Authors Note: So it's been at least 2 or 3 years since a post, sorry to those who were following it. I'm hoping to post every week and a half until it's done!

Deception

Deception is tricky. In order to deceive, you need to convince the other person that something fiction is fact. That the previous owner, who met an untimely death, is the noise in the attic. That magic tricks are exactly what meets the eye. That the sliced ham in the fridge was bought yesterday, not two weeks ago. Point is, you can deceive anyone over anything. Pranks are based on the concept. Betrayal is born from it.

But in order for deception to work, you need to gain someone's trust.

And then the real fun begins.

A text message woke Rachel from the deepest sleep she'd had in a while. Usually dreams of her fathers or her training plagued her sleep in fragments. After all, they say you dream of what you last think about, and since she dedicated her life to retribution, she hadn't thought about much else.

Hearing the ping again, the brunette rolled over to silence her phone and open up the screen. The clock read six. She groaned softly, hopes of sleeping in falling away after reading Puck's message.

Outside for a swim in 10 or I'm barging in.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder at a sleeping Quinn. The blonde was still curled up in a ball, the blanket covering half her face. Rachel smiled at the sight of her bed hair. The beach was the last place she wanted to be right now but she knew Puck needed updates on the mission. The whole point of the morning swim was to organize her thoughts for the day, which he knew from their time spent training. The brunette stretched and put the phone back on the table, frowning at the thought of Noah crashing her alone time from now on. She'd have to figure out a new place to go when she needed some clarity, especially now that Quinn had moved into her bedroom. Maybe she could turn a room into an office space? Or maybe the sailing shed. No one would think to look for her there, and there'd be enough room to hide away her files and laptop.

Just as she pushed up into a sitting position, a pair of arms pulled her backwards. Letting out a yelp, Rachel scrambled to get back up, failing when the blonde's hold tightened. Arnie barked once from his bed of pillows, concerned for his two favorite people. His head fell back on his paws when he heard Quinn's chuckle.

Rachel wiggled some more, surprised at the strength behind locked arms. "Quinn, unhand me!"

"Why?"

"I need to swim!"

"Take a day off."

The brunette huffed. "One day will turn into three, especially if you keep this up."

Quinn smiled into Rachel's hair, pulling her closer. "No complaints here."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but gave into the hold. She rolled until she faced the blonde, pushing hair out of her face. "You're incorrigible."

"Good morning to you, too."

"Sorry if I woke you. You've always been a heavy sleeper in the past."

Quinn's eyebrow arched. "Have you made a habit of watching me sleep?"

"If I have, it's only because you've made a habit of sharing beds," Rachel refuted, smirking. She pecked the blonde's reddening cheek, and managed to break free from her clutches. "I'll take tomorrow off, okay? Today is just too nice not to. Plus, I'm already up!"

Quinn hummed her disapproval. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Owe you?" Rachel grabbed a bathing suit and towel and headed into the en suite bathroom with some extra sway in her hips, glancing back at Quinn over her shoulder with a wink. "Don't gamble for more than you can handle."

The blonde's jaw fell open. Rachel passed back through the room, swooping down to drop one last kiss onto the youngest Fabray. "I'll be back in a bit!"

Quinn just shut her eyes and threw an arm over her face, mumbling to herself about mornings and brunettes and death of me.

Rachel tossed down her towel when she made it to the shore, nodding to Puck. "Ready?"

He took in the hint of a smile she was trying to hide and grinned. Knowing better than to say anything about it, he simply walked into the water. Rachel followed and set the pace with a simple stroke, keeping her head upright so they could talk.

"What's the plan for today?" Puck asked after a half hour had passed.

"I'm meeting Anderson for the interview tomorrow, so today I'll need to stop by Brittany's to make sure the shipment of combustibles made it to her and go through the game plan for rigging it." Rachel dove underwater for to switch directions, kicking her legs together to propel her back up. Her partner broke the surface beside her a moment later. "And we've got to get some time with Russell to snag a job opening." She glanced at him. "What'd you do with those guys, anyway?"

Puck grinned. "Sent them an all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas, then pretended to be one of those casino guards and accused them of cheating the system. They're in a basement somewhere. I have someone checking in on them."

Rachel snorted. "You had way too much fun with that."

"Gotta get your kicks where you can."

"When are you going to let them go?"

"Up to you," he responded, taking a breath between strokes. "I can do it as soon as I'm hired by Fabray Enterprise, or we can hang onto them 'til the gig is finished."

Rachel focused her sights on the shore, where she could see Quinn out walking Arnstein. "How many of them have families?"

"Two of the three."

"Let's release them a week after the hire. Just slap them with a gambling charge or something, so Russell won't try to rehire them."

"Will do."

"Great. So I'll work on getting an invite from Quinn to the next Fabray gathering, where we can work our magic on Russell. Any word on upcoming events?"

Puck's eyebrows knit in thought. "None that have been publicized."

"Okay, I'll see if Santana knows of any, then use Quinn."

She felt his gaze slide over to her as they headed towards the beach, slowing their pace. "Sorry you gotta do that."

"Don't be, it's all a part of the plan, right?"

"Still—"

"Just drop it, Noah."

He nodded, and let his feet touch the bottom as they stood in the shallows. Noticing her attention was already back on the cottage, he stretched a little, and asked, "So what do you need from me today?"

"Can you stop in with Brittany about the combustibles? Also, see if anything came up in the surveillance cams at the Fabray house." Rachel nodded her head towards the house, where the blonde and dog had returned from their walk, both perched on the porch. She shook out her arms, trying to loosen the tired muscles. "I should probably spend some time here. A certain blonde wasn't so happy about my early morning swim."

Puck raised his eyebrows, lifting his hands up in defense. "Hey, not my fault. These swims have always been your thing!"

"Yeah, yeah." She started towards the house, smiling and narrowing her eyes playfully. "Well, consider tomorrow my morning off."

"Done." He waggled his brow.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Nope," he grinned, and waved at Quinn on his way inside. Rachel plopped beside Quinn on the porch bench. The blonde snaked an arm around her waist, then crinkled her nose and pulled back. Rachel shifted. "What?"

Upon seeing the brunette's confused look, Quinn suppressed a smile, letting out a long sigh instead. "Is this snuggling when you're wet going to be a thing?"

Rachel glanced down at herself, seeing water droplets still falling from the tips of her wet hair. "Whoops." Watching Quinn inch away, she lunged and trapped the blonde in a tight, damp embrace.

"Rach," Quinn whined, half-struggling to get up. "Come on, let go!"

She loosened her grip, grinning when she saw the wet imprint on Quinn's t-shirt.

"You're the worst," the blonde said.

Rachel played with the now wet hem of the other woman's shirt, smirking. "I remember you saying the opposite a few hours ago."

"Oh, shut it." Quinn slid her hand into thick brown hair and tugged Rachel into a heated kiss, fully intending to put another use to the woman's smart mouth. The brunette squeaked in surprise when Quinn nipped her bottom lip and brushed a deft tongue against her own. Hearing a chuckle in response and not wanting to give the blonde the upper hand, Rachel pushed back into the kiss, dragging a hand along Quinn's thigh, and received a sharp breath in return. The brunette trailed kisses along her jaw, feeling the youngest Fabray squirm at the slower pace. Good. The blonde had no idea who she was dealing with, no idea what she was capable of.

Just as she was about to slip onto the blonde's lap, the sound of a screen door slapping shut had them jumping apart to catch their breaths.

Puck looked between the two with wide eyes. He cringed at Quinn's murderous glare and backed away slowly, down the steps, gesturing towards the road with his thumb. "Oh, man—so sorry, gotta go—you know, errands, town—sorry!"

Rachel stifled a laugh at the terror on his face. She waved goodbye before leaning back on the porch railing and looking back at Quinn, who had her hands over her face, groaning. "You okay there, Fabray?" At the muttered reply, she raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, what was that?"

Quinn dropped her hands and scowled. "You're still the worst."

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

"Oh my god," she huffed, "no, that's not happening, hun."

" You got it, pumpkin." Rachel beamed at the deepening frown. "What are you up to today?"

"Haircut around noon." She checked the clock on her phone. "I should probably leave soon for it, I have a couple other stops in town to make."

"Need a ride?"

"No, it'll be nice to walk today," Quinn said, standing to stretch out her limbs. "You have any plans?"

"Cold shower." Rachel opened the front door, receiving a smack in the arm as the blonde passed her. "Hey! I was just kidding. Maybe I'll grab lunch with Santana or something."

Quinn eyed her. "Santana, huh?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes, Quinn. She's one of my best friends!"

The blonde followed her up the stairs, quiet in thought. Rachel had assured her that there was nothing to worry about, and she believed her. Although the brunette's flirty and bold nature had her wondering just how invested in their budding relationship Rachel was, she trusted her enough to let the topic go. Besides, they now shared a bed. That couldn't have been an easy decision for the womanizer.

Quinn bit her lower lip as she pulled out clothes to change into. As much as she wanted to see Santana shoved off the end of a dock or fired in a very public place by her mother, she knew if she wanted to take things further with Rachel, she'd have to extend an olive branch to the aggravating Latina.

"You okay?"

Quinn drew her gaze up from the dress clutched in her hands to a concerned looking brunette. Rachel reached out, rubbing the blonde's shoulder in quiet assurance. Quinn smiled softly, taking in the crease on her forehead, the dark, half-dried curls, and deep brown eyes. "Yeah. Perfect."

Lunch?

Come on, I know you have a lunch break.

Are you ignoring me?

SANTANA.

Rachel moved through her room, pulling out hidden files, laptop, and tapes and piling them onto the bed. She'd shot Santana a few texts an hour ago and hadn't heard back. She bent under the bed to remove her daddy's journal from underneath, heading down the stairs to hide it in the cubby under the floorboards. She leaned back on her haunches, debating sending the Latina another message, when she heard someone coming up her porch stairs.

"Corc! You better have the food you promised me."

Rachel rolled her eyes, getting up to meet the hangry woman in the kitchen. "Hello, Santana. Good to see you, too! Yes, things have been great, thanks for asking."

Santana stood by the open fridge, munching on some sliced strawberries. "Don't you have anything other than rabbit food?"

"I would, if a certain lunch guest had replied. But no, where's the fun in that?"

"Exactly!" The Latina smiled, then dug her phone out of her bag and flashed it at Rachel, revealing a number of notifications. "Judy decided last night that she wants to send that journalist off with a party, to thank him for all his help with the whole Exposure video hacker. It's made my Monday complete hell, not that she cares."

Rachel hummed, taking in the information. She shooed Santana away from the fridge and pulled out some takeout containers. "Can't help with the Devil Wears Prada boss, but as far as lunch goes…"

Santana took the proffered box suspiciously, grinning once she peeked inside. "Oh, fuck yes. Chicken caprese!"

"I doubt it's as good as the one you had in Napa, but I figured it'd do," Rachel said, opening the lid of her veggie burger. She placed the remaining container between them, revealing sweet potato fries. "And, of course, these."

Santana laughed, popping one into her mouth. "God, these are pure crack." She chewed slowly, eyes closed. "4 out of 5. Really thin and crispy, but there's no skin on it."

Rachel snapped a picture, thumbing open Instagram while they ate. The Latina shook her head in amusement. "Wait, you still have the login for that account?"

The brunette looked affronted. "Uhm, of course. We're doing serious work here. Saving people from eating the worst fries of their life. Who wants to waste time on a soggy fry when there's a 5 star one around the corner?"

"Touche," Santana agreed. She took another bite of her sandwich. "Do you ever miss fundraising?"

Rachel shrugged, swallowing. "Not really. It was a lot of work. I mean, sure, it was satisfying, and we got some great connections—hell, you're working for the Fabrays—but, we had to constantly ask people for money. And oh my god, the fucking new volunteers we would get."

They exchanged a look and laughed. "We were terrible! Remember the shit we put them all through? I think they called us Bitch 1 and 2."

"They deserved it, imbeciles. You'd think they'd send us people capable of answering phones, but no." She pursed her lips in thought. "I was definitely Bitch 1."

Santana snorted. "Please, Bitch 2. As if." She swiped another potato fry. "But really. Those nights on the road—you don't miss them at all?"

Rachel looked the Latina over, taking in her hunched shoulders. "Of course I miss the traveling. Hitting the road, seeing our country, town by town, with a group of people that become your family, there's nothing else like it," she answered carefully. "Why?"

"I don't know." Santana brushed the crumbs off her hands. "I guess I'm just missing the connections of the work family. The break in routine with traveling. Don't get me wrong, this gig with the Fabrays is unbelievable. They're paying well, this island is a dream, and my best friend ended up moving into the neighborhood."

"But?"

"It just feels like something's not right."

Rachel nodded. "Don't hate me?"

Santana narrowed her eyes in suspicion, nodding for her to continue.

"I just want to say, it could be—maybe, maybe not—due to the fact that your employers are very clearly xenophobic conservatives, and you're not. Plus, this whole thing you have going on with Brittany…"

"Brittany? Where the hell did you get Brittany out of all this?"

The brunette picked up another fry, poking it in her direction. "I think you really like her, and it scares you."

She scoffed. "Please. Don't belittle me."

"I'm not!" Rachel threw the fry at her. "Listen, what you're looking back on is safe. Fundraising is something you know, a comfort zone. Now you're out here in a new town, new people, and completely new love interest. It's not a stretch to say it's overwhelming you!"

Santana grunted. "I've handled much worse, trust me. This is far from my rock bottom."

"Maybe so." A corner of her lips turned down, recalling the Latina's past life in the unlicensed night club.

Santana sighed. "But you could be a little right."

Rachel smiled gently. "I know."

"Ugh, god. Don't get used to it, Corcoran." She checked her phone and balled up her napkin. "Well, I better head back over. Thanks for the grub!"

"Anytime, Lopez!"

When the door shut, Rachel cleared the counter and bounded upstairs. She gathered all the revenge items into a lockbox and carried them out to the boat shed. Her phone bleeped in her back pocket.

Things are all set here. Heading over to yours. Rachel opened up Puck's message to respond, Thanks, I'm in the shed.

She glanced around the room, hands on her hips. What would look the most inconspicuous? Under floorboards again? Tucked away in the sailboat? Sitting on a shelf? She cleared some space on one of the shelves and dusted the whole area, figuring that no one would go looking in here. And if they did, they probably wouldn't look in plain sight.

She opened the box and pulled out the file on Blaine to leaf through the pages. She grabbed an empty one to jot down a draft of her interview points, turning on the laptop to refresh her mind on her Exposed tape.

Right. Sappy, helpless, dramatic, and bright-eyed. She could do that. A classic damsel in distress. She'd let him think he could save her, could be the big hero. And if he recognized her? Even better. She'd hand him redemption, a chance to assuage his guilt from selling out, from turning the world against her fathers.

And then she'd let it all burn.

It was her turn to betray.

"Hey, Cap." Puck strode into the shed and glanced over her shoulder at the file. "Everything's all set with the combustibles. Sylvester really came through. There's enough to set most of the island on fire. I left the rest with Brittany."

Rachel nodded. "Great, I'll bring some over here later in case we need more for another target. Did you wire things up?"

"Yeah, he conducted an interview this morning at another woman's house, so I set things up while he was out of the rental house." Puck leaned against the sailboat, smirking. "He didn't even lock his door. Fucking idiot."

"Seriously?" Her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Guess all that fame and playing it safe got him a sense of misguided confidence. Anyway, I ran the wires between the ground floor and basement ceiling. Packed some combustibles beneath his desk. Should light up like Burning Man when you flip the switch." He tossed over a remote.

Rachel caught it and placed it beside the files. She grinned. "Should be fun. Thanks, Noah. What about the Fabrays?

He shrugged. "Russell just got back from New York. Judy's been trying to talk to him about a party—for Anderson?—and he says he'll make it. Spends most of his time in the office on the phone, but it's all just business. A couple interviews. No one's been hired yet."

"So nothing to worry about?" She glanced over at him. He shook his head as the brunette made a few notes and started packing away the folders. "Perfect. Santana said the party is Judy's way of thanking Anderson for helping out. A fee for his loyalty, if you will."

Puck snorted.

"But you said Russell will be there?"

"Should be."

"Alright," Rachel said, brow furrowed in thought. "Let's use the party as our interview. Don't specifically ask for the job, obviously, but talk smart. Be that kind of finance fuckboy he hires."

"You got it." He gave her a salute and watched her tuck the lockbox onto a shelf. "Anything else in the meantime?"

Rachel hummed. "No, I don't think so. I'll probably set off the combustibles within the next day or two, so be ready for that. And if Blaine recognizes me, we should be ready for some threats. When he gets scared, he always makes a play that will bring him protection. So I'm guessing he'll try to tell the Fabrays about my return."

"What'll you do if he does?"

"Stop him beforehand." She shot him a look. "And that's where you come in."

After ordering in with Puck and watching a movie, Rachel excused herself to sit on the beach, wanting to escape his knowing gaze every time she checked her phone for a message. She hadn't heard much from the blonde since lunch, just that she had run into an old friend and wouldn't be back until later.

Rachel let out a frustrated sigh upon checking her phone once more. It wasn't that she missed Quinn, per se, it was that she was concerned. Yeah. After all, who knows what could have happened? What if she got snatched up on her way back to the house? What if she had tripped and sprained her ankle and was slowly and painfully limping along the road? What if the Fabrays had forced her under house arrest?

Or, the question Rachel was avoiding—what if she had changed her mind?

Rachel knew it wasn't a true relationship, she wasn't stupid. She knew that even if things had progressed normally, if she really had been just the girl next door, things would be different. There wouldn't be an agent nagging her thoughts, searching for the best way to utilize a situation or person. She wouldn't be so preoccupied. Hell, she probably wouldn't have even made a move. Quinn had been practically engaged!

A wave crashed and lapped at the brunette's toes. She glanced up, noting that the moon was making its way into the dusky sky. She checked her phone again, not expecting anything.

"Hey," a voice husked behind her, "there you are."

When Rachel glanced behind her, a smile already playing on her lips, she was surprised to hear her own breath hitch. The blonde, whose hair had fallen in loose waves just past her shoulders this morning, had lopped most of it off, so that it fell along her jaw in tight, lively curls.

Quinn chuckled as Rachel's mouth fell open and then shut, only to open again. When no words came out, the blonde's eyebrow arched. "Well if I knew a haircut was all it took to render that smart mouth speechless, I would have done it a long time ago."

"Quinn," the brunette managed to get out, "wow."

"Like it?"

"You have no idea."

Quinn smiled, and moved to sit beside the brunette in the sand. As she pressed a kiss to her cheek, she could have sworn Rachel's eyes had darkened, making her stomach flip. She turned her gaze to the ocean. The surface had stilled and reflected the last few colors of the sunset. "Pretty, huh?" She heard Rachel voice her agreement, but still felt her stare. Emboldened by the impact she had on the brunette, she smirked and shifted slightly behind her to wrap her arms around her waist, resting her chin on Rachel's shoulder. "So, what did you do today?"

Rachel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Oh, um, you know, errands around the house. Had lunch with Santana, dinner with Noah. How about you?"

"Well, besides the haircut," she smiled into the brunette's shoulder, "I bumped into a friend from college. We ended up walking around town together and got dinner and drinks after."

"Sounds f-fun," Rachel said, stuttering when the blonde's hand began to trace patterns along her stomach. "Is, is she in town for long?"

"Just a few days," Quinn replied. She focused on the feeling of Rachel's abs dancing under her touch. She wondered, not for the first time, just how strong the brunette actually was. There were certainly many appealing ways to find out.

Wait, what? Quinn shook her head slightly, to refocus on the conversation. "She said our other friend might come down tomorrow, too."

"Oh," Rachel said. "Santana told me about a party your mother asked her to organize in a couple days."

"Yeah?"

"Not sure if you're going, but, you should invite them. Free booze at least, right?"

Quinn was quiet. She tightened her hold. "I'd rather take you."

Rachel felt her eyes flutter shut. The heat of Quinn against her and the not-so-innocent implication behind the sentence, intended or not, flooded her body with lust. She cleared her throat, trying to shake the deepness it had taken on. "Really? But your parents will be there."

"I think we can behave in public for a few hours, no?"

"Speak for yourself," Rachel muttered, and blushed when she felt Quinn shaking with silent laughter. "I mean, yes. Of course!"

"This is going to be hard for you, isn't it?"

Rachel dropped her head back, groaning. "Understatement of the year." She glanced back at Quinn. "Maybe invite your friends anyway? That way it's less, I don't know, couple-y? Plus, I want to meet them!"

Quinn pulled back a little, so she could take in the brunette in her arms. "You do?"

Rachel turned to face her better. "Yes, Quinn. If something—or I suppose someone, in this case—is important to you, I want to know all about it." She laced their fingers together. "I'm all in, Q."

The blonde ducked her head at the intensity of Rachel's gaze. "Alright. I'll ask them tomorrow."

Rachel's smile shone. "Great!"

Quinn looked back up to the sky, at the bright moon. "Are you nervous for your interview?"

Rachel shrugged and leaned into the blonde, who poked her when she didn't answer. "Ow, hey!"

"Well?"

The brunette let out a sigh, trying to gather thoughts. She feigned discomfort and easily sank into a victimized role. "Of course. I try to put out this façade of cool, collected, bad ass motorcyclist. And those tapes—they shattered that image in a few seconds. Pillsbury's office was the one place I let myself just be. The place I could complain and be dramatic and not worry about what anyone thought. And now everyone knows I'm just a lonely, crazy girl."

"I don't think you're crazy," Quinn muttered into her hair. "I think a lot of people understand what you were saying in those sessions. I mean, what we all want, bottom line, is to be loved, isn't it?"

"I suppose." She bit down on her lower lip, looking up at Quinn through eyelashes. "Have you met Blaine Anderson before?"

"Sort of. He was around my house a lot when I was little, when he was writing that book on the Berrys, but to be honest, I mostly ignored him. Especially after the book was published."

Rachel took in the blonde's crinkled nose and the way her shoulders tensed up. Interesting. "Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering if he's nice."

Quinn pursed her lips. "He's nice enough. Sympathetic. I doubt he'll judge you for the therapy sessions, if that's what you're worried about."

"Why do I feel like there's a but coming?"

The blonde managed a small smile. "But he's not always reliable. Not the greatest conscience, either."

"Thank you, Quinn." Rachel gave her hand a squeeze.

Unsure of what she was being thanked for, but sensing relief in the smaller woman's voice, Quinn simply nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Rachel smacked her lips, blinking against the morning light. She squinted at the window across the room. Goddamn it. What was it with the blonde and open shades? She really needed to learn to fall asleep last. Then she could jump up and fix this shit, while the blonde dreamed on, unaware.

Or, she could just be less whipped.

She shut her eyes, fully intent on getting some more sleep on her morning off, when she brushed against a warm bundle curled around her side. Rachel glanced over to see that Quinn had shifted in her sleep again to tuck herself into the brunette's curves. She smiled at the messy hair and small snores. Yeah, she could get used to this.

Rachel rolled onto her side, wrapping her body around the blonde's and burying her nose into the crook of her neck. Quinn shivered beneath her and she smirked, ghosting her lips across skin. She paused, and with no further reaction, licked.

"Mmmno," the blonde muttered, trying to slide further under the covers.

Rachel only pulled her closer, continuing to lay feather light kisses to her neck. She still smelt like salt air from the night before. They'd been exhausted and had gone straight to bed.

The brunette knew she was playing with fire. While she should show interest in Quinn, and make her feel wanted, this kind of morning lust was dangerous. It was one of the reasons she always exercised early in the day. She learned that she was a morning delight kind of person. And what better way to combat that with some workout endorphins?

But all control slipped away this morning with the girl she's never been able to forget laying in her bed. She was human, after all. And Quinn—Quinn was as close to a goddess as it got.

So, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Rachel pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the blonde's shoulder and immediately sucked. Hard. She let her teeth graze the skin upon release.

Quinn shot up, gasping and suddenly very awake. "Fuck," she said, voice hoarse, blushing when she processed the slipped curse.

Rachel grinned. "Good morning, Quinn."

"Hi," the blonde breathed.

She tilted her head in amusement. "You okay?"

"What? Yes." Quinn's fingers rubbed over the fresh hickey. She huffed. "Rachel."

"Yes?" The brunette readjusted, planting a hand on the other side of Quinn to push herself up into a sitting position.

The blonde's eyes tracked the move, watching her closely. "What is this?"

"A hickey."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "What is it doing there?"

"Well, you see…" Rachel leaned in slowly, suppressing the chuckle that rose as Quinn pressed herself back into the pillows. "The thing is, you're really hard to resist in the mornings."

The blonde took in Rachel's black pupils, the way her gaze had dropped to her own lips, and the almost predatory stance she had taken above her. Quinn's eyes flicked to the door and back to the brunette, wondering if she could hear her hammering heartbeat, or feel the electricity buzzing beneath her.

"Quinn?"

"Hm?" The blonde hummed, not trusting her voice not to crack.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Quinn's eyes widened before slamming shut a beat later, when Rachel closed the distance. As their lips moved together, the blonde sensed something different. Yes, it was still the same talented mouth, but it almost seemed as if there was something urgent behind them. Previous kisses had been everything from playful to light to dirty, but nothing like this. This was almost—passionate?

She felt the brunette dance her free fingertips up her side, her other still holding up her weight. She had seen how much Rachel had wanted her, but the touches she was receiving were so gentle and unexpected. It surprised her, but eased her racing heart. Quinn ran her hands up the smaller woman's arms, squeezing her biceps, before reaching up to cup her face and pull her closer.

Rachel sighed into the kiss, nipping on the blonde's lip for entrance. When granted, the brunette explored slowly, noting exactly which places rewarded her with a soft moan or whine. She ran her hand through short, choppy locks and pulled back to smile.

"Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?"

Quinn's eyebrow arched, a small smile playing at her lips. "Once or twice."

"God, it's just so sexy."

Quinn sat up, bringing them close enough that their breaths mixed. She heard Rachel's sharp inhale, and, glancing behind her at the clock, pushed at the brunette's shoulders until her back hit the mattress. Roles reversed, Quinn planted a searing kiss onto her, before tearing away suddenly.

By the time Rachel's eyes flew open, the blonde had made her way to the bathroom. She paused in the doorway, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. "You should get going, or you'll be late for your interview."

"I, what?" Rachel watched the door shut and groaned quietly, trying to calm her libido. Goddamn blondes.

Rachel stood in front of the porch steps, staring down Blaine's rental house. It was nice. Simple. Brightly colored, though, a nice red.

They say that red is the most intimidating color. That sports teams with red uniforms win more, statistically.

The brunette shook her head. Her nails dug into her palms as they closed in a tight fist.

She could do this. It was just Blaine. The guy wore bowties, for fuck's sake.

"I bet you have a separate closet for those," she said, snorting. "Like, instead of one of those walk-ins women have for shoes, you have just shelves upon shelves of bowties."

"Excuse me, no I do not!" Blaine shot the brunette a playful glare. "It's a chest, if you must know, and they're all just piled in there on top of each other."

"Well, that would explain your 'organizing' skills," Rachel said, using air quotes.

"Hey! Rude!"

The teenager chuckled.

He wore bowties. He was harmless. He was predictable.

She could handle that. She was prepared this time.

Rachel exhaled, rolling her shoulders out, before bounding up the stairs to ring the doorbell. At what she assumed was a hollered Come in, she crept inside, the agent in her on high alert from the adrenaline rushing through her.

Blaine rushed into the hallway from a room on her left. His head was buried in paperwork, allowing Rachel's startled jump to go unnoticed. "Sorry, sorry! Had a late start to the day, just follow me, I've been working out of a room in the back."

As she was led through the house, she watched him scratch down more notes, recalling the similar way he would pace and scribble during their visitation hours. She tore her gaze away, an ache in her chest sharpening at the memory, and took in her surroundings.

Good, no security system. And an old house. The fire could easily be blamed on faulty wiring, if Sylvester's combustibles were as untraceable as she bragged about.

"It's just right in here," he mumbled, rushing behind a desk to plop down the stack of papers in his arms. Once there, he dug around the surface, exclaiming when he found a pink sticky note. "Aah! Yes, that's right, Rachel…" Finally making eye contact, she saw Blaine's gaze quickly trail down her figure and return to her own stare.

"Rachel Corcoran," he finished, hesitant. "Please, sit."

She eased herself out of the doorway and onto the edge of one of the plush chairs. "Mr. Anderson."

"Rachel," Blaine repeated, back straight in his chair. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "You know, I didn't know what to think when I first saw your name. I thought—it's a mistake, of course. Or at the very least, a coincidence! But, I should have known better. As a journalist." He laughed humorlessly. "Corcoran. Your mother's name, right?"

Rachel nodded slowly, forcing herself to remain hushed and still. Quiet, shy, broken. Distressed damsel. Baby bird with a broken wing. God, she should win an Emmy for this shit.

"Christ, I knew it." He flailed. "I knew it!" He refocused on her. "Rachel—what are you doing here?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I thought you'd know, but, my therapy tape was leaked."

Blaine frowned, his eyebrows furrowing above his eyes, the way Rachel remembered from when he was deep in thought. "That's, that's all?"

The brunette let her posture slump a little and avoided his gaze. "I, I didn't know the investigative journalist would be you. I had signed up before Mrs. Fabray told us!"

He nodded quickly, eyes widening. "Oh! I see."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have come." Rachel crossed her arms over her stomach.

"No!" Blaine winced at the volume of his exclamation. A hand grasped at his bowtie, needlessly straightening it. A nervous tick Rachel didn't miss. "No, I mean, you have every right to be here. I'm just, well, I'm just a little confused as to why you're suddenly so close to the Fabrays."

She glanced up, tilting her head. "What? Why?"

"Your families have a certain, history, remember?"

Rachel shifted. "The one where my fathers plotted against the Fabray company in a terrorist attack for gay rights?" She picked at her shirt hem, giving herself a moment before what she would have to say next. "I can assure you that unlike them, I understand the difference between right and wrong."

"But," Blaine started. He frowned. "But, you were so convinced that your fathers were framed."

"I gained some much needed perspective," she replied.

"You did?"

"Yes. I was sent a copy of your book from my old psychiatrist. She thought, correctly, it might help me find the dark truth behind the kind fathers I knew." Rachel raked in a deep breath. "She's part of the reason I returned here. I heard she had opened a practice here, and thought, maybe I was finally ready to push forward."

"Really?" He said, confused.

The brunette looked out the window at the shops across the road. "You know, I hadn't returned to this island since I was taken away and put into the system. I was beginning to feel as though things could be normal again when that Exposed video was released."

Blaine studied her for a beat, before pulling out a blank piece of paper. "I'm not going to lie to you."

That'll be a first, Rachel thought bitterly.

"I have a lot of questions I want to ask you, about the time since we last saw each other. But I know that's not what we're here for. So, I'll start by asking how you felt after the Exposed video aired at the luncheon."

The brunette gnawed on her lower lip. "Horrible. I'm lucky, the session that was leaked wasn't even that bad. As a friend pointed out, all I talk about is being lonely. A lot of people could relate to my insecurity of never finding someone to spend a lifetime with."

He nodded, jotting down a line. "True. Do you think some people's lives were complicated by this?"

Rachel looked down at her intertwined fingers. "Of course. I heard someone confess to an addiction, to driving recklessly with children in the car. That's a divorce and child custody case waiting to happen."

"Do you have any speculations on why someone would do this?"

Rachel lifted her shoulder.

He paused to rephrase. "Do you think someone could gain anything from leaking these therapy sessions?"

"Maybe it was a warning?" Rachel sighed. "I don't know, Blaine. But if they have juicier details, maybe they're blackmailing someone."

"Good thinking." He hunched over the desk, pen moving fiercely. "If, like you, others have more scandalous issues, it could definitely be used to quiet someone, or threaten, or force them into doing something. I'll look into it." Once finished, Blaine leaned back in his chair, clapping his hands together. "Well! I think that's it. Anything else you want to say about the ordeal?"

Rachel shook her head. "Just that I hope you get them. Help us find the truth, yeah?"

The journalist fidgeted with his bowtie again. "Erm. Rachel—I know it's probably not worth much now, but, I really am sorry about what happened with your fathers."

"Why? They were criminals."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry about the book. I told you they were framed, and then…I didn't even visit afterward to tell you. I just—"

She forced a small smile. "Blaine, it's fine. I understand. You raised a naïve little girl's hopes and you didn't want to return to crush them. I get it. The truth is hard. It's complicated."

He looked uncertain. "I should have made an effort to reach out."

"We're here now." Rachel bounced her leg. "I'm just glad we have you to fix this Exposed mess."

A flash of guilt lit in his eyes. "Yes, I'll do everything I can, believe me."

"Well, I've taken up enough of your time." Rachel stood, shaking his hand in thanks. She turned to see herself out, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, can I ask you something?"

He glanced back up at her, smiling. "Yeah?"

Rachel ducked her head, feigning innocent curiosity. "When you were working on that book, I remember you mentioning that you typed manuscripts and used only one copy, really old school. Do you still do that? Or have you joined the modern age?"

Blaine chuckled. "Oh, no. Still an 80 year-old man at heart. Typewriter all the way. It's become a superstition, if anything."

"Good to know you're still the same weirdo under those new suits," she remarked, returning his grin on her way out.

Rachel turned the corner and sat at an outdoor café table. Gripping the edge of the chair with white knuckles, she exhaled shakily and willed her heart to stop racing. She pulled out her phone, seeing a bunch of unread messages. She opened Quinn's first and smiled softly at the photo the blonde had sent, of herself and Arnie on the porch swing. She replied with quip of missing out and an update that she'd be back after dinner.

She moved onto a text from Santana, which said a simple Good luck.

Sending back a hug emoji, knowing it would be welcomed with an irritated huff, Rachel opened a new group chat with Brittany and Puck. Blaine recognized me. Believes I'm here to work through my past with Pillsbury. Expect smoke tonight.

The agent set her phone down, the photo from Quinn open on the screen. She traced the blonde with a fingertip, missing her calming presence. She just wanted to cuddle up in her arms, maybe toss a ball around with Arnie, if he was up for it. God, she hadn't known her interview would wind her up so much. A long ride on her bike would have to do instead.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," the young brunette muttered, communal phone pressed to her cheek.

Tomorrow would mark the seventh week since she last saw Blaine. What if he had gotten attacked? He had told her he was so close to finding some proof of her fathers' innocence. That he knew who framed them, but didn't want to say who until he knew for sure.

What if they had gotten to him first?

She'd be stuck in this place forever. Her daddy would lose his case. She would become an orphan.

He was her only hope. He had done so much to help her, to give her a purpose again, a reason to keep living, keep fighting, keep believing.

It was the least she could do to keep calling. She'd tried to report him as missing, but people didn't take her seriously these days. Holly, her favorite corrections officer, had taken pity on her and promised to look into it a few days ago.

After a few rings, an automated message took over, informing her that the number was no longer available. She headed straight to the nearest officer, asking for Holly.

When the woman found her later, she looked uneasy. "I don't know how to tell you this, but your bowtie friend, he's okay."

Rachel frowned. "That's good news, isn't it?"

"Sure," she assented, pressing on, "but his book took a different turn."

"What?"

"Well, you said you were working on clearing your fathers' names, right?"

"Right," Rachel said, hesitating.

"Yeah." Holly lowered her voice. "I think he lied to you, kiddo. From what it sounds like, this book will write your fathers into infamy."

The sun had dipped beyond the horizon. Rachel stood planted outside Blaine's house. She'd been pacing the street for the last hour, waiting for town to quiet down. He hadn't left; she could make out his outline behind the shades in his makeshift study.

But now, now things were quiet. She leaned against a tree in the front yard and waited.

After a few more minutes, he finally stood and stretched his limbs. Rachel slid a thumb over the remote in her pocket, relishing in the destruction it would bring.

He had his chance to make things right. He had endless years since the book had been published to track her down, knock on her door, and ask for forgiveness. He had all of today to reach out and explain.

Instead, the journalist had jumped onto the lifeline she had handed him. It made her stomach coil up in disgust.

As soon as he was a few steps out of the room, Rachel pressed down on the button, hard.

There was no boom. No click. No hiss of a lit fuse.

Nope.

There was only the flicker of a flame, which grew into a roar. Soon after, smoke.

And then, the sound she had been waiting for: The howl of a man who had just realized he'd lost everything.

A dark grin itself onto her face.

Fuck you, Blaine Anderson.