Part II: Where the Heart Is Really Attached

Quinn gazes out the window of her brand-new apartment on Central Park West. The apartment itself isn't brand new, but it's new to her and hers for the next six months at least. It's probably overpriced, but she can mostly afford it now that she has a few successful films in her repertoire and, more importantly, the paychecks for them in her bank account. The last time she'd stayed in New York for longer than a few days, she'd lived out of a hotel for weeks while filming one of those films, and she isn't about to live that way again. If she's going to be here for any extended period, a comfortable bed and a good view is a must. She's got both of them now; the bed is a decadent California king that's firm enough for her back and the view is of Central Park. Of course, that view is decidedly snow covered right now. The trees are a bare sea of crisscrossing branches, still coated with ice and tufts of snow from the last big storm. Santana thinks she's an idiot for leaving the relatively mild weather of the West Coast for the cold, snowy east, but Quinn really hadn't had a choice.

Her agent would disagree. Elaine would prefer her to do one of the dozen films being thrown her way that would have kept her in Los Angeles, but they're almost all shallow romantic comedies meant to highlight Quinn's looks and her chemistry with her co-stars more than her actual talent. There'd been a time when that wouldn't have bothered her in the least, when she would have (and did) bank on her appearance to open every door that she wanted to walk through. But despite a few temporary regressions from time to time, of which she is not exactly proud, she's grown past that. She wants to earn respect for the quality of her work, not her body.

She's here in New York to headline a new play, The Girl in the Mirror. The title is ironic, Quinn supposes, but she'd fallen in love with the character that she'll be playing, and she can only hope that audiences will too. Rehearsals begin next week, and Quinn can't wait to get back on a stage. It's how she'd started her career, after all.

Her brief time on the West End had been wonderful for her professional life but terrible for her personal life, which had fallen apart once again.

It's been a recurring theme in her life.

Santana thinks she's headed in that direction again.

Quinn can't with any confidence say that she's wrong.

The play isn't the only reason that Quinn is in New York. It's a major reason, obviously, but there are other, more personal reasons for her to rent this apartment and commit to a six month lease, regardless of how well (or not well) her play is received. And she's probably stupid for doing it because this—whatever this is that she and Rachel have been dancing around for months (or maybe years)—is way too complicated to even go near.

And yet, near it she is once again.

Quinn is no longer repressed enough to deny that there'd been something there on her part back in high school. She'd been too dead set against Rachel marrying Finn, too sickened by the very idea, to play it off as concern for a friend or a fundamental opposition to teen weddings. Those things had factored in, of course, but after years of self-discovery and no small amount of therapy, Quinn can admit that she'd wanted to stop that wedding because she'd had feelings for Rachel Berry—feelings that she very much hadn't wanted to deal with at the time and so had buried deep.

But she's hardly been carrying some foolish, unrequited torch since then. Her weird crush on Rachel had pretty much faded along with their first efforts to stay in touch once Quinn had gotten to New Haven. And wow, her first year there had been a major regression into the very worst version of her shallow, appearance-obsessed self. She'd had every intention of starting fresh and living honestly, but the temptation to be completely free of every stupid, self-destructive mistake that she'd made in high school and still have the kind of admiration and popularity that she'd so desperately craved without the need to be a total bitch to everyone around her was too much for her to resist. So what if no one at Yale had known about her teen pregnancy or the pink hair or the ridiculous tattoo that is now thankfully removed? So what if they'd all thought she was richer than she was and older than she was and more innocent than she was?

Mistakes had obviously been made.

The biggest might have been her attempt to actually have a relationship with Puck. By then, she'd mostly known that she was more attracted to women than men. Her night with Santana had proven that, even if it had also spooked her enough to send her running back to Yale to jump on the first wealthy, eligible guy to smile her way—the kind of guy her parents would wholeheartedly approve of. One night of drunken sex with a woman could be explained away as a college girl experimenting, but to keep sleeping with women would have meant losing her mother's financial support and her father's guilt money to pay her tuition. Quinn quite literally couldn't afford to let that happen, at least not until after she'd turned twenty-one and gained full access to her trust fund.

Then Finn had died, and Quinn had been kind of a mess over it. She'd gone back to Lima for his funeral, of course, though she hadn't told Biff exactly who Finn had been to her, but she'd skipped the memorial that all of their friends had held for him because she just couldn't face any of it. She couldn't reconcile the fact that Finn had died just when he was figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life while she'd lived through an accident that probably should have killed her and was just throwing away her second chance by making the same, selfish, shallow decisions.

She hadn't really made much of an attempt to be there for Rachel through that terrible time because she'd been convinced that Rachel would be thinking the same thing, wondering why Quinn had escaped her brush with death when Finn hadn't.

That's part of the reason that Quinn had eventually given Puck a real, honest chance. Rachel would never get that one last chance with Finn that she'd been so sure they would have one day, and Quinn had never really bothered to give Puck a first one, but he'd joined the air force and was getting his life together and still claimed to love her, flaws and all, and she didn't want to have any regrets about what might have been if he went and got himself killed too.

And he had looked pretty good in that uniform. Quinn can't deny that she'd always been more physically attracted to him than to any of the other guys she'd tried to be with. Looking back, she realizes that the attraction had been more an effect of his bad boy persona and the excitement she'd felt from breaking the rules, but at the time, she'd still been trying to cling to the possibility that she could be happy with a guy, and why not the father of her child? The whole long-distance thing had seemed like a major plus too—a way to test out her feelings without having him constantly in her space.

But only seeing Puck for a couple of days every three or four months meant three or four months of being as good as single at Yale, where there were dozens of attractive women who were open to fooling around with other women at parties that Quinn attended.

Things happened.

(And it's not like Puckerman had kept it in his pants with those women that trolled the base in Texas where he'd been stationed.)

At least they'd managed to end things on mostly good terms—after he'd found a sext on her phone and she'd had a giant, gay-panicky meltdown in front of him. Puck had even offered to be her beard if she needed, conscious of the fact that he'd severely fucked up her life once before by getting her pregnant at sixteen and not wanting to see her get outed before she was ready. She hadn't exactly taken him up on the offer, but they also hadn't bothered to tell anyone that they'd broken up until she'd already left for her study abroad program in London.

That's when she'd met Daisy. Quinn had actually studied during her semester abroad for the most part, but she'd also made a few friends, one of whom had introduced her to Daisy near the end of the semester. For the first time, Quinn had been swept away both physically and emotionally. (She sometimes thinks that could have happened with Rachel back in high school if Rachel had ever actively tried to sweep her away, but then she remembers what a repressed bitch she'd been and knows she would have never allowed it to happen.) Daisy had been a few years older and worldly and gorgeous—and good lord, that accent of hers had been such a turn-on.

It hadn't really taken much for the woman to convince Quinn to stay for the summer. The promise of seeing more of England and Ireland and France would have probably been enough even if Quinn hadn't been completely smitten. By the end of the summer, she'd fallen in love with the woman and the country.

It had taken more than a few people by surprise. Apart from Puck, no one had even known that Quinn was attracted to women—well, Santana obviously had a strong suspicion based on personal experience, but Quinn had still been insisting it was only a one-time thing when they'd last seen each other. She'd almost told her before leaving for London, just like she'd almost told Rachel, but telling Rachel had felt like it could be an admission of another sort, teetering as they had been on the edge of friendship once again, and God knows Santana couldn't be trusted to keep any of Quinn's secrets, seeing how she'd already told nearly everyone about their drunken night together.

These days, Quinn's secrets are practically signed in blood and buried as far in the back of the Hollywood closet as her publicist can dig. Quinn is under no delusions that they won't eventually be unearthed. Frankly, she's a little surprised that Daisy hasn't outed her yet. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms.

It had been one thing to have a summer fling and then return to school, high on love and still giggling over every email and zoom chat, but it had been something quite different to move to London and live with Daisy for keeps. The first few months had been bliss, and Quinn had still been reveling in all of the new places that Daisy had taken her and the new people she'd met. It had been Daisy who'd arranged Quinn's audition for Things I Know to Be True, and Daisy who'd gotten weirdly jealous and possessive once she'd won the role. It had only gotten worse once Quinn was working and making her own friends apart from Daisy. Eventually, Quinn had realized that her girlfriend liked her better when she was completely dependent on her, willing to let Daisy control everything. Quinn had also realized that she absolutely did not want to be that girl anymore. (She'd already pretended to be the good, little wifey enough with the men she'd dated; she wasn't about to start doing it with the women too.)

In retrospect, moving halfway across the world for love hadn't been her brightest idea.

That is absolutely not what Quinn is doing now.

She's not in love with Rachel.

She's just—in something.

It's her own stupid fault. They'd both moved well beyond that weird whatever they'd had in high school—at least until this past year.

By the time Quinn had come home from London, still bruised from Daisy but not broken, Rachel had been pretty serious about Jesse St. James again. And it was fine. It was great actually. Quinn didn't exactly love the guy after all the shit he'd pulled when they were younger, but he was a much better match for Rachel than Finn or Sam had ever been, so when she'd eventually gotten an invitation to their wedding, she'd been happy to attend.

Quinn's time in London and the move to Los Angeles had meant that her correspondence with Rachel had become fairly sporadic again. They were both focusing on their careers and their own relationships—Rachel with Jesse and Quinn with Tasha, an amazing chef at this hip restaurant that she'd stumbled into one Tuesday afternoon. She'd fallen in love with the place at first bite and sent her compliments to the chef, and the chef had thanked her in person, having somehow recognized Quinn from the one small, independent film role that she'd had under her belt at the time. It hadn't taken long for Quinn to fall in love with Tasha too.

But there's a price that Quinn has to pay for the career she's building, and unfortunately, her lovers have to pay it right along with her. Her sexuality must never be confirmed, only disguised and evaded. Her relationship with Tasha had been full of so many somedays and eventuallys and just wait a little longers until Tasha just wouldn't anymore.

Their breakup still stings.

Where her relationship with Daisy had been marked by youthful passion and very little thought about the future, her relationship with Tasha had been quiet and measured in a way that was meant to lead them to a future in which they'd be free to be together fully. It had been Quinn's hope for that future that had ultimately influenced her decision to help Kurt and Blaine start their family.

Her thoughtless joke about donating her eggs long before the two had even been married had come back to bite her in the ass. She'd been having lunch with the Anderson-Hummels while filming in New York and Blaine had just up and asked her if she'd seriously consider it because they were serious about wanting their child to have her genes.

"You're gorgeous, obviously," Kurt had complimented.

"But also extremely intelligent and resilient and everything we'd want our child to become," Blaine had finished with his most charming smile.

Quinn had been flattered beyond words but still hadn't wanted anything to do with their crazy request at first, forever raw from giving up Beth. Then she'd started to really think about it, about Blaine and Kurt wanting so badly to be fathers and how they couldn't do it on their own, how they'd need a willing surrogate to even hope to have a biological child (and thankfully they hadn't been expecting that of Quinn), how if she and Tasha ever wanted to have their own family someday then they'd need help too, how she'd have two ready-and-willing sperm donors if and when she ever needed them.

The fact that, at the time, they'd had every intention of hiring some suitable, anonymous surrogate from a neighboring state had only been a plus for Quinn, so she'd ultimately agreed.

Tasha had thought she was crazy when she'd told her, knowing how much Quinn still hurt over Beth, but once Quinn had explained her reasoning, Tasha had come around enough to be mostly supportive.

It was Rachel's decision to volunteer herself as the surrogate that had thrown a wrench into everything.

Quinn had known how much it would complicate their lives, which is exactly why she'd tried to make sure that Rachel had thought through every aspect of what a pregnancy and giving up a child she'd borne would mean. And of course, Rachel had assured her, assured all of them, that she had.

And maybe she actually had, but it's no surprise that she still hadn't been prepared for the reality of it. You simply can't be until you've been through it. Quinn should know.

The thing is, Quinn wasn't supposed to have to know this time around. The nameless, faceless surrogate was supposed to save her from knowing anything but the baby's name and birthdate. Anything more than that should have been entirely at Quinn's own discretion.

But, obviously, thanks to Rachel, Quinn had ended up far more involved in the pregnancy than she'd ever wanted to be because it seemed like Rachel always had some question to ask her or fear that needed assuaged. Even if she hadn't been constantly calling and texting, Quinn knows that she still would have felt this damned connection start to form because just being Rachel's friend again, even from across the country, meant knowing and seeing all the stages of her pregnancy play out through social media posts and private messages from all their mutual friends.

Tasha had known it too, and it had only added to the tension that already existed between them.

She'd accused Quinn of being more attentive to Rachel (and Kurt and Blaine) than to their relationship, which hadn't been true exactly, but Quinn understands why she'd been so pissed. Quinn could and would be seen in public with her friends without worrying that anyone might suspect that they all shared a baby but she wouldn't even risk going to the gas station with Tasha for fear that someone would guess they were lovers. And worse, Quinn still hadn't been able to offer Tasha any definitive moment when she'd feel settled enough in her career to stop agreeing to all the photo ops with eligible bachelors that her publicist keeps arranging.

It's not as if Quinn enjoys living her life this way, but she's smart enough to play the game that gives her the best chances at the best roles with the biggest payouts for as long as she can get them before she risks it all by proudly claiming a label that has, historically, limited an actor's opportunities. With enough shrewd business decisions and a little luck, she'll have the means to direct her own path without the fear of losing everything she's worked so hard to gain. (Maybe she'll even explore that directing thing literally.)

Tasha had never cared for Quinn's plans, and she definitely hadn't cared for the sudden addition of Anderson-Hummels and Berry-St. Jameses (mostly the Berry) into their relationship, so she'd finally ended it.

Quinn had nursed her broken heart for months.

And then Grace had been born, and Quinn, predictably, had fallen in love with another little girl who would never be hers. It's a different kind of love than what she feels for Beth, a kind that comes from knowing that she'd helped give such a precious gift to Kurt and Blaine. Grace is so incredibly beautiful, all dark hair and big brown eyes—it's obvious whose sperm had won that race—and Quinn could almost make herself forget that she has any part in her at all. Almost—because there are unmistakable similarities in the shape of her eyes, her chin, her ears, and even if Quinn could unsee them, Rachel will never let her.

Rachel has proven to be very good at complicating Quinn's life, and it's not like Quinn has ever exactly needed any help in that department. For the most part, she's fine with being Grace's honorary aunt, but Rachel is still struggling with it, still calling Quinn to cry, to complain, to confide, to confess.

It was one of those confessions that had cinched Quinn's decision to do the play.

She's pulled from her thoughts by the buzzing of the doorbell, and she turns away from the window and pads over to the intercom. She's not surprised in the least to see Rachel's grim face on the monitor. Quinn doesn't bother with the niceties of saying hello. She simply buzzes Rachel in and then heads to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring two glasses. Rachel might want something stronger, but it's not even noon yet.

Then Quinn returns to the living room to wait the two or so minutes it will take for Rachel to navigate the lobby and the elevator. Quinn places one glass of wine on the coffee table and keeps the other perfectly balanced between her fingers while her eyes roam over the clean, white walls of the room, and she idly considers what décor would look best on them. She'd only officially moved in four days ago, so the apartment is still fairly sparse. Quinn loves the space and the view but hates that it doesn't feel very much like home yet. She's not sure how much effort she should even put in on that front if she's only going to be here for six months.

Then again—

The knock on the door is loud and crisp and quickly repeated, and Quinn pads into the foyer with the glass of wine in hand before Rachel leaves a dent in the wood from her impatience. She pulls the door open to reveal Rachel in all her glory, red knit beret on her head over wind-blown hair and a matching pea coat that she must have unbuttoned on the way up.

"Hey," Quinn offers by way of greeting, holding out the glass. Rachel takes it as she sweeps into the room, immediately lifting it to her lips and downing half of it in one gulp.

"You might want to slow down there, superstar." The last thing she needs is a drunk Rachel.

"The deed is done," Rachel announces, now clutching the wine glass between both of her hands. A tremulous smile flits across her lips. "I am officially a divorcée." And then her face crumples as she promptly bursts into tears.

The sight twists Quinn's heart into a knot, and she sighs. "Come here," she urges, reaching out to gently pry the glass from Rachel's fingers. She sets it aside on the entryway table before tugging Rachel into her arms. Rachel instantly hugs her back, so tightly it nearly steals her breath. "I thought you were done crying over Jesse."

They've been separated since November, and Rachel had been the one to file for divorce earlier this year. Jesse hadn't contested.

"I'm not crying over him," Rachel mumbles into Quinn's shoulder, sniffling. "I'm crying because I'm a failure."

Quinn dismisses that notion with an inelegant, "Pfft. First marriages are basically practice runs these days."

Rachel makes a noise that might be a sob but sounds suspiciously more like a chortle before she finally lifts her red-rimmed eyes and releases her death grip on Quinn. "How much more practice do I need if I couldn't get it right with someone who is basically the male version of me?"

Quinn drags her teeth over her lip, trying to think of an appropriate response. She loves Rachel—in a strictly best friend kind of way because she refuses to entertain any other kind of ways right now—but she still has a number of less endearing idiosyncrasies that Jesse St. James just happens to share. They're living proof that too much of a thing is never better. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"

Rachel releases a huff of frustration, disengaging from Quinn completely. "You really are no help at all, Quinn Fabray." She shrugs out of her coat and pulls off her hat, tossing them at Quinn. "Here. Be a good hostess."

"You invited yourself over," Quinn reminds her, juggling her armful of outerwear with a frown.

"You told me your door is always open," Rachel counters, very purposely detouring to the table to retrieve her wine glass before she walks into the living room.

"It was a metaphor," Quinn protests as she opens the hallway closet.

"That's not a metaphor. It's an idiom," Rachel calls back, and Quinn swallows down her laughter. Even distraught, the woman is determined to argue semantics. She really shouldn't find it so endearing.

After hanging Rachel's coat, she joins her on the sofa and picks up her own glass. Rachel's gaze is faraway, focused on the windows across the room and the view of the park beyond, but Quinn suspects her thoughts are somewhere else entirely. She settles against the back of the sofa and takes a careful sip of her wine. "How are you really?"

Rachel shrugs. "It's been over for a while. Finally having it made official should be a relief."

"But?"

Rachel stares down into her glass, swirling the crimson liquid in a shallow circle. "But I just keep thinking about everything I did wrong."

"That's not all on you, Rachel." And frankly, Quinn is a little frustrated that she keeps claiming all of the blame.

Rachel glances to Quinn with a sardonic smile. "I am the one who agreed to have someone else's baby."

"But you were having problems before that," Quinn reminds her gently. She hadn't known the extent of them at the time. She'd mostly dismissed Rachel's rants about Jesse while they'd been working on the early drafts of Jane Austen Sings! as their enormous egos clashing over creative differences, which—yeah, it mostly was exactly that. She'd assumed that they'd eventually work through it and be right back to being that obnoxious couple that were so in sync you just wanted to smack them, but that had never had a chance to happen because of the surrogacy.

Rachel nods, staring at her glass once again. "You know how sound waves with the same frequency keep amplifying each other until they're strong enough to shatter glass?"

Quinn is a little confused by the sudden detour into scientific theories, but she nods anyway. "Harmonic resonance?"

"Yeah," Rachel confirms, sending Quinn a sad smile. "That was Jesse and me. All of our similarities made us practically unstoppable when we were working for a common goal, but when we were at odds," she trails off, shaking her head with a bitter chuckle. "I'm the one who put us at odds, Quinn. I knew what he was like when I married him. He's as much a perfectionist as I am, and he always thinks his way is the right way, even when it isn't." Quinn doesn't interrupt to mention that Rachel is really no different on that front. She kind of feels like that's the point Rachel is trying to make. "I think I knew the surrogacy would break us even before I volunteered for it," she continues, face awash with shame and guilt, "but I did it anyway because," she lets that thought go unfinished too, biting into her lip and turning her gaze back to the window.

"Because you felt obligated to help your best friend have a family the way Shelby helped your dads have you," Quinn supplies, having heard the explanation often enough to have it memorized almost verbatim.

Rachel hums noncommitedly, taking another sip of her wine. "Have you been to see Grace yet?"

Quinn can't stop the smile that forms on her lips. "I dropped in for a quick visit yesterday." She'd had presents to deliver, after all.

Rachel's whole face lights up. "Did you see her crawl?" she asks excitedly. "She's so fast now, racing across the room. Kurt and Blaine are going to have their hands full. She'll practically be dancing soon."

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. "She's got a few months to go before then."

"She's very advanced, Quinn," Rachel argues haughtily. "She may even be singing before long."

"If she's anything like you, she will be," Quinn says unthinkingly.

Rachel's smile turns wistful. "Well, she'll probably be more like you."

"Rachel," Quinn warns, her smile dimming.

"I know, I know. Aunt Quinn and Aunt Rachel," she mutters sullenly, slumping back against the sofa. "I'm not supposed to draw parallels to her biological or gestational mothers because she's Kurt and Blaine's daughter, not ours. I'm working on it."

It seems like Quinn still has some work to do on that front too. "We've really twisted up our family trees, huh?" she jokes, thinking of Beth and Shelby as much as Grace.

"For better or worse," Rachel concurs softly.

That particular phrasing brings a frown to Quinn's face once again, and she taps Rachel's leg with the toe of her shoe. "Don't think I didn't notice how you changed the subject."

Rachel attempts to arch one eyebrow. She isn't very good at it. "I wasn't aware we were locked into one particular subject."

"You just got divorced, Rachel." It's a pointless reminder. Neither of them has forgotten.

"I am aware, thank you," she responds snippily, sitting up straight once again and leaning forward to set aside her now mostly empty glass.

"And?"

"What more do you want me to say, Quinn?" Rachel demands with a frustrated scowl. "I've talked the subject to death. With Jesse. With our marriage counselor...for all of the two sessions that Jesse actually demeaned himself to attend," she mutters resentfully. "With my personal therapist. With you."

"But you're still brooding and blaming yourself for everything that happened like St. Jackass was the perfect husband."

"Oh, he was hardly perfect," Rachel admits, rolling her eyes. "He never did pass up an opportunity to remind me of every bad decision I ever made despite all his claims to support me in them." She shakes her head. "God, he could be so sanctimonious sometimes."

"That," Quinn crows in vindication, pointing a finger at Rachel. "That's what I want you to say."

Rachel's brows furrow adorably. "You want me to rag on my ex-husband."

"I want you to remember that he's not some innocent victim that you wronged by becoming a surrogate for your best friends," Quinn explains. "He failed you too, Rachel, both before and after the pregnancy. You're allowed to be mad at him for that. Or disappointed. Or whatever else you're feeling other than guilty."

Rachel stares at her for a long, heavy moment. "I know that," she finally says in a quiet tone. "I know he can be petty and thoughtless and vain." A look of exasperation appears on her face. "Good lord, is he vain! I don't think I've ever met another man so in love with his mirror." Quinn's snicker is probably not entirely fair to Jesse with how much time she spends in front of her own mirror. "And I know he's perfectly happy to pretend that Grace doesn't even exist, and believe me, I am still angry with him about that," Rachel vows fiercely. Jesse's casual dismissal of everything Rachel was feeling after Grace was born was probably the biggest factor in ending their marriage. "But I also feel guilty, Quinn, for reasons that you very well know."

There's something in her expression just then—the same indefinable something that's been there so many times in the past year (or more)—that has Quinn asking, "Do I?" before she can think better of it.

The tip of Rachel's tongue pokes out to moisten her lips, and she nods ever-so-slightly, still wearing that expression that's a little shy and a little scared and more than a little yearning. "I think you might," she all but whispers.

Quinn thinks she might too. She thinks she's known since the near daily phone calls that Rachel had made to her during her pregnancy. She thinks she's felt it in so many moments just like this when Rachel's dark eyes look straight into her, asking silent questions and searching for answers. She thinks this weird something between them has been building for a while, and Rachel has felt it too.

So had Jesse.

There was a reason he hadn't liked Rachel talking to Quinn that went far deeper than his disdain for his wife's attachment to Grace.

"You just got divorced," Quinn says again, and this time it means something very different.

Rachel's marriage, despite the separation, had stood as an invisible barrier that stopped them from acknowledging this whatever this is beyond their shared connection to Grace, and it had stopped them from leaning in just a little bit closer on the dozen or so occasions that they'd found themselves just a little too close already while Rachel had been wearing that expression, but now that barrier has been torn away, and there's nothing stopping them but their own better judgment. And really—they've both proven repeatedly to not actually have very much of that.

"I know," Rachel acknowledges.

"It's too soon for this." Quinn has done a lot of stupid things in her life, but tossing Rachel Berry down on her sofa and kissing the hell out of her on the day her divorce is official is not going to be one of them.

One corner of Rachel's mouth curves up in amusement. "Some people might say we're at least six years too late."

Santana actually had said that to Quinn before she'd left Los Angeles. "We would have fucked it up back then," she states with complete confidence. They'd both still been kind of a mess at twenty-one, and their timing would never have worked anyway. They never had seemed to be single at the same time.

Rachel purses her lips and nods. "What's an acceptable timeframe for you?"

Quinn draws in a quick breath, her heartbeat ticking up. "Acceptable for what?"

Rachel levels her with a look of mild admonishment shaded with a touch of amusement. "Don't be obtuse, Quinn. That's my forte. How long should we wait before we...try this?" She gestures back and forth between them.

Quinn takes a very deliberate sip of her wine. She swallows down the lightly spiced liquid, savoring the warmth that spreads from her throat to her belly. It looks like they're not dancing around this thing anymore. "I don't think there's a set time. I just know the day your divorce got finalized isn't it."

"That's fair," Rachel concedes, clearly a little bit disappointed.

Quinn sighs. "We should give it a few weeks at least."

The disappointment fades slightly, replaced by a tiny grin. "That is also fair."

"You might not think it's fair when my publicist starts throwing more men at me to cover up our...friendship." Because that's how this whatever this is is currently defined and that's how it will continue to be defined for anyone who cares to ask. Quinn's career still isn't in that place that it needs to be for her to feel like she can start taking chances with her public persona. At least her friendship with Rachel goes all the way back to high school, and what could be more innocuous than one old friend helping another through her recent divorce?

Rachel's grin turns wry. "I might surprise you."

"I doubt it." Tasha had minded it immensely, and she was far more even-tempered than Rachel Berry could ever even pretend to be.

"I won't be in a rush to make it public either," Rachel informs her. "I did just get divorced after all. My reputation is already taking a hit. Again."

And it's unfortunately true. She and Jesse had become Broadway's darlings thanks to Jane Austen Sings!, but there'd been some minor commotion among their mutual fans over the surrogacy, and that had only escalated once news of their separation hit. Rachel has been painted as the villain for putting her poor, devoted husband through the trauma of her pregnancy, walking out on their show, and then walking out on him. Still—

"You'd actually be okay with staying in the closet for a few years?" Because that's not at all what she was expecting from Rachel Berry, staunch lifelong ally of the LGBTQA community.

Rachel glances away, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Did I ever tell you about the advice I got from Cassandra July?"

"Your crazy college dance teacher?" Quinn clarifies, recognizing the name.

Rachel nods and begins to fiddle with her sleeve. "She told me that loving the ladies was hella fun in dark bedrooms but if I wanted to have a chance of being taken seriously on Broadway, I'd make sure to keep that door closed and locked to the public."

Quinn is completely taken aback. (Never mind that her agent had told her something eerily similar before signing her.) "Why in the hell would your dance teacher give you that advice?"

Rachel's cheeks turn crimson, and she suddenly refuses to meet Quinn's eyes. "She...wasn't exactly functioning as my teacher at the time."

Suddenly Quinn just knows, and her eyes go wide at the realization. "You didn't."

"I kind of did," Rachel confesses sheepishly and then manages to answer the question forming on the tip of Quinn's tongue before Quinn can even ask. "It was after I moved back to New York but before Jesse and I started dating exclusively. Like, right before," she adds, eyes darting away in shame. "We ran into each other at Callbacks and...things happened."

Quinn is still reeling from the information that Rachel had actually had sex with her female dance teacher, but the timing of it throws her for yet another loop. It had happened after Rachel had re-enrolled in NYADA, after she'd reconnected with Jesse. (After Quinn had come out to her and told her about Daisy?) "Okay, I know you're not trying to tell me Jesse was your beard."

"Of course not," Rachel denies easily. "I genuinely loved him, Quinn, but," and somehow, her cheeks manage to darken even more, "it was also rather convenient that he fit so well into my life plan."

Quinn doesn't know exactly what to make of this new information—it's so far from the image she's had of Rachel all these years. Well, the life plan part absolutely sounds like Rachel, but allowing herself to be influenced by heteronormative expectations doesn't seem like her kind of thing. It's been far more Quinn's thing.

"So...your college experiment advised you to make sure it was just an experiment, and you listened," Quinn deduces, attempting to make sense of what Rachel is trying to tell her.

Rachel chokes back a laugh. "Cassie was...a complicated culmination of several tumultuous events and emotions, but an experiment she was not." Which means, Quinn suspects, that this whatever this is isn't a completely new discovery for Rachel. Maybe there really had been a brief moment of opportunity all those years ago that they'd simply missed taking. "I took her advice to heart because I wanted my best chance at success, but also because I didn't have a good reason not to at the time." She reaches across the sofa to take Quinn's hand. "But you...you're a very good reason, Quinn. I can wait for you to be ready."

"Because you're not ready yet," Quinn understands. Rachel's Broadway career has been a series of fits and starts ever since she'd broken her contract for Funny Girl. She'd earned a (not entirely undeserved) reputation for being difficult and unreliable, and all of the shows before the one she's starring in now had come courtesy of Jesse's connections. Even with a Tony sitting on her mantle, she's only now beginning to prove that she can be a dependable (and bankable) leading lady all on her own.

"Well, yes," she concedes unapologetically, obviously in no hurry to add her sexuality to the list of things her detractors are picking apart online, "but also because you're worth waiting for."

The way she says it, like it's an incontrovertible fact, makes this whatever this is feel dangerously close to being defined in absolutes that could change both of their lives forever—for better or worse—but it's too soon and too precarious and, "You can't know that for certain."

"I think I can," Rachel counters with a meaningful smile. "I've known you for a very long time, Quinn." That smile turns bewitching. "And time has only ever made you more alluring."

It goes without saying that Rachel isn't referring to her looks. Quinn is still living under layers of glitz and glamour, perfect on the outside but so very damaged beneath, and too many people have been too disappointed by what they find there to stay. Rachel sees her straight through to the bone and keeps coming back, even when she shouldn't.

Their timing still seems terrible, but it's better than it's ever been. They're in the same city, and they're both single (though barely), and this whatever this is isn't going away anytime soon. It's only growing into something that Quinn is beginning to recognize all too well.

"I guess we can take our time then." And if she adds an extra purr to her voice when she says it, Rachel doesn't seem to mind.

"But not too much time," Rachel insists, giving Quinn's hand a gentle squeeze. "We've wasted enough already."

Quinn doesn't imagine they'll be wasting very much more.