Chapter Fifty

.

Rachel

.

length of our love.
she was your eyes the day i met you.
remember, you and i.

.

"Baby, I think we should talk about Prom."

My breath hitches, a frown immediately taking hostage of my face. "Prom?" I murmur in surprise because, yes, I managed to forget all about it. My eyes drift to Quinn's face when she chuckles, her perfect eyes all-knowing and surprisingly clear. "What?"

"You forgot too, didn't you?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Too?" I question. "You forgot?" That's near impossible.

She nods, her chin digging deliciously into my abdomen. "I was reminded today... when I got asked..."

"By Finn?"

She breathes out, her breath tickling my skin. "I think it's finally done," she says. "I think he's finally caught a clue. Rachel, I don't want him. I really don't want him, okay? I want you. I love you, and I need you to believe me."

"I do," she says. "I believe you, Quinn. If all that's happened these past few weeks has taught me anything, it's that I want nothing more than to be with you. I've never needed the reminder, but - " I stop, sighing. "I feel as if we've been on this endless rollercoaster of a relationship, and I just want..." I trail off.

"For it to be simple and easy," she finishes off.

"It's never going to happen, is it?"

She chuckles lightly, her body vibrating against mine. "I don't know," she confesses. "It might, or it might not. But, does it matter?"

My fingers slide through her hair again, smiling at the way she leans into my touch. Her eyes close, and she looks a bit like a cat. I'm sure, if I were to listen closely, I would hear her purring. It's not the first time I've made this comparison, and I'm sure there's some dirty pun to be made about our sexuality, but I'm too exhausted to think of it right now.

I'm... sated.

Completely and utterly satisfied.

Quinn shifts her arms and presses butterfly kisses across my abdomen. "Because, it doesn't matter to me," she says, mumbling against my skin. "Hard and painful, or simple and easy; I don't even care. I just want to be with you." She tilts her head to meet my gaze. "I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, Rachel Berry. Would that be okay with you?"

I sigh dramatically. "I suppose I could make do," I say, and then tug her back up my body.


Consciousness comes to me slowly, and I blink a few times as I adjust to the dim light of my bedroom. From the low sunlight peeking in through my curtains, I can tell the sun is just setting, which means we haven't been asleep for very long.

We.

Breathing a content sigh, I roll onto my side, prop my head up on my elbow and study the sheer beauty that is my girlfriend.

Quinn is stretched out on her stomach, her growing blonde hair spread everywhere, with the sheet resting low on her hips. She looks peaceful, almost like an innocent child. Her lips twitch occasionally, and I have to resist the urge to kiss them. It's a personal joy of mine to be able to wake her with a kiss, feeling her mouth spread into a smile against mine as she comes to.

I'll never tire of it.

I exhale quietly, my eyes tracing appreciatively over the definition of the lean muscles of her bare back, taking in the angry scratches marring her perfect skin. As much as I meant what I said when I told her I find her scars beautiful in the way they show how she has survived; I still hate that they're there at all. I hate that she's had to go through that kind of pain. Any pain at all, really. I hate that she has something so... visible that she's determined to hide.

I reach out to circle her wrist with my fingers, and then gently kiss the back of her hand. She seems to settle at the touch, and her lips stop twitching. She breathes out, as if just that brief moment of contact is enough to have her relaxing further into the mattress. I've never felt so whole and dismantled and disjointed and complete in my entire life, and I've meant every word I've ever said when it comes to how I feel about her. I love her with everything I have, and I honestly never want to live a life where she doesn't exist.

With me.

I kiss her skin again, and again and again, until she shifts, making the most adorable mewling sound. As she wakes more and more, I trail kisses up her forearm and up her bicep towards her shoulder. She hums her content, and I feel her shift beneath me, rolling onto her back and sliding her hands over my bare hips.

Lifting my head to look at her, her eyes are hazy with affection and happiness. "Hi," I murmur, before my lips meet hers in a slow kiss, my body shifting to settle properly on top of hers, the skin to skin contact more than enough... foreplay. I pull away to look at her once more, and there's a lazy smile on her face. It's mesmerising, and I would do anything to keep it there.

"I love you," I say.

"Can I wake up like this for the rest of my life?" she whispers, her voice still laden with lingering sleep.

"Like what?"

"With you. Under you. Inside you."

At the sound of that, I kiss her, my tongue immediately seeking entrance. Her hands roam over my skin, unable to keep still, and I want to hold onto this moment for forever. There's so much more to come, I'm sure, but every single moment with Quinn is important. It's been that way since the very beginning, and I'm determined to acknowledge every single one.

Eventually, growing impatient, I move south, trailing my lips across her skin in search of my ultimate destination. Almost dutifully, Quinn spreads her legs, and I shift the sheet completely off of us as I settle in what is becoming my favourite place on earth. There's no time to waste and, placing feather-light open-mouthed kisses to inner thighs, I pull a finger through soft folds. I gasp when her hips buck, my name leaving her lips in that quiet reverent way that is so Quinn.

"Jesus, Quinn, you are so wet," I say, slightly mesmerised by the feel of her. I don't think there will be a day that I get used to this. I never want there to be. If I can help it; I'm going to be marvelling at the sheer wonder that is Quinn Fabray for the rest of my pitiful life.

My fingers tease and dip through warm heat, circling the tight knot and sending her hips jerking again.

Quinn's one hand finds mine splayed across her stomach, anchoring us both by twining our fingers. The contact is heavy, our bodies deciding and accepting that we're doing this together. Everything, together.

When my lips and tongue replace my fingers, licking and thrusting; she moans lowly and squeezes my hand hard. I think it's all she can do not to squeeze my head in desperation. She's practically gulping air, completely at my mercy, and I'm definitely drunk on the power that I can turn Quinn Fabray into this quivering mess.

Who knew?

"Ra - chel!" she says, my name catching and hissed in two syllables. "God - fuck - I'm - "

The sound of her broken voice sets something alight within me, and I move into action. I shift upwards to kiss her soundly, and then hook Quinn's left leg over my shoulder, spreading her wider, and plunge two fingers in deep, immediately curling them. Those hips bounce, and I feel her nails dig into the small of my back. I kiss her again, my tongue matching the rhythm of my fingers.

Quinn is the one to pull back, burying her face in the crook of my neck as she pants my name and presses sporadic kisses to my tan skin.

I can feel how close she is, and my own thrusts start to lose their rhythm. "I love you," I say, our bodies rocking in a broken tempo. I blink once, twice, and then press my palm down hard.

Quinn gasps, almost shocked by the intensity of her orgasm, and I try not to cry.

She's just so... perfect.

In that messed up, unbelievably beautiful way.

She's too much for this earth.

Not wanting this to be it, I slide back down her body, my fingers still in place, curling slightly. Quinn lets out a hiss, squirming to... get away, I think. She should know, by now, that she's not going anywhere.

I won't let her.

I'm holding onto her for forever.

It's almost magic what happens once I'm in position. All I have to do is suck hard on an already over-stimulated bundle of nerves, my own vision blurring, and Quinn comes apart at the seams. Her body tensing and back arching, Quinn desperately clutches for purchase on the sheets as her eyes slam shut. Her body trembles, a deep moan escaping, and it's without a doubt the most amazing, beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.

It's quiet after, and I let Quinn come down from her high, my head resting on her inner thigh. I think I could live here, if she would let me.

Moments later, I hear Quinn's voice breaking through the haze of my own unsatisfied, pent-up arousal.

"Rachel?"

I hum in response, keeping my eyes closed.

"I'm hungry."


Without trying to draw too much attention to myself, I marvel at how at ease Quinn is in the kitchen. In my kitchen. She moves with purpose, a certain confident air about her that makes me warm all over. I don't even think it's only to do with how ridiculously sexy she looks in a white tank top and red running shorts. The apron certainly helps, of course, but I think it's the sense that this is where we belong that makes all the difference.

Quinn is making some kind of lentil soup that sounds complicated and delicious. I helped chop vegetables, but she's handling all the seasoning. I was once asked to add a pinch of salt to something, and we ended up having to order in. It's not my fault they consider a pinch of salt to be something different to what I do. It was so salty, it was actually spicy. We're definitely never making that mistake again.

It's not as if I'm entirely hopeless in the kitchen. If I'm cooking and cooking alone, I can whip up a pretty decent meal. I just get... distracted easily. I suppose I'm like my Dad that way. He's a good... helper. Better at following kitchen orders. He and my Daddy balance each other out in that regard, kind of the way Quinn and I are learning to do. I know the two of us still have quite a ways to go, but we're travelling in the right direction, together.

Most of the time, at least.

Once dinner is ready, Quinn and I sit opposite each other at the kitchen table. It's the best position for us, at this time, because I find that I would much rather be eating Quinn than the soup in front of me. Just the thought makes me chuckle, and Quinn quirks a curious eyebrow in question.

"This is really good," I say in response, and Quinn doesn't look as if she believes me.

Still, sending me a thankful smile, she just digs into her own soup, and I'm afforded the opportunity to watch her. They'll never be a day when I won't marvel at the sheer act of looking at her.

Also, the mere fact that Quinn even expressed her own hunger is something I know I need to make a note of but not voice out loud. To her, at least. It's something small, yes, but it proves to me - and, hopefully, to Quinn as well - that she is getting better. It's baby steps, some of them insignificant in the moment, but they're all going to add up to something phenomenal, and I'm so happy to see that there is progress.

My girlfriend is hungry.

I want to scream it from the rooftops.

It's really the little things, and I'm feeling this rolling wave of happiness that probably follows post-coital bliss.

Really, because, after the complete mess we found ourselves in just hours ago, I'm so relieved we've managed to take a step - however minuscule it is - in the right direction. At least, I think it's the right direction. I mean, we haven't actually spoken about all that much, but we're not not talking.

Maybe Quinn realises this, because she very purposefully chews the food currently in her mouth, and then speaks. Her voice is steady, though I can't mistake the slight tremble. "Rach," she says, keeping her eyes on her food. "Think we can talk about something?"

I can hear the severity in her tone, and I set down my spoon, giving her my full attention. "Anything, Quinn," I say. "You know that."

"I think - " she pauses. "I think I'd like to tell you a bit about Beth."

To my credit, I don't visibly react to her words. My eyes do widen ever so slightly, but that's it. I'm going to wait patiently, giving her the time to say the words she feels the need to.

"I cried for five days straight when they took her," she confesses after a moment. "I mean, I knew what was going to happen when she was born. Finn and I discussed it endlessly, and I knew I would get only one night with her." She leans back, her eyes unfocused as she remembers. "It all just happened so fast, even though it felt as if it was going in slow motion. I don't know but, sometimes, I think back on those few days, and it doesn't even feel as if it happened to me, you know. It's like it happened to someone else, and I was just there, watching it like some kind of film." She runs a hand over her hair, smoothing it down. My hands tend to do damage to the normal put-together Quinn Fabray. "I spent nine months with her," Quinn continues. "Sure, for the first six weeks of those months, I didn't even know about her, and then I spent another six weeks denying that she existed. And then, when I got kicked out, I spent weeks resenting her; hating her.

"At the time, I was still thinking about me and how it affects my life, and that's not how a mother is supposed to think. I should have been thinking about her from the very beginning, and that was my first sign that I wasn't ready. We weren't ready. Finn wanted to keep her. Can you imagine? What business do sixteen-year-olds have raising a baby when they can barely provide for themselves? Babies are expensive, and they need love and devotion and attention and care, and have you seen the state of Finn's room?" She laughs humourlessly. "I found all these reasons to justify why she had to go. We had to give her away, Rachel. We had to."

It's as if she's still trying to convince herself that she made the correct decision, and I can't help thinking about that page in her notebook where she wrote out the same words over and over again. I don't know if she'll appreciate my reminding her that she did the right thing, so I remain silent and just listen.

"Do you know how I freaked out when I actually noticed her moving for the first time? Carole says that first-time mothers usually don't realise what's happening at first and, when I did, I cried for a full hour. I mean, my hormones were already out of whack and I cried over nearly everything anyway. Finn used to hide in his bedroom when I got started." She smiles to herself. "But then I felt her moving inside of me, and she was this real person, and I couldn't deny it anymore. I - I couldn't hate her after that. I don't think I ever truly did. I think I was just... mad, at myself. And at Finn. God, I hate him sometimes. Do you know what pregnancy does to a woman's body?"

I actually smile at the sound of that, and her own smile turns into a shallow grin.

"Beth and I got along really well after that," Quinn says. "She was my constant companion, you know? Always there; always someone to talk to. I had no family, really, but I had Beth, who I learned to love in all the worst ways. Because, I knew, Rachel. I knew, regardless of how many times I debated it; Beth would never be mine. I would never get to hold her and kiss her and love her and watch her grow into the lovely young woman I know she's going to be. I always knew. It would be too toxic for us. It would be too hard, and it would be unfair to her, and to us, and to Carole. There would be resentment. I knew it then, and I know it now, and yet it still doesn't stop me from believing that I should have kept her.

"Every day, Rachel. Every day, I wake up with this feeling. I know there's something missing. Like, a piece of my heart just isn't with me. It's in Cincinnati, firmly lodged in Beth's little body, covered by her blonde curls and hidden behind hazel eyes. And, it hurts. It hurts like you wouldn't believe that I couldn't be enough for her. That I wasn't financially, emotionally and mentally ready for her. Because, it's not her fault. It's not, and I never want her to think it is. I never want her to think she was unwanted or some mistake that we needed to get rid of. God, I never want her to think she wasn't loved. Because she is. Today and every day; she is so loved, and I know that it's always going to feel like this. It's kind of like my penance, having this piece of my heart just walking around outside of my body where I can't even be the one to protect it."

There's such an earnest, pained look in her eyes that catches me off guard. Now, I've seen what Quinn looks like when she's in love: it's the look she sends my way almost constantly, but this is different. This is Quinn Fabray showing me the love she has for a baby girl who will never be hers. I can see it behind her hazel eyes, simmering and always present. It's the unconditional kind, and I find her capacity for it astounding. How could Finn ever think she didn't feel?

Quinn Fabray feels everything, and she feels it so intensely.

I want nothing more than to comfort her, but I have no idea what to say or do. There are many things, sure, but I don't know how receptive she would be to any of those, right now. Just, this is all so heartbreaking. I've read her notebooks, and I've been allowed a glimpse into her thoughts behind everything to do with Beth, but nothing like this. This is today and every day.

This is Quinn Fabray, who gave birth to a baby girl but did not become a mother.

This is Quinn Fabray who hurts for that every single day.

I'm curious about a lot of other things: the actual birth, the adoption, the return to the Fabray home and so much more, but I hold my tongue. Quinn will tell me when she's ready. I've learned my many, many lessons.

Breathing a sigh, Quinn returns to her meal, which has probably gone cold by now.

I don't think I could eat another bite. "Quinn," I say, and her eyes snap towards mine. "I know you probably don't want to hear it from me, but you did the right thing. For yourself. For Finn. And, most importantly, for your daughter."

Quinn seems to contemplate my words, before she shrugs noncommittally. "Either way, I'm expected to burn in Hell, right?"

"Quinn," I chastise. "Don't say things like that."

"But, it's true, isn't it?"

Before I dive into my immediate rebuttal, I pause. I can hear something very specific in Quinn's voice. "Baby," I say, careful with my own tone; "you say that almost as if you want to."

She doesn't respond at first. "I'm scared of Hell, Rachel," she says. "It's - it's one of the reasons I've never truly considered - " she stops, but I know what she's going to say. Taking her own life. She sighs. "I just don't think I've lived a life worthy of Heaven," she says.

"You're only eighteen, Quinn," I say. "You've barely even lived enough life to make an accurate assessment."

Quinn presses her lips together, saying nothing.

"Wait here," I say, and then jump from my seat and sprint up the stairs in search of one of Quinn's notebooks. I hate seeing her look so desolate and lost, and all I want to do is put a smile on her face. There are various ways, of course, but I don't want it to be meaningless. It has to, possibly, come from her. "Ah hah," I say when I find what I'm looking for, and then race back down the stairs.

Quinn is exactly where I left her, her hands in her lap and her head bowed. I waste no time moving to sit beside her, sliding my chair close enough that I may as well be sitting on top of her.

"This is what you wrote when you were thirteen, Quinn," I say, opening the notebook to the specific page and my eyes dropping to read the words. "'Life itself is precious and should be cherished every single day of our lives. We should live it to the fullest and never let anything bring us down. I truly believe that life is the most special gift God could ever give us; we should be thankful.'" I look at her. "Baby, don't you see? Even then, you knew. Life has thrown you every kind of ugliness imaginable, but look at you. You're still here and you're still fighting. I know you don't feel it, but you deserve success and happiness and love and Heaven. You deserve it all, and it really doesn't matter if you get a little lost along the way, okay? I'm here now. Take my hand, and hold onto me. Let me lead you into the light."

Quinn waits only a beat before she's practically tugging me into her lap, and I'm straddling her. "I love you," she says. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Needless to say, the second her lips touch mine, all talk of life and love and babies is forgotten.

And, well, so is the rest of our dinner.


Quinn and I barely have time to get dressed when we hear my fathers arrive. This entire Friday night has felt like our first weekend together. Just, you know, with the added danger of actually getting caught because the only way Quinn and I actually hear them is because we're having sex on the kitchen table. God, my Daddy would never forgive us for this.

It's a scramble to find our clothing, throw the garments on, and then retake our seats as if we haven't just been moaning and panting on the table at which we eat. As a family.

Wow.

Maybe we are going to burn in Hell.

Quinn works on straightening our placemats and has to retrieve her spoon from the floor. "Your hair," she hisses, and I flatten my own just in time to see my Dad practically skipping into the kitchen.

He frowns at the sight of us. "You're having dinner only now?" he asks, glancing at his wrist for the time.

Quinn smiles at him, her cheeks a little flushed. "Hello to you too, Hiram," she says.

He chuckles lightly. "Hi, Quinn," he says easily. Then: "Is there any food left? My meal wasn't all that appetising." He pauses. "Or am I imposing on date night?" he asks warily. "It's just that I'm starving, and whatever you were cooking up smells good."

Quinn laughs, and there's that breathless quality to it that I absolutely adore. It's something sort of new, only existing since her car accident, and I'm determined to hold onto it. I want it to exist for forever. I want her and us and our love to exist for all of eternity.

I realise how... childish that sounds, but I'm in this in all the ways that should terrify an eighteen-year-old, and I've come to accept my position in life and love. It's been a rollercoaster to get to this point in our lives, and I don't even care that nothing about it has been simple of easy. I wouldn't change a thing, I don't think, because this is where I am. I'm sitting in my kitchen with my Dad and my girlfriend laughing over something or the other, and it's everything I've ever wanted and needed.

I suppose it helps when I feel my Daddy's gentle hands on my shoulders. I tilt my head upwards to look at him, and there's an actual smile on his face. His eyes are still sad, but he's smiling, and that's something of a miracle these days. I think it's to do with Quinn and my Dad, but it also has a little something to do with me as well.

I gently pat his hand on my right shoulder. "Hi, Daddy," I say, smiling up at him.

He bends to kiss the top of my head, and then pauses to survey the room in all its glory. I bite my bottom lip as realisation slowly settles over his features, his eyes taking in the flush of our cheeks, our rumpled clothing and the haphazard setting of the table. Three, two, one: cue the overwhelming mortification. "Sweetheart," he says, entirely too calm. "Were you having sex on my kitchen table?"


While Quinn is at cheerleading practice on Saturday morning, I put in some time at the studio, which is mainly just to get myself out of the house. I have this growing sense that there's something my dads want to talk to me about, and I just know none of us is going to like it. Whether it's about Quinn or anything else, I'm doing all I can to put it off for as long as possible, and I just about manage to convince myself I'm doing a good job with it... until I get home to find them both waiting for me in the living room.

The house is silent. That part isn't odd, but I can immediately tell that Quinn isn't home - when she's supposed to be - and it's probably, definitely by design. If Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Blaine and I make up the Quinn management team, then she and my dads are part of the Rachel conspiracy team.

I'm - sorely - tempted to dash up the stairs and avoid all this upcoming drama. Quinn and I have just managed to survive a hiccup, and we still haven't even made a proper decision about Prom yet. I mean, we were distracted, but it's coming up soon, and I think it'll be a good idea for us to have that all sorted out before we get to school on Monday. I imagine there will be people lining up to ask her.

"Sweetheart," my Daddy says at my obvious hesitation. "Do you mind coming in here a minute? Your father and I need to talk to you about something."

Sighing heavily, I make a mental note to have those words strung together in that order abolished from our collective vocabulary. For one family, we really do say the words too often. It's almost like the Berry eye-roll, synonymous and ingrained in us all.

Including Quinn.

Slowly, I make my way into the living room and settle on the couch, dropping my gym bag onto the floor with a thud. At this moment, all I really want to do is have a nice, long bath (with Quinn), crawl into bed (with Quinn) and sleep for at least forty hours (with Quinn.)

Still, being the dutiful daughter I am, I give my dads my undivided attention.

The two of them exchange a brief look, an abundance of conversation occurring in that barely-a-second. It's my Dad who starts talking, clearly more... composed about whatever it is they wish to discuss. "Sweetheart, we'd like to talk to you about your grandfather."

If I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that I actually forgot about him. I think I boxed him up with all the other unpleasant things to happen on the day of Aunt Marianne's funeral. Sometimes, I even have to remind myself that Kurt and Blaine are no longer together. Without my say-so, my eyes drift down to my Daddy's hands, where the swelling has very clearly reduced, and he shifts them uncomfortably.

I snap my eyes back up, looking at my Dad. "What about him?" I ask, trying to sound casual. I don't know if it's working, and the actress in me cringes at my inability to remain unaffected by all of this.

"He - he has expressed interest," he starts, and I frown. "In you."

My frown deepens.

"He has requested to meet you," my Dad eventually says, and it sounds and looks as if it visibly pains him to voice the words.

"Oh."

It's the best I can muster, and it might be the wrong thing to say because both of their faces fall slightly. Maybe it sounds as if I'm actually considering the idea, which, maybe, I might be. I don't know. I've never really thought about it. "Why?" I ask. "Why would he want to meet me now?"

They exchange another look, and I wait patiently.

"Well," my Daddy eventually says, sounding utterly defeated; "he didn't actually know that you existed until he saw you at the funeral."

"Oh."

Endless years of schooling, and it's all I can come up with. It almost brings a smile to my face, but this entire conversation isn't even remotely amusing. I wish Quinn was here. She would know what to say and do, and I'm momentarily and irrationally angry with her for leaving me to face this without her. We're a couple. We're supposed to be doing things like this together.

"Rachel," my Dad prompts. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

I clear my throat. "So, he wants to meet me?" she questions. "Just me? Why? What should the fact that I exist even matter when he hasn't bothered to contact Daddy? What's his angle? What could he possibly want from me? I mean, I'm not even remotely related to him. What does he want? Why? Why are you even telling me any of this? You really could have just kept it to yourselves, and we could have all gone on with our lives with my being none the wiser." I suck in a breath, clearly more affected by this sudden revelation than I thought.

My Daddy clears his throat. "In our experience with these kinds of things; children tend to change things," he explains. "It was my decision not to tell my family of your birth. Aunt Marianne agreed with me. All I've ever wanted was to protect you from them, and I never would have imagined that they would - " he stops suddenly, unsure what to say. "All I've ever wanted was to protect you."

I take in a deep breath and release it slowly. "What would you have me do?" I ask.

"No, Rachel," my Dad says. "Sweetheart, the decision is yours, okay? There's no obligation to do anything. You can meet him, you can not. You can meet him, and then choose for that to be it, or you can have a relationship with him if you'd like." He closes his eyes for a moment. "I imagine you have a lot of questions about that half of your family, and it's always pained your father and I that we've been unable to provide you with all the answers."

I swallow audibly, and look at my Daddy. "Would it hurt you?" I ask.

"This isn't about me."

There are so many things I could say to argue that, but I don't. "Would it hurt you?" I repeat.

He sighs. "I don't know." Which, possibly, means yes, and I think he's hurt enough in his lifetime. They all have. We all have.

"Can I think about it?" I eventually say, cringing slightly at my Daddy's facial expression.

"Of course," my Dad says. "Perhaps it's best if we just give you his number, and you can contact him yourself if you decide to meet with him?"

I nod. "I think that's best," I say, fishing for my phone in my pocket. I unlock the screen to a text from Quinn. Of course.

Quinn: So, I suspect you might be a little mad at me, but you're on my mind (you always are). San says 'Sup, and Britt is baking up a storm. I promise I'll make it up to you (in as many ways as you would like.)

I sigh. I don't even know how I'm supposed to stay mad at her. She's not even here, and my misplaced ire is already crumbling. I know she's going to be the person I talk to about all of this, anyway.

Once my Dad reads out the number for me and I save it as J. Holt, I start replying to Quinn as my mind drifts. Holt, huh? All this time, I didn't even know my Daddy's maiden name. I frown. Is it still referred to as a maiden name if it's a man? Probably not.

It's not lost on me that both he and Aunt Marianne chose different surnames.

Berry: I do hate you a little for leaving me to the wolves like this.

Quinn: They asked. I'm sorry. I love you. X

Berry: You can come home now. I need a hug and a kiss and... maybe some other things.

Berry: Also, you'd better have cookies with you.

I look up when someone clears his throat, and I look expectedly at my Daddy.

"Also," he says, sounding slightly amused; "you know, while we're here, I think we should probably have a little discussion about the issue of fornicating on the communal furniture."

Huh.

Maybe Quinn should hold off on coming home. My current mortification wouldn't even compare to hers.


"I think you should run with Finn."

Quinn does a literal double-take, her eyes snapping towards me. "Excuse me?"

"For Prom King and Queen," I clarify. "I think you should run with him. I know he offered."

Quinn's expression is... incredulous. "Are you - what is - Rachel." She shakes her head as if she's clearing it, and the homework she's currently working on is suitably abandoned. "Is this some kind of test?" she asks cautiously. "Because, I don't know if you were there, but we already had an entire blowup over Finn. Why on earth would I put us through that again? Why would you want me to?"

I bristle ever so slightly at her accusation. "It's not a test, Quinn. i wouldn't do that," I say. "I actually resent that."

She waits patiently, her expression unchanging.

"I just - I know you want to win," I tell her. "I know you're acting as if it's not important to you - and maybe it's not as important as it once was - but you still want to win Prom Queen. I know you do, and I want that for you. You can win, and you will win. Your chances will be better with him."

Quinn starts to shake her head. "But I - "

"Quinn," I gently interrupt. "It's okay."

"No," she says firmly. "It's not okay." She forces herself to take a calming breath, and I imagine I must have pinched a nerve with my suggestion. At least she's not yelling or anything like that, though the vein in her forehead is threatening to appear. "I don't need Finn to win, and I'm really irritated that you and he both think that."

I press my lips together, replaying my own words in my head and cringing. "If I gave you that impression, I didn't mean to," I say, shifting the sheet music in front of me out of the way and crawling across my - our - bed towards her. "Of course, I know you don't need Finn to win, but even you have to acknowledge that the probability is higher with a running mate with a popularity level of Finn Hudson."

Quinn's nostrils flare. "I don't care," she says. "I'm not running with him, Rachel. If I'm running at all, it'll be alone. I don't need Finn to win, and I sure as hell don't need any other boy either. Okay? If I lose, then it's fine. I don't care about that, but if I can't confirm who I am and who we are, then I'm sure as hell not going to deny it either. You and I are in a relationship, and I would much rather do this entire thing alone than a single part of it without you, okay?"

There's so much truth and conviction in her voice that it has me propelling forward and falling into her immediately. She loses her balance on the edge of the bed, and we both go tumbling onto the floor, my left palm receiving a pretty neat carpet burn. My laugh is drowned out by Quinn's groan.

And then moan.

I realise belatedly where my thigh has landed and, okay, so, our discussion is clearly over. There's a shifting of limbs and a meeting of eyes.

Yip.

Discussion definitely over.

And Quinn proves it to me a minute later when her tongue slides into my mouth and her hand works its way between my legs.


J. Holt's contact haunts me all of Sunday. Quinn hasn't asked me anything about what my dads discussed with me, and I think she's waiting for me to bring it up. I'm convinced she already knows more about the situation than I do, which would make me a little mad, but it's to my advantage now. Quinn will tell me all the things my dads won't, particularly if I ask. I don't know if it's to do with our communication misunderstandings in the past or if it's to do with how we've grown as a couple, but we don't hide as much as we used to.

"What did my dads tell you about my grandfather?" I ask, the moment Quinn gets back from the evening service at church. She's started going to the later service in the hopes of avoiding her mother and, well, other people as well. It's less crowded and she doesn't have to keep up appearances for them anymore. She doesn't want to anymore, she says, which means a hell of a lot when it comes to our future in Lima.

We're coming out, and we're coming out soon.

If Quinn is surprised by the question, she doesn't say it. As if I haven't spoken at all, she toes off her Oxford wedges and sets them neatly beside my desk, peels off her white cardigan, and then comes to lie next to me on our bed. Our bed. For the longest time, she just lies on her side, her eyes on me, and says nothing.

"Quinn," I prompt.

"I love you," she says. "Hiram loves you. LeRoy loves you. Aunt Marianne loves you. Brittany loves you. Santana does too, even though she'd rather eat needles than admit it. Kurt loves you. Blaine, Tina, all of Glee. We love you, Rachel, even if we don't always show it in the ways you deserve. We love you for you, and not for who you represent."

"What did they tell you?" I press.

"I don't know how to be objective here," she confesses. "I'm with you, always, but I know what it's like to have my parents want nothing to do with me, and I can't even imagine what I would be feeling if they suddenly decided that they wanted to know my children, you know?"

I clench my jaw, my mind ticking. "It's going to hurt him, isn't it?"

"James Holt has always been hurting him," Quinn says, and she practically spits his name. "I think - I think it would be different if he wanted to meet you both," she says. "But he wants to see only you, and I don't know how I feel about that, so I don't want to say anything to influence your decision."

I reach out with my right hand to cup her cheek. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Before she can respond, I shift forward and press a kiss to her lips. "I love you in all the big ways, Quinn. And, whenever I think, how can it possibly get any more than this; I love you in all the small ways too." I sigh. "I don't want to hurt him."

"I know."

"I just want to know."

"I know."

I close my eyes. "Is he going to hate me?"

"Of course not."

"Will you come with me?"

"I'll follow you anywhere."

I do my level best not to make a comment about New York, and rather just kiss her again. "I love you, Quinn Fabray."

"I love you, too."


Quinn agrees with me that we probably shouldn't mention my intentions towards my grandfather to either of my dads. Not until I can figure out just what he hopes to get out of this entire thing, anyway. According to my own feelings; I think I wouldn't mind whichever way our first meeting goes. I've survived this long without him, and I think I'll be perfectly fine to keep going. I have a family who loves me.

I have Quinn.

Who's about ready to murder a person.

It's almost as if her rejection of Finn has opened the floodgates, and every boy with half a smidge of courage is convinced that he is going to be the lucky one to whom she finally says yes. It's kind of funny to watch her get exasperated and flustered and annoyed because, well, she's ridiculously sexy.

And she's mine.

She practically throws herself into her chair for Glee like a petulant child, and I have to resist the urge to pat the top of her head. "I never thought I would be so relieved for Glee," she says. "And I have an extra Cheerios practice after this. Just, anything to keep them away from me."

I lean into her. "Aw, poor baby," I tease.

She glares at me. "Don't think I haven't seen boys coming up to you," she points out.

"They have," I allow; "but it's mainly to ask if you have a date yet."

She growls lowly. "I'm sorry."

I shrug. "I did happen to get a few invites out of it, so it's not all bad," I say. "As long as you don't start saying yes to anyone, I won't either."

She twists her body to face me. "I'm saying yes to only you," she says. Then: "Yes, yes, yes, oh, Rachel, yes."

My eyes widen in alarm, and I quickly look around to see if anyone has heard her, and she bursts out laughing. "You are the absolute worst, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn spends the rest of Glee thoroughly amused, and I'm just glad that the weight of the day seems to have left her for the time being. She's here and she's present and participating and we might even be onto something for Nationals. We're going to have to prepare two separate, equally brilliant, setlists for the competition, in the hopes that we do, in fact, make it past the first round.

Once Mr Schuester dismisses us, the club disperses. Quinn shoots me a grin, and then leaves with Santana and Brittany for practice. I plan on waiting them out in the choir room, just practicing some potential solo songs for Nationals. The four of us are supposed to have dinner together after their practice, and after Brittany has some odd, elusive meeting with Coach Sylvester. Santana intends to be with her in case the crazy woman tries to get Brittany to agree to being shot out of a canon again, and I have a passing fantasy of finding Quinn in the Cheerios' locker room and doing dirty things to her.

I shake my head to focus, and get lost in the music. There's a safety to be found between the music notes and bars, and I hold onto that as tightly as I can. I'm in the middle of Celine Dion's Taking Chances when I realise I'm no longer alone, and I close off the note with a frown as I turn around.

"Hey, San," I say, practically startling at Santana's surprising presence. I wasn't expecting to see her and, from the sight of her, it must be for a very specific reason. She looks shell-shocked, paler than I've ever seen her, and my thoughts immediately jump to Quinn.

No.

What's happened?

I open my mouth to ask the question, but she cuts me off before I can get a word out.

"I think you and I need to have a little talk," she says, and she sounds equal parts somber and vindictive.

The words do nothing to settle my unease. Quinn might not be hurt or in any immediate danger, but whatever this is about... it definitely involves Quinn.