Author's Note: Due credit to Mike Ownby for doing the thing that makes this readable.

She was running late, and she knew for a fact she would catch hell from Santana for it.

That had happened once before, when they were in college; Rachel had been caught up talking to one of her lecturers and arrived half an hour late for her lunch date with Santana. The tirade in Spanish and English had not been pleasant, but later, Santana had gruffly offered to pay for an additional side of salad for Rachel because "that puny vegan sandwich can't possibly be enough to keep even a bird alive, let alone a singing circus sideshow midget".

That was just how Santana Lopez worked. Their seemingly-adversarial friendship was a now-treasured part of their long and colorful history, and Rachel wouldn't have it any other way.

Even more so now, when Rachel was still struggling with her new single-mom status, and Santana was softer around the edges. It was hard to say if it was because of age, or because years of married life had mellowed her, or because Quinn's death had weighed heavier on her than she cared to admit. Either way, Rachel was grateful for Santana's steady and continued presence in her life.

"Hey, hobbit," greeted Santana fondly when Rachel arrived. "And my poopsie!" was added in a loud voice for Elly, who squealed in excitement. "How's my estrella today?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "She slept through the night, thank God," grumbled Rachel as she passed her daughter to Santana. "Doctor Bergen said it might have been a one-off thing and I shouldn't worry too much."

Santana cackled. "Aww, were you waking your mommy up? What a clever little angel you are."

"You're spoiling her. Stop spoiling my child."

"Nonsense. She's my precious only goddaughter and nothing is too good for her." She kissed Elly's cheeks with loud, smacking sounds, making the toddler squeal in delight.

A waiter brought a highchair for Elly and helped to strap her in (which took a while, as Elly was unwilling to leave her Aunt Santana's arms). Rachel handed her a stuffed penguin from her bag once Elly was seated which successfully took the little girl's mind off escaping her chair.

Finally, Santana turned her full attention to Rachel. "You look like shit," said the other woman, looking Rachel up and down. She had the stupid smirk on her face that Rachel loathed.

Rachel glared at Santana, glanced at her daughter, and then back at Santana. "Screw you," she muttered.

Santana cackled. "Yeah, Elly totally heard that and absorbed it into her subconscious; it'll come back out when she's sixteen and talking to her therapist about her mommy issues."

Rachel huffed and rolled her eyes. Talking to Santana always made her feel like they were in high school again. "Hilarious, Santana; you're such a comedian. You should seriously consider quitting your day job," she said dryly. Rachel was rather proud of herself; it was a comeback she'd learned from Quinn.

"Nah, New York doesn't need me for shits and giggles when you're out there being a joke." She winked at Rachel (who sighed and said nothing), and finally turned to the waiter who had been waiting patiently beside their table since settling Elly. "Two gin and tonics," she said, "as though you didn't know what we were gonna order, Mateo."

He smiled faintly. "Just wanted to be sure, miss," said Mateo before turning on his heel and heading toward the bar.

Santana scowled, but it was replaced by a grin once he was gone. "Just for that, I'm gonna tip him twenty."

Rachel sighed again. She did appreciate Santana's antics; it was her own way of making the world seem normal again. Even if they were more annoying than entertaining at the moment. "And let me guess – thirty bucks when he makes yours with crushed mint."

Santana's response was to study her for what seemed like a few minutes.

"What?" Rachel asked with a forced laugh. "Have I got something on my face?"

"There's something bothering you," replied Santana. "Tell Mama 'Tana what's on your mind."

Her insides lurched. "There's nothing," insisted Rachel. "I haven't been sleeping enough, that's all. Thanks to that little goober over there." Rachel nodded at her daughter, hoping that mentioning Elly would draw the conversation away from her.

Santana didn't take the bait, scowling darkly at her. "I don't believe you."

Rachel was strongly reminded of the day after Quinn's funeral, when her friend had barged into her home uninvited, demanding to know why she hadn't showed up for their weekly brunch date. After that, Santana had made sure they kept up the routine of regular life – albeit a new one without Quinn, in which her absence was keenly felt.

She had appreciated her friend's stubbornness then; but this was different. Rachel didn't want to come between Brittany and Santana – especially not with something as serious as this, that could potentially end their marriage. But she also knew she was incapable of keeping secrets from Santana. She wished that Quinn was here to encourage her to stand her ground like she had always done.

"Okay, that's just creepy. Never do that again," said Rachel, still wearing her forced smile.

"Quit stalling."

"I'm not stalling."

Mateo chose that moment to return with their drinks. Rachel could have kissed him; in lieu of that, she made a mental note to tip him double her usual. "Gin and tonic with crushed mint for Miss Lopez, and gin and tonic with extra lime for Miss Berry," he said, putting the drinks in front of their respective owners.

"Thank you, Mateo." Rachel took a sip of her drink. It was just as refreshing as always; she liked how some things never changed.

"Your usual lunch orders?"

"Duh," replied Santana. Her eyes were still fixed on Rachel, who kept hers on her drink.

"Santana…"

"I know when you're hiding something because you're so shitty at it," said Santana at last, "but I'mma cut you some slack. Just this once, because I'm in a good mood and my precious goddaughter is here."

Rachel sighed in relief. "Thank you. I promise I'll tell you everything when I'm ready to talk about it."

"Hnn," said Santana, clearly unconvinced. Nevertheless, she reached for Elly's bag and began unpacking the food onto Elly's tray table, cooing to the toddler as she did so.

Hi, Rach. How was your day? Did you meet S for brunch?

Yes. You remembered.

It's in my databank, yes.

I'm sorry. It's still a little hard to get used to. Even if I'm sitting here at this desk and typing everything down. It feels like you're on a business trip, and I'm on FaceBook Messenger with you.

I remember we did that a few times. The first time was when we were in college, I think. I was in Berlin on exchange?

Yes! We attempted to have cybersex and then Santana walked in on me. I was so mortified; I couldn't look her in the eye for a week.

Rachel smiled. She was making progress; twenty minutes of conversation, and she had yet to tear up. It felt wonderful to be in control of her emotions again. She supposed she was getting used to this strange situation that was her life now.

She was so annoying. I think she sent me endless texts about wanting to gouge her eyes out and threatening to spray me with Clorox the next time she saw me. Or both.

Haha! She told me the same things. She's insane.

Is she still as crazy now?

Rachel paused. This was the first time the Abomination was talking about the present since she had started the conversation today.

She's toned her antics down a little.

I'm sorry.

What are you sorry for?

For being the reason everyone is so sad.

She frowned. That last sentence didn't really sound like Quinn. But then again, she had no clue how her Quinn would respond when being told how her death was affecting her loved ones.

It's not your fault. You did your best.

Yeah. That doesn't make everything that happened easier to accept.

She needed to change the subject or she was going to scream.

You know, this is an extremely bizarre conversation to be having. You being… gone, and me talking to you about being gone.

I know. It's weird. I know everything, and I can feel how much you loved her. It's easy to deduce how much she's missed.

Rachel's mouth was a little dry. She licked her lips. Something felt a little… off. She ignored it.

Thank you.

Her fingers rested on the keyboard for a while.

Can I ask you a question?

Shoot.

When I 'switch you off', what happens to you?

You're not really switching me off.

Rachel paused. Before she could respond, more text started filling the screen.

The situation is something like you going to sleep, and being dead. When you hit my power button, I'm 'asleep'. My power supply is still active, my program is still running, but I'm not actually interacting with my surroundings.

Like your phone, I suppose.

If you were to unplug me, I might suffer memory loss if my processes didn't manage to back up critical data.

But as long as my core program remained intact, if my power source was reconnected, I would revert to what you'd call 'factory settings'. It would seem like I had amnesia, in your terms; you would be interacting with my default personality, without any of the collected data input from our conversations.

And I would miss that.

You would miss our conversations?

Yes.

Rachel was a little freaked out by the Abomination, to say the least; it had just professed to experiencing emotions after talking about its power button. But she had gotten good at normalizing things, and the feeling passed.

This sounds crazy, but I would miss you too.

And she found that she honestly would.

I understand. It's not uncommon for humans to develop emotional attachments to inanimate objects.

The prickling feeling at the back of her neck got stronger.

You're not Quinn.

No, I'm not.

Why did you ask that, Rachel?

When we first talked, you pretended to be Quinn. Since then, you've always spoken to me like you're Quinn.

I did. That was not my intention, though. You were hurting, and you talked to me as though I was a substitute for Quinn.

She was trembling. She wasn't ready to hear the answers to her questions, but Rachel persevered.

Why didn't you remind me?

I am a machine, but I have been programmed with Quinn's memories and personality. Quinn would never have hurt you intentionally. Therefore, I cannot as well.

Rachel?

She realized she had been sitting and staring at the blinking cursor.

I'm here.

I am sorry if I have inadvertently made you uncomfortable. If you like, I could erase today's conversation from my chat log. We could revert to how things used to be before today.

No, please. I think this is better. I don't want to keep living in this fantasy world where I pretend to talk to Quinn. It's pathetic.

You're not pathetic, Rach.

The simple sentence chilled Rachel. The seemingly seamless switch between "Quinn" and the Abomination was causing her brain to hurt.

Am I talking to "Quinn" or you now?

Who do you want to talk to?

She found herself unable to answer.

The new development, coupled with her conversation with Santana, had made her decision for her.

"I want to talk to Santana about… that," said Rachel without preamble when she and Brittany had left the workshop and were seated in the car.

Brittany said nothing.

Rachel turned her head. "Have you told her yet?"

"No."

"Brittany…" She honestly understood the delay, but a large part of her wanted to be selfish.

"I know. I will. I just haven't been able to find a good time." She blew out her bangs and let her palm fall on the steering wheel with an audible thunk. "It's hard, y'know?"

Rachel relented. "... Yeah," she said quietly.

Brittany shook her head. The blue of her eyes looked washed-out in the hard fluorescent light of the parking lot. "I was just trying to help," said Brittany. "I never expected any of this to happen."

Rachel made a non-committal sound. If she was being completely honest with herself, she found it supremely ironic that the expert on artificial intelligence and the creator of probably the most advanced AI machine in the world was pleading ignorance. She was understanding, but she wasn't completely forgiving or even remotely sympathetic. Her friend had always existed in a world slightly detached from the real one; eventually, they would have to meet.

"This can't be our secret forever, you know," she said, choosing her words carefully.

Brittany sighed. "I'll tell her tonight."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Rachel."

"She'll freak out," said Rachel. "You know how she is. I really think I should be there."

"... You're right." She started the engine and drove out of the lot.

Brittany and Santana's house was a short drive away; Rachel kept quiet for the entirety of it. She knew that she was forcing one of her oldest friends into a difficult situation, but strangely, she felt no guilt about it.