My heart goes to Belgium and Bruxelles. I love you, dear country.
Finally, the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this story, it holds a very special place in my heart. I'm a bit sad and disappointed, I guess, that there were so many people following the story and who put it in their favorites, but so little reviews. I considered not finishing it because of that ; but, well, I couldn't. I had to finish it, if only for the two or three people who have left reviews on every single chapter or so. I'd like to thank them, and I would also like to thank my beta Hazel006, who helped me through this translation. I don't know if I ever will post anything again in English, because obviously some people read me but don't leave review, and unfortunately it makes me a bit uneasy, I guess.
Anyway, it has been a long journey, and now it is over. Take care, and enjoy !
In the following weeks, the city of Paris slowly returned to normal, took back the course of time which had been altered those last five years. The public services didn't know any more inconvenience, no strike had disrupted the public transportation, and the Provisional Government, lead by the general de Gaulle, was setting up little by little new measures to rule France.
The country wasn't totally free, actually; some departments were still in the hands of the Nazis, but every day, we could hear announce the liberation of one of them at the radio, either won by the Allies, either because the German Army has left, giving up whole towns to try and take refuge somewhere else.
But the state of mind had changed. It was felt everywhere, at every corner of Europe, which had finally woken up and rose from ashes after an almost complete Nazi and fascist domination.
We believed in the end of the war. Some people even dared think about an honest, lasting peace, the collapse of the Nazi regime, the rallying of the people whom could forgive this unpleasant interlude.
Yet, it was more than just an interlude. It had been more than half of a decade filled with unspeakable horrors, blood, persecutions.
The first signs that the French capital had retrieved a bit of its past prosperity didn't take that long to show themselves. The shopping avenues were, once more, constantly stamped and paced up and down, the shops were getting more and more visits every day. Now, when Quinn or Rachel were craning their head to see out the window or when they went outside, they were surprised by the number of passersby on the small streets of the once deserted district. Quinn had never seen it so crowded, not even when she had just settled in, three years before the beginning of the war.
What changed almost instantly, and it didn't surprise much the two young women, was their daily life. Every day, they were going outside. Ten minutes, only to stretch their legs, or one hour spent wandering in the shade of a tree, it didn't really matter; the most important was to be able to enjoy this freedom which they had been deprived of for too long.
Now that they knew what their life could be, deprived of the simple fact of being able to walk on the paved stones of the city, they wanted to take advantage of it wholeheartedly. Rachel had lost too much time shut in, and she wouldn't do it again. Nothing in the world would make her change her mind.
Those strolls had the gift to stick an indelible grin on the small dark-haired girl face. She had the right to roam aimlessly and without obligation in the city streets, without running the risk to be arrested or put in jail at every step; and because there was Quinn by her side, every second of those appreciated moments was even more enjoyed.
Quinn had first introduced her to the surroundings of the building, the stores around it, every nook and cranny worth the trip, and in only a few weeks, Rachel could pride herself on knowing the quarter like the back of her hand.
She felt lucky to live in a part of Paris so quiet and historical, just nearby its most famous basilica, cafe theaters and cabarets known throughout the world.
Perhaps those walks had made her understand that she would never come back home to her parents. The only chance that they were still alive was ridiculous, if not non-existent. Rachel had accepted this fact years ago, she had prepared herself to the eventuality that she would never see her two fathers ever again, or even see the house where she had spent the most of her childhood again (it had probably been burnt, like every house which had sheltered Jewish people).
She would never come home — except that her home, it was here. It was Paris. It was Montmartre.
It was Quinn.
She couldn't think about leaving her, even though she had first tried to flee when the blonde had taken her in. It would never happen again. So many things had changed since then.
If she trusted her intuition, Quinn didn't wish her leaving either. It wasn't even an option; never would Rachel want to, or could leave Quinn. When so many threats and doubts were hovering over their heads, Quinn hadn't abandoned her, so why would she do it now, on the eve of a lasting, concrete armistice, enjoying a new freedom ?
Fortunately, she wasn't thinking about living a life away from the blonde anymore. She had no reason to: the two women were happy, more than ever, and they weren't willing to change their daily life, which was coming more true every day.
At the beginning of autumn, Quinn brought Rachel in ready-to-wear fashion stores. After every shop, they came out with a dress or two on their arm, a shirt and a pair of shoes that Rachel liked. Sometimes she opened wide eyes upon seeing the price tags, but Quinn would reassure her with a smile, and after a few hours, the small Jew's clothes were taking almost as much room as the blonde's in the closet of the bedroom.
There wasn't only clothing stores that had been visited by Rachel's amazed eyes. Quinn had taken her to every place in the district worth her attention or her visit, as short as it was, and she had lead her through cafe theaters, theaters, churches and monuments, book shops, delicatessens, record shops and cinemas.
Even though they only went inside for their viewing pleasure and not to buy something or to see a play, visiting those places, almost all of them historical, typical of Rachel's idea of Paris, was giving her a great joy.
She really felt like she was finding her place in this town.
Rachel was beginning to feel like she was living a real life. With the new laws voted in by the GPRF, now established two steps away and not in North Africa anymore, she felt as legitimate as any Parisian who was living here for generations. She had the same rights, the same duties, and nothing could have make her happier.
But the only thing that could have allowed Rachel to truly feel like she belonged here and that she had missed for a long time, Sue Sylvester brought her.
As usual, the tall woman hadn't informed them of her arrival, one evening of October. She hugged Quinn warmly, then Rachel, as if they had been friends for years.
After some trite phrases, Quinn proposed to make some tea, and so the little brown-haired woman was alone with Sue, sitting beside her on the couch of the living room.
The presence of the blonde wasn't making her uncomfortable anymore, but she had a weird knot in her stomach every time she met her gaze. She hadn't had the occasion to see her often since this dinner in August, and yet those short glimpses reassured her in the idea she had of Sue; this singular woman appeared like someone exceptionally reliable and honest, and who was, moreover, very friendly and smiling once one began to know her. Like an older Quinn, in a way.
Despite this, Rachel couldn't prevent her stomach from tying in knots whenever she was in her company.
She was glad not to be her enemy.
Sue offered her an enigmatic grin while she leaned back in her chair.
"I have a present for you, my dear."
The young Jew was a bit more at ease upon hearing the soft voice of the tall woman, and she opened two intrigued eyes on her.
"A gift ? Which kind of gift ?"
"The kind which you will like, I'm sure of it," Sue assured.
She couldn't ask more, because Quinn was coming back with a tray loaded with a teapot and three cups. Each of them took their drink, sipped at it to warm up their entrails, before the conversation started again cheerfully between the three women.
Finally, as Rachel was beginning to lose her patience, Sue slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket, took from it a packet the size of a book, tied with a string, and she put in on the coffee table.
"What is it ?" Quinn asked.
"Open it and you will see," Sue said. "It's for you and your girlfriend."
Sue winked to the small brunette, who blushed while getting closer to Quinn. The latter one untied the knot, removing the white paper to reveal its contents. Inside was a box, not much bigger than an envelope, that she opened right away.
When she saw what was inside it, Rachel had a gasp of stupor, and looked up at Sue to be sure that she wasn't imagining what she was seeing. Quinn, for herself, was speechless.
Inside the box were a small notebook, of a worn out orange, on which the words République Française were spread out and its symbol, surrounded with four small flags. Under it, with the same font, the word Passeport, followed by a serial number, and her first name and name. Rachel Sarfati.
She couldn't believe her eyes. Rachel reached out to touch the paper, carefully, as if it was going to fall apart under her touch. She took it between her fingers, and discovered another document under the passport. She could have guessed what it was; an identity card, also sporting her name, with her address and her description. The card was stamped by the police superintendent of the eighteenth arrondissement. The only things missing, for the document to be complete, were her date of birth, her photo and her signature.
She didn't wonder how could Sue have got her fingerprints.
Rachel felt the tears coming. She looked at Quinn, who seemed to be in the same state that she was, then Sue, smiling in a casual way.
"H-How... " Rachel stuttered.
"A child's play," Sue said softly. "It's not much. I hope that you like it."
"Of course I like it ! But why... You had no obligation to do so much for me, and I could never thank you enough for that."
The tall woman grinned, shrugged her shoulder. After a moment, when Quinn and Rachel had collected themselves, she added :
"I wasn't compelled to do it, but I wanted to. You deserve to be completely free, and I told myself that I could spare you weeks of useless paperwork, mostly because you had no identity papers anymore. And I knew that it would please you as much as it would please Quinn (the young woman looked up at this instant, her eyes moist, giving a slight smile that she hoped was confident). I would have liked to offer it to you sooner, to take a weight off your shoulders if you ever came to being controlled, but..."
Sue didn't finish her sentence, and she shrugged again. Then, to her surprise, she was caught in a powerful embrace which almost made her fall.
Rachel murmured a thank you terribly frank, as respectful and grateful as if she had just saved her life.
"You're welcome," Sue whispered. "Quinn and you... you deserve to be happy."
The days went by very fast. It was now a year and three months since the two women were living together. They felt like they had just begun cohabiting and, ironically, they felt like they had lived through so many events that they could fill an entire life.
There were, obviously, some advantages to having spent the majority, if not the whole of her free time with one person for more than a year. Rachel knew Quinn's favorite meals (easier to cook now that the town wasn't under food restrictions anymore), knew that she liked to lounge in bed as long as she could and that she liked to stay up as late as possible, and that she didn't like going out, even if it was for a simple errand, if Rachel wasn't coming with her.
She had learned a lot of small things, all of them insignificant, which were only making Quinn more special to her, and this by having shared a roof with her.
Sometimes, just before they went to bed, Quinn would take a book from her crammed bookcase before settling against the headboard of the bed. Rachel would join her, curling up between her alabaster arms and resting her head between her neck and her shoulder. A minute later, Quinn would begin to read out loud.
The young Parisian's voice was always filling Rachel with wonder, soothing her with her smooth, tender notes.
It strongly looked like the thought she had of heaven; a place out of time and space, unreal, infinite, in which nobody could disturb their quietude. A place where they could be themselves, safe.
Usually, Quinn would get a poetry collection, and read a dozen of poems before Rachel would fall asleep, caught by the gracious tones and the slow caresses of the blonde on her skin.
Some authors had Quinn's preference, mainly English or Americans, and she would recite the translation of their poems only if Rachel wanted her to. Walt Whitman had resonated between the four walls of their bedroom, as well as Emily Brontë, Lord Byron, Alfred Tennyson. E.E. Cummings' poems were coming back more often than the others; Rachel couldn't exactly explain why. Perhaps because she liked the barely used leather binding, handled with great care, or the way Quinn would look at her when she told her verses that she didn't understand.
She didn't know any word of English, but didn't need it to understand the meaning of the words that Quinn murmured in her ear; her intonation was enough to share the intention and communicate the power of the words.
When Rachel finally had the chance to lay her eyes on the translation of the poems in French, she almost cried.
She didn't know what she had done to deserve a woman like Quinn.
Sometimes, the little brunette was telling herself that fate, or God, or whatever it was that had reunited them, had done well for once.
One of their sessions of nocturnal reading was suddenly interrupted one night of November. The night would fall soon, so it wasn't impossible that it was Sue or Mercedes or another of their friends knocking at their door. Quinn got up, put her book down on the duvet and went to open while Rachel was leafing through the pages.
A cry pulled her out of some John Keats' verses, which made her jump out of bed to rush into the living room. In the foyer, the dark-haired woman couldn't believe her eyes.
On the doorstep was Quinn, in a jumble of arms and exclamations, squeezing against her a woman with blonde hair whom Rachel couldn't see. She first thought of Brittany, but dismissed this possibility; her girlfriend wouldn't have put herself in this state if if was their neighbor at their door.
The two entangled women pulled apart, and Rachel could finally catch sight of the stranger's face.
A face which looked like Quinn's.
Her features were more pronounced, sharper, with a thinner mouth, eyes different than Quinn's, with green and hazelnut and gold. A less pale complexion. But she had the same blonde hair, neither too short nor too long, with strands of hair pinned down under a hat. Except for those few nuances, the young woman was the spitting image of Quinn.
At her feet, there was a backpack full to the brim, overflowing with clothes and papers. This sole hint should have set her on the right path.
At the moment when Rachel made the connection and put a name on this familiar face, Quinn seemed to remember her presence and her good manners, and she held out her hand with emotion.
"Rachel..."
Her voice had thickened under a coat of transport, turmoil and enthusiasm, and her eyes were shining with held back tears. Rachel got closer, caught the hand of the blonde while keeping on watching the other girl.
"Rachel, I'd like to present you my sister. Frannie. Frannie, this is Rachel."
Half an hour later, after some more tears from the two sisters and numerous embraces, the three women found themselves sitting around the living room table, with tea, coffee and some biscuits before them.
Frannie and Quinn couldn't stop themselves from grinning, from grazing their shoulders to make sure of their presence, or to exclaim that they couldn't believe it, that they were finally meeting again after so many years.
Long conversations went by, and the eldest Fabray was exactly how Rachel had imagined her: tall, confident, not afraid to say what was on her mind, teasing her sister whenever she had the occasion. Her outfit had also intrigued her. Almost none of the other women meandering in town wore such a garb, made of canvas pants, big walking shoes, a cotton shirt under a thicker jacket, in addition to her felt hat which she had hung on the coat rack.
She seemed as sure of herself and extrovert as her outfit. Rachel was already admiring her for that. As courteous as Quinn, she had greeted her with a smile without asking anything about her situation, or which kind of relationship she had with her sister.
The little brunette knew all of a sudden which was the greatest difference between the two blondes. Frannie was talkative. She was rambling and describing the last months of her life, spent on the African continent, with a lot of details, and was stopping only for an instant every fifteen minutes to catch her breath.
According to what she said, she had just arrived in Paris by train, this afternoon, and couldn't have resisted the temptation to visit some of her acquaintances — including Sue Sylvester — before coming here, in what had once been her own apartment.
Her stories of battles, hideouts, sabotages of railways and radios were fascinating, and Frannie was telling them with so much passion and almost joy that she left out any hint of sadness in her tales. Quinn was often interrupting her to ask questions about her everyday life, or to clarify a specific point, or simply to ask her to keep going. They had lost too much time apart from each other during those years.
When, a little before midnight, the discussion showed no sign of slowing down, Rachel, who was beginning to feel the tiredness catching her, stood up, carried the dishes into the kitchen before coming back to apologize to their guest.
"I'm going to bed," she said, smiling softly, her eyelids almost closing. "Frannie, will you sleep here ?"
Frannie looked at Rachel, then Quinn, before shrugging.
"As you wish," she replied. "I can take a room at the hotel, or elsewhere, if there's not enough room."
"No way," Quinn said. "You will stay here. Do you wanna take the bed ? Rachel and I, we can manage ourselves in the living room."
"There's no need for that. I'll take this good old couch."
"This time, you really came back, right ?" Quinn asked, frowning slightly.
"Yes."
"No more suicide missions on the other side of the world, even if there is another war, promise ?"
"Promise, Quinn."
The younger one then smiled, put her hand on Frannie's. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, Quinn."
The night passed quietly. Rachel wasn't sure that Quinn had gone to bed this night, because the following day she found her at the same place, her face in her hand, listening to the fanciful yet real stories of her sister.
The exiguity of the apartment seemed to increase during the night, and Rachel thought that it would soon become complicated to put three people under this roof. Yet, it didn't upset her. It was better to have a small covered, protected space than nothing at all, she understood it better than anyone. Everything was better than this cellar full of rats and humidity, or those freight cars where rain and wind were seeping in.
Quinn told her to sit down beside her, greeted her with an almost bashful smile, squeezing her thin fingers. Frannie grinned widely, feeling as refreshed as if she had slept for twelve hours.
They didn't see the time passing; they had so much to talk about. Rachel wasn't excluded of the discussion, despite the fact that she didn't know Frannie and that the latter still didn't know how she was related to Quinn. But looking at the ease with which they fell into great conversations, and the way they had to watch each other, a bit curious but not hostile in the least, one could have thought they were two old friends rediscovering each other after years spent abroad.
Frannie hadn't said how much time she thought she would be staying here, but since the question hadn't been broached yet, nobody was seeing any harm if she was prolonging her stay in her former home.
The older girl was spending her nights on the couch. She had assured the two others that she wouldn't want to trouble what was already settled, and that the sofa was more comfortable that any of the beds she had slept in those last years.
One evening, two days after her arrival, Frannie went out to visit her former neighbors. Sam and Mercedes were literally ecstatic when they saw her, and they drew out their reunion until late into the night.
The young blonde came back into the apartment trying to soften her footsteps, slipped into the bathroom, then got out to go to sleep when a weak noise interrupted her gesture.
She stopped, tried to hold her breath for an instant, when the sound started again. It made Frannie think about a silent giggle.
She lied down on the couch, pricked up her ears, listening for sounds coming from the bedroom.
There had been a muffled laugh, followed by a few hushed words, barely perceptible through the closed door. Frannie frowned. Then another noise broke the quietness of the apartment, on which it was impossible to be mistaken.
The soft sound, almost inaudible, of two pairs of lips meeting.
Then another light laugh.
Frannie hadn't even noticed that she had stopped breathing, as if she could, by filling up her lungs, inform the two occupants of the bedroom of her presence.
So Rachel wasn't a stranger, and not only a roommate. She and Quinn had, if she believed her ears, a relationship beyond the friendly stage. She should have suspected it, actually. The way these two girls were looking at and touching each other could have blinded her with happiness. Also, Quinn wasn't the kind of person to invite anyone in her home. She probably had her reasons. The reasons of her heart, Frannie thought.
She believed she heard the sound of another kiss, and she smiled in the darkness.
Quinn had probably, against all odds and against the logic, found happiness in the toughest moment, when the war was raging all around her.
Frannie decided not to confront her sister with what she had just learned before at least a few days, and preferably without Rachel. She secretly hoped that Quinn was strong enough to admit it by herself, because if she hadn't talked about it sooner, it was maybe because she didn't have the courage to do so.
The moment came at the end of the week, when Rachel said that she was going to run some errands. Frannie pretended to be absorbed by her reading, pretending not to hear the sweet words they were exchanging in their ears, and not to notice the kiss Quinn had laid on Rachel's cheek.
If she ever had had doubts, they had now faded away.
When Quinn came back into the living room, Frannie called her.
They settled on the couch, Quinn not ceasing to grin, Frannie asking herself if she was the only one aware of their relation.
"I was wondering," the taller woman began, "since when does Rachel live here ?"
As soon as her name was mentioned, Quinn's smile widened, and Frannie was almost sure that she could see her cheeks reddening. Quinn shrugged, replied that she had moved in a bit more than a year ago.
"She's Jewish, you know. She had no papers, no place to go, so I told her that she could stay with me while things were still hard outside. And then, fifteen months later, she still lives here."
Frannie didn't know well Rachel's story, but she knew it was complex. Difficult, even. She had endured a lot, suffered pressures from everywhere. The subject had only been broached one time, and soon dropped.
"She's a nice girl," Frannie started again. "She seems good for you."
"For me ? What do you mean ?"
"Quinn... you know what I'm talking about."
Quinn looked like she was trying to understand. Then she hung her head, blushed some more, before shrugging her shoulders. She didn't make a single move for a minute, before looking up, laying her eyes on her sister's lighter ones.
"You're not mad ?"
"Why would I be ?" Frannie questioned while furrowing her brow. "I told you, Rachel is a sweet girl, she is adorable."
A pause, then : "Does she make you happy ?"
Quinn couldn't hold back a smile, more eloquent than any of the verbal answers she could have given. The taller girl looked like she was satisfied, then she got closer to put an arm around her shoulders.
"I am happy for you, then," Frannie went on. "Really. You deserve to be happy, and if it's this girl that puts you in this state, I have nothing to add. You're big enough to live your life the way you want to."
"How did you know ?" Quinn asked suddenly. "Did Rachel tell you ?"
"Let's just say that you're not very discreet," she joked. "Your smile isn't either, if I may. But, more seriously, I think that it's been so long since I saw you laugh that much, and so appeased, since mom and dad. I just thought that this little brunette was involved."
Quinn nodded sadly. It was true that when their parents went missing, she had been inconsolable. Frannie has even wondered if she would ever find back her joy of living.
Now she did.
Quinn had also probably suffered a lack of attention from her parents — no because they were bad or careless, but because they hadn't been home often. Frannie had assumed this role more than once when they were absent.
And, if she was totally honest with herself, she thought that their parents hadn't given all the care to her little sister. They loved her, of course, they had treated her like a princess, but something was missing. Or it was Frannie that has had something more. Perhaps the fact that she had been favored (unconsciously or not) was linked with what Quinn had become after their abduction.
A young woman who, if not sad, hadn't been happy, had become withdrawn, having no one on which she could count.
Of course, Frannie had been there, only for a short period of time, before leaving when the war had been declared.
To this day, she still blamed herself for making Quinn endure more solitude than ever. But she has come back, and Quinn wasn't holding it against her, and she would do anything to make up for lost time.
"I just want you to do one thing for me," Frannie said after a beat.
"What is it ?"
She smirked, and Quinn feared the worst for a few irrational seconds.
"Introduce me to her, properly. As your girlfriend, and not a simple roommate. You owe me that."
Two hours later, after having put the groceries that Rachel had bought away, Quinn came close to her, entangled their fingers with a soothing touch, before turning toward Frannie and saying, with a clear, full of emotion voice : "Rachel, you already know my sister, Frannie. Frannie, here is Rachel. She's my girlfriend," she finished upon feeling the brunette squeezing her hand.
Frannie grinned, before shouting an "It's about time !" which echoed in the room. She moved forward to embrace the two women, kissing their cheeks in turn. Rachel laughed, then leaned toward Quinn's ear, murmuring that she was proud of her.
Quinn felt, too, proud of herself.
The cohabitation between Frannie, Quinn and Rachel began to show its limits around January.
The apartment, ridiculously small, with its one bedroom and its tiny bathroom, definitely wasn't made for three people. One, certainly, and maybe even two, but not more.
Quinn was thinking about a solution for some time, which would be fitting for everyone, and got an idea while she was roaming the streets, back from Sue's. She told Frannie about it, who was skeptical at first, then convinced upon hearing her arguments — but she didn't tell Rachel.
Making the surprise would be best. She only hoped that it will be welcomed with joy.
The young blonde also had another idea in mind, which was going round in circles between her temples for much longer, but she hadn't done a thing to concretize it yet.
This month, she had gone around the district, visiting some shops until she found what she was looking for, which she then put in a safe place where Rachel wouldn't go (at least, she thought so).
Frannie, as for herself, walked across the town searching for odd jobs, while waiting to be hired by someone, which was finally giving a little more solitude and privacy to the two lovers. They had woken up one morning, upon hearing the front door slamming, and they had took advantage of it right away.
The sun was already high when Quinn sighed with satisfaction while resting her head on Rachel's abdomen, tangling her legs with hers.
"You are insatiable," she muttered.
Rachel laughed, slid her fingers into Quinn's thin hair, whom also smiled and kissed the skin of her belly.
"I didn't hear you complaining."
The blonde let out an unintelligible sound before raising her head. She looked at the small Jew, observed her features which she knew by heart, the sheet which had slipped from her shoulder, her chest rising slowly and regularly. Rachel was looking at her with the same adoration in her eyes as eight months ago. Their relationship had only increased in intensity since, and their feelings hadn't changed; they only got bigger over time.
Quinn had been wrong to think that Rachel would get tired of her or Paris. She was glad to have been mistaken.
Rachel sighed upon feeling her lover's fingers brushing her bare thighs.
"Is there something wrong ?" Quinn asked.
"I was thinking. Believe me, I really like Frannie, but if she wasn't always here, we could..."
Rachel made a slight gesture between them with her hand to show her thinking.
Quinn understood what she meant. And it was at this moment she realized that it was time to go through with her idea, as quickly as possible. It was the best thing to do.
But Rachel's pout was soon replaced by a smirk when she felt Quinn's lips near her ear, whispering in a smooth voice: "Frannie isn't back yet."
Quinn asked Rachel if she wanted to go with her, not even a month later, into a new shop that had just opened on the other side of the butte Montmartre.
Frannie winked at them when they got out of the apartment, to Rachel's confusion.
The Parisian girl led her through little steep streets bypassing the butte, where they didn't see more than a handful of passersby on this winter afternoon. It was milder than last month, when the temperatures has been well below zero, then the snow had took over. There was no more trace of the frost that Paris had suffered, and it was now ten degrees Celsius. It wasn't really hard for the two women, they had seen worse.
Rachel didn't know this part of the quarter, and she frowned when she realized that they got closer to Clignancourt. However, she kept quiet, let Quinn led her again toward the Sacré-Cœur now, until they stopped before an old building in Lamarck street, just in front of the metro entrance encircled by two large stairs.
Except for a café and a restaurant, no store was in sight.
"Is it here ?"
Quinn nodded, simply smiling. Then, grabbing Rachel's hand, she made her come into the building. The brunette only noticed now the keys that Quinn had in her hand, hanging at her finger.
Puzzled, she let herself be guided, following the blonde and climbing four staircases after her, and she finally stopped, slightly panting, before a door which was identical to the others.
"We're there," Quinn said after opening the door with the key.
Rachel already suspected that there would be an apartment behind the wall. She thought that it would be inhabited, perhaps by someone Quinn knew, or that it would be the den of another Sue Sylvester, but she was proved wrong.
The room into which she entered was empty. Completely empty, and also very big. It was undoubtedly twice the size of their living room.
Quinn came near her after having closed the door, took her hand once more and they looked around.
Rachel noticed that only the kitchen was furnished, and that the immaculate white of the walls and the ceiling added to the impression of largeness emerging from the place. The numerous windows were letting the light of the evening in, making great shadows on the parquet.
She still didn't understand what they were doing in here, and asked her companion the question.
"You know that Frannie is planning to stay in Paris," she said with a shy air, carrying on when Rachel nodded her head. "Well, since she still haven't found an apartment, I started looking for one, with some help from Sue. And I found this one."
The small Jewish woman looked around her, before watching Quinn again.
"Isn't it a little too big for a single person ?"
"It's not for her, Rachel. It's for us."
The surprise silenced her. She blinked when the blonde squeezed her hand in hers and tangled their fingers together.
"Don't be mad," Quinn mumbled, "because I didn't want to tell you about it before. I thought that it would please you, to finally have our own place, truly this time, and bigger than the other apartment. It could mark the beginning of our life together. Moreover, it's not very far away. Ten minutes on foot, or one metro station."
When Rachel wasn't saying a thing, she began to blush before uttering excuses : "But perhaps I shouldn't have, not before asking you... If you don't like it, I can still give it back."
"No, of course not," Rachel exclaimed. "It's... I don't know what to say. I would have never imagined that you would want to do so much. I assure you that it makes me happy, it's just... incredible."
She marked her words with a hard kiss on Quinn's lips, which lasted long enough for the two women to forget where they were for an instant.
"Quinn Fabray, you really are full of surprises," she murmured against her mouth.
The latter one grinned. "If you allow me, I would like to surprise you one more time, right now."
Rachel nodded before stealing her another kiss, then she pulled away smiling.
Quinn was still hesitant, but her doubts faded away before Rachel's loving face.
Anyway, she had no doubts anymore since she had seen Mercedes, this morning, whom had smiled kindly to her, hugged her for a while, and whispered that she was proud of her.
Or since she had went to Sam, whom had simply embraced her and told her he was jealous of the couple she formed with Rachel.
Or since she has gone to find Brittany, the week before, to ask for her opinion, and the latter had answered that she making the best decision. She had then joked around, telling her that it had dragged on too long.
Frannie, as for herself, had teased her, before giving her all her approbation.
Sue had finished convincing her by telling her that she deserved happiness, and that such a decision would only bring them good, to her and to Rachel. Sue had held her tight to kiss her, whispering congratulations and best wishes in her ear.
Rachel's smile froze and changed into a silent amazement when she saw the blonde getting down on one knee while keeping one of her hands into hers.
"Rachel," she began, blushing and grinning, tightening her hold on her fingers, "you know that I love you, and you make me infinitely happy by loving me back. I know that our relationship isn't the most common, and that we probably faced more ordeals than most of people, and it strengthens my idea that we're meant to be together. I know that we will stay together for a long time to come, and in that case, couples are getting married. We can't get married, but we can swear to live our lives together, until death do us apart, as we say it, and even after. I don't care about what the others will think of us, and that's why I'm asking you, Rachel Sarfati... Do you want to live with me for the rest of your life, and, in a way, become my wife ?"
Rachel stifled a cry, then she threw herself on Quinn, knocking her down, all the while sobbing against her shoulder a determined, filled of emotion "yes". She gripped the fabric of her jacket with her hands, before moving back to look at Quinn, needing the proof that all of this had just happened, that her proposal was real.
The look of deep beatitude on Quinn's face told her that she hadn't just dreamed it.
She kissed her deeply, several times, then she stepped back laughing nervously, joyfully, while a few tears where flowing on her cheeks. She reached out to help Quinn stand up, and it was at this moment that Rachel noticed that she was holding between her fingers a small box with two silver wedding rings in it.
They exchanged them between tears, laughs and kisses, which lasted until they were breathless.
Nobody could have predicted such a future five years ago, but they wouldn't want to change it for anything in the world.
They had survived through thousands of horrors for so long, they had now the right to want to taste happiness, until they got tired of it.
But they already knew that they would never get tired of this feeling of serenity, of safety surrounding them whenever they were close to each other.
They had their whole life ahead of them to love each other, and they every much hoped to make the most of it, forever.
Everything that has existed, lingers in the Eternity.
— Agatha Christie.