New Haven was not the major city that New York was, and it didn't have that hectic pace that seemed to characterize the city she loved. It was quiet, and peaceful; there was an energy to it that was quite different from New York, but not quite as dead as Lima had been.

She could appreciate why it was called "New Haven" and why Quinn would like it there.

Quinn Fabray had gone through several incarnations in the time Rachel had known her in high school: head cheerleader, head bitch in charge, Christ Crusader, Celibacy Club president, pregnant teen, Glee Club spy, post-pregnancy proto-Quinn, Skank. But none of those incarnations seemed to fit her quite like Yale student Quinn Fabray, because the girl who was waiting at the bus stop near the Yale campus was definitely the most relaxed version of Quinn Rachel had ever seen.

Rachel couldn't help but find it amusing that the head cheerleader she had once known, the girl who had the entire student population of William McKinley High School serve at her command, had hauled ass to the bus stop to meet the girl she had once tortured on a near-daily basis. And the very same girl greeted Rachel with a bear hug that the ice queen head cheerleader would never have tolerated from anyone when they were in high school.

The irony was that they were each other's angels and demons, even after everything they had been through.

Or maybe it was because of their past that their friendship was what it was now.

Rachel accepted the hug, finding comfort in the tight hold, because if she were to be honest, she really needed someone to hold her right now.

"Do I guess?" Quinn asked softly, as she began to loosen her arms from around Rachel.

"You cannot begin to imagine." Rachel returned, as they pulled away from each other.

Quinn smiled at Rachel, her gaze flickering over the smaller girl. "You're growing out your bangs."

Rachel smiled. "And you've cut your hair."

Quinn laughed. "It came to my attention that I was styling it too closely to Fabray approval."

Rachel laughed, as well. "Old pictures of your mom?"

"And my sister." Quinn shuddered. "Nightmares: they were had."

Rachel smiled at her. "Sorry about visiting on such short notice."

"Just be lucky my roommate's gone for the weekend and you'll have your own bed to stay on." Quinn replied. "It's the weekend before midterms, so we won't run out of options of parties to crash."

Rachel glanced at her. "But you hate parties."

"Yes, but you're obviously looking for a distraction." Quinn returned.

Rachel still cannot believe that Quinn Fabray knew her so well. Although as Quinn once admitted to her, she had paid attention mostly in the "know thy enemy" approach to getting to know her. Rachel was just amused that Quinn had made more effort in the endeavor than Finn ever did.

"Are you OK to walk?" Quinn asked. "It's a bit hard to get a taxi this time of night, and it's Friday."

"I can walk." Rachel assured her, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Not for anything, but were you expecting to stay longer than the weekend?" Quinn asked, taking note of Rachel's rather large overnight bag.

Rachel shrugged. "I didn't get the chance to check the weather report for Connecticut before I got on the train."

"So you packed everything?" Quinn joked. She studied the girl with a sympathetic look. "That looks heavy. Do you need help?"

"I'm used to carrying a lot of stuff." Rachel assured her. She regarded Quinn. "Besides, should you be carrying heavy things this close to winter?"

Quinn smiled, and inclined her head in acknowledgment of the query. "My back and leg still ache from time to time, but, yeah, mostly in severe cold. It's not a problem, right now. Thanks for asking."

Rachel smiled faintly. She knew Quinn had changed from being the HBIC she once knew when Quinn never accused her of being at fault for her car accident roughly this time last year. It should have been easy to blame her, but Quinn never did. It had strained her relationship for a little while, with Rachel blaming herself for having rushed Quinn to the point that Quinn hadn't seen the truck coming, but they had cleared the air very quickly.

"Have you had dinner?" Quinn asked, leading Rachel to her campus.

"I had a wrap on the train," Rachel answered. "You?"

"I had a sandwich, but if you're still hungry there's a place that delivers that has vegan pizza."

"Oh," Rachel smiled weakly, "I'm not vegan anymore."

Quinn glanced at her, and Rachel could feel her discerning gaze. Finally, with a hint of amusement, she said jokingly, "Please tell me it was for cheese."

Rachel laughed. "That was a major contributing factor."

Quinn grinned. "I have to admit, I'm relieved. I tried vegan mac and cheese a week ago and it was..."

"Disgusting?" Rachel guessed, still grinning.

"An acquired taste." Quinn allowed.

Rachel's laughter broke into the night. "That's a nice way of putting it."

Quinn grinned back.

They entered the campus, and Rachel laughed as she took in the walls and architecture surrounding her. "Gosh, Quinn, this place is certainly pretentious."

"Oh, like the hallowed halls of NYADA is any different." Quinn said dryly.

"But this!" Rachel glanced around, awed. "I already feel smarter."

"That's probably what they're going for." Quinn noted. "It's actually listed in the miscellaneous fees of our tuition: 'pretense of increased intelligence'."

"You definitely get what you pay for." Rachel observed. "You're doing OK here?"

"It's better than Lima." Quinn admitted. "It's hard, but I'd rather be killing myself in my classes than dying of boredom in OSU."

"I know what you mean." Rachel agreed.

"Yeah, your email mentioned you were working with a ballerina?" Quinn prompted. "How's that going?"

"Intense." Rachel admitted. "Did you ever study ballet?"

"Briefly." Quinn related. "I was more into gymnastics."

"I took ballet, too, but this girl, Claire? She's amazing." Rachel gushed. "She's like Natalie Portman in the Black Swan, but without the crazy."

Quinn glanced at her. "Why is she crazy?"

"She's just... This is her whole life. She's planned out her entire life from the moment she decided she wanted to be a professional dancer."

"That's a bad thing?" Quinn asked, curious.

"No, but can you imagine having that kind of no margin for error?" Rachel asked.

Quinn smiled wryly. "I was pretty sure I was going to end up becoming a realtor, so that goes to show you how much I know."

Rachel laughed.

"But you know," Quinn added, hooking her arm through Rachel's, "there's a lot to be admired about someone who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to do what it takes to get it."

Rachel didn't want to talk about it, and Quinn didn't want to push. The next day, after Quinn finished her homework - Rachel helped, it was for Literature and about Shakespeare and Rachel had an entire module dedicated to Shakespeare - they spent the entire day doing mundane things around Yale: going to the museum, visiting coffee shops around the area, enjoying the local shops that were usually found in university towns that Rachel didn't get to enjoy in New York.

It was the distraction Rachel needed, especially since she and Quinn had elected to leave her phone in Quinn's dorm room, so nothing and nobody from New York could force her to face up to what she had momentarily left behind.

Not that it wasn't far from her mind, especially when she saw a poster to A Chorus Line in one of the thrift stores she and Quinn had gone into.

Honestly, if anyone in Lima knew that Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray were going into thrift shops looking for old books and records, they would probably think it was a joke. But the two of them shared a love for old records and classic literature, and even back in Lima, the summer before their junior year saw them as regular fixtures in the only thrift shop in their home town.

"Do you even own a record player?" Quinn asked, as they sorted through their shopping bags back in Quinn's dorm room. She knew Rachel's dads had one in Lima, but she didn't recall seeing one in the New York apartment when she had last been in New York.

"No." Rachel pouted, as she examined one of her purchased records. "But how often will I find Barbra records?"

Quinn conceded that point, checking her phone for messages. She glanced at Rachel. "Ready to talk about it yet?"

"No."

Quinn acquiesced. "Quiet night in?"

Rachel paused, indicating a reluctance to do just that. "Or?"

"Or attend one of the handful of parties around campus." Quinn admitted.

"And here I was hoping for a Jodie Foster clambake." Rachel quipped. She laughed at Quinn's exasperated expression. "By the way, were you aware Santana has been retelling that story insisting you were being, and I quote, 'initiated'?"

"Do I want to know?" Quinn asked tiredly. She had learned to be wary when the name Santana Lopez was attached to any anecdote.

"Maybe not."

"I'll take your word for it." Quinn arched an eyebrow at the brunette. "So? Party?"

"Party." Rachel nodded.

Quinn knew better than to argue. Her relationship with Rachel was often confrontational, but they also knew that sometimes it was better to wait it out and let the other decide when they were ready to talk. "Party it is."

Stupid Berry.

Quinn glanced around the crowded room, ignoring the many admiring looks from the frat boys she usually avoided like the plague, scanning faces for her missing friend. Quinn had wanted the distraction of a party, while Rachel had insisted on going to the loudest party they could find. Even so, she knew she shouldn't have listened to Rachel and gone to this frat house: she only knew a handful of members (three), and only one was someone she didn't mind knowing. (The other two halfway decent, but she wouldn't be lining up to be a character witness for them.) But Rachel had given Quinn her best doe-eyed puppy-dog face and her best pout, and Quinn had caved like she always did, ever since she and Rachel had become friends.

Quinn really hoped she didn't show just how desperate she felt, not knowing where Rachel was in this party.

But, seriously: how hard was it for Rachel to obey the simple command to stay near the patio doors, while Quinn went to get them drinks? And of course Rachel had chosen to wear one of her obscenely short skirts, despite Quinn warning her that Yale's frat boys were just as prone to douchebaggery as any frat boy anywhere else.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, and allowed herself a brief moment to enjoy her once again shortened hair, a gift she'd given herself when she'd dumped that asshole of a Psych professor when she had realized he used his "leaving his wife" line on many unsuspecting freshmen. At least she had dumped him before he could follow it up with the line about how he had to think about his kids.

Quinn checked her phone, and tried once more to dial Rachel's phone. Still voice mail. She growled under her breath. "Berry."

She was frustrated, but she was also very concerned. Rachel had been in New Haven for all of twenty-four hours, and Quinn still didn't have answers as to why Rachel had called her up Friday night to ask if she could "come over". As if travelling from New York to Connecticut was a hop, skip and jump away (it wasn't). She had been tempted several times to just call Rachel's roommates and ask why, but her entire friendship with Rachel was sacred, and their entire reason for being was that they had a trust that could not be breached by other people. So Quinn knew she had no choice but to wait it out.

Quinn felt, more than saw, someone sidle up to her. A brief glance informed her that she recognized him from her Economics class and a fraternity brother of the house. She turned back to her phone, willing it to connect with Rachel's.

"Hi."

Quinn ignored him.

"You look familiar."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I've been watching you from across the room and I thought to myself, that girl's really hot."

Quinn paused. She straightened, and slowly turned to face him. She did not miss his slow smirk of victory of getting her attention. "No."

His smile didn't even falter. "Look, you don't need to play hard-to-get, you're just prolonging the inevitable."

She would say this about the assholes of Yale University: they were a lot more verbally eloquent than the cro-magnons she had attended high school with. "No."

"But-"

Quinn's wary expression immediately hardened to the ice queen killer bitch glare that she had practiced and honed throughout high school. She gave him a deadly once-over, her disdain dripping out of every pore. "No."

"Come on, you-"

Quinn upped her glare to a level 10. "Go. Away. Now."

He scoffed, but he turned and walked away.

Quinn distinctly heard him mutter the words "frigid ice queen virgin" under his breath.

Her favorite part about New Haven was that nobody knew about her high school indiscretion and the life-altering events that followed.

Quinn paused, and shook her head in bemusement as she realized she should have known where to look for Rachel in the first place.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this." Quinn teased, leaning against the door jamb.

Rachel, seated at the edge of a bath tub full of ice and drinks, looked up from her careful study of the bathroom tiles. She smiled faintly at the blonde. "With everything changing, some traditions should be kept."

Quinn smiled and closed the door behind her as she moved to sit beside Rachel. She glanced around the room. "This is definitely the most disgusting location yet."

Rachel giggled. "I don't know, the underside of the McKinley bleachers gives this a run for its money."

"Hey, that place had its charm." Quinn defended the Skanks' hangout spot.

"Charm. Singular." Rachel reminded. "And I do believe that began and ended with your pink hair."

Quinn smirked. "So you did like the pink hair."

Rachel smiled. "It had its merits."

Quinn smiled back.

Rachel's smile slowly faded, and she glanced down at her feet. "Finn's coming to New York."

Quinn grimaced. "Ugh. Why?"

"Can you believe it's a long story?"

"Longer than he shot himself in the foot and got himself discharged from boot camp?" Quinn asked, only half-jokingly. She, Santana and Brittany had found that endlessly amusing. "What did that idiot do now?"

"Quinn." Rachel's tone was admonishing: it was an idiotic move, she agreed, but she disapproved of any name-calling.

"What did he do?" Quinn asked, even as she turned to inspect the contents of the bath tub. She brightened as she spotted, and subsequently plucked out, a bottle of fruit-flavored cocktail vodka. She largely disliked the over-privileged frat boys of this particular fraternity, but she had to admit that they usually came from money and certainly knew their alcohol, even if it had a relatively low alcohol content.

Rachel shook her head, and sighed. Honestly, where to start? "Mr. Schuester had him direct the group at Sectionals."

"I know. I was there." Quinn opened the bottle, and took a sip. She winced at the burn, but she decided that she definitely approved of the taste. "Not the brightest idea Schue's ever had, but then he kept taking away your solos."

Rachel had to smile, since it was always a revelation to her when Quinn would admit just how much she really admired Rachel and Rachel's singing talent. "Well, so you must have heard about their Sectionals disqualification."

"You mean their defeat," Quinn noted, taking another sip and handing the bottle to Rachel. "You shouldn't mince words like that, the meaning gets lost that way."

"Technically, they didn't lose."

"Technically, they were going to, because there's no way they were going to place with the inanity that was Gangnam Style." Quinn objected, watching Rachel take a sip of the alcohol. She grinned when she saw Rachel wince. "Good, huh?"

"I'm partial to wine." Rachel admitted. "Although Jesse's been making noise about alcohol and my vocal cords."

Quinn's eyebrow arched into orbit at the mention of the familiar name, but she didn't say a word.

Rachel didn't notice. "Anyway, apparently Blaine and Sam have been doing some investigating in their free time, and they discovered an anomaly in The Warblers' performance. According to Kurt, they've been taking some performance-enhancing drugs."

"That's why that glorified boyband got disqualified?" Quinn asked incredulously. She took a longer, more deliberate drink of the vodka. "What does all that have to do with Finnane?"

"He might have implied that in light of Dalton's disqualification, McKinley would be moving forward to Regionals."

Rachel watched as Quinn's beautiful face scrunched up. "But they were disqualified."

"Hence the problem."

Quinn frowned. "He didn't just 'imply', did he? He told them."

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

"Moron." Quinn muttered. "So, what? He's running to New York to hide from the pitchforks and torches? I think Sue's already told Kitty where those are hidden."

Rachel stared at Quinn for a second, before dismissing the latter part of the blonde's statement. She had learned to ignore anything Cheerio-related due to possible trauma. "That's our guess."

"You're obviously not jumping with joy at this development." Quinn observed dryly. "And I bet Santana must be thrilled."

"We'd tell him not to, but Kurt and I both know he'd just keep whining until he gets his way." Rachel admitted, fidgeting with the bottle for a moment before she took a drink. "Honestly, we don't know what to do. Santana hates him, Kurt knows he hangs out with Blaine, and I'm busy with school."

Quinn hummed her agreement. "Plus you're dating that guy."

'That guy'. Rachel glanced at Quinn. "His name is Brody."

"Just be glad I'm not giving him a nickname."

Rachel smiled weakly. "Santana calls him Ken Doll."

"He does look mentally vacant." Quinn agreed. "But you do the horizontal with him, so it's anatomically incompatible."

"Santana also calls him Manwhore 2000."

Quinn snorted indelicately. She coughed to cover it up. "That's..."

"Accurate, it turns out."

Quinn glanced at her, curious.

Rachel sighed. "I found out from Claire that he takes the 'open' part of our relationship seriously."

"Well..." Quinn began slowly. How were you supposed to tell someone nicely that a lot of guys would jump at the chance to screw around behind their girlfriend's back, especially when given permission?

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'd hoped that because he was this nice guy that he wouldn't do that. I just assumed that..." Rachel let her voice trail off. "I guess I should have expected it."

Quinn turned to look at the brunette. "You did tell the guy you were in an open relationship."

"But..." Rachel paused, then looked away, embarrassed.

Quinn frowned. "Rachel?"

There was a long silence, before Rachel's soft voice asked brokenly, "It's me, isn't it?"

"What's you?" Quinn asked cluelessly.

"I wasn't enough."

"Rachel..."

Rachel looked at her. "Did you know he slept with my dance teacher when we were starting our relationship?"

"That's really a thing, I guess..." Quinn mumbled, hating herself even more now for being such a cliché and sleeping with her professor.

"And now Santana's calling me out for even being in an open, casual relationship, and Jesse himself pointed out that I've never learned to share, how can I expect to be in such a relationship, and... what?" Rachel asked, seeing Quinn's furrowed brow.

"I'm a little more on the drunk scale than I am sober, and I'm a believer of letting the narrative play out but," Quinn frowned, slightly disappointed that she wasn't nearly drunk enough for this while also hoping she was a little more sober for Rachel's apparent breakdown. "That's the second time you've mentioned Jesse St. James. If he is the Jesse you keep bringing up."

"The one and only." Rachel muttered.

Quinn placed her right hand on her temple, and rubbed. "Okay. Tradition or not, we're not continuing this conversation in this STD cesspool." She got to her feet, and offered her hand to Rachel.

Rachel took the offered hand, and allowed Quinn to pull her up to a standing position. She giggled when she saw Quinn wasn't relinquishing the vodka. "The presence of alcohol is ironic, since we both don't have pleasant memories of drinking."

Quinn laughed. "You don't expect me to talk about Finnbecile and Jesse St. Jackass sober, do you?"

"No nickname for Brody?" Rachel teased.

"NYADA Ken isn't worthy of being discussed." Quinn said flatly. "And you're obviously dumping him soon, anyway."

"You don't know that."

"Rachel, any guy who doesn't appreciate you or know your true value isn't worth keeping around." Quinn told her. "And you might not believe me now, but him dating other girls isn't because you're not enough, but because he's an idiot. Trust me."

Rachel had to smile. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Quinn nodded firmly. She opened the door, and led Rachel out. "But, before all else: Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"No Run Joey Run videos this time, OK?"