenching song, and Eponine's death is quite a visually stunning moment of drama."

"How is it that you can still talk in paragraphs even while drunk?"

"It's inn…inn…inna…" Rachel gave up, tripping over the double consonants. "That word that means I can't help it."

Quinn waved a hand, buzzed off of all the alcohol and the wonderful company that had filled her normally empty home.

Rachel leaned her head back against the cushion. "I'm tired. And drunk."

"Come on," Quinn tugged on Rachel's hand. "Let's get you to bed."

"'Kay." Rachel allowed herself to be led up to Quinn's room. The other guest rooms were filled by Brittany and Santana, Declan, and Jesse.

Quinn tossed her some clothes, turning down the bed and letting Rachel lie down. As she turned to leave, she felt a tug at her hand.

"No."

"Huh?" Quinn wasn't sure her words weren't slurred.

"You stay here," Rachel mumbled. At Quinn's hesitancy, she pulled more insistently. "Come on."

Quinn dropped her pants and changed into her own bedclothes, her exhaustion overriding any modesty issues. She shoved at Rachel. "Scoot over."

Rachel sighed as she felt the weight of Quinn's body join her. She knew this wasn't the most prudent decisions, but she needed someone with her, and Quinn was optimal company. "Tell me you're not a bed hog."

A muffled chuckle sounded from beside her. "As long as you don't snore." Quinn paused. "You sure okay with this?"

Rachel nodded blearily. "Knowing you, you'll insist on being chivalrous and take the couch. As big and as comfy as it is, that couch is not conducive to a good night's sleep. We can share."

"'Kay," Quinn mumbled, too tired to argue. She felt her hand tugged once again and followed the pull. Rachel drew her arm around her waist, snuggling back into the blonde's front. The tiny brunette sighed happily.

"'Night, Quinn."

Quinn smiled to herself. "'Night, Rachel."

xxx-xxx-xxx

The next morning, Rachel's internal clock awoke her, and she moved at the sensation of a blinding, shining sun peeking through the window. Immediately, she noticed how comfortable she was in her current location. She was warm and surrounded by something that smelled sweet. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she popped her head up and looked up into a very familiar face. Well, that made sense. The sweet smell was Quinn's perfume that seemed to be everywhere, and her soft pillow was Quinn's breast. She froze, taking in her position. In sleep, she had turned into Quinn and was now lying half on top of the slumbering blonde, her face buried into the upper swell of Quinn's breast. For her part, Quinn had rolled onto her back, her left arm slung over Rachel's waist, her right sprawled slightly over her head. Rachel vaguely remembered insisting the blonde stay with her rather than retreating to the couch.

She sighed, not really wanting to leave the warmth of the bed and the comfort of Quinn's embrace no matter how shrilly her inner voice berated her. She took a moment to study Quinn in this moment of sheer vulnerability. The blonde's face was peaceful in her rest, relaxed. She looked younger, more innocent, and a far cry than the cold Ice Queen she usually portrayed. Although, Rachel wasn't too sure if that moniker applied. At least not when it came to her. She was privy to a side of Quinn not many people were aware of, and it was humbling to think that the blonde placed that much trust in her, despite the short time they had been acquainted.

It simply wasn't fair, Rachel decided, and not for the first time, that Quinn was so effortlessly gorgeous. The flawless skin, the full, luscious lips, those penetrating eyes hid behind closed lids. She laughed silently at the disheveled state of Quinn's short hair as it lay on their shared pillow. She loved it when it was like this, fluffy and wild, literally like a lion's mane. Her fingers itched to run through the strands she knew from experience were silky soft.

Rachel took in her costar with a fond expression on her face. Something caught her eye, and she cocked her head, noticing one more tattoo inked into the inside of Quinn's right wrist. It was a gold star. She smiled, gently reaching up to trace the shape along with the text stating, "Shine brighter." It looked like she wasn't the only one who had a thing for gold stars. Vaguely, Rachel wondered about the story behind the tattoo. It certainly wasn't fresh, but it mirrored one of the lines of her infamous Gold Star Metaphor story. In fact, it was almost verbatim from her story, but there was no way Quinn had heard that particular anecdote before.

The movement made Quinn stir, and she pulled Rachel closer, burying her nose in the brunette's hair. Rachel watched with amusement as Quinn's nose wrinkled in confusion, and the gorgeous hazel orbs were revealed to the world. Quinn blinked owlishly, taking a moment to reorient herself.

"Good morning?" It was more a question than a greeting, but oh was that sleep-heavy voice sexy.

"Morning," Rachel returned.

Quinn groaned, slapping a hand over her face as she flopped onto her back. "Oh, Patron wasn't a good choice."

Rachel giggled softly. "Well, at least I kept my clothes on this time."

Quinn snorted. "I'll try harder next time..." she halted, nose sniffing. A delighted smile split her face, and she bolted from the bed. "BACON!"

Bemused, Rachel followed at a more sedate pace. Sure enough, as they entered the kitchen, they found a platter of bacon already on the island and being devoured by the group of people already up. Jesse and Declan were both on their way out, Declan stating he had a meeting he had to get ready for, and Jesse claimed he had an interview in a few hours. Brittany and Santana were posted up on the island and digging into the spread, Santana poring over the morning paper.

The group exchanged greetings, and Rachel slid in beside Quinn.

"Who cooked?"

Brittany pointed over to Santana with a grin. "Recipes confuse me, Ray, we've been over this."

Any other conversation halted as Rachel's phone blared from the coffee table where she had left it the night before.

Long live the walls we crashed through
All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you
I was screaming long live all the magic we made
And bring on all the pretenders
One day, we will be remembered

"Poppa's a closet Taylor Swift fan," she offered as explanation. Accepting the call, she brought the phone to her ear. "Hi, Pop!" Rachel's cheerful smile faded and her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of her father's rambling through the phone. "Pop, slow down."

The phone slipped from her fingers, and Rachel's knees buckled beneath her. Only quick reflexes from Quinn saved the tiny brunette from crashing to the floor.

"Rachel! Rachel, what's wrong?"

Rachel's face had paled and her breaths came in sharp gasps. "Daddy…shot…"


Spanish Translations, once again thanks to Azuri-chan!:

Ay Dios mio, asi mamita: Oh my God, like that hot mama.

¡Cachala, cachala! ¡Cachala, hijo de puta!: Catch it, catch it! Catch it, son of a bitch!

Ay Dios mio. ¿Quien les enseño a jugar a estos idiotas?: Oh my God. Who taught these idiots how to play?

Que no anoten, Dios. Que no anoten…: Don't let them score, God. Don't let them score...

¡En tu cara! ¡En tu puta cara, imbecil!: In your face! In your fucking face, asshole!


DUN, DUN, DUN! I know, I know…wtf? But I had to do it. Up next, Rachel and company make their way back to Lima with Quinn in tow. We meet the Dads Berry, Shelby, and a few people from Rachel's past make an appearance to help her with her confusing feelings about Quinn.

I hope you liked Brady's exit! He will return soon, however, to continue stirring the pot but will people listen?

I know if feels like, but in my land where you suspend disbelief, they have gone through a few takes, and you guys get the one they eventually print, lol. Just to make it a bit more realistic…

And the songs featured in this chapter were "Ride It" by Ciara featuring Ludicris, and "Long Live" by Taylor Swift. See you guys next time! You know the drill...

*ISP