A/N: Please note the rating change.

Chapter 10

The decision was a simple one, really. A simple decision based on an even simpler fact: Rachel Berry is in love. In love with a beautiful, bright-eyed blonde whose disarming smile and perfect laugh has captured her senses and left her spellbound. She doesn't even care that the object of her affection is 3'7 and currently covered in spots. Coming home to her cold, empty room after a day spent with Max and an evening spent with Max's equally charming aunt, just seems cruel. And so, the decision is simple, because really, if Quinn can't see that it's in both of their best interests for her to move in then she's spectacularly short-sighted. And Rachel knows from snooping exploring the contents of Quinn's medicine cabinet while she was in her bathroom, that Quinn suffers from hyperopia which means she's far-sighted. But these are all just semantics and before she knows it, she's standing in front of Quinn's door with a ridiculously expensive coffee-machine at her feet, because she feels she needs a bargaining chip, even though her prepared speech is pretty flawless, if Quinn would only give her the – Quinn. In. A. Towel.

Rachel's prepared speech goes out the window. She's vaguely aware that her lower lip is resting on her chin and she's possibly drooling, but honestly, if Quinn insists on parading herself around in nothing but a skimpy –

"Rachel? You're…early?"

She is? "Sorry, yes. I called, but you weren't picking up. I apologise for my inappropriate timing, I obviously interrupted your morning hygiene routine. I could um…" Quinn's staring at her like she expects her to speak and Rachel remembers that she had a speech about…something. Except there's this shiny droplet of water that's just fallen from the tip of Quinn's wet hair, onto her shoulder and it seems to be running down to her collar bone…all the way down. It really is quite mesmerising. Quinn sort of clears her throat before Rachel jerks her head back up, somewhat sheepishly. "I could wait out here, I mean until you," she licks her lips and rakes her eyes over Quinn. The towel is starting to mould against her damp body and really, could she have chosen a smaller scrap of cotton? It really is indecent, Rachel thinks huffily. "Until you finish," she ends in a low voice.

Quinn, for her part, looks mostly amused and motions inside. "That's fine. Why don't you come inside?"

Rachel sees the moment that her eyes fall on the coffee-maker box and the three suitcases behind her. Well it's not like she could pack all her shoes, so she settled on the important ones and only brought three bags. Quinn's eyes widen for a moment, then narrow into an expression known to a select few as 'Scary Quinn'.

"Rachel?" Quinn raises her eyebrow as far as it can go. "What's going on?"

Okay, this is it, just like we practised, Rachel. She takes a deep breath, as if she was about to launch into a heart wrenching ballad before saying, ""Well, I was thinking about it and with Noah gone and Max sick, you're going to need help. I mean, really Quinn, you're all alone and you have that big showing coming up, the one you told me about last night and I know how hard you work and who knows how long Noah will be in Connecticut assuming the recording goes well and since I'm only a couple of blocks away and filming has a fairly flexible schedule I really believe it's conducive to both our situations if-"

"Berry!" Rachel actually winces as Quinn's voice takes on that specific tone. "Spit it out." Stick to the plan, Rachel.

"I want to move in."

There, she said it. It's out there, floating towards Quinn, or more like shooting towards Quinn, because judging by the look on the blonde's face, she's just been hit by a verbal torpedo.

"Uh, come again?"

"Move in," Rachel says, a little more assertively this time, "With you and Max. Temporarily of course. If you think about it as I have done, you'll see the numerous benefits of sharing living space, including, though not limited to the use of this very functional coffee-maker I happened to purchase before stopping over."

"Rachel, please don't tell me you actually bought that thing-"

"Well of course I bought it, Quinn," she says, cutting her off. "Consider it, a housewarming gift if you will."

Rachel watches Quinn's eyes survey her suitcases and the coffee-maker at her feet. She seems to be considering…something.

"Quinn?"

Those eyes, almost green this morning dart back to Rachel's face and she can see the indecision. Something's holding her back, Rachel's just not sure what it is. "Look, I know you're going to need help with Max. And I-I want to help. Also," she shrugs her shoulders, "I guess I'm kind of lonely in the guesthouse. I mean, the rest of the cast are perfectly fine conversationalists, but you're-" she stops. What? Different? Special? Quinn? "Just give it a week."

She sees the resolve in Quinn's eyes before she hears her say, "Okay, alright. But you're on probation, Berry. And you're buying your own vegan food."

"Done!" Rachel beams, already lugging one huge case past Quinn into past the living room and into Puck's bedroom which smell's a little bit like…cheese?

"And no playing show tunes," Quinn adds with a smirk that causes Rachel to gasp.

"But Quinn, my-my morning regiment requires-" she swallows and nods. "Alright. N-no show tunes," she echoes as if it physically pains her.

Quinn smiles what Rachel considers to be a sadistic smile. "Good. Now, I'm going to put some clothes on. When I get back, I want coffee."

…

Rachel's in the process of the cursing the Italian instructions on the manual of the coffee-maker when Max walks into the room. She melts at the sight of him in his batman-themed footie pyjamas, his floppy bedhead and spotty cheeks. "Mornin' Wachel," he mumbles, still rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Good morning, Max," she says with a smile, crouching down. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"'Lil better," he replies with a yawn. "Quinn lemme have a vitamin gummy bear 'fore bed last night. She said it was magic and that it'll make the chickensocks go away faster."

Rachel's mouth twitches, but she doesn't bother to correct him. "Well, if Quinn said so, then it must be true."

"What must be true?"

A fully dressed Quinn Fabray emerges from her bedroom and Rachel nearly has a heart attack. She's wearing a knee-length, pin-stripe pencil skirt, with a slit just long enough to be considered 'work-friendly', a silky grey ruffle blouse and heels that could poke a man's eye out. Her hair, usually charmingly mussed, has been sleeked down and pinned to one side. Simply put, Rachel thinks, she looks like the lovechild of a stockbroker and a stripper. It's enthralling.

"Do-do you always go to work like that?" Rachel clears her throat a little.

"Like what?" Quinn asks, distracted as she attempts to get her earing on.

"Like, like you're auditioning for a part in Wall Street?"

Quinn laughs and smooths her skirt down a little self-consciously. "No. I've got a meeting at the bank before work. It's for a loan, so I'm trying to make a good impression."

Rachel swallows and nods. "Well, if they don't give it to you it's cause they're blind." Oh sweet Barbra, had she said that out loud? "Blind to your obvious financial stability," she amends quickly as Quinn bites down on her lips to keep from smiling. "Cause I mean, you obviously are. Financially stable."

"Rach?" Quinn takes a step towards her and smiles sort of lopsidedly.

"Yeah?"

"You're sweet."

"I want Lucky Charms!" They both turn to Max, who's been standing between them for the better part of this interaction. "Quinn," he tugs on her skirt, "Lucky Charms!"

"Okay, sweet-pea." She picks him up and places a hand over his forehead. "You've got a bit a fever don'tcha?"

"He does?" Rachel's eyes are wide. "Should I have known that? I mean, he looked fine. Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn nods, adjusting the little boy on her hip as she one handedly reaches for the box of cereal. "He just needs his morning syrup and he'll be right as rain, won't you bud?"

"Yup," Max nods his head before resting it against Quinn's shoulder. She places him in front of the television with his cereal, making sure that he's comfy before returning to Rachel, who's taken to scowling at the coffee-maker's instruction manual.

"Hey," Quinn ducks her head so as to be eye-level with the brunette. "What's wrong? You know I was kidding about the coffee, right? I can pick some up on my way to work, I don't need-"

"I should have noticed he had a fever," Rachel says quietly. She looks away from Quinn, feeling even more foolish that she cares so much. "I saw him before you did, I should have noticed it. I wanted so badly to be here and to help you with Max, but I couldn't even tell. I mean, I have zero experience-"

"That's not true."

Rachel's eyes find Quinn's again. And she frowns. "I've seen you with Beth," Quinn says softly and sort of shrugs. "I mean, I've seen pictures and she's got a video of her fifth birthday party, the one I wasn't there for because of my finals." She gives Rachel a tremulous smile. "You're great with her and she adores you, Rach."

"Quinn-"

"So forget the fever, okay?" Quinn's voice changes to cheery. "It's easy to miss. Just make sure he gets his syrup on time and you'll both be fine."

"Okay," Rachel nods, not pushing it. With Quinn, it's important to know when to not push it. This is something she's come to learn, something she's still learning.

"Okay," Quinn smiles. "I have to go. But I'll see you early. I'm working a half-day."

"Great," Rachel grins, "Hopefully by the time you come home I will have mastered this…contraption."

"I have all the faith in you," Quinn says with a chuckle.

…

When Quinn gets home, Rachel's crying. As in sobbing.

She didn't expect to be this emotional. She didn't think it would affect her at all, and yet 93 minutes in, she's bawling because the emotional intensity of the moment is just too much for her to handle. Rachel sniffs and wipes her eyes with one of the many tissues around her when Quinn's key jingles in the door. The blonde is behind her in a second - apparently the sound of tears is a honing beacon. She pauses the film, not wanting to miss a moment and stares up at a concerned looking Quinn.

"I'm sorry," Rachel sniffs again. "I couldn't get the coffee-maker to work."

Quinn's brow furrows. "Is that why you're crying? For goodness sake Rach, I thought someone had died! We can get Starbucks! We don't need the coffee-maker!"

"It's not about the coffee-maker!" Rachel stage whispers, because Max is napping and she really doesn't want him to see her like this. "And, and someone may die."

"What do you mean someone may die?"

"She motions towards the screen. "They're about to-to carbon freeze Han and Leia's just confessed her love for him!" She wipes at a tear that falls. "Also, Luke's about to arrive, but he's walking into a trap. Everything's just so complicated!"

Quinn looks incredulously from Rachel to the TV screen and back again. "Star Wars? You're crying because of Star Wars?"

When Rachel pouts and nods, Quinn barks out a laugh and falls onto the couch beside her, clutching her stomach. "You're crying because of Star Wars," she cackles breathlessly, snorting between bursts of laughter.

Rachel sits up straight and glares at her. "Quinn Fabray, your mockery is not appreciated!" And yet, Rachel can't deny the appeal and fascination of seeing Quinn this…unguarded. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair's messy from rolling around on the couch, her eyes are shining. Rachel imagines this must sort of be what she must look like when she's – her reverie is broken when she realises Quinn's lips are moving.

"Excuse me?"

"I take it this is the first time you've experienced the Empire?" Quinn asks, still grinning like an idiot.

"It is," Rachel huffs. "Although if you had a sympathetic bone in your body, you'd understand my emotional response."

Quinn chuckles. "I was sad too, okay? And yeah, I may have shed a tear or two in The Return of the Jedi when Vader finally-"

"Lalalalala!" Rachel covers her ears with both hands. "Spoiler alert!" she says frowning at Quinn.

"Sorry," she replies, biting back her smile. "I'm just saying, that yeah, Star Wars is awesome and I suppose it can be…emotional." Quinn schools her face into a serious expression and clears her throat, "I'm sorry I mocked your reaction, Rachel."

"Thank you," Rachel answers, shooting a sidelong glance at Quinn to check for sincerity. She's not entirely sure the blonde really means it when the corner of her mouth turns up slightly. "I think I'll resume the film at my own leisure."

Quinn stares at Rachel for a long moment before asking, "How was Max today?"

"Good," she says quickly. "Great even. I checked his temperature thrice and all three times it was below 97, I also gave him his syrup and applied his lotion. Also, we may have broken the lamp in the hallway during an intense game of hide and seek, but I swear, I'll buy another one as soon I leave for work, you won't even notice the difference."

"It's fine, Rachel," Quinn's hand is one hers again, and Rachel finds she rather likes the feel of Quinn's cool, slender fingers against hers. "It's fine. And thanks."

Rachel looks confused.

"For looking after Max, I mean."

She's about to protest when Quinn throws her hands up. "I know, I know you do it because you want to. Just," she sighs and fixes Rachel with one of those expressions that makes her feel like she's an ant, slowly burning under the intensity of a magnifying glass with Quinn's hazel orbs as the sun. "Just thanks, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel murmurs.

"So." Quinn gets up and extends a hand for Rachel to grab. "Lunch?"

"I'd love to…roomie," Rachel adds with a grin, "But I've got to get to set."

"Oh." Quinn actually looks disappointed and Rachel finds herself strangely giddy at the thought of Quinn excited about spending time with her.

"I'll be back around nine," she says quickly, because suddenly that feels really important and Quinn just shrugs really casually and says, "Yeah, okay. I needed to get some painting done anyway."

"See you later?" Rachel's slowly reaching for her keys and realising how much she doesn't want to leave.

"Sure, later."

...

She's got two make-up people tugging on her hair when one of the PA's runs up to her. "Ms Berry, Mr Schwartz wants to see you. He's in editing."

Rachel nods and swats the make-up flies away, annoyed with their unnecessary attention. "Thanks, tell him I'll be right there."

She finds James squinting at a monitor and shaking his head. "It's just not right, Karl. I want this shot, see, this here, I want it- Rach, hey!" He pats the assistant editor on the shoulder. "I'll get back to you, okay?"

"Sure," Karl says and swivels around in his chair to face Rachel. "Hi, Rachel."

She smiles broadly at the younger man who she suspects has a crush on her, "Hi Karl. James isn't giving you too much of a hard time is he?"

"Aw nah, he's okay," Karl says ducking his head shyly. "Anyway, have a good day."

"You too," she says, not able to resist a wink before she leaves the little editing studio.

"You're cruel," James smirks as she steps out.

"What?" Rachel shrugs innocently and bats her eyelashes.

The director chuckles and puts his arm around her shoulders as they begin to walk back to the set. "Listen, Rach, um there's a bit of a problem."

Six words an actor never wants to hear. She stops immediately and faces him. "James Schwartz, did you fuck up the budget?" She rarely curses. But when she does, it's with such venom that the recipient is usually left wondering how many hours they have left to live.

"What? No, Rachel, no. It's not a budget problem. It's a scheduling problem."

She deflates somewhat, the fury building up inside her, just waiting to be released in the form of a tantrum suddenly dissipating. "Oh."

"Yeah. The Boston Lighthouse is being restored after the storm two nights ago and they won't let us shoot there until Monday. That pushes us back a week or so."

She swallows hard as her heart rate begins to increase. "Does this mean-You're saying we need to stay here an extra week?"

"Pretty much, yeah," James rubs the back of this neck, looking wholly apologetic. Rachel on the other hand, is trying her best not to break into a grin.

"That-that's fine."

James frowns. "Really? I thought you said that you needed to get back to New York within the month, didn't you and Dav-" he cuts himself off. "You know what, I'm not gonna fight this. If you're fine with it, I'm fine with it. Great talking to ya, Rach."

He walks off, leaving Rachel alone and wondering what it means that she's ecstatic about the thought of getting an extra week with Quinn.

Fate it seems, is a sneaky bitch and Rachel's pondering is soon interrupted by the sound of her own voice, crooning from her cellphone.

One look at the screen and she remembers how sharp and icy guilt stabs. "David, hi!"

"Hey, baby." The buzz of traffic in the distance suggests that he's driving. "How are things in chilly Boston?"

"Chilly," she says with a slight giggle. "But other than that, I mean, filming's going great. We shot the death scene yesterday and oh, my god, David, I was spectacular. I mean, I really felt it, you know?"

"I'm sure it was incredible, Rach!" There's a sudden honking before, "Hey, asshole! You really think you can cut in front of me?"

"David?"

"Sorry, babe, you were saying?"

"No," her voice gets softer, "I was just saying that I think the movie's going really well so far."

"That's awesome!" She can hear the smile in his voice, that specific open-mouthed smile that sometimes gets her all weak-kneed. "I have some good news too."

"Is that right?" She's smiling too now. He has that effect on her. So she's smiling and walking to her trailer. She doesn't need to be on set for another half-hour anyway.

"Yeah." She hears him take a breath on the other end. "They want me, Rach. The network wants me for the pilot. Shooting starts in Feb."

Rachel's squealing into the phone before he finishes his sentence. "Oh my god! David, sweetheart! That's amazing! I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah, yeah," he's giddy, she can hear it. "This is a huge project. It's almost certain to get picked up and if it's picked up, it's back-to-back shooting and the hours are hell."

"Honey," Rachel says in a dry tone, "You forget I spent years on stage. I know about hellish hours."

"Ha, yeah, so you do," he laughs weakly and she frowns.

"David, what's wrong? Are you concerned about the amount of work? You've done worse. I know you've been out of-"

"Rach it's not that," he interjects.

"So what then?"

"We're shooting in Toronto," he says lowly.

Rachel's breath hitches. "Canada?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "Production costs are cheaper and, well if this thing works out, I'll be spending up to eight months at a time up there."

"Did-did you sign anything yet?" her voice is higher than she'd like it to be.

"No." He says it softly, like he doesn't want to say it at all. "No, course not, babe. I wanted to talk to you first. I thought, look, you finish shooting in week you'll be home; we can talk it out then, right? It'll give us time to think about things."

"Things?" Rachel echoes, her heart beating wildly.

"Yeah, like scheduling and stuff." David sounds confused. "What'd you think I meant?"

"N-nothing," she swallows hard. "David, uh-filming's been extended by a week. I just heard."

"Fuck." He exhales sharply. "Babe, they want an answer by next week. Look, what if I come to you?"

Rachel suddenly feels nauseous. Alarm bells flicker all around her screaming NO! NO! NO! This place, this city has somehow become her escape from…everything and having David here is akin to seeing your parent at school. The two worlds cannot mix.

"No," she says shortly. "You don't have to do that. I'll work something out, okay?"

"Rachel, are you okay with this?"

"Yeah." She struggles to soften her tone. There are too many feelings swirling around inside of her right now, too many thoughts, too many things she shouldn't be thinking. "Listen, honey, I have to go, but we'll talk soon, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, babe."

"I have to go," she repeats. "Bye, sweetheart."

By the time they're calling her to set, five minutes later, she's still trembling.

...

"So then the evil pirate Captain Flacid McFinnypants launched his canons at the ship, but Captain Lopez was an excellent sailor and she easily dodged the cannonballs."

"What about First Mate Bwittany and the Pwincess?"

"Well, while Captain Lopez was keeping McFinnypants distracted with the awesome dodging skills, Brittany and the Princess snuck aboard McFinnypants' ship."

"To steal the tweasure?"

"That's right, to steal the treasure, cause remember, the lost treasure of Atlantis didn't belong to McFinnypants at all, but to all the people of McKinley. So really, they were just stealing it back."

At this point, Rachel, who managed to soundless creep into the apartment minutes ago, is tempted to make her presence known and point out the moral implications of the lesson Quinn is teaching Max, but the boy seems so enraptured and Quinn seems so involved in her tale, the tale Rachel began, she thinks with a smirk, that she hesitates.

She watches Quinn scoot further up the little bed to make herself more comfortable before continuing. "So anyway, once Quinnivere and Brittany had made it on board, they had to find the treasure. So they looked in the captain's quarters, but it wasn't there. Then they looked in slaves lodging, but it wasn't there. Finally, they decided to split up. Brittany was to check Puckasaurus the Putrid's quarters-"

Max collapses into giggles. "Puckasaurus!"

"Yeah," Quinn nods and grins, "I think it's silly too. Anyway, the Princess went below deck to check the cells and suddenly, she heard something she never expected."

"What?" Max shuffles closer to her and repeats with wide eyed curiosity, "What'd she hear, Quinn?"

"Singing," Quinn says softly. "The saddest song ever sung, coming from the loveliest voice she had ever heard. Of course the Princess followed the voice until it took her to one of the cells where, in the middle of the cold, dark room, sat the most beautiful creature Quinnivere had ever laid eyes on. It was a Siren. "

"Wow," Max breaths and Rachel, still standing at her spot by the door, can't help but let out a breath as well. She can't deny that Quinn has a way with words, the way her voice spins this simple fairy tale into something warm and tangible, something that wraps around you and makes you feel like you can see it, like you can breathe it.

"Her skin was a dusky gold colour," Quinn continues, "and it glowed slightly, as if she had eaten the sun when she was a little girl. Her hair was dark, dark like the pod of a vanilla bean and it smelled like one too. But it was her eyes, her sad, lonely eyes as sad as the song she sang, that really drew Quinn in. They were like pools of swirling chocolate. She found she wanted to drown in them."

Rachel wonders if Quinn realizes that she just turned the tale biographical and rather…Sapphic. She also can't help but narcissistically notice that Quinn was describing a being a lot like one Rachel Berry, if she was a mythological Greek creature of course.

"Wh-what happened next?" Max asks, swallowing a yawn which Quinn catches before ruffling his hair. "Well, I haven't decided yet. We'll figure it out tomorrow, okay?"

The lower lip juts out in a pout Rachel can be proud of. "But Quiiiiin, I'm not sleeeeepy!" The boy yawns again and scowls, aware that his body's betraying him.

"Well Tony is," Quinn says, tossing the T-Rex at Max. "Maybe just keep him company while falls asleep, okay?"

"M'kay," he replies, his eyelids already drooping.

"Love you, buddy," Quinn kisses his nose gently before turning on his lamp and switching off the light.

Rachel finds herself entirely caught up in this scene. There's something about the interaction between Quinn and Max, the natural fluidity, the way they respond to each other – it warms Rachel, makes her feel this desperate need to be part of something, something that she's missing, that she's lacking and suddenly, that void, that empty space that she's gotten so good at evading becomes all too apparent.

She barely makes it to the kitchen before Quinn comes out of Max's room. Rachel hastily reaches for a dish cloth and begins absently drying off a glass when Quinn looks up, surprised.

"Hey, when did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago," Rachel smiles. "You were busy so…" she trails off, her smile turning into something of a smirk.

Quinn slowly saunters towards her with narrowed eyes. "Okay, how much of that did you hear exactly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Quinn," Rachel says innocently. "I heard absolutely nothing about McFinnypants or the beautiful, dark-haired songstress who may or may not be based on an upcoming young actress."

Quinn purses her lips in amusement and rolls her eyes, but there's a tell-tale blush on her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself, Berry. In my head she looks like a young Rachel Weiss."

"So that's your type?" Rachel asks, reaching for another glass. She's actually drying the dishes now. "Dark features, Jewish features? Girls whose names rhyme with Wachel?" She's trying so hard not to smirk, but it's difficult when Quinn's looking that flustered.

"Wha-? N-no! I don't have a type, I mean, I've-" Quinn stops talking and glares at a giggling Rachel. "Okay, very funny, had your fun?"

She smiles and nods. "Yeah," then laughs when Quinn sort of playfully shoves her. They dry dishes in silence for a few moments before Rachel turns to Quinn, her face sober now. "Seriously though, do you?"

Quinn turns to her, dishcloth in hand. "Do I what?"

"Have a type?" Rachel asks, suddenly nervous. Why is she nervous?

"Oh." Quinn turns quickly back to the sink and begins drying a plate that seems pretty dry already. "Not really. It's not like I've dated that many girls anyway."

"But, out of the girls you have been with," Rachel pushes on, "What," she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "What have they been like?"

Quinn lets out a breath and leans back against the island. "Physically? I guess I like dark hair. My first girlfriend, the uh, the one from San Francisco, she had dark hair."

"What was her name?" Rachel puts down the mug in her hands. Her palms are suddenly sweaty. The air in the small kitchen has become dense, like they're sharing each other's breath, as if there's not enough oxygen in the room.

"Rory." Quinn tugs her top lip between her teeth. "She was," she swallows hard and shrugs her right shoulder weakly, "She kind of saved me," Quinn says softly, meeting Rachel's gaze with a kind of simmering intensity.

Rachel suddenly finds herself ridiculously and overwhelmingly jealous of a human being she has never met. A human being who saved Quinn Fabray. She should be thankful, she should be applauding this person, but all she can think is, why wasn't it me? Why couldn't I be the one Quinn thinks of as her saviour? Why was I the one she walked away from?

"So what happened?" she looks down at her hands, because she really can't bear to look Quinn in the eye any longer.

"People…change," is Quinn's reply and Rachel looks back up at her.

"Yeah, they do." She's suddenly exhausted. They day has been…exhausting. She's tired. Tired of wanting and denying and denying and wanting.

"Hey," Quinn flicks her arm suddenly and Rachel jolts.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Take off that mopey face," the blonde says clearly wanting to put the previous conversation behind her. "How about," she sing-songs and points towards the coffee-maker, "A cup of coffee and a some bad TV?"

"You made it work!" Rachel gapes at Quinn. "How did you make it work?"

"Rach, it was easy," Quinn chuckles at Rachel's put-out expression.

"Yeah, if you speak Italian."

"You do speak Italian."

"Basic Italian, Quinn! Those instructions were written in advanced Italian and maybe some Mandarin as well."

Quinn's full on laughing now, "Whatever. I read the English on the back."

"There was English on the back?"

Quinn nods and Rachel scowls.

"Okay, so how about we test it out?" the blonde says. "Look, I even bought almond milk."

Rachel playfully rolls her eyes and takes the milk bottle from Quinn. "I think I can take it from here," she says, pushing a variety of buttons in hopes of producing a latte.

After some whining and buzzing, the machine begins to rattle and they look at each other excitedly. "I think it's working," Quinn says.

Sure enough, two seconds later, a shot of espresso drips out of the funnel followed by milk. "But where's the foam? Rachel whines.

"Rach, it's probably still-"

Rachel sticks her head under the funnel, as if she can somehow see the process inside and Quinn knows what's going to happen before it happens. That does not however, make it any less hilarious when a dollop of foam comes squirting out onto Rachel's face.

Between Rachel spluttering and Quinn almost crying with laughter, the apartment is filled with noise. "C'mere," Quinn says finally, as Rachel unsuccessfully attempts to get it all off with the dishcloth.

"I thig id wend up by dose," she says, causing Quinn to giggle some more.

"Oh poor baby." Quinn leans in and wipes the foam off Rachel's cheeks' and out of her eyelashes. "It got in your eyebrows too," she whispers and takes a step forward so that their bodies are practically touching. She exhales and Rachel inhales. "There," Quinn murmurs, lowering the cloth slowly. "All clean."

Rachel's body feels like it's been through electroshock therapy. She's standing, a millimetre away from Quinn and willing herself to stop trembling, willing her breathing to normalise, her heart to steady. But it's all in vain, she's a mess. And now Quinn's looking at her. Those eyes, those goddamn eyes are raking over her face, they're fixed on her mouth and oh sweet Barbra, she wants to lick her lips, she wants to so badly, but would that be too obvious? Would that be too- well never mind, because she just did it anyway and now Quinn's breathing like she's just run a marathon and Rachel swears, if any phone fucking rings now, she will throw it against a wall and her eyes flicker up to Quinn's for just a second, just a second and she knows it's about to happen.

Quinn's lips on hers are firm and needy and oh god, so soft. There's nothing tentative about this time. There're not teenagers now and there's a whole lot of pent-up tension behind whatever this is. Quinn's hands immediately go to her collar and she's fisting her shirt, walking her backwards until she's pressing up against the counter. There's a moan although she can't be sure who it's from. It's still just lips. Lips gliding over lips, sleekly, smoothly until Quinn bites down on Rachel's plump bottom lip and sucks. This time, it's definitely Rachel who moans. And then Quinn's tongue is in her mouth, ghosting against her tongue, flicking over her pallet and it's glorious, like who knew the taste of someone else's tongue could be this spectacular, except it is, it's…she pushes Quinn back for a moment, and uses the space to rub their cheeks together. "You taste really good," she manages against Quinn's ear.

Quinn nips at her jaw in response and laughs lowly, a vibration Rachel can feel against her stomach. "Honey and Almond lip balm," she murmurs before going in for another kiss.

Rachel pulls back suddenly. "Honey?"

Quinn nods, her eyes, glazed over and confused. "Yeah."

Think of the bees, Rachel. Think of the bees, think of Quinn's bee-stung lips, her-

Quinn seems to get it and quickly digs into to her pocket and produced a little jar. "Animal friendly," she reads, squinting on the label.

Rachel sighs in relief, "Oh thank god," and Quinn wants to laugh, but Rachel's already covering her mouth.

And this time it's different, a little slower, a little longer, a little more intense. Rachel finds herself breathing harder and she's hot and she's sweaty and who knew a simple make-out session could be this…invigorating. Quinn's hands are at her hips, her thumbs digging into the soft skin there and Rachel can't help but wish more skin were exposed and all she can really think right now is this, this, this and more, more, more. And also, ow, because there's something digging into her back and then Quinn's saying, "Maybe if you, um, hopped onto the counter it would be more comfortable?"

And that's how she finds herself with her legs wrapped around Quinn Fabray's waist, slowly grinding against her stomach. Kissing Quinn is unlike anything she's ever experienced. There are the old clichés of fireworks and supernovas, but honestly, those metaphors are way too grandiose for her understanding. Kissing Quinn is a visceral experience. It's entirely carnal. She's never felt more alive, more aware of her own body. She feels the blood pumping through her veins, the texture of the skin on her fingertips as they graze down Quinn's neck. The invisible tether that runs parallel down her front and goes taut every time Quinn sucks on her tongue and makes her rock forward, searching for that heat.

These are the things that make Rachel say the words. These are the things that seduce her into a false sense of security. These are the things that completely ruin any chance of further making-out, because the minute she says the words, the spell is broken and Quinn will back away. But she says them anyway, because she can't help it, because Quinn's hands are on her lower back pushing and rubbing and-what is that thing she's doing with her fingers? And because, well because she's Rachel.

"Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you."

And then like a sleepwalker suddenly awoken, Quinn's eyes pop open and she steps back. They're both breathing raggedly, their lips are swollen, their pupils dilated, there are probably a few more physical similarities a little further south, so to pretend this never happened would be a little unrealistic. Rachel knows this, she knows Quinn can't walk away from this. That doesn't mean she isn't terrified that she'll try.

The blonde in question is still staring at Rachel with a rather shell-shocked expression. Slowly, very slowly, Quinn raises her hand and runs her fingers over her lips, her eyes still fixed on Rachel's.

"Quinn," Rachel breathes, hating the tremor in her voice.

Quinn's already turning around.

"Quinn, please don't walk away from me again. I might just die this time." Rachel Berry is nothing if not dramatic.

Quinn stops in front of the cabinet next to the fridge and opens it. "I was just getting wine," she says softly, pulling out two bottles. She turns around and faces Rachel with an unreadable expression. "Red or white?"