Some interesting reviews guys ;)

Jo, I had already been playing with an idea surrounding Rachel's ex. Not quite the letter thing. But close. :)

To the guest who asked if Brittany is psychic, it would appear that she is just a little, wouldn't it? Lol. She's like this all knowing entity who never gets any credit for it.

Thanks for the feedback everyone.

The truth was that after four and a half years of singledom, Quinn Fabray was not accustomed to romantic gestures.

Outside of the Big Brother house, her life was filled with obligations; check lists, housework, bill deadlines, and important phone calls to make. The bank manager fabricating issues with her account, and stalling whilst he mustered up the courage to ask for her phone number - that was about as romantic as it ever got in Quinn's world.

So when she followed Rachel out into the garden, only to be met with the warm glow of four lit candles, all set out amongst a bottle of wine, two glasses, two napkin-covered bowls, and a blanket that was peppered with flower-petals, her first inclination was to lift her palms to her flushing cheeks, and just... stare at the spectacle.

Unblinking.

Lips slightly parted...

After a good twenty-five seconds of dead silence, Rachel cleared her throat.

"Quinn," she began, swallowing slowly, "the admittance of my attraction towards you, when we were in the hot tub - that wasn't me hitting on you, although the egotist in you seems to like to think that it was... This however," she uttered softly, motioning her hand out over the cosy scene, "is me hitting on you. So, would you be interested in joining me for something to eat, a few glasses of wine, and some five-star conversation?"

Despite the stretching silence that followed, Rachel managed to conjure a patient smile. It sat upon her expression, betrayed only by her dwindling optimism, which had - heartbreakingly enough - tugged her eyebrows up in sheepish anticipation of the blonde's response.

Not that Quinn had noticed. In fact, she still hadn't come out from behind her palms. She'd begun to blink again, and the first flutterings of a slow-burning grin had begun to mark her lips.

But other than that...

Rachel felt as though she was drowning, and fast. "Or..." she scrambled, in an attempt to steer things back to safe ground, "If you'd prefer to skip the food and the five-star conversation, and just get shitfaced instead, then that can also be arranged."

"Oh my God," Quinn murmured, suddenly dropping her hands from her flushed face. Her eyes darted away from the relaxing scene that flickered before her, and shot towards Rachel's, something separate from the moonlight gleaming in the rich depths of gold that danced around her pupils. "Oh my God. Rachel, this is really really really sweet -"

"But?"

"But," Quinn emphasized, shooting the antsy brunette a subtly playful pointed look, "I-I wasn't expecting..." She gestured down at her slop-stained sweatpants, and pinched the fabric of her plain white shirt. "Look at me. I'm not even dressed for -"

"You look infuriatingly stunning, as per usual," Rachel assured her, an impenetrable conviction settling over her features, where palpable uncertainty had lived just moments before.

Quinn gently bumped the brunette's hip with her own, grinning as she whispered, "why do I believe that you mean that?"

"Perhaps because you imagine that I do. Now stop fishing for compliments regarding your appearance. If anybody needs the reassurance of compliments right now, it's me," Rachel quipped, her tone mirthlessly dry, yet still somehow dripping with humor.

An arm suddenly draped itself around her shoulders, warm in nature, unintrusive, and smooth to the touch. She barely had time to settle into the physical contact, before Quinn's lips crept towards her ear, and husked, "I'm about to go on a date with you, on television. My family, my enemies, my friends - they're gonna see me in date mode which, if I'm honest, makes me a little uncomfortable. Our evening may be filled with awkward silences and stilted monosyllables masquerading as chit-chat. It may end in tears, a broken heel. Or worse... drunk Quinn. But despite all of that, I still can't help but be eager to sit down with you and enjoy this sweet and generous gesture. I hope you'll see the compliment in that, as well as find the reassurance that you so covet."

Rachel blew out a slow breath, and finally allowed herself to just... relax.

"Now, where are the waitresses?" Quinn suddenly asked. "I want to know if they have any lobster in tonight, which... you're gonna have to spring for, by the way."

"If you're expecting some sort of witty comeback out of me, you're out of your mind. I'm just about managing to breathe with how close you're standing."

"And therein lies the perfectly timed witty comeback," Quinn laughed. She casually ran her hand down the brunette's back, until it fell away.

"So I hear that you work in data entry," Rachel chirped, having shaken the oppressive weight of her nerves. "I was getting my hair styled at the salon two days ago, when I overheard Mysterious Magdalene and Curious Contessa nattering about your office manner..."

Spluttering out another unrestrained snort of laughter, Quinn crouched down and crawled towards the blanket, where she curled her legs beneath her body, and hovered her hand over closest candle flame; admiring its beauty. "I love how you're trying to get the boring work talk out of the way now, so that you can get to grilling me about the juicy stuff," she replied, her voice smooth and melodic, yet tinged with an absent distractedness.

"Who said anything about boring? I'll have you know that I love my job," Rachel protested, from where she'd settled down opposite the blonde. "I love the spotlight - the goose bumps that I get when receiving a standing ovation. There's nothing... quite like it."

"Your passion's admirable, Rachel. I could never be on stage like that," Quinn murmured. She took her gaze over the red petals that surrounded her, her eyes brimming with an almost child-like awe as she ran a lone fingertip over one. She noted that it was stiff to the touch. Artificial.

But instead of cheapening the sentiment, she found that it somehow only served to add a sweet resourcefulness to the air...

"Why not?"

"Why not what?" Quinn asked, glancing up.

"Why could you never work on stage?"

"Oh... Well because," Quinn drawled, and in a fashion that the shorter woman found to be excruciatingly adorable, "I'm just a simpleton who never managed to escape from Ohio, and vast audiences scare me."

"Hmm," Rachel hummed, intrigued by the simpleton comment. "Well hopefully vast audiences don't scare you to the point that you can't be a part of one, because I'd like for you to come to at least one of my performances. If we ever make it out of here with our sanity intact, that is."

Quinn smirked and narrowed her gaze, mischievously watching Rachel through her eyelashes. "I'd be more than happy to sit in the front row, and... flash my chest at you during your big number."

"Oh, you know," Rachel said, feigning a theatrical indifference, "happens all the time - beautiful women flashing me and tossing their panties at my feet. Would you believe that I now have a collection? At any time, feel free to make a contribution."

Quinn giggled. A real nose-wrinkling, shoulder jerking, sunny kind of giggle.

And Rachel just... stared at her, because that was all that she could do.

Though neither woman mentioned it, they both felt the minuscule shift in that moment.

Even Tina and Puck, who'd had their faces pressed up against the patio door's glass for the last ten minutes, felt it.

"Spreadin' the flower petals was an awesome alteration to the plan, dude."

Tina smiled warmly. "I know. It looks so romantic."

"Wouldn't be surprised if Rach gets laid tonight."

"Not so sure a-about that. But they l-look like they're enjoying themselves."

Without looking away from the two women who were outside, giggling in the candlelight, Puck held his fist out.

And Tina bumped it...

Whilst the surprise date had gotten started without too many hitches, Jacob Ben Israel was hoping that his plan would do the same.

He was sat on the sofa, staring at the memory wall. Twelve vibrant electronic pictures, including his own, hung before him. But he was studying only Finn and Emma's photograph, and he was imagining that one of them was grayed out.

Emma's, more specifically.

The nerdy little man smirked to himself, because if Emma walked out of the front door after having been evicted, tomorrow night, he was going to relish watching her memory wall picture gray over, knowing that he'd masterminded a genius game move.

"What a-are you doing, Jacob?" Tina asked as she merrily swept over.

"Oh, you know - just admiring your beautiful memory wall picture," he replied.

Not quite sure how to respond to the awkward compliment, Tina gave a quick meager smile. "Uh..."

"I've been meaning to talk to you actually, Tina."

"Really?" the thrown-off woman asked, frowning. Sensing that this conversation was going to be one that she needed to sit down for, she did just that. "What a-about?"

Jacob figured that he'd just cut straight to the chase. "You're thinking of voting Finn out, right?"

"Isn't e-everybody? The man's an idiot. And the whole t-thing with Rachel -"

"I was waiting for her name to come up," Jacob interrupted.

Tina fidgeted uncomfortably. "W-What do you mean?"

"I mean that I think it's great that you've made a friend." He smiled, only for it to slowly evaporate as he added, "but none of us are in here to create long-lasting friendships. We're in here to play a game. Our own game. Not someone else's."

"I-I don't think that -"

"I know you don't want to betray Rachel, Tina. But if Emma goes and Finn stays, then it's happy times for everyone, including Rachel. We'll all be able to sit pretty, because - let's face it - Finn's hardly going to win the next HOH competition, and whoever does is going to be doing everything within their power to right the fact that he wasn't evicted this week, instead of targeting one of us."

"I'm n-not going to vote Finn out just because I'm f-friends with Rachel!" Tina protested. "I, personally, would like for him to leave, because I don't like him."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta leave the bigger targets in the house, so that they'll keep the spotlight off of you. Even... if you don't like them," Jacob said.

Tina kept quiet. She more than saw the sense in Jacob's proposed strategy. It was a great way to coast under the radar, week after week, whilst the bigger characters in the house went after one another. But she hated living with Finn. Besides the fact that he was a homophobic misogynistic ape, he was untidy. He'd leave dirty dishes out for one of the women - as he'd once said - to wash. He always left skid marks in the toilet bowl, and after he showered he'd leave his wet towel on the floor.

She didn't want to live with him for another week, and if he ended up staying then Rachel was for sure going to lose her shit...

Jacob adjusted his glasses. "You think Rachel's looking out for you?" he hissed. "She's not. We both know that if it comes down to it, she's going to take Quinn to the final two over you. Everybody knows it. That's why you have to look out for yourself in here, because nobody else is going to."

The short little man then stood up, and left Tina to suffer her own thoughts.

Out in the garden, however, things seemed to be going much better.

"I still can't believe that you did all of this, Rachel," Quinn murmured around a sip of wine.

And she couldn't. She hadn't been expecting this, because well... nobody ever really did anything special for her these days. In fact, when Beth would offer to make her a sandwich, or offer to reheat yesterday's dinner in the microwave, the blonde always got a little glassy-eyed, simply because the kind gestures would catch her off guard.

Rachel tilted the bottle of wine, her hand steady as the golden liquid poured into her glass, and emitted a sophisticated piddling sound. "Well believe it, Quinn. I've been scheming this up since yesterday." She winked at the adorably attired woman, whose eyes seemed to switch colors in the candlelight, as they grew rich with an amusement that words might have failed to paint...

"Everything okay?" the brunette asked, for no reason other than because silence had settled between them.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just dandy."

"I bet you are, Miss I'm-already-on-my-third-glass-of-wine."

After a moment or two, Quinn ushered her flirtatious gaze away from Rachel's smirk, and partway lifted the napkin that was covering the bowl closest to her. "What's - is this slop?" she asked.

Before Rachel could part her lips to respond, Quinn had already taken a cheeky peek. "Hmmm. Yellow slop," she curiously observed.

The shorter woman took on a pleased glow, more than happy to announce, "It has pineapple and banana jam mixed into it. You're always complaining that the slop has no taste, and I saw you longingly ogling the banana and pineapple jam two nights ago."

Quinn momentarily fell quiet, merely blinking as the depth of the brunette's thoughtfulness washed through her. "Rachel, you're incredibly thoughtful and sweet. But Big Brother -"

"Stop fretting, pretty lady," Rachel interjected. "It's perfectly within the rules to mix jam with slop. I had Tina confer with Big Brother."

"Tina helped with this?"

Rachel sipped from her glass and nodded. "Along with Puck and Brittany. Yes. Though the candles were not always a part of the plan. We spotted them in the storage room at the last minute."

"I have to say," Quinn whispered, leaning in like she was about to share a secret, "I love the candles especially."

"I have to say: I do too."

Just then a gentle breeze blew the napkin off of Rachel's bowl, revealing the very same yellow goo that sludged in the bowl opposite.

Quinn's jaw dropped at the sight, a small gasp leaving her. "Wait, you're eating slop too?"

The brunette nodded. One time and emphatically. "Of course. I wasn't very well going to sit across from you, demolishing a roasted dinner, whilst you miserably shoveled slop into your mouth."

Quinn didn't say a thing. She just stared at the other woman with this inexplicably soft expression.

Rachel's cheeks fell pink. "What?"

"Thank you for tonight," the blonde uttered softly.

"Wow," Rachel chuckled. "The slop can't be that bad."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "How much do you wanna bet?"

"Well I hope I can at least get a few spoonfuls down."

"All jokes aside though, Rachel, you've shown yourself to be boundlessly thoughtful, and resourceful, and attentive, and sweet. So thank you for tonight."

"The pleasure's all mine. And good, because sweet is what I was going for." Rachel grabbed her napkin and tucked it into the neck of her Wicked night shirt. "Shall we dig in?"

"Sure."

And dig in they did.

To Quinn's surprise, the addition of the pineapple and banana jam meant that the slop actually tasted... good! She no longer feared the possibility that she might be on the slop diet again next week, because now she was armed with the secret weapon of pineapple and banana jam, thanks to Rachel, who'd agreed that the concoction didn't actually taste all that bad.

"So now that I've just regaled you with the sad details of my Broadway obsession, tell me what genre of music you enjoy the most, Quinn."

The blonde shrugged a shoulder, and said, "guess."

Rachel scooped some slop into her mouth, and chewed whilst weighing up Quinn's personality with each musical genre. "Could it be that," she said, playful in the manner with which she drawled her words, "beneath your elegant and somewhat aloof disposition, beats the heart of a... death metal fan?"

Quinn gasped. "You know, you're not too far off!"

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. When I mentioned flashing you earlier?" Quinn smirked to herself. "Well, let's just say that I got the band, Kiss, to autograph my breasts at a concert once."

Rachel almost choked. "I'm sorry, but what?" she shrieked.

Quinn chuckled and picked up her glass of wine. It hovered just before her pink lips as she chewed and swallowed. "I was seventeen at the time. But I'd been listening to them years before I actually got to go to that concert. I let Gene Simmons name each breast." She blinked herself out of the memory, and tossed the rest of her wine back, before adding, "although I probably shouldn't have been engaging in that sort of thing with a two-year-old at home."

"At this point, I think that it would be best if I stopped trying to picture what you just described, and ask about your daughter," Rachel rambled, shakily pouring another much needed glassful of wine.

It was all that Quinn could do to stop her laughter from locking up her throat, and cutting off her supply of oxygen. But to no avail; she laughed until her cheeks were dusted rouge, and pained noises rasped from her throat.

"You, Quinn, are such a goof."

"Thanks for the compliment."

Rachel winked at the chuckling woman. "You're welcome. I love a good goof off. But steering the conversation away from your breasts, and towards your daughter - who I've heard you talk about around the house a few times now - what's her name?"

Quinn wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes. "Her name is Beth," she said, settling herself down. "Everybody says she looks just like me."

"So she's unjustly stunning then," Rachel remarked.

"I think she is," Quinn mused. "She's coming fourteen soon, and boys are already pestering her. I'm not looking forward to having to pretend to be civil to any boy that she may introduce me to. All I'm gonna want to do is grill him, and let him know not to fuck with my daughter."

"Wow, your eyes really light up when you talk about her," Rachel observed, somewhat taken aback by the sheer adoration that had suddenly dominated the space. "If you ever win HOH, you'll be able to show me pictures."

Quinn smiled. "What about you? Any kids?"

"I haven't blessed this earth with my offspring just yet, no," the brunette replied. "I'm twenty-five, so I'd like to dedicate a few more years to my career before having children. Then there's, of course, the issue of finding someone who wants to settle down and raise a family with me."

Quinn hummed her understanding. She knew, first-hand, that raising a child alone was tough. "It always helps to have a plan," she said.

"I wonder whether or not Santana and Brittany have any children," Rachel pondered aloud. "They already have the marriage part secured."

"Can you believe that they were the secret couple? I haven't forgotten about Santana trying to get us to think that Will was one half of the secret couple either. She's very manipulative."

"So I've noticed," Rachel agreed, recalling the latina's behavior during the nominations ceremony. "My gaydar must be faulty though, because I had absolutely no idea that Santana and Brittany were family."

Quinn frowned, halting her spoon just inches from her lips. "Family?" she asked.

"We're all a part of the LGBT family," the brunette chirped, smiling.

Quinn nodded. "Got it."

Rachel smirked. For the moment, she was rather content. She could feel the alcohol buzz wearing on her senses, Quinn seemed to be enjoying the date, and Finn was going home tomorrow night.

Could things get any better?

The brunette received her answer at four in the morning, when Quinn had pressed her lips to her cheek, just before they'd headed into the house.

;)