Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback! Sorry this update wasn't sooner, new semester is crazy. :(

Curiosity

You don't know what it is.

And that's the problem.

Because sometimes, you'll try anything, do anything it takes to know.

Rachel's eyes flew open, searching the blonde's face for any flicker of telltale emotion. Besides going a little cross-eyed at the proximity, she found nothing.

Not even the hazel she needed to ground her.

A duller roar of thunder rolled overhead, again.

Quinn exhaled, feeling the brunette's shoulders twitching in the strain of holding them both up. She took another moment to revel in the closeness before slipping back into the water and separating a few inches.

The brunette sunk down into her lifejacket. She eyed the blonde, wary. Should she speak first? Was that a onetime thing? There had been a lot of adrenaline.

Then again, now there was even more; if adrenaline were the case, the blonde wouldn't have stopped. So, why had she stopped?

But all this reasoning, trying to figure out justifications… did she want Quinn to kiss her again?

Her gaze drifted down to a pair of puffy lips.

"I think the storm is almost over."

Rachel's eyes snapped up to find an amused pair taking in her every move. She swallowed dryly. "Uhm, I think… yeah."

Quinn's eyebrow rose. "Are you okay?"

The kiss. They had to talk about the kiss, right? Rachel's forehead crinkled in thought. When had she become such a thinker? She acted. She was a doer. But damn it she had no idea what had just happened or what was going to happen and, and…

"What just happened?" slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The blonde frowned. She answered slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I think you can figure that out."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I know you're referring to the kiss, but I don't understand why."

Rachel gaped at her. "You kissed me. Out of the blue." She threw her hands up. "We were arguing, for fuck's sake!"

"Are you telling me you didn't want me to?" Quinn's eyes narrowed. "You've been flirting with me since the day we met."

"Yeah, but plenty of female friends flirt with each other! TNT has a show devoted to it!"

"Yeah, but you're not straight."

Rachel tilted her head. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Quinn hesitated. "It's not a surprise. You checked out the waiter at that breakfast with Brittany, and then when we went to P-town, you seemed pretty comfortable when all the women started asking us out."

The brunette glanced around, suddenly feeling much too trapped. "Okay, so I'm not straight. It doesn't mean I wanted you to kiss me. What, you think just because I like women I want to sleep with them all?"

Quinn blushed but pressed on. "Then why did you turn those women at the bar down?"

Rachel bit her lip. She noticed the water had lightened a little, which meant it was probably safe to sail again. She avoided the other woman's questioning gaze and reached up to punch the centerboard back in place. She sucked in a breath and dove under the boat, kicking through the water to reach the outside. The blonde was quick to follow her, dipping under the lip and popping up beside her.

"Rachel."

The brunette ignored her, hauling herself up the side of the hull to reach the centerboard jutting out. When she gripped it, she stood and leaned back, using her weight as leverage. The far side raised a few inches, but no more. She huffed.

"Want some help?"

She turned and found the blonde's gaze roaming her backside. Rachel quickly turned around, refocusing on the task at hand and ignoring the sudden chill that shot down her spine. "No, I've got it. The sail has just been under a while. It's got a pocket of water."

Quinn hummed in acknowledgement, watching as the brunette stubbornly yanked against the underside of the boat, rocking it slightly for momentum. She was starting to go red in the face from the amount of effort.

"You sure?"

"I've got it!" The other woman snapped.

"Okay," Quinn drawled, leaning back on her life vest.

After a little more swinging and a lot more tugging, Rachel had finally righted the boat, the sail dumping water over her as she pulled herself inside. She checked over all the ropes, making sure they weren't tangled or loose, and turned to the stern to help the blonde in.

Instead of waiting beside the boat, Quinn was floating a few yards away, looking bored.

Rachel frowned in annoyance. "Come on."

"I'm not getting in the boat," she responded. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk."

"Quinn. Let's go."

"Not until you answer the question."

"Do you want to get caught up in another storm? Because the clouds are still here, still menacing."

"You're deflecting."

"Get in the boat."

"You go, I can swim." She tapped her lifejacket.

Rachel scowled.

"You can leave."

"No, I can't," the brunette huffed.

Quinn quirked a brow and waited.

Rachel's gaze settled on the space between them. With a sharp exhale, she said, "Fine," and quickly gestured for the blonde to swim closer.

The blonde searched the brunette for sincerity. "Fine?"

"Fine," Rachel repeated, meeting her eyes.

Satisfied, Quinn swam closer and took Rachel's offered hand, brushing past her to sit down. She picked up the rope and tugged it tight, watching the bow turn slightly as the brunette angled it towards the shore.

"Let out the sail, we're headed downwind now, so it's coming from behind us."

Quinn nodded and let the rope slip loose from her hands, watching as the sail flapped and then billowed as the wind filled it. She turned to Rachel expectantly. "So?"

"Sew buttons."

The blonde's brow furrowed in frustration. "Rachel."

"Yes?"

"You promised."

"Fine," Rachel bit her lip, avoiding eye contact. This kiss was ruining everything—scratch that, this bizarre desire to talk things out was ruining everything. Why had she even asked? She should've just let things lie.

Curiosity really did kill the damn cat.

She focused on nearing shore. They'd be there soon. All she had to do was avoid getting entangled in all of this. "You asked why I turned down the other women in the bar? Because you were drunk, you were hurting from a mother-daughter betrayal worse than Persephone and the fucking pomegranate so I wasn't going to just abandon you in the middle of nowhere. I may be an ass, but I'm not heartless."

She saw Quinn shift in the corner of her eye. "So, that's it?"

"Yes."

"That's what you're going with?"

"Yeah. Get ready, we're going to be on shore in a minute." Rachel pulled up the centerboard, instructing Quinn to let go of the main sheet and duck as she spun them to face the wind. Hopping out, she grabbed the bow and tugged it onto the sand. She left Quinn to get out herself, and slipped the sailboat onto the trailer, not bothering with taking down the mast and sail. It would fit in the shed and she'd deal with it later.

Quinn stood in the wet sand for a moment, until it was obvious the brunette wasn't going to address her, or even spare her a glance. Rachel was throwing her all into dragging the boat across the shore—a boat that was still heavy with water from their capsize. Her wet hair was a mess, strands all over the place; shorts just as drenched hugged her small frame. The lifejacket sagged slightly, the water dripping from it down her tones legs.

Quinn shook her head to clear it and trotted after the woman. "So, that's it?"

Rachel let out a sharp exhale, wishing the blonde would just take her fiery hazel eyes and sexy shaggy blonde hair elsewhere. "That's it."

"You wouldn't mind if I asked you one more thing, then. Completely unrelated to the gay bar."

The brunette, letting go of the trailer now that they had arrived in the shed, threw her hands up, marching out. "Sure, whatever."

She locked the doors behind them. Quinn picked up her pace to reach the brunette's side. For such a short person, she really did know how to move fast. The blonde waited until they were inside the cottage, and paused at the doorway. Rachel was already halfway to the stairs when she spoke. "Why did you kiss me back?"

The brunette paused.

Quinn took advantage of the hesitation, taking a few slow steps forward. "Rach?"

Rachel's eyes fluttered shut at the soft tone the blonde had adopted. There was still a bit of husk in its undertones, but not as much as there had been right after the kiss.

She could tell Quinn was inching closer. The house was old; floorboards creaked. It wasn't hard to pick up on. But it was hard to move. Her brain's frequent, frantic messages to flee the room were ignored by frozen limbs.

How had it even come to this? The day that Rachel fucking Berry was kept in place by a pretty face and a sweet voice?

But that was oversimplifying the situation and she knew it. If it was just a pretty face, she'd have pinned Quinn against the wall already. If it was just a pretty face, they'd be engaged in a heated lip lock. If it was just a pretty face, she'd have pressed her leg between the blonde's thighs—it'd already be traveling up towards her core, the friction between them finally heightening before bottoming out as clothes were ripped off and discarded.

This wasn't just another pretty face.

The little brunette waited by their secret spot in the dunes—a spot between the two properties that was shielded by a circle of beach plum bushes. When she saw the blonde making her way down the dune, hopping over bunches of sea grass, she grinned and took the handful of dandelions out from behind her back. "Hello, Quinn."

"Hi Babs," she replied shyly, tucking a loose curl of blonde hair behind her ear. "What're those for?"

"You," the brunette responded, then blushed. "Uh, and me. I thought we could try to make dandelion chains?"

Hazel eyes lightened. "I've always wanted to make one!"

Barbra smiled, taking her friend's hand to lead her through the plum bushes until they reached the middle, their secret space. "Want to make one long one or two short ones?"

The blonde gave her hand a squeeze as they sat down, a small smile in place. Her smile. The brunette felt her heart skip, and wondered if this was what her dads had meant when they talked about soul mates.

"One long one, we can share."

The brunette dropped the flowers between them, hearing Quinn talk but not able to fully focus on the words—but, rather, on the way her eyebrows crinkled as she concentrated on tying the stems together, and the way her eyes shone when she was excited and how she spoke faster, too.

But most of all, how Quinn smiled. Softly but brightly.

This was Quinn. Her childhood friend, her first crush.

A strangled breath escaped from her. She shook her head, rushing up the stairs and locking the bedroom door behind her. Rachel leaned back against it, eyes screwed shut. An unrecognizable noise, somewhere between a whine and a whimper, fell from her lips as she sank down to the floor, hands buried in her hair. A single question circulated in her short-circuited mind.

What now?

Quinn hadn't followed her upstairs. Still wet, the blonde stood in the middle of the living room, looking up at the stairs, waiting.

At this point an hour had passed, and she realized most of the water was now soaked into the rug. There was no sign of the brunette. She sighed, finally moving from her spot to gather towels to dry the carpet. It was just water—it'd be fine—but she needed something to do.

A lot had happened, and the blonde wasn't sure what was true and what she'd misinterpreted anymore. The brunette had been so good at evading her questions. As she pressed the towel into the soppy rug, she began to sort through their conversation.

Rachel hadn't denied flirting with her. That much she could accept as real.

The brunette said she had turned down offers at the bar because she was focused on taking care of Quinn—why, though, the blonde couldn't fully determine. She would have liked to assume it was because Rachel cared for her, but then again, friends took care of each other, too.

But did friends slow dance drunkenly on the beach in the moonlight, as well?

Plus, why had it taken so long for her to answer the question?

Shelving those thoughts for later questioning, she pushed on, walking to the sink to squeeze out the water from the towel. Quinn dropped it into the sink, leaning forward to gaze out the window.

Her last question had sent Rachel flying up the stairs like she'd was being hunted by psychopath escaped from a nearby mental ward.

Why did you kiss me back?

Why did she even have to ask it? She already knew the answer. And by the brunette's reaction, so did she.

Quinn frowned. Was she really so horrid that the mere thought of dating her terrified people?

The blonde sighed. She'd been out of line, kissing Rachel. She wasn't even entirely sure where the desire had emerged from, or how it had managed to surge her forward, against the brunette's warm, slippery curves and soft, wet mouth. It had happened—and if she were being honest with herself, she hoped it would happen again, sometime in the near future. Very, very near future. And many times.

Rachel just made her feel safe. She was familiar, though how Quinn couldn't yet place her finger on.

Either way, it wasn't fair to Rachel. If the brunette was really that afraid of getting involved with her, she wouldn't bring it up again. She'd let the brunette off the hook.

Rachel sat with her cell phone clasped in between her hands, knuckles going white. Her gaze was still centered on the opposite side of the wall, looking up at the thick clouds and the darkening evening. She hadn't moved since she crumpled against the floor, back against the door. There was too much for her mind to sift through.

She thought about calling Brittany, but the poor girl had girl problems of her own. Plus, she'd probably just convince her to do something impulsive like "sweep Quinn of her feet" and that just wouldn't bode well for anyone, especially the plan.

The plan!

Brittany would tell her to just give up the plan. That she was an idiot if she couldn't see that the plan didn't come close to what she could have with Quinn. And Rachel already knew all of this. Which is why she hadn't moved an inch, not even when she heard pans rustling in the kitchen as the blonde made what smelt like tomato soup and grilled cheese; nor when she saw the salt residue from the sea on her skin and her hair stiffening as it dried.

Would it be so bad, to give up revenge?

Rachel sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head against the door with a soft thud. It wouldn't be bad. That wasn't the problem. Would she be able to let go of it?—that was the real issue. She'd been training for three years for this; three long, isolated years under some crazy person that she was pretty sure was a serious criminal and perhaps even a sociopath.

"She's going to drown!" A deep voice protested.

A flat, controlled voice kept the other person in place. "Leave her."

Rachel barely caught the words, waves sloshing bitter salt water against her cheeks, eyes, ears. She took a sputtering breath in the lull and quickly shut her mouth when another wave slammed her further against the wooden post.

She could feel her heart rate increasing. What if she couldn't do this? It was the first week she'd been here! She'd had almost no training yet, and they'd tied her to the big wood mast and let the tide rush in.

The brunette strained against the ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the post. There was no more lull between the waves. No chance to suck in air. Her lungs burned. Was this really how she was going to go out? Unavenged and weak as ever?

Why wasn't anyone helping her? The blonde haired woman must actually be insane; she really should have taken Brittany's warning seriously. She was probably holding the other trainee back too, making him watch the brunette slowly run out of air for some kind of twisted lesson—thou shalt not help or care for anyone but thyself.

Well, she thought, he better learn the damn lesson.

She heard Quinn retire to her room, footsteps light on the stairs. Her stomach growled and her back started to ache from the slouched position it was in. The brunette checked the clock on her phone, and seeing it was nine at night, exhaled and finally moved from the door, stretching out her spine and easing herself up from the ground. She tugged the bikini top away from her frame. Continuing to strip, a trail of clothes was left in her wake as she made her way to the shower, breathing in the stream billowing from the hot water.

Rachel stepped out of the shower an hour later, tanned skin bright red from the heat. She wrapped her hair up in a towel and sat down at the desk in her room, pulling out articles and clips about Anderson, the author. Things with Quinn would dissipate. The blonde was already on her way to returning home. It'd be harder, but Rachel could find another way to get inside access to the Fabray's company files.

So, for now, she'd rely on plotting to take her mind off the very thing that threatened to undo both her and her plans.

Quinn woke to the stairs creaking. She tensed, burrowing a little farther under the covers, gaze fixed on the door. Downstairs—the noise, person, monster, was going downstairs. A flash of lightning illuminated the room and she heard a soft squeak from some area of the house. She checked the bedside clock. 1:35AM. Thunder ripped through the household.

Worried someone had broken in and taken the brunette, Quinn threw back the covers and quietly paced in front of her bedroom door. If she went downstairs, what could she do? What if the person (scary crazy axe murderer) was armed and violent? How was she supposed to handle that situation?

But, on the other hand, she couldn't just hide up in the room. She had to do something soon. She could call the cops, but what if there was no one there, what if it was just the brunette getting a midnight snack? As far as Quinn knew, Rachel hadn't even eaten or left her room since they'd gotten back.

She scanned the room, spying a hunk of worn, smooth beach wood on the shelf as a decoration. The blonde picked it up, and wielding it like a baseball bat, creeping down the stairs as quietly as she could manage. Tip of the toe, heel inching down to land. Other toe, heel. Toe, heel.

When she could see the first floor, she squatted and peered around the room. Lightning flashed again and the thunder followed almost immediately. There was no hostage situation, no blood, no bad omens. She relaxed slightly, then, upon hearing a sloppy, nervous exhale, stiffened again. Her eyes slid over every dark shape in the room. Finally, just as she was studying one of the corners, another bolt of lightning struck. It was quick, but bright enough to reveal a curled up brunette jumping at the crack of thunder that shuddered the foundation.

Quinn frowned, letting her grip on the driftwood loosen. "Rachel?"

The other woman made no move, no recognition she'd even heard the blonde. Quinn jogged down the rest of the stairs and sunk down beside Rachel, who buried her head in her arms, knees pulled tightly against her chest. There was another bout of loud thunder. The brunette tucked herself into the blonde's side, head under her chin.

"Hey, it's okay," Quinn murmured, rubbing circles into the other woman's back. "What's wrong? Why're you down here in the dark?"

"Center," Rachel mumbled against her chest.

Quinn's brow furrowed. "What?"

The brunette lifted her head slightly, but tightened her hold on Quinn's waist when lightning blinded them. "The center of a house is the safest place in a thunderstorm, away from electrical circuits and outlets and water—lightning can jump through all of those and out at you."

The blonde hummed in response, confused. "Wait, you're afraid of thunderstorms?"

Rachel shrugged.

"But what about when we were out sailing? That situation was even worse!"

The brunette swallowed, closing her eyes as the storm continued around them. "You were freaking out, and we had to flip the boat to be safer. Someone had to be in control. I've…undergone training that's taught me how to…keep control during stressful situations."

"Oh," Quinn said, trying to ignore the feeling of Rachel's breath against the skin of her collarbone. "Kind of like the Marines or SEALS?"

Rachel exhaled. "Something like that."

The air was running out, her cheeks puffed out in defiance. So they wouldn't help her. Her sensei was a fucking psycho and her fellow trainee was just dumb and submissive.

To hell with them—she could do this on her own, she could break the ropes binding her in place and kick back to shore, where she'd give the both of them a piece of her mind.

Rachel took a moment to center herself, letting the sea push her back into the wooden beam, and when it sucked her forward, she rode the surge and slipped a foot out of a loop. The other foot, loose, came out easily. She wrapped her legs backward around the post, to steady herself, and worked at the knot that would settle her fate.

Big, black spots began to block her vision. A stream of small bubbles escaped her lips. She grit her teeth in frustration. And, just went it seemed like the end of things, one hand was suddenly free, the other quickly following suit as the ropes drifted to the ocean floor.

The brunette surfaced immediately, throwing her head back in a gasp. She brushed the hair from her forehead and glared at the two figures standing idly at the beach, her sensei looking unimpressed and the other relieved.

She dragged herself out of the water, convinced she looked like a kitten after a bath, and scowled. She shooed away her partner in training when he moved forward to help her. "Fuck both of you."

Her sensei only cackled in amusement.

"Okay." The blonde wondered if she'd ever solve the mystery of Rachel Corcoran. "You'd tell me if you were an assassin, right?"

"I don't think I would, no." This got a light chuckle from the two of them.

The storm raged above them, though a little less intensely. "Long storm."

Rachel nodded.

She eased back, keeping an arm on the brunette's back. "So, what, are you going to sit here all night?"

The other woman looked at her, shrugging. "It'll pass."

"That can't be comfortable," Quinn said. Rachel watched as she hesitated. "It's not quite the center of the house but…you can stay with me for the night." When the brunette's gaze dropped to the floor, Quinn bit her lip, forcing a smile. "I don't bite, you know. I mean, unless you want me too." This got a snort from the smaller woman, and Quinn stood, brushing off invisible dust from her pj shorts. "Well, you know where to find me if you have enough of the hardwood floor."

Rachel nodded and watched her return up the stairs, wondering why she was carrying a hunk of wood. Where had it even come from?

Another lightning bolt lit up the cottage. The brunette flinched.

When Quinn felt the bed dip beside her, she hid her smile under the blankets tucked against her chin and rolled over to let the brunette burrow into her again. Within a few minutes of rumbling thunder and quiet, white flashes, the brunette's breathing had evened out, leaving Quinn to notice, again, the wonder of curves. Whenever she fell asleep with Sam, with his leg thrown over hers and arm tight around her waist, it had felt like he was staking claim.

But with Rachel's leg between her own, a lean arm resting across her hip and small hand against the small of her back, Quinn couldn't imagine a better place to be.

And the worst part? She was curious—she wanted to know what it'd feel like to fall asleep this way every night.

A/N: Yay… again, really sorry for how ridiculously long it took to post this.

Next chapter: new character! Any guesses?