Disclaimer: I own nothing really, just borrowing the characters for a little joyride

Pairing: Eventual Quinn/Rachel
Spoilers: Anything up has already aired.
Rated: R for language

A/N: Well…still Unbeta'd. Sorry for all mistakes, feel free to point them out. Reviews would still be very much appreciated, as we all know authors live off of them, even part time authors like moi. I am craving popcorn again.

A/N 2: First, a big shout out to jackaniny who actually told me my chapter had gotten screwy, thank you thank you! Okay, if you made it this far, I hope the foul up with Chapter 4-6 that I caused the other day didn't confuse you? If you're just started reading this a few days ago, you might want to reread that :/ Although I still haven't re-edited out the mistakes. I post, and then I make edits the first few hours, and I was too aggravated to do it then. Sorry, I had meant to get further on with this, especially with some Faberry. …but more tomorrow!

A/N If you have no idea what happened with chapter 20, basically I had insert a dummy chapter and that was it. Sorry!

Rachel hopped off the couch unceremoniously and disappeared down the hall. Quinn craned her neck to see if she could tell where she had gone. Unsuccessful, she turned to fidgeting with the remote, scrolling through the guide in search of Saturday Night Live. The channel selection at the Fabray household had never been great. It wasn't a question of money. It was a question of 'appropriateness' of the channels available. Clearly Showtime or HBO were out of the question, but her dad hadn't even approved anything more than the basic level of cable because anything more than that included Independent Film Channel or Sundance. They were too subversive or something.

With her dad gone now, it was more about finances than control. Intent aside, the end result was the same; a dearth of viewing options. Staying at Puck's house or Finn's house had been the same. Single parent households much like her own now. Extra money wasn't going to cable. Mercedes' house had been an oasis in more ways than one obviously, but the premium cable had certainly been nice. She continued to scroll through the viewing options, mesmerized.

#####################

"Hey sweetheart, I've got it, you didn't need to come down here."

"I know. I mean, I just thought I'd help."

"Uh huh. Well thank you, but you didn't need to leave your guest."

"Oh, I know."

"Or…did you? Hey, kiddo, is everything okay? I mean, dad and I know who Quinn is, or…has been. We thought things might have…changed. Did we get it wrong? We can make an excuse for you if you ne—"

"No, no daddy. Oh no, it's fine. I just—"

"Just…?"

"Well, Quinn and I haven't spent a great deal of time together before. "

"And…?"

"Well. It's not like I'm unaware that I am…an acquired taste, shall we say?"

"Ah. Well, it seems to be going fine from my view."

"Yeah, I know. Or I thought I did. I just thought I'd give her a breather. We've spent a rather concentrated amount of time together."

"I see. I think. Well okay." He laughed. "May I inquire as to why this had never come up with Finn? Don't you ever need a breather from HIM?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Well…"

"Well?"

She allowed her shoulders to slump heavily and sighed noisily. He barely contained his fond smile at her dramatics as she chose her words. "Well I'm taking one now, aren't I?" She crossed her arms. "And Finn is just easy? Er, well perhaps more…more simple would be a better way of saying that. He isn't particularly, for lack of a better word, intense?"

Curtis scrunched his brows and rubbed his chin, and then the back of his head.

"Well. I guess I have to say I'm glad to hear that, I'm glad that Finn isn't...intense. So Quinn is? Intense?"

She put her hands on her hips and looked up in thought. "No, I don't think I mean that really. Santana, one of her friends? Now SHE is intense. I guess Quinn, I don't know, with our history. I don't know, I would have to say at the moment it feels heavy…or intense. Not Quinn herself. Just the time we've spent together. I'm not sure what to call it."

Curtis maintained his expression of good humor and parental interest, hiding the mild concern he felt. He gave himself a mental high five for picking up on something in the air between them he couldn't figure out yet, but knew was there.

"I see," he said and nodded. But he didn't, not exactly anyway. "Sweetie, given your shared history, have you thought that maybe she is just a bit nervous?"

He had always worried about having a baby girl. He adored her, loved her beyond anything he thought possible. When they brought her home, he'd been overwhelmed with the scrunched up, loud little bundle of pink.

And deep down, he'd always been a little worried about raising a girl. He'd grown up with two brothers. No sisters. Girls remained a bit of a mystery.

But he liked to think he had become more adept over the years with Rachel.

He and Jonathan had been there for the rehearsals; the pick ups and drop offs for piano; the singing and dancing and ballet recitals; the vegetarianism they thought was a phase (but apparently wasn't). All of it. Or at least they had until she started high school

Suddenly at fifteen she typically (and with much fanfare) announced she intended to be more on her own, at least outside the house.

And so they had acquiesced, and worried themselves silly from sidelines. But they respected her request to be and abided by it. But even from the periphery they knew their baby girl was having a hard go of it in high school.

They were aware she was hassled at school. They were aware of the Finn situation, and then the Jesse situation. They were even vaguely aware of Quinn as the McKinley de facto leader of the pack. And then her convoluted pregnancy drama.

They watched and heard it all, or at least as much as Rachel was willing to share.

Now, watching his daughter step delicately, finally, into something approaching a social norm, he was torn between shame at being happy for that, and pride.

He did like this girl Quinn. But he also was familiar about her type, having played football and basketball himself. He'd been a jock, and he knew about cheerleaders. It was obvious she was gifted with the easy charisma most of them possessed. It was a shame she hadn't been using it, rather than fear, to run McKinley. It would have easier for everyone, including Quinn herself he suspected.

He took a deep breath, as he rummaged in the top of the closet for the other pillow, remembering her speech in the kitchen earlier. Jonathan had quietly filled him in on what he knew about the Fabrays. And given what he'd heard about Russell Fabray, it explained a lot about what was probably the driving force behind what he'd gathered about the Head Cheerio's quest for popularity, both before and after her fall from grace. It was acceptance. Something they gave Rachel wholeheartedly and without reservation.

He snagged the corner of the other pillow, and grabbed two clean pillow cases as well. "Here you go." He handed her one of the pillow cases and kept one, stuffing it with the second pillow, still mulling things.

Credit was due, he admitted. The girl certainly seemed genuine now. And Rachel seemed to be enjoying her company immensely. Even if it was 'intense' as she put it.

He cocked his head slightly, still wrestling with the pillowcase that he held under his chin. He was still agitated by something he couldn't put his finger on. No. There was something afoot here. The way he had caught Quinn looking at his daughter was something that, with the information he had so far, did not make a lot of sense. At least not to him.

He was definitely going to have to confer with Jonathan about his impressions of Quinn and her interactions with their daughter. At least he'd had two sisters close in age growing up. Maybe this was more in his wheelhouse. He hoped so. Because from his point of view, from the moment that Quinn had to speak to them seriously in the kitchen, it felt she was enacting some TV Land version of that old fashioned courtship 'speak to the father' (or fathers as the case may be), "ritual"

"Well my dear," he sighed and handed her the now encased pillow over to her, "perhaps a good nights sleep will help ease whatever you feel is, and I quote, intense about the evening?"

Rachel smiled and bobbed her head agreeably. "Maybe!" But something about the way Quinn had been looking at her at the end of the movie had her doubting that. "Thanks daddy"

"Anytime sweetie. Not that I did anything. Now scoot."

########################

Rachel emerged finally with not one, but two pillows in hand and a smile. Curtis appeared not too far behind her with a blanket in tow.

"There you guys are." Curtis dropped the blanket on the couch. Quinn looked at it and pursed her lips. It looked just like her own beloved green and blue plaid flannel pattern she had at home.

He stopped and opened the doors and poked a few times at the dying log and embers.

"Good night Quinn. Don't let her hog the couch. Or the covers." He winked. "Oh, so we already had breakfast for dinner, which leaves us some leftover bacon, and a few eggs in the morning? Or we have fruit and" he yawned and covered his mouth apologetically. "Well, okay Rachel can fill you in. I'm beat, I'm turning in. Don't forget to check the damper and make sure the fire is out before you go to bed. It's just about finished now anyway."

"Okay daddy."

Quinn waved at him, "Good night, Curtis. Thank you and Jonathan for breakfast for dinner. It was lovely. And please don't go to any trouble in the morning. I wonder if I'll even be hungry anyway, I ate so much this evening."

He chuckled and waved. "Please. You're teenagers. You'll be hungry. See you two in the a.m. Right? I mean you're not going to sleep til noon…again?"

She gave him a pointed look and dismissed him dryly. "Good night daddy."

########################

Quinn scooted over to give Rachel room on the couch, taking one of the pillows from her and placing it on her lap over her crossed legs.

The brunette sat down on the couch and pulled her knees up, before she paused.

"So, what do we have on?"

"Well, SNL is coming up. I'm not sure who's on though. Sorry I was flipping through to find ESPN2 to see if there was any repeat coverage of last year's cheer competitions."

"No luck I take it. Because not that I'm an expert or anything, but…that doesn't look like ESPN2."

"Well… it is possible I might have stumbled upon SyFy after ESPN2. I don't know what this is, but it appears to involve a natural disaster. And possibly very large creatures. It is still unclear. But the leads are scrappy. I like scrappy."

"Argh. I take it they've switched back to disaster mode after the Caprica marathon. That is unfortunate, because I for one can live without movies with one word titles, like Tornado! Or Crocodile. Or Dinocroc, or Hive, or Anaconda, or etcetera ad nauseum."

"I will concur on the Crocodile and Anaconda, but I don't mind the disaster movies so much."

"Oh, hey, you know if you want to stay up and watch it or SNL, maybe we should change into some pajamas now? I can show you what you're options are and grab you a toothbrush?"

Quinn took a breath and held it with her cheeks puffed out and released it slowly while she drummed her fingers on her knee. There really was no good reason to not go along with that idea. Unless she counted being afraid to see the inside of Rachel's bedroom as a good reason. And that was going to happen eventually tonight anyway. She looked at the blue numbers on the cable box and nodded. "Alright, we've got ten minutes, so show me what you've got. Oh, and no animal motifs please."

The diva naturally rolled her eyes, but then whacked her playfully before she rocked back and used her momentum to propel herself over the side of the couch. Then she headed up the stairs. Halfway up, she turned and waited for Quinn. "So, you're saying animals are out. Well I hope argyle is okay?"

Quinn's answering laugh came out almost like a bark as she eased herself off the couch, a little stiff. "Well, I'd be foolish to expect anything else now wouldn't I?" She gestured for Rachel to continue, following her slowly up the stairs. She couldn't help pondering the oddity of her day with a lopsided grin.

########################

Rachel looked over as her guest paused tentatively at the threshold to her bedroom. She had placed hands on either side of the door frame and was leaning just her head in, looking around.

"You know Quinn, I don't have a cadre of Special Forces beanie babies lying in wait to attack in here. They're all safely in the basement area stored away again." She jerked her head towards the bed as she opened her dresser drawers and rummaged. "And Waldo there is a pacifist. At least I think he is."

A nervous laugh escaped her as Quinn leaned further in and peaked at the bed. There was Velveteen Rabbit type stuffed animal there, presumably Waldo.

"I was just making sure I wasn't going to be blinded by slew of gold stars hanging and twinkling from the ceiling."

"So, what did you picture then?" Rachel leaned her back and eyed the other girl who still hadn't stepped into her room.

"Honestly?"

"Of course, when you have you ever pulled any punches with me before?"

"Fair enough. Well, uh, I'd have to say an abomination of pink, gold stars, and maybe unicorns and rainbows. Oh, and Barbra Streisand of course. And an elliptical machine. Oh, I see that part is right."

Rachel pursed her lips and shook her head. "I see. No argyle?"

"Well, I admit I hadn't gotten as far as picturing argyle yet."

"Hmph."

"Which reminds me. I forget, what is it with you and argyle again?"

"Nice try, Fabray. I didn't tell you. And I still feel you are not in the proper frame of mind to receive such information."

"Hmph. I see. Well if it counts for anything, clearly I was wrong. About your room. Sorry Rach, I just had no idea what to expect. You always march to your own drummer, so I just…I don't know, I even thought you must have some recording equipment in here. I mean, in the MySpace videos…there were colors, like pink I thought in the background."

She trailed off, realizing there wasn't a lot she could say that would be helpful. She watched as Rachel appeared to nod to herself as she tossed three darkish colored shirts on the bed, before she started to rummage in the next drawer.

Fishing out two bundles of cloth and tossing them to the bed as well, she turned and faced the door. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think of the reality? And to get a better view, perhaps you might want to actually step in to my parlor, as it were"

"Said the Spider to the Fly?" Quinn raised her eyebrow pointedly and smiled a little.

Rachel quirked her lip and raised her own eyebrow in return, but said nothing. She backed away and went to her desk to turn on the small lamp there. Then she turned around to face the door again, leaning against the desk. She raised her hand and crooked a finger. "I really don't bite you know, even if I am supposed to be the Spider in your odd little scenario."

Quinn ducked her head one more time and then put one foot in front of the other and went the center of the room, while Rachel watched, amused. When she looked up and caught her eyes again, the diva opened her arms in a gesture that encompassed the room and shrugged. "Is it as terrifying as you imagined?"

Feeling a little sheepish, which not a feeling she relished at all, Quinn finally turned and looked around. It was a lovely room, with a vaulted ceiling, done in fairly neutral colors, with a lot of fall colors. Some deep browns and rich auburn and some creams and yellows filled out the rest of color scheme. There were some complementary colored silk flowers in a large rough earthenware pot on in the corner.

The study desk was a rich brown and held nested organizational boxes and her laptop. Next to it was the heinous pink backpack that she sometimes carried to school. Above the desk was one of Rachel's ridiculous coordinated calendars. Since she was actually facing Rachel, she suppressed her automatic eye roll, and turned quickly to the next corner.

There was an accent wall that held photos of her, and of her dads, and other people she assumed were connected to her family. A lovely sepia toned scene from what was probably Times Square adorned the other wall. There was a comfortable looking small recliner and small table. Along the wall there was a built in bookshelf that held a combination of books and knickknacks and various boxes and containers. One shelf held a menorah, and what looked like a pipe next to it.

There was a separate shelf with CDs and maybe some DVDs she couldn't tell.

She turned the last quarter of her rotation in place, and she released a quiet laugh. She could feel Rachel's eyes on her and she turned her head to smile over her shoulder at her. There was finally evidence of the Rachel Berry that she knew at least a little more about. Playbills and posters filled the area around her bed. Barbra Streisand was the object a few still shots that had been framed. There was the obvious Wicked poster, as well as Rent and Spamalot. A small Bette Midler photograph. Quinn smiled and shook her head. Above the bed itself centered, there was a mounted gold star.

Rachel watched the inspection, trying not to let her nerves show by fidgeting. She frowned a little and called on her considerable acting skills to at least appear calm, relaxing her muscles while Quinn finished her survey. But she couldn't help from quietly drumming her fingers as she watched the blond's shoulder shake slightly as she put her hands on her hips. Slowly the other girl turned to face her, amusement evident on her face.

"Well?" Rachel stomach tightened.

"Well, I have to say my expectations were completely off in some areas, and I mean that in a good way. And in others, well not so much. I mean obviously, there had to be a gold star somewhere in here." She smirked a little.

A shy smile played around her lips, as Rachel looked up from beneath her bangs. "Well, they are my thing after all."

"Indeed they are."

"Well, now that I have passed inspection, those are your choices." She lifted her chin in the direction of the bed. "At least what I think will fit you."

Quinn's forehead dropped. "Hey now, was that a dig at my body? After passing all expectation, I just as good as complimented your taste."

"Oh god no." she said quickly and sincerely. "I mean, that was a backhanded compliment about my room of course. But, geez Quinn, your body is practically perfect."

"Okay good. I mean for fucks sake Rachel, you're ridiculously teeny. I just got the baby weight off, and I don't think I need to be feeling like…well, Frankenteen again."

"Petite. I'm petite! Okay. So, yeah. You're just crazy. You are definitely NOT Frankenteen. You're freakin' gor…you're well— Look. You are not Frankenteen. So never think that." She was shaking her head vehemently as she walked to the other side of the room to get what Quinn assumed were her own pajamas.

Quinn was a little amused that the other girl had appeared to have suffered a bout of befuddlement. It evened things up a little for her somehow, and buoyed her confidence ever so slightly.

Then Rachel stopped and bit her bottom lip and frowned, looking unsettled again. "Which, by the way, Quinn, is really not a nice thing to call Finn, even if he is rather, well, big."

Quinn couldn't help the eye roll this time. "Try massive," she muttered.

A glare from the brunette, and Quinn snapped her mouth shut, feeling prickly and defensive again, which she hadn't felt around the other girl all day.

Instead, she took a deep breath and didn't retaliate with her usual nastiness, realizing there wasn't really an argument to be made to other girl in this case. She couldn't try to convince Rachel and her dads that she was a recovering bitch if she turned around and insulted her boyfriend. Even if he was freakishly large. Especially compared to his 'petite' girlfriend. Together, they just seemed wrong, and she thought the mismatch in size just emphasized it. At least to her.

She concluded her mental conversation and nodded her acknowledgment to the diva and mumbled a simple, if slightly grudging, "Sorry."

Rachel dropped the frown and sighed. "Look, it's not like I haven't noticed he's freakishly tall, and perhaps inconveniently large. I just don't think it's helpful or nice to call him names because of it."

Quinn kept her face studiously straight and looked at the makeshift pajamas on the bed while she took a deep and released it slowly and nodded. She looked up again at the brunette somewhat chagrined now, making an attempt at amends. She found she really didn't like feeling like she'd disappointed Rachel. Like everything else in the last forty eight hours, she stuffed that rattling thought in a box and left it alone.

"Okay, okay, got it. I'm a work in progress, remember?"

Rachel dropped the frown, and the tension dropped again as well, as she beamed. "Noted. And appreciated. Now, take your pick, I'll change in the bathroom and dig up your toothbrush."

"Okay, well hurry your petite ass up, or we'll miss SNL, or Dinocroc or whatever it is."

Rachel grinned and shut the door, only to knock quickly and open it mere seconds later before Quinn even had a chance to move. She poked her head in and stuck out her tongue. Quinn looked at her expectantly. "Just wanted to warn you. You'll no doubt be disappointed to find there is neither argyle nor animal motifs in your choices. Carry on…"

Quinn chuckled, and went immediately to the bed to see what she did have in store for her there. The bottoms looked a choice of cream yoga pants or dark sweatpants. She assumed they would fit okay, if a little shorter than normal. After their discussion about freakishly tall and big persons, she wasn't about to put on cream-colored anything. They'd probably make her ass look bigger. So she pulled on the black sweatpants, and tied the string at her hipbones. They would do.

Then she held up each cotton shirt to her torso to check for relative size. She could smell a light fragrance, a mixture probably of detergent and maybe a sachet of herbs in her drawers she thought. Yes, a little vanilla and lavender maybe. She held the cloth to her nose to smell again, and crinkled her nose and smiled at the scent.

The green one would do, though it was a little short at the waist and left a gap between the bottom and sweatpants. She shrugged off most of the insecurity that welled up at the thought of leaving her midriff showing. She had worked hard enough. She could get away with it again now.

As she undressed and neatly folded her jeans and sweater, she recognized that she was both relieved and disappointed that Rachel had gone down the hall to change. Mostly relieved. It wasn't like she hadn't seen Rachel and the rest of the girls of Glee in various states of undress. She'd just never had the inclination, or even if she had (out of curiosity for comparison sakes of course) frankly the time to notice anything. It was probably for the best she didn't have the opportunity tonight anyway, she told herself firmly.

#####################

A/N Also to Narlik the Everton fan… pfft on your side of the Mersey. ;) Actually, I expected better things from you all this year too, WTH? Since I'm American, there is no one here to threaten me if I say I happen to like Everton as well. Except for your alum Rooney of course. Oh well. This year the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Anyone who beats Man U, I'm for. ; ) Come on you Spurs, Gunners, Hammers, Baggies, Toons. I really don't care who beats them as long as SOMEbody does!

Still feeling needy! (The Colts lost to the Jets, Liverpool lost to Man U on a spurious penalty, and that just covers the sports gloom). Comments will perk me up. ; ) And it's butt cold outside!