Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing(s): Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez/Ms. J

Rating: Current rating is PG for this chapter, with a warning that it will soon not be appropriate for prime time. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony Awards, the Imaginary Muccino's Italian Cuccino (but I will be Trademarking), or New York, Julie Andrews, Patty LuPone, or motherhood. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, so no litigation needed.

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. AND, I have a theory that my mom has paid W1cked, laurenknight13, and southernranger1 a hefty sum of money to inflate my ego – folks, that's not nice to take money from an old lady! Really. As always, thanks for the constructive criticism-I've used several points in re-editing, and I appreciate the time you take to read this and post reviews.

CHAPTERNEXT: Rachel Picks Up The Shell

Despite his promise, he fell madly in love with Quinn Fabray. It couldn't be helped. Beautiful, fearless, brilliant, and utterly disinterested in him – it was a deadly combination. He wore her down, finally, and when she read in the tabloids that Rachel was pregnant, in a moment of weakness she finally said "yes."

Despair is a funny emotion, after all.

The press held their breath, waiting to see if the American would crack under the unbelievable scrutiny entailed with marrying into this family. Fergie was a prime example. And Camilla? Please.

A funny thing happened on the way to Kensington, however. Lucille Quinn Fabray did NOT crack. What they had underestimated, however, is that she had been bred for this moment since the day she was born by her mother. She was a natural at running schedules, organizing the staff, projecting costs, and looking good and keeping up appearances. She was able to talk to men and women easily, on virtually any topic. She was even an excellent ballroom dancer!

What a waste of an education, Quinn often thought.

One morning, her husband said something odd to her. "Quinn? Are we even still friends, anymore?"

"Of course, darling."

"Because, it's you, you know."

"Me, what?"

"You. You are the thing that finally made me stand out from my brother. I picked the perfect wife. And it's the only thing that makes me…special."

Quinn put down the New York Times, and looked at him meaningfully. "If you believe that, really believe that, then, that's really tragic."

XOXOX

Nomination Eight: Pascaquolae

"Rachel, I wouldn't do this one." J said, solemnly.

This was an emergency lunch – it was just Rachel and Cassandra. She needed an opinion, and needed it quick.

"Why not? I have to make people forget the horror that was "Princess Vomit II: Shoulda Gone Straight to DVD."

"Yeah, but you're being really obvious about it. No one wants to pay $100 bucks to go see something so depressing!"

"J, I have to do something to be taken seriously again."

"It's trying too hard. What does that blond friend of yours say?"

"Who, Quinn?"

"Yes. That one. Your new BFF."

"Well," Rachel said, sucking her breath in. "She might have said it was…um. Unreadable, I believe, was her impression."

"For once, I see eye to eye with her."

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"Meh. I don't like her, I don't dislike her. I just don't trust her, and I think she's going to hurt you."

Rachel was silent.

"You might be right about the script, but you're wrong about Quinn."

"We'll see. She has yet to earn my respect."

Standing up from the booth, J wrapped her scarf around her neck. "Schwimmer, I gotta run. I have a pregnant hormonal wife who is demanding chocolate cookie crunch ice cream, and I am not interested in hearing 50 minutes of Spanish expletives if I'm much later than I already am. Listen, I can tell the look in your eyes – you're going to do this. And I'm going to say, "I told you so." And you're going to continue to do this weird dance you've been doing with the Princess, until she likely hurts you."

"And let me guess," Rachel interrupted. "You'll say, I told you so."

"No." She said, picking up the last of her stuff to leave. "I'll probably be crying right along with you and my hormonal wife. Because deep down, I had hoped right along with you, all this time, that I was wrong." She headed out the door to the frozen New York evening, as Rachel watched her leave.

The prophetic Ms. J was right.

Rachel not only lost her eighth Tony, but the odds had put her at an insulting 240 to 1. The show closed in a mere six months, a record for a Rachel Berry gig.

There are some things; after all, even Rachel couldn't save.

XOXOX

Quinn peered into the darkened room, gesturing Rachel to exit.

Tears brimming in her eyes, Rachel wiped them, and exited. Quinn shut the door gently behind them, smiling.

"He looks so…angelic, asleep."

"It's God's trick, Rachel. It's a power he gives children to look so perfect and sweet sleeping, so you forgive them all their transgressions during the day—and to forget your vow you made yourself, shortly after they broke your Aunt Martha's antique gravy bowl in batting practice, to never have more children." She said, amusedly.

"Wow. Well, it works."

"I know, doesn't it?"

Quinn walked them into the sitting room, and gestured to one side of the couch. There, on one end, was a steaming hot glass of peppermint tea with lemon.

"How did you know, Quinn?" Rachel's head popped around.

Quinn shrugged. "You pick up things. Every time Julie Andrews or Patti LuPone came round, that's always what they drank in the evening for their voice. Though, Julie Andrews said it was better with whiskey."

Rachel's eyes twinkled. "Actually, it is."

"I'll be right back." Quinn said.

After pouring a healthy dose into both of their teas, now pseudo-hot toddies, Quinn sat comfortably at the other end of the couch.

"So," Rachel began. "Did it work?"

"What?" Quinn said, nervously.

"God's trick."

"Huh?"

"Did you ever want more children?"

"Oh, that." Said Quinn, wanly. "Yes, abstractly, but no, definitively."

"Well, that's a real non-answer."

"Hmm." Said Quinn, taking a drink. "Well, that would require me to have sex. So, while I love children, no, I wasn't overly enthuastic about the notion."

"That's not what I remember," Rachel said, raising her eyebrows.

Quinn took another sip. Looking away, she said quietly, without smiling, "that's because it was with you, Rachel."

Rachel took a drink, and looked down. "But you did, at least once, have sex. With someone other than me, after me, Quinn."

"Yes, I did. And more than once. And I hated it – but it was my job. To produce an heir. So, I did my job, and then I was done."

"Do you think you want anymore, someday?"

Quinn sighed. "That's complicated, Rachel."

"Oh."

They sat for a moment, in tense silence.

"Are you going to cut the crap, Rachel Berry? I've been here in New York for over two and a half months now, and you've treated me like a leper, despite every attempt I made to contact you. And then out of the blue, tonight…." Her voice broke.

She took another drink to calm herself.

"Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night…"Rachel broke off into song.

Quinn glared at her.

"Ahem." Rachel took another drink. "I sing when I'm nervous."

"And happy. And angry. And bored. So cut the crap, Berry. You show up on my doorstep after all this time, and act like nothing's wrong, like we're just two old friends hanging out."

"We were never friends, Quinn."

Quinn took a sip.

"We were lovers." Rachel finished, in a husky, emphatic voice.

Her words caused Quinn to choke on her in-process sip.

"Well…that's what we were. Because friends, Quinn, friends…."her voice trailed off as she held Hiram Berry's crumpled letter up, from out of the depths of her pocket, "friends stand up for each other. They don't let some jack-ass run them off."

Evenly, Quinn replied, "What do you have there, Rachel?"

"A letter that my father wrote to you. He must have not given it to you, but spoke to you instead. Didn't he, Quinn?" Her voice was getting louder. "Didn't he, Quinn? Was it the day I came home with ice cream from J.P. Licks with Daddy?"

Quinn said nothing.

"The day you pushed past me, walking out, and didn't call later? Was that the day?"

Taking a drink, Quinn replied. "Yes. Your father and I spoke, that day, yes."

Quinn kept her gaze level and looked straight into Rachel's impassioned brown eyes. Rachel shook her head, in disbelief, and took a drink. Doing her best to keep her voice from cracking, she said nothing for a moment.

"Do you need a refill, Rachel?"

"Mmm. No. Just the whiskey."

Nodding resolutely, Quinn poured them each another quarter. After taking a swig, with a minor grimace, she commented. "Tea with whisky is better than whiskey with tea."

"Indeed." Quinn agreed, nodding her head, only slightly.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence occurred. After a moment, Rachel worked up the courage to address the elephant in the room.

"And you believed him, Quinn?"

"Believed what?"

Rachel huffed in exasperation. "You really believed that you weren't…" Rachel did air quotes, "good enough? Really? Good enough for me?"

Quinn sat down her glass on its saucer to gesture air quotes back in response. "Yes."

"Quinn, I loved you!"

Quinn looked at the bottom of her glass and took a final swig. She felt the warm burning down her throat and wondered abstractly if she was tipsy yet.

When Quinn said nothing, Rachel said, frustrated, "And Quinn? You loved me!"

Looking into her cup, she said quietly, "Yes, I did love you, Rachel."

Rachel set down her cup, and slid the length of the couch. Gripping Quinn's shoulders with each of her small hands, she shook her gently.

"Look at me, Quinn! Look. At. Me."

Quinn brought her gaze upwards, weakly. The hazel eyes took in the passionate brown ones in front of her that were scanning, searching looking for a semblance of the girl she once knew.

"Quinn Fabray! How could you let him make you believe you…you weren't worthy?"

Quinn's eyes drifted downward.

"Because, I wasn't, Rachel. I wasn't worthy." She said, defeated.

Rachel took her hands off Quinn and balled them into fists, shaking them in the air,à la Mr. Muccino. "Arrgh! And you believed him, Quinn?"

She looked weakly at Rachel. "Rach, I was twenty-two years old. I'd been told I wasn't good enough, my whole life. I was never thin enough, never pretty enough, never pious enough, never as good as Frannie….I was never, ever, enough. Ever. Everyone that ever fell in love with me always got hurt, eventually. I was pretty sure I was broken."

Tears forming in her eyes, Rachel shook her head. "That's not true, Quinn."

Quinn's voice was getting angry. "Yes, Rachel. It is true. And it's still true. I'm still breaking people's hearts that love me. Worse, I don't just break their hearts…I break them."

Rachel just shook her head, and said firmly, "No."

"No? No? You're wrong, Rachel. Your father was right."

"No, he wasn't." Standing up, Rachel retrieved the box of Kleenex on the piano, and brought it to Quinn, who blew her nose. Rachel sat down again, this time close to Quinn. She grasped her hand, in a warm clutch.

"Tell me this, Quinn. These people that you broke…did you love them?"

"What?"

"Any of them. Can you honestly tell me that you loved them…that you, Quinn Fabray, loved them?"

"I…I…well." She pursed her lips. "Hmm."

"And, Quinn Fabray, can you tell me this? Did you love me?"

Warm brown eyes looked up, sincerely gazing at the hazel ones above her. Quinn felt like she was being swallowed whole by those big brown eyes.

"Yes. Without question, I loved you."

"I see. And so you made, what you considered to be an act of love, and you sacrificed yourself…us. You sacrificed us."

"Something like that."

"Why on earth did you do that?"

Quinn sighed, aggravated. She removed her hand from Rachel's. "I already told you this. I couldn't stand to see you… broken."

Rachel retrieved the absent hand and gripped it again.

Without a trace of malice, she said to Quinn, "How could you make that decision alone? Didn't I get a say?"

"What decision was there to make? Your judgment was impaired, anyway."

"Oh," Rachel said, amused. "The great and powerful Quinn Fabray was too irresistible to refuse? I would be unable to step away from the spell of the evil siren of my own volition?"

Quinn chuckled. "Something like that. As I recall, you had orgasm toxicity resulting in brain poisoning. Your decision-making at that time was a little flawed."

"I see. And what was the bachelorette party? As I recall, some serious brain poisoning happened, there."

"I didn't say I was superhuman...I was just stronger than you. I knew what had to be done, it's just …. I missed your touch. I missed you. It was a lapse in humanity."

"And of all the places you could have moved, you moved to New York City."

Quinn sighed. "Well, the happiest times of my life have been in New Haven and New York. I had to move somewhere…and I thought New Haven would have been too much of a fishbowl for poor Freddie."

"And…?" Rachel prompted.

"And New York has some great schools here, that he can attend."

"And…?" Rachel said, growing impatient.

"A very international community, so he wouldn't feel ostracized."

Rachel threw a pillow at Quinn.

"Hey!" Quinn mock protested. "Okay, fine. It also has the lure of a certain….diva."

Rachel batted her eyelashes. "Correct."

They looked at each other, sizing one another up.

Finally Rachel spoke, "Why, now, Quinn? After all this time?"

"Why? I don't know, Rachel. I think I finally…." Quinn sighed. "I think I finally realized, I just couldn't stay away…from you...any longer."

They looked at each other, again, in silence. This time, however, they both felt that they were each really seeing the other.

Finally, Rachel stood up, and extended her hand.

"Take my hand, Quinn."

"What? Why? What are you doing?"

"I'm picking up my shell, the one I missed before when I was playing in the sand. Now… take my hand."

TBC