Rachel's cell phone beeped and buzzed the second she turned it back on at JFK Airport. The entire world stopped when you flew but the second the plane taxied back to the arrival gate the world came to life. It had been days since she'd gotten a call but now that she was back in New York it was if the entire world had suddenly remembered her. Las Vegas was already getting fuzzy and besides the brief spurt of reporters outside the hotel and the news report where Ivan punched the photographer it was as if she had disappeared from the face of the Earth. At least it seemed that way.

The first message Rachel got was from her agent, Robin. Robin had suggested Rachel lay low when the scandal broke and as things got progressively worse she'd stopped taking Rachel's calls all together. Rachel hadn't fretted over it until Santana suggested she was getting professionally dumped. Rachel couldn't bring herself to admit it but deep down in her sad place she'd begun to worry.

Robin was all excitement today however. She'd eagerly told Rachel to call as soon as she got settled in. Rachel wasn't sure what had changed but she'd erased the message and played the next. The second message was from the Post, the third the Times. The fourth had been Robin again asking when she'd be ready to go back to work. Just like that Rachel's luck had changed.

Quinn tossed a skinny red headed guy in a bow tie a hundred dollar bill to grab the bags and the kid practically fell all over himself in an attempt to appease her. Rachel had done her best to try to ignore him but the moment she saw him manhandling her favorite black leather Anne Klein bag she practically screamed at him to be more careful. He gave her a sheepish nod and continued to work. Quinn, Ivan, Ekrem and Mina didn't seem to notice but everyone else in the airport did.

The entire airport seemed to stop and stare. Rachel briefly considered apologizing but decided against it when she noticed the small admonishment had achieved her desired result. The red head was back to working but this time he was treating her bags with much more care and concern.

"Robin says people want to hire me," Rachel said softly to Quinn. Quinn had been checking her own phone, absent mindedly ignoring the kid with the bags.

"I told you I found you a job already. Your own stage, your own show, four nights a week."

The typical Broadway show played eight times a week but Rachel didn't suspect Quinn knew that. Anyway she'd said the theatre was off Broadway. Off Broadway she could do what she wanted.

"I know. I was just telling you what Robin said."

Quinn shoved her phone in her pocket. "If I wanted to know what Robin thought about anything I'd call her and ask her. I already worked this deal out Rachel. I pushed a lot of buttons to get you this. If you don't want it tell me now."

Rachel suddenly felt as if all eyes were on her. "I didn't say anything like that. I was just making conversation. I want to do MY show. Just like we talked about."

Truth of the matter was Rachel was so used to doing other people's shows she had no idea what HER show would be about. She could find some songs to sing but having a one woman show was about more than that. She'd have to have jokes or skits or something to do in between. She'd have to find a writer, and a producer, and a staff. It would be a lot of work. A whole lot of work. But still the idea of being the headliner in her own show was too much to pass up.

"Good. Because it's all set. I pulled a lot of strings with Sugar's husband to get this done."

"Sugar?"

Quinn nodded. "Motta. Well Todesco now. She got married a few years ago."

Rachel hadn't known Sugar lived in New York. Rachel hadn't thought about Sugar Motta in years. She'd heard through the grapevine that her father Al had been caught up in some Racketeering sting a few years ago back home but something had happened and he'd avoided going to jail. Back at McKinley Sugar had always said her father wasn't in the mafia. Turns out she'd been lying.

"I didn't know she was in New York."

"She married Joey 'Peeps' Todesco."

That name struck a chord with Rachel. She'd heard the name Joey Peeps before, she was sure of it. Something about Staten Island and some sort of Labor Union.

"The guy from Staten Island?"

Quinn pulled her phone back out of her pocket. "That's him," she said as she began to punch in numbers. "They just had a baby. Peeps wants you guys to share the stage. She gets three days, you get four because you're the star."

Rachel almost groaned. Sugar had been a terrible singer. Mr. Schue had relegated her to dancing and backup singing because he was worried about her ruining the group's flow. He liked to say that everyone had an equal chance to be a star in the New Directions but it was understood that he meant everyone but Sugar. It had gotten so bad that she'd even stopped showing up half the time.

"Sounds good."

Quinn snickered. "No it doesn't. Sugar has a lot of talents but singing isn't one of them. Still it's her old man's stage, who are we to tell him what to do? Besides Peeps is an important guy."

"Thank you. For going through so much trouble."

Quinn didn't bother looking away from her phone. "Don't mention it babe. You're my wife now. I got your back."

"I appreciate it. Still it wouldn't be a bad idea to have dinner with the two of them. I haven't seen Sugar in years."

Quinn shrugged. "I'll give Peeps a call. In the meanwhile take Ivan to your place and pack up some of your stuff. I want you with me from now on."

It would have been so easy to run to the elevator, push a few buttons, and hide out in her condo behind locked doors. Being with Quinn was scary, or at least it should have been. It should have been dark and scary and intimidating but it wasn't. Somewhere deep down she felt peace, and love, and fulfillment. Somewhere deep down she felt happiness.

The ride from JFK to Manhattan was smooth, traffic was light and Rachel spent the entire time avoiding her ringing phone as the Town Car's driver stared at her from his rearview mirror. Being famous had always been strange. Occasionally some admirer would notice her in a restaurant and ask for an autograph. It didn't happen nearly as often as Rachel thought it would when she'd been a girl, but when it did it was a welcome reminder that her life had substance and accomplishment. Since she'd been back in New York it seemed everyone had been staring. Her face was famous now, not just to theatre fans but to everyone.

She'd returned Robin's phone call and received the news that her face had graced the front page of every New York paper and tabloid for days. Broadway star marries gangster girlfriend. The story had been big and according to Robin the Today Show wanted to interview her in the morning. The Today Show, and The Tonight Show were the symbols by which Rachel had judged her fame. It wasn't until she'd graced both sets that she would allow herself to be considered an actual success. Tomorrow she could make one of those dreams come true.

Quinn would be the problem. She wouldn't like the publicity. Rachel realized this as she stepped into her building and gave a polite nod to Carl the Doorman. Carl smiled politely but the look on his face held nothing but fear. Rachel had always been kind to Carl but the way the man looked at her she could tell their relationship was permanently damaged.

"Carl," Rachel said as she slipped passed him and into the building.

Carl nodded. "Mrs. Berry." His weary eyes shifted to Ivan and he opened his mouth as if to speak but snapped it shut like a trap door. The building had a strict policy about visitors signing in but Carl didn't look as if he wished to enforce that particular rule today. Instead he turned back towards the street in an attempt to ignore her.

Carl had always been polite and chatty. On a slow day Rachel would spend a few moments speaking to him about his children and his wife, his fishing trips to the Adirondack Mountains, and the 14 Foot Tiller fishing boat his father left him when he passed away. The boat was the first thing the guy talked about on an average day. 'Hey Ms. Berry, got the boat out this weekend.' Or, 'Hey Ms. Berry caught a 37lb Bass this trip out, still trying to find that 50 pounder.' The guy was a broken record, always the same thing. Today though things were different. Today he was avoiding even a look in her direction.

"Hey Carl, how's the boat?" Rachel asked without turning back but offering a look over her shoulder.

Carl turned around quickly and looked at her, his eyes not reaching her face. "Uh, fine," he said before looking away.

Something in Rachel's stomach began to spin. There was jittery nerves and there was fear. All weekend she'd been getting stares, mostly stares of amazement and awe. It wasn't much unlike the stares she'd been getting when she finished a show. Celebrity recognition, a warped sort of idol worship. This was different. Carl, a guy she'd known for years, was afraid to look in her direction. Nervous. It didn't matter what was different in her life he'd always been the same old Carl. Even when the barista video hit the internet he'd been chatty and kind. He'd gone out of his way to keep things light and casual. Normal.

The thought crept into her mind like a cat burglar sneaking in through an open window. Something was wrong. As an actress Rachel prided herself on being an astute study of human emotion and Carl's fear rubbed her the wrong way.

"Ivan," Rachel said reaching out and grabbing his forearm. "There's something wrong, let's go."

Ivan gave her a curious gaze but didn't hesitate to follow instructions and stop walking. He took a careful look around the lobby before taking a giant step backwards. Instead of running he grabbed something from the back of his shirt and tossed it into nearby trash can. Rachel spun on her heels and stepped out the door but a large black SUV pulled up to the curb with flashing lights.

"Fucking FBI," Ivan said with his thick Russian accent.

Rachel almost laughed. For just the briefest of moments she thought she'd somehow gotten mixed up in some sort of gangland hit. Gangsters in fedoras with tommy guns itching to gun her down in the streets. When she seen it was the police her heart stopped pounding enough for her to chuckle.

"Right. Fucking police," she said with a smile.

Special Agent Deena Cole was a wiry woman with a pale complexion and a poorly maintained ponytail. She was wearing the FBI uniform, a standard issue black suit with white shirt and comfortable shoes. After giving her a careful once over Rachel decided almost immediately that she was a hard-nosed career woman. She probably lived and breathed her job. Most women will at the very least spend a few hours at the salon once or twice a month. Only a woman not interested in having a social life didn't even bother to make the effort.

"Rachel," the special agent said with a smile that made Rachel uncomfortable. She slapped a tan folder on the table but didn't open it. Instead she leaned in, in an obvious attempt to make Rachel uncomfortable. Up close her pale skin looked sickly and translucent, almost as if Rachel had come face to face with the bride of Dracula.

"Agent," Rachel said in an attempt to keep things professional. She didn't care for the woman using her first name like they were old friends. She had plenty of old friends and this woman wasn't one of them.

"What did you get yourself into? You marry a gangster? In Las Vegas? What were you thinking?" She finally pulled away and made herself comfortable in a chair across the table from Rachel.

Rachel had seen enough cop movies to know that the woman was likely working some sort of angle. Usually it involved her attempting to befriend someone in Rachel's position. If not she'd be extra mean and another cop would come in later and attempt to be her friend. She'd never heard of anyone belittling you once you got in her position.

Rachel shrugged. "Am I under arrest? If I am I want a lawyer."

Agent Cole only laughed. "You're not under arrest. You haven't done anything wrong. Your government just wants to speak with you for a few minutes."

"If I'm not under arrest I'm free to go right?" Answering questions, any questions without a lawyer seemed like a terrible idea. If she'd learned anything from TV it was always ask for a lawyer straight away. Sure sometimes it made you look guilty but more often than not it kept you out of jail.

"Not exactly. You're being held pending charges. You're in what we like to call the neutral zone."

"It sounds made up. I want to talk to a lawyer," Rachel insisted. "Or call my wife."

Agent Cole frowned. "You keep asking for a lawyer but you haven't done anything." She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Or have you?"

Rachel sighed. "I'm not interested in talking."

Agent Cole simply chose to ignore her. "Let's talk about your wife." She used air quotes when she said the word wife and the gesture rubbed Rachel the wrong way. "You two have known one another since high school. Spent some time together in the Glee club. You moved to New York, she went to Yale. You'd sneak off every couple of weeks and spend time together. Check into a hotel and play house. Then she disappears and runs off to Russia and you lose touch."

Rachel was suddenly uncomfortable with the fact that the woman hadn't been reading any of this from the file she'd brought with her. Everything she said she'd recited from memory. It was almost creepy having someone know intimate details from her life.

"God, stalk much."

Agent Cole laughed again. "A few years later you meet back up and you rekindle the old romance."

Rachel laughed. "Hardly."

Agent Cole finally opened the tan folder on the table and revealed photos of Rachel visiting Quinn at her strip club. There were dozens of them. It was very likely every visit Rachel had ever taken had been photographed and cataloged by the FBI.

"So you sneak off to meet her at the strip club. You text one another on the phone almost every day. Flirting but usually nothing too dirty. From what we gather you hadn't actually slept together in years." She tilted her head with contemplation. "Then one day you just decide to get married. What happened?"

If she was trying to get under Rachel's skin it was working.

"When can I go? Did you call my wife? My lawyer? Where's Ivan?"

Agent Cole smiled again. "Your friend Ivan is actually under arrest. Assault. He decked a reporter in front of a dozen cameras. You know technically you're an accessory."

Rachel wanted to scoff. She was hardly an accessory. Instead of saying anything she kept her mouth shut. Quinn had said she'd take care of the reporter situation. If she said she would handle it Rachel had no doubt it was handled.

"A pretty little thing like you, you can't handle jail. And the Russian mafia isn't like the Italians. They don't have the reach in American prisons. Especially not for women. You wouldn't be safe, no matter what she tells you."

Rachel steeled her nerves.

"You can help yourself by agreeing to work with us. Get yourself out of this situation. You're clearly in over your head. We can get you straightened out right away if you want. We can save you from having to go inside. I know a judge who'll annul your marriage for you. It'll be just like it never happened."

Rachel nodded in contemplation. "That's a great offer. I mean you'd be doing me a huge favor." She stroked her chin. "On the other hand maybe I should talk it over with my lawyer, or my wife. You have called them haven't you?"

Agent Cole finally stopped smiling. "You think this is a joke?"

Rachel held her nerves. "Ever see that episode of the Sopranos where the guy drags Adriana off into the woods and shoots her in the head because she was working with the FBI? If I had to choose between going to jail and getting dragged into the woods and shot in the head, I'll take jail. I'm not big on camping. Like you said I'm a pretty little thing. I imagine I'd be a hot commodity inside. Somebody wouldn't mind me giving them back rubs every night." She chuckled. "It's not like I'd have to switch teams or something."

Cole shook her head with what Rachel could only guess was annoyance. "This isn't a game Ms. Berry."

"It's Mrs. Fabray actually. Berry's my stage name now. Feel free to check with my lawyer. Or my wife. You have called them right?"

"What did you tell them?"

The question was almost insulting but Rachel understood in her line of work it would be the most important thing to Quinn. She needed security. Mentally and professionally and all niceties would be out the window until then.

"Nothing. That I wanted a lawyer."

Quinn nodded with squinted eyes. "Did you sign anything?"

Rachel wanted to laugh but knew better.

"No. I didn't sign anything, I didn't write anything. I didn't agree to anything. I asked for a lawyer, and for you."

Either what Rachel said finally appeased her or she'd decided to try again later but Quinn changed the subject. Well, almost.

"Ivan said you did good. He said you spotted the setup and gave him a chance to ditch his gun in a trash can. The cops didn't even find it. We picked it up and tossed it in the Hudson. With gun laws in New York being so tough had they found it he'd have been looking at definite jail time. At least a year, probably more with his record."

Rachel shrugged. "Carl was acting weird."

Quinn shook her head. "The doorman?"

She nodded. "He wouldn't look at me. It felt wrong. Like he was hiding from me. I don't know what it was but it made me uncomfortable."

"Did they threaten you?"

Rachel sighed. "Yes. With jail time, because of the paparazzi guy. I told her I'd take the jail time and that they should call my lawyer."

Quinn laughed. "I took care of that. I told you I would. You and Ivan are clear of that. It was a bluff."

Rachel nodded. "I know. I believed you. You told me you would take care of it so I trusted you." She gave Quinn a stern gaze. "I think you should start trusting me now. I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Quinn eyed her up suspiciously. "I don't know if I can. When we get home I'll have to get you undressed and check your body for a wire. It may take a while."

Rachel almost got upset until she saw the corners of Quinn's mouth curl into a smile.

"Well you have to be sure to do a thorough search," Rachel teased.

Quinn nodded. "Just to be safe."

Rachel agreed. "Just to be safe."