Author's Notes: Apologies for the lateness of this, and thanks to Mike for making it legitimately better.
Brittany paused outside her door; the only time she had hesitated all night. The sound of her key in the lock brought light and sound from within the house.
"Babe? Is that you?" Santana's voice called.
"Yeah."
"Hey. You didn't call to say what time you were gonna be home – " Santana cut herself off when Rachel followed Brittany in. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" Her eyes darted to Brittany, and back to Rachel again before widening abruptly. "Oh my god. Did something happen to Elly?"
Rachel choked out a surprised laugh. "What? No. God, no. This isn't… Touch wood. No."
"Then, what's up?"
"Uh…" At a loss for how to begin and unwilling to be the one having to break the news, Rachel glanced at Brittany.
Brittany took Santana's hand, not looking in Rachel's direction. "San, there's something I need to tell you," she said.
The worried expression stayed on Santana's face as she nodded.
"Remember that project I said I was working on for Bill? The super top-secret classified thing I shut down half my lab for?"
Recognition lit up Santana's eyes. "The fuel cell? Yeah."
Brittany sighed. "I lied. I finished that ages ago."
Santana glanced at Rachel. "I'm guessing that's why Rachel's here."
"I did something really bad," said Brittany softly.
"... Hang on a sec." Santana disappeared into one of the rooms. There was distant rustling, and sounds of things being moved. She emerged a short while later with a pack of cigarettes in her hand.
"I thought you quit," said Rachel, unable to keep the reproach out of her voice. Santana had indulged in the occasional cigarette through their college years (with much grumbling from Rachel because "it ruins not only the smoker's voice, but any unfortunate person in their vicinity"). She had finally been induced to kick the habit when Rachel had been pregnant with Elly, and wasn't above using her baby as emotional blackmail material.
Santana shrugged, not looking guilty in the slightest. "I have one now and then when the occasion calls for it." She tore open the pack, cursing under her breath as she fumbled one, then another. Santana swore colorfully before bending to pick them up, stuffing one roughly back into the waxed cardboard box. It took her a few tries to light it.
"Surely not in here," said Rachel.
"Okay, okay." They went out to the balcony, where Santana propped her elbows on the railing and looked out at the city. She exhaled, and was promptly engulfed by smoke. "Go on, Britt."
"So, I built a machine that stores Quinn's personality and memories. Quinn herself helped, before…" Britt trailed off. "You know."
"Yeah."
"Two weeks ago, she told me about it," said Rachel, taking up the narrative. "I've been – talking? I don't know. Chatting with it ever since."
Santana made a funny sound, a sobbing laugh of sorts. "You know, for a moment back there, I thought you were gonna tell me you two were sleeping together."
Rachel grimaced.
"San..." said Brittany.
"No. I know you would never." She shook her head and reached for Brittany's hand, giving it a squeeze. "And Rachel would sooner give up solos for life than even think of it. I must've given her the shovel talk so many fucking times in the years she was dating Q."
They all exchanged small smiles. Rachel's heart warmed at the memory, and the shared moment.
Santana lost the genial expression. "But hold up a moment. Machine with Q's personality? Chatting? What the actual fuck. When did my life turn into a fucking television drama?"
Rachel glanced at Brittany, who finally met her eye.
"We could show you," said Brittany.
"Not now. It's late." She went back into the house, stubbing out her cigarette in the kitchen sink and tossing it into the garbage disposal. "I can't be the only sane fucking person to insist on a good night's rest before I go and fuck my brain over a little more."
Brittany stared at the garbage disposal dispassionately. "No wonder I didn't know you still smoked. I always thought they were torn-up tea bags," she commented.
Santana grinned. "I guess I can still surprise you after all these years."
Rachel, watching them exchange a painfully familiar lovers' glance, felt very alone.
"Rachel."
"Hmm?"
"What's the name of that babysitter kid? Maria?"
"Maureen."
Santana grunted. "Clear out your schedule for tomorrow morning." She exhaled, putting her hands on her hips. "Dios mio. I still have no fucking clue what either of you are talking about, and I'm scared to find out."
Rachel nodded. "Okay." She sensed she needed to leave, so her friends could talk privately. Santana had never been very subtle. "Good night."
Rachel made sure she was at the lab early the next morning. Out of the four of them, Santana was the only one with regular office hours, and did not appreciate being late for work.
Brittany and Santana arrived together shortly after. If they looked a little worn, Rachel kept her opinion to herself. "I brought coffee," she said, handing them two cups.
"Thanks, midget."
"Thank you, Rach."
Santana took both cups as Brittany unlocked the door. Not another word was said until they had crossed the length of the warehouse and Brittany had opened the room. Rachel switched it on and stepped back to show Santana the screen.
Very slowly, her expression changed. Rachel watched as horror, grief, shock, and other emotions flashed over Santana's face. "What have you done?" she whispered.
"San…"
"You should try talking to it," said Rachel. "My initial reaction was very much like yours, but things changed." She tried hard not to sound pleading; for some reason, she wanted Santana to approve of this, to understand like she had done so many times before.
But Santana shook her head. "No."
"Santana – "
"– I loved her too," she interrupted Rachel. "Too much to see this – whatever this is – as anything left of her. This is a mockery of everything she was." Santana sighed. "I won't say you need to destroy it, or anything like that, but don't expect me to support whatever it is you're doing."
Before either Rachel or Brittany could speak, Santana turned on her heel and left. Brittany went after her immediately. "San?" she called, her voice echoing and fading in the large warehouse.
Rachel folded her arms across her chest. She had somewhat expected this reaction, but she also had been hoping her old friend would have been more understanding. Rachel refused to blame Santana for rejecting it; there was a small chance she would come around eventually, just like Rachel herself had.
Hello, Rachel.
She paused, unsure how to respond. Rachel wasn't about to address it as Quinn, but it seemed too much to give the machine a name, and she felt vaguely guilty calling it It, or Computer. Luckily, she was saved from responding when another line of text appeared on the screen.
You don't have to worry about what to call me. I understand.
How did you know?
It's not difficult to guess. You were the same way when we were in college, and we started making a serious effort to stay in touch.
Rachel flushed. She had agonized over her texts to Quinn, spending close to fifteen minutes crafting a single message because she was constantly debating with herself; was it too formal? Too presumptuous? Too rude? And Quinn would respond with a single k which meant she was in a lecture or otherwise occupied, and Rachel would be annoyed at herself for taking so long to accomplish a simple task.
That was different. We were reacquainting ourselves after growing apart.
Do you want to know a secret?
The question surprised Rachel, even though she had thought she'd long lost the capacity for surprise when interacting with the Abomination. But she recovered quickly.
Yes.
You were pretty nervous about texting me, but I was just as scared.
Why?
We'd changed so much. At least I could watch you change in high school (sometimes because of things I'd done to you) but we'd been apart for so long.
You'd lived in New York and you came out smiling. You'd met so many interesting people and done so many wonderful things. And I was just Quinn Fabray, who wouldn't have made it out of Lima if you hadn't pushed me.
I was afraid you wouldn't see me the same way now that your worldview was so much bigger than our small town.
Rachel sat back in her chair. This wasn't exactly a secret – she'd suspected as much – but it was comforting in its own strange way. It felt like Quinn was reaching out from wherever she was and enveloping her in a hug.
Me, not see you the same way? You've always been this strong and beautiful woman I looked up to and aspired to be. New York couldn't change that for me.
I'm glad you let me be part of your life… in more ways than I ever dreamed of.
Thank you.
She was on her way home when she decided to make a detour for a bagel.
The bakery was a place she'd discovered with Quinn; they'd stayed out late after one of her premiere parties, drank too much, and decided to walk it off. Their impromptu odyssey had led to many discoveries that they enjoyed revisiting for years after.
Rachel hadn't been able to bring herself to visit any of them after Quinn died.
A small bell jangled when she pushed the door open. The shelves were lined with baked goods; everything was exactly as it was. A baker was bringing out a fresh batch of bagels, and she bought one.
Once outside, her phone rang. She frowned, surprised by the caller.
"Hey, Adam."
"Sweetheart, how are you?"
"I'm doing okay," said Rachel, and found she meant it. "What's up?"
"I got this new script," said her agent. "We all love it to bits; the writer's this new up-and-coming kid, and…" He hesitated. "I really want you to be a part of this project, Rachel. But only if you want to."
She sighed. "Adam…"
"No, no, I get it. I overstepped; I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called."
"That's not it. I'd like to take a look at the script, please."
"Really?" The excitement in Adam's voice was contagious; Rachel found herself smiling.
"Really. When is a good time to drop by your office?"
In between keeping Elly fed and happy, keeping the house from falling into complete squalor, and keeping herself occupied, Rachel was busy over the next few days. She had just put Elly to bed and was looking forward to a quiet evening with her new project but was surprised to hear her doorbell. Rachel hadn't been expecting anyone; and besides, no one would be visiting at that time of night except –
"Santana," she said, opening the door wider.
"Hey, midget." Santana had her hands in the pockets of her overcoat. The set of her shoulders was unnaturally stiff; Rachel could tell as much, after years of living with her. "You gonna let me in, so I can see my baby girl?"
Rachel nodded. Stepping aside to let Santana in, she went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
Two mugs of tea were sitting on the kitchen table by the time Santana came out of Elly's room. She made a beeline for the table, dragging a mug over and inhaling deeply. "Earl grey with lemon."
"Yeah."
Santana nodded, and took a sip. "You always make it better than I do."
"That's because I'm not as cheap as you, and I buy the good stuff." She received a grunt as a reply; Rachel smiled vaguely and returned her attention to her tea.
The next time she looked up, she noticed Santana looking at something behind her. Rachel turned her head and followed her line of sight to the kitchen wall.
"You finally finished it?"
Rachel smiled. "Yeah. It took me a while to decide how to arrange the frames. I finished putting them all up this afternoon, actually."
Santana got up and walked closer to the wall, out of Rachel's field of vision. Rachel stayed where she was.
"I can't believe you picked that."
She laughed into her mug, knowing exactly which picture Santana was talking about. "I couldn't not pick that one. Your face was priceless; Quinn always said we would frame it and put it on our wall someday when we got our own place." Rachel pushed her chair back and stood up, joining Santana in front of the collage. The picture Santana was scowling heartily at was positioned to the lower right of the arrangement. It was a photo taken during their trip to Six Flags park, just after they'd ridden the most terrifying coaster. Santana looked like she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge, and the other three were laughing at her.
"All these nice photos – " Santana waved at the professionally-taken photos of newborn Elly, photos of Quinn and Rachel at each other's graduations, their wedding, Rachel's first starring role on Broadway, " – and you choose that piece of shit to frame and hang on your wall."
"Mmhmm." Rachel took another sip of tea.
"I hate you."
"Good to know."
They continued to stand in companionable silence, sipping away at the hot tea.
"I miss her."
Rachel sighed. "Me, too."
"Look, Rach…" Santana put down her mug and folded her arms across her chest. To Rachel, it looked like she was steeling herself, and accordingly, Rachel braced for impact. "I don't like what you and Britt did. Okay? But I understand. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"Santana…"
"No, no; lemme finish. Even if it's creepy as fuck, and just plain wrong. That's just my opinion. I know it helps, but I can't bring myself to see past that the way you guys do. I know it's important to you, and I'll respect that."
"Thank you," said Rachel quietly. "That's all I could ask for."
Santana's scowl deepened. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Understand."
Rachel smiled faintly. "Quinn said it was one of my most endearing traits."
"No, she didn't. Not that nicely, I mean," said Santana with a loud, derisive laugh. "She probably said something like "stop being so goddamn understanding all the time, Berry, it's creepy"."
Rachel laughed at the terrible impression. "In not as many words, yes." She shuffled closer to press her cheek to Santana's shoulder. "I love you."
"Yeah," said Santana gruffly. "Love you too."