Rachel's opinion didn't matter. She understood that the moment Quinn led her back into the hotel suite by the elbow and suggested, with a firm tone, that she get dressed. Rachel wanted to be defiant but she wasn't in the mood to fight. Ekrem had already given her a stern glare after Quinn chewed him out for letting her sneak out of the suite. Now with all the tension in the air she figured now was just as good a time as any to attempt to get along.

After getting dressed Quinn slipped a gold band on Rachel's finger and instructed her not to take it off. Normally this would be the sort of thing that drew fire and rage from Rachel but today wasn't one of those days. Quinn's commanding presence was enough to melt away Rachel's defiance with barely a glance.

"Are we ever going to talk about last night?" Rachel had been looking for a way to broach the subject of their drunken Vegas marriage but no time seemed quite right.

Quinn looked at her with a blank expression, her feelings masked by years of fake smiles and empty glances across a filled choir room.

"What about it?"

It seemed a silly question. What about it? It was as if Quinn had married a half a dozen drunk girls in ceremonies officiated by Elvis. She didn't seem to see any of it as a big deal. Getting drunk and hitched in a wild Vegas night on the town must be par for the course in her life. Rachel on the other hand expected to find a tiger in the bathroom and a stolen police car parked in valet.

"We got married. That doesn't concern you?"

Quinn shrugged. "Not really. We're in love, people in love get married."

Rachel almost laughed. In love? They barely spoke to one another. At least face to face. Getting married hadn't even been on her radar. Least of all getting married to Quinn. Quinn was fun, and cool, and take charge, but she wasn't marriage material. Especially if what Santana said about her was true.

"You're joking right? We haven't even been out on a date. You can't just skip from step one to the finish line."

Quinn's attention had shifted from Rachel to the hotel room floor. Something had caught her attention and despite the pressing business of marriage vows Quinn got down on her hands and knees and examined the carpet.

"Does this floor have a hole in it?"

Rachel's mind began to spin. "Are you kidding? Quinn we're married. Shouldn't we be talking about what we're going to do about it? I mean should we get it annulled?"

Quinn looked up at her from her spot on the carpet, her bright green eyes burning a hole through Rachel's soul. She rose up from the floor and closed the distance between them with barely a shuffle of her feet.

"What?" Quinn asked firmly.

There was ice in her voice and Rachel felt a twinge of something in her belly. Something that felt dangerously like fear. Was she afraid? Of Quinn? She pushed the thought out of her mind. Quinn wouldn't hurt her. Would she?

"I said should we get it annulled?"

Quinn sneered but instead of rearing back and decking Rachel in the mouth, which she sort of expected, Quinn changed gears.

"Why would we want to do that?" She took a few steps backwards and began to reexamine the floor. "This floor has a hole in it."

Rachel forced herself not to look down at the carpet. The floor did not have a hole in it. How could it? If it did they would fall through it.

"The floor's fine Quinn, can we talk about our marriage."

Quinn pried her attention away from the floor and looked at her with a smile that somehow set everything in her mind at ease. "Our marriage is fine. My friends are even throwing us a party tonight. I need you to go get a nice dress for it though. Something expensive to show everyone how well I take care of you." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. She began to leaf through it before deciding against it and extending the whole stack to Rachel. If Rachel had to guess there had to be thousands of dollars there.

"Quinn I," She began to say but Quinn cut her off.

"I think that should be enough. If it isn't charge it to this." She dug into the breast pocket of her black blazer and pulled out a credit card. Rachel extended her hand to take it but when her eyes brushed over the cardholder's name she realized it wasn't Quinn's. Instead it belonged to someone named Mary Comforti.

"Who's Mary" Comforti."

Quinn shook her head. "She's a friend of mine. She lets me use her card sometimes when I take trips. She likes to save up her points to earn free trips to see her grandkids in Florida. I'm helping her out."

The words rolled off her tongue with ease but Rachel didn't like the sound of them. They sounded too cool, too rehearsed. She remembered Quinn's story about being banned from the casino for absolutely no reason. That, it seemed, was a lie. If Quinn was in fact a gangster like Santana alleged she'd be automatically banned from the gaming areas. All gangsters were.

"Are you in the mafia?" Rachel wasn't sure what made her ask the question but she didn't back down once the words were out of her mouth. "The internet says you're in the mafia."

Quinn's attention shifted back to the floor. "You should pack your things before you go, we're switching rooms. There's a hole in this floor."

Armed with a wad of hundred dollar bills and Mary Comforti's credit card Rachel left the room a little after two in the afternoon to go shopping. She'd attempted to broach the dual subjects of Quinn's profession and their drunken marriage but Quinn had become obsessed with the imaginary hole in the floor of the hotel room. She'd even gone so far as to call in Ekrem to investigate. When Rachel left the suite they'd practically torn the entire room apart looking for holes. The whole thing had gotten so strange Rachel had begun to worry about Quinn's sanity.

To Quinn's credit she didn't seem to be the least bit disturbed. Sure she was unusually accepting of their Vegas nuptials, but that didn't make her crazy. Just spontaneous. Quinn had treated the whole thing as if were a normal occurrence and that somehow put Rachel's mind at ease. Sure it couldn't last, but it was fun for a while. Being a wife. Even if it was to a gangster obsessed with imaginary holes in the floor.

Ekrem had stayed with Quinn but a man named Ivan had attached himself to Rachel's hip for her shopping trip. He wasn't quite as big as Ekrem but he wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination. His scowl was hard enough to cut diamonds and his biceps were the size of mountains. Like Ekrem he didn't speak but Rachel assumed that was part of the job description.

Rachel had been famous for a few years but in that time she'd never seen the need to have a bodyguard. New York was a big place and despite the tourists nobody ever admitted to being excited about anything. On the streets people didn't look other people in the eyes and if they did they wouldn't acknowledge they knew who you were unless you were friends or family. Having a bodyguard seemed like a waste of money and effort.

Apparently married life came with different rules because Quinn wouldn't let Rachel out of her sight without having a large tattooed man by her side. Rachel again hadn't bothered to protest. If Quinn was footing the bill what difference did it make? Besides, she wanted to go shopping and having Ivan tag along was the only way to make that happen.

Anybody who was anybody shopped at the Bellagio so Rachel and her new escort stepped outside at the valet looking to hail a cab to the upscale casino. It was mid-summer, too hot to wander around the desert and much too uncomfortable to walk. Casinos were always busy places but the valet area was unusually busy today. The moment Rachel stepped foot outside the casino the action started.

A man in a straw hat swung an expensive camera in her face, then another man did the same, and another, and another, and before she realized what was going on she'd been swarmed by paparazzi. Her heart leapt to her throat as the mass of flash bulbs went off in her eyes and temporarily blinded her.

The questions came like machine gun bullets. Fast and without any particular target in mind. Rachel had been a celebrity for years but she was New York famous, which everybody knew was different from Hollywood famous. She wasn't stalked by paparazzi, or mentioned on Access Hollywood. That wasn't her reality. In Vegas she hadn't been recognized once. It was always like that outside the city. She was a big deal in New York but outside her base of operations she was practically a nobody, a face in the crowd. Well she had been before now. Now there were two dozen photographers screaming her name and yelling questions at her.

Ivan took offense to the crowd and when the overly ambitious photographer with the straw hat stepped too close Ivan decked him in the face with a punch that would have leveled even the toughest guys out there. The photographer's camera went flying, landing on the pavement and smashing into a million pieces. His straw hat floated breezily into a line of parked cars before finding a resting place on the hood of a black Lexus. The photographer himself crumbled like a paper bag and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Ivan said something in Russian that Rachel didn't understand but followed it up with broken English.

"Back up. Don't touch," the big man said gruffly. The punch and forceful demand immediately cleared Rachel six feet of walking room in all directions and the absurdity of it all brought the hint of a smile to Rachel's face. Instead of reveling in the moment she decided action was necessary and the old Broadway rule came to mind. The show must go on. Shake it off and keep on going.

"Let's get a taxi. I feel like shopping Ivan."

Ivan only nodded his response. If he didn't look like a professional boxer Rachel would almost consider asking the guy to hold her purse. She didn't imagine he would, he'd probably scowl and say something nasty in Russian but she would love to see the look on his face.

Rachel took a few steps forward and the crowd of photographers parted like the Red Sea. A wad of cash to spend on shopping, a burly man to clear a path through paparazzi, being married to Quinn surely had some perks.

Quinn's insistence that they switch rooms was apparently sincere because when Rachel made it back to the hotel they were on the other side of the building two floors up. Whatever had happened when she was gone had put Quinn in a better mood because the moment Rachel slipped into the suite's bedroom Quinn wrapped strong arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"Did you get something nice?"

Rachel had spent a small fortune at the Bellagio shop. Since Quinn hadn't been specific about exactly what sort of party they were going to she felt the need to play it safe and get more than one thing. Quinn hadn't exactly given her a spending limit and judging by the way she'd thrown a wad of money at her earlier Rachel wouldn't expect she'd mind much.

"I found something nice. A few things actually."

Quinn slipped a hand underneath Rachel's shirt and ran her fingers along her stomach. The contact made her skin burn and as if someone had lit her on fire a drop of sweat slipped quickly down the center of her back.

"But you're happy?"

Rachel sighed, more out of contentment than anything else. "Yes. I spent a bunch of Mary's money though."

"Mary doesn't mind. I'll make sure she gets her money back. From now on don't think about things like that. How much things costs, who's going to pay for what. Just let me worry about it. From now on just hand me the bills and I'll see that they get paid." Rachel felt Quinn's other hand slide under her shirt. "I just need to know we're in this together. I need to know that you aren't going to take off and run down to Santana and Brittany's when I fall asleep. I need to know you aren't going to bring up words like annulment again."

Rachel nodded. "I won't. I promise. I'm in this. I know it was unconventional but I think I can do it. I think we should try." She wasn't sure when she'd decided she wanted to try. Somewhere between the punch and the shopping spree she supposed.

Quinn's hands slid slowly up Rachel's shirt towards her breasts. "We either do it or we don't. If you want out you have to tell me now because once we leave this hotel and go to this party with my friends there is no out. Once they meet you you're family and once you're family you're always family."

Rachel's body shivered when Quinn's hands gently cupped her breasts. Her entire body tingled and every nerve in her system sparked at once. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. The moment she'd dreamed about all those years ago in glee club. Not some drunken night in sleazy lingerie. Instinct made her arch her back and twist her head in Quinn's direction and her wife's lips were waiting for her when she did. But the kiss was quick. Fleeting.

"I have a meeting to go to. It's not the sort of thing I can brush off. But tonight. Tonight is going to be special."

Rachel pulled away and steeled her nerves. It had been less than twenty four hours. Way too early on to start being the needy wife. Instead she offered a brave nod.

"I understand."

Quinn laughed. "You don't understand. I can tell. You don't have to lie to me. If you're angry then you have to be honest with me. My parents always lied to each other about their feelings. That's why they ended up getting a divorce. Lies. We don't do lies in this relationship Mrs. Fabray."

Mrs. Fabray. Rachel hadn't thought about that. Her name. Would she change it? Clearly Quinn thought she would but Rachel wasn't so sure. It was a big step. Professionally it would be a big deal. People knew her as Rachel Berry. Nobody would know who Rachel Fabray was.

"We need to talk about my name. What I'm going to do. I think I may keep it."

Quinn threw her for loop when she gave her body another squeeze and killed the impending tension with a quick knife thrust. "Of course you should keep your stage name. Rachel Berry is a brand. It doesn't mean anything to us, not in real life. Use it for work if you want. As long as you legally take my name I don't care about the other stuff." It wasn't the sort of answer Rachel was expecting from Quinn, but somehow in the back of her mind she wasn't surprised. She didn't care, only she did.

"Okay," was all Rachel could say. "Speaking of secrets."

Quinn pulled away suddenly serious. "We don't lie to each other but there are rules about you asking questions. What do you really care what I do anyway right? I mean it's not like I'm knocking over 7-11's. Nobody gets killed or anything. I mean it's not like I'm smuggling teenage girls into the country and stealing their passports or something."

That was the only thing Rachel knew about the Russian mafia. Young naive girls being tricked into coming to America for a better life only to have their passports stolen and forced into working demeaning jobs. Usually in strip clubs.

Rachel was suddenly appalled. "You're not one of those people who forces women into prostitution are you? Because that's a deal breaker."

Quinn kissed Rachel gently on the neck. "Of course not. My girls are all American and they're all there willingly. Ask them if you want. I'm a woman Rachel, I'd never force another woman into doing something she doesn't want to do. I'm not a monster."

Rachel sighed. "Just a notorious gangster."

"Just a gangster. Not even a notorious gangster. And to answer your question from earlier today about the mafia. No I'm not in the mafia. We don't call it that. I have trusted friends and comrades that I work with but that's all I can say. And only because you're my wife. But you can't repeat that."

Rachel suddenly wondered who she was expected to tell. Were they worried she'd give an interview to 60 Minutes? Talk to the cops? A laundry list of ideas floated through her head. Her parents. Quinn's parents. Her friends. Who exactly knew what?

"Who am I going to tell?"

Quinn reached out and gave her bottom a pinch. "Nobody if you know what's good for you."

When Rachel saw herself on TV she was almost excited. Almost. Once the newscaster started speaking she immediately changed her mind. Rachel hadn't actually made it to TV much in her career. She was a BROADWAY star, the New York stage hadn't lent itself to much TV work over the years. Not for her or most of her contemporaries, even the famous ones like herself didn't spend much time on TV. It was common knowledge that most stage plays didn't lend themselves well to film. There were a few smash hits, Grease, Chicago. But for every one of those there were ten films like The Women or Spinning into Butter, classic stage plays that didn't play well for the screen.

Rachel had to admit she looked great on TV but the moment Ivan punched the photographer and she saw herself smile then dismissively step over him on the ground and keep walking without breaking her pace she knew she was in trouble. The headline of the segment had been snazzy, The Gangster's wife, and that snazzy title had given Rachel the impression they were going to go easy on her. She couldn't have been more wrong.

The host had made special mention of Rachel's cavalier attitude when it came to a man who'd just had his lights punched out in front of her. Even going so far as to freeze frame the film to point out the smile on her face. When it was over with Rachel had looked like a complete lunatic. And Quinn was made out to be public enemy number one. If people hadn't hated her before they were sure to hate her now.

"Damn vultures," Rachel said as she snapped the TV off and forced herself to get out of bed and get herself decent for Quinn's party. From the sound of it she'd be able to put her mounting professional problems behind her and have a good time. This time without the surprise wedding.

So it's me, back with another strange tale of twisted love between Rachel and Quinn. I don't know why I always feel the need to make one or both of them screwed up but I find it more fun when they aren't perfect but find their way to each other anyway. Besides waiting for them to get together on the show seems futile. So I've been gone from the site for a while, searching for my writer's groove. I can't say enough how strange it is to get so many reviews and favorites, it's flattering and I love you all for it. Truthfully though I actually just stumbled across this idea while watching an episode of Las Vegas, two characters got drunk and woke up hitched and something in my mind said Quinn and Rachel should do that, and I typed the whole thing out right then and there. I'll keep writing if you'll keep reading and I'll do my best to make my uploads timely as usual. Enjoy and again thanks for reading. ~Empty Pen~