G'day everyone. I got some wonderful feedback for my last update, and again, I'm very grateful to everyone that took the time to write in. As everyone who writes me feedback will know, I do my best to reply to you, but that's not possible when people log in as Guest's. So I'd like to take a moment to thank the people that drop me a line or two as Guest's. Your reviews and suggestions are just as valuable as everyone else's :)

I'm glad that the majority of people seem to be enjoying the slow build up of the relationship, and I was very happy to receive feedback that indicated that my readers think I'm doing a good job of not getting redundant in my storytelling. I think it's important to keep a story progressing forwards, even if it is in little ways. Feel free to let me know if the story ever seems to stagnate, and I promise to take a long, hard look at it.

Also, for anyone who is wondering, this story will be written from Rachel's POV only. If you ask me, it makes it fun guessing what's going in Quinn's head!

And now, on to Chapter 13. I await your feedback.

Rachel glanced across the net at her opponent who was deftly swirling her racket round and round in anticipation of the upcoming serve. The brunette took a deep breath before bouncing the ball, noticing how it was covered in speckles of red dirt. The air around her felt electric, her ear's picking up random shouts of encouragement and hushed conversations between spectators. The buzz in the air was exactly what one would expect to precede the fifth match point of a match that had already lasted nearly three hours.

The umpire spoke up, "Silence, s'il vous plait", and received the desired effect immediately. "Merci."

Rachel bounced the ball one last time, the sound of her own increased heartbeat thumping through her ears as she tossed it up. Ignoring the soreness in her serving arm, she moved upwards to meet the ball with her racket.

Crack!

Four days ago…

Rachel woke up to the sound of pounding on her door. Glancing at the alarm clock on her bedtime table, she rose groggily, wondering who could be outside her door at the crack of dawn. She looked through the peephole before actually opening the door.

Seconds later, she was ambushed by a tall blonde, who wrapped her up in a bear hug "Happy birthday Rach!"

The brunette's sleepy brain took a moment to get with the program, but when it did, all traces of sleep disappeared instantaneously. "Oh my God! It's my birthday!"

Brittany let her friend out of her embrace, "Of course it is dummy! Did you forget?"

Rachel shook her head, closing the door behind them as she moved back inside the room, "No. You know how excited I get about my birthdays! It just wasn't the first thought to cross my mind when I heard you banging on the door." She moved towards the coffee machine, "Cuppa?"

It was Brittany's turn to shake her head, "And you're not having one either. Get dressed, I'm taking you out to breakfast."

An hour later, the brunette found herself in heaven as she bit into a pain au chocolat. The croissant was so good that Rachel literally moaned after the first bite, which made her British friend giggle.

"That must be good, if it's got you making sex noises" she laughed, taking a bite of her own tarte crumble.

Under any other circumstances Rachel would have blushed at her friend's comment. But at that present moment she was trying to calculate just how much more time she'd have to spend on the treadmill if she were to order another croissant. Or two. Or a dozen.

Rachel and Brittany ate at an unhurried pace, chatting away as they savoured the excellent food and coffee. The brunette was surprised to realize that a few other customers seemed to recognize her, and almost died when two of them approached her for autographs and pictures. It really shouldn't have been such a surprise, seeing that the French Open drew tennis fans from all around the world to Paris. And Rachel's picture was in the paper that very morning, thanks to her convincing third-round win the previous afternoon. The brunette had put on a clinical display to make it to the round of sixteen where, as promised, Lily Chan would be waiting across the net.

The brunette was scheduled to hit the practice court in the early evening to work out a strategy to defeat the Asian, which gave Brittany plenty of time to spoil her friend on her birthday. This was Rachel's first trip to Paris, since she'd skipped the tournament in her years as a junior in favour of spending her birthday with her dad's in New York.

Rachel hadn't spent much time taking in the sights and sounds of Paris just yet, devoting most of her energy towards training for the year's second major. She was keen to discover more of the city's famed charm though, which is why Brittany and her co-conspirators had decided to spend the morning wandering around the Louvre. She pulled out two 'Skip The Line Tour' tickets to the famous museum as Rachel was sipping on her second cup of coffee, and placed them on the table.

The shorter player squealed, "You didn't! Brit!"

Brittany held her hand up to stop her friend, "Breakfast is on me. The tour is on your dad's. Which reminds me, you're supposed to call them."

Rachel immediately pulled out her phone, and did the needful while Brittany excused herself to give her some privacy. The brunette was grateful for her friend's consideration when she felt her eyes water as soon as her dad's began singing her the birthday song, and told her how much they missed her. She sniffled while telling them that she loved them and missed them too, and her smile grew even more watery when Hiram and Leroy reiterated how proud they felt watching her play on the red clay.

The blonde reappeared just as Rachel hung up, and made no mention of her red nose as she silently handed her a tissue. Brittany had settled the check while Rachel chatted with her father's, so the twosome picked up their bags and walked out to catch a cab from Blé Sucré to the Louvre. Rachel had made the trip the previous week to see the historic monument from the outside, but felt her skin breakout into goose bumps when it hit her that she was actually walking in to the Louvre. 'Trust Daddy and Papa to give me an excellent birthday present from more than three thousand miles away', she thought happily while entering the Pyramide de Louvre.

Once inside the building, the pair met up with a small tour group. The tour guide asked if there was anything in particular anyone wanted to see at the museum, which reminded Rachel of an article she'd read that claimed it would take a person almost twenty-five full twenty-four hour days to see each of the objects at the Louvre. She silently promised herself that she'd see all of the museums thirty-five thousand objects before her tennis playing days were over.

Four hours later an excited Rachel walked back into her hotel room, knowing that she needed to take a nap before the car arrived to take her to Stade Roland Garros. The hotel staff downstairs had alerted her to a delivery that had arrived while she was away, so she wasn't surprised to see a bouquet of flowers from the French Tennis Federation sitting on the table in her room. As someone had already alerted Rachel, it was tradition for the organizers of the French Open to send flowers to all players celebrating career or life milestones during the fortnight of play at Roland Garros.

Rachel admired the arrangement of roses as she changed into her PJ's. She lay down, but try as she might, she couldn't force herself to fall asleep. How could she, when she had just seen the Mona Lisa? The Mona Lisa! And the Venus de Milo. And Milon de Crotone. And Caravaggio's The Death of the Virgin. These were artworks that Rachel had only read about, had seen pictures of in books, magazines and even on tacky souvenir items. And now, she'd seen them in the flesh.

Rachel cracked an eye open, and looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. She contemplated calling her father's, but knew they'd probably be at work by now. Her Papa did have that launch to look after today, the one that had prevented him and Hiram from coming to Paris to celebrate Rachel's eighteenth birthday with her. 'And Daddy will probably be busy with his morning patients' she thought, closing her eyes and willing her body to fall asleep.

The brunette was finally drifting off when she was roused again by a rap on the door. Rising, she looked through the peephole, only to be met with the sight of flowers. Thrilled, Rachel opened the door and looked curiously at a delivery boy who was bearing a large bouquet.

"Rachel Berry?" he asked, his French accent warping the R's in her name, and making it sound quite exotic to the brunette's ears.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes roaming over the large arrangement of lilies and gardenias.

"Signez ici" the boy said, thrusting an electronic signature capture machine at her.

Rachel signed and passed the machine back to the boy, who slipped it into his courier bag.

"Voulez-vous que je mette les fleurs dans votre chamber?" he asked. When Rachel didn't immediately respond, he pointed at the flowers and then into her room with a questioning look on his face.

"Ah, yes. Oui" Rachel said, finally getting what he meant. She reached for her bag as he put the floral arrangement down beside the flowers from the Fédération Française de Tennis, and slipped him a tip on his way out. "Merci", she thanked him before closing the door and walking to the flowers.

Rachel assumed that the bouquet had come from her father's, and was expecting to see their signatures on whatever card or letter was inside the envelope nestled between the flowers. Which is why her brow creased in confusion when she didn't recognize the slanting handwriting on the letter that came out of the envelope.

"Dear Rachel,

Happy birthday! Or as they say here, joyeux anniversaire!

I overheard you telling Santana about your birthday back in Miami, and know you turn 18 today. It's a big occasion, so I wanted to personally wish you a fantastic first year of adulthood. And many more after that!

Here's to the joys of being able to order yourself a stiff drink at any bar across the world (except for the handful of nations, including the good ol' USA, where you need to wait another three years to do that).

I hope you have a fantastic day.

Xox Quinn."

Rachel felt her heart rate pick up speed when she saw the name signed on the bottom of the letter. She looked at the bouquet in a whole new light, not needing a last name to know who had sent it. The brunette quickly read through the letter again, thinking that the elegant cursive handwriting seemed to fit Quinn's charming personality. To say that she was touched at the World No. 1's effort was an understatement. The brunette really wished she had Quinn's phone number or email address so she could thank her for the gesture. She didn't even know where in the city the blonde was staying, and paused a moment to ponder how Quinn knew where she was staying.

'I should ask her for her contact the next time I see her', she thought, making a mental note to do so as she leaned down to smell the flowers.

Five Hours Ago…

As luck would have it, the next time Rachel saw Quinn, it was in the locker room right before her quarterfinal match. The blonde walked in with Sue and Mercedes in tow, her lips slightly turning up at the corners when she spotted Rachel and Shelby sitting on a couple of armchairs on the bottom level of the room. The two brunettes nodded back, also acknowledging waves from the two other women, and watched as the trio climbed the stairs to the actual lockers, where Quinn sat down on a bench and Mercedes immediately set about kneading the muscles of her right shoulder. Rachel didn't think it was a good time to go thank Quinn for her flowers.

An hour later, Rachel began the walk to the corridor that would then lead her onto the Philipe Chatrier arena. She glanced at the signatures on the walls around her, her eyes briefly resting on the marks left by some of her idols. She heard footsteps behind her, and knew her opponent was following her to the court. Rachel turned a corner and found herself face-to-face with a camera crew and a tournament official, who told the two women that the television crew would be filming their walk to the stadium. Rachel nodded, and briefly turned around to look at her opponent. Quinn didn't give any indication that she'd heard what the staff member had said. The world's top ranked player bounced lightly from side to side, eyes on the ground, her racket bag slung over her shoulders like a backpack and a silent tune being pumped into her ears by a pair of bright red Beats headphones.

Rachel turned back around, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to get in the zone.

Present

Rachel sent a flat ball down the T, immediately moving to the center of the baseline to get into the best possible position to try and dominate the rally. Quinn sent a return to her backhand side, which the brunette easily retrieved, sending a crosscourt shot to the blonde's own backhand. Quinn sliced her return, but Rachel was ready for the topspin on the ball. Drawing her hand back, she made to take a big swing at the ball, but slowed down just before actually making contact with the ball. It looked like Quinn had read the well-disguised drop shot a fraction too late, and began a frantic dash to the ball from the baseline just as it bounced. Rachel moved forward, sure that the blonde wouldn't get to the ball before it bounced twice, but getting into position to block the return just in case.

Quinn came sliding in, and somehow got her racket under the ball mere millimeters before it bounced for a second time. The crowd 'oohed' and gasped, and for a second Quinn's eyes met Rachel's as the ball left her racket. Rachel was there to block the only logical shot, a forehand down the line. She had this.

Until Quinn decided to change the play. The World No. 1 took a gamble, and scooped the ball up and over her opponent, crosscourt. Rachel's eyes were back on the ball, and she turned to run as soon as she realized the play Quinn was trying to make. The brunette ran at breakneck speed, catching up to the lob that had landed on the baseline just as it was halfway to bouncing for a second time. Rachel twisted her body out of the way, almost breathless as she swung her racket at the ball. Her forehand went whirling towards the net.

Where Quinn stood in anticipation. With soft hands, she easily volleyed Rachel's return to a spot just across the net. She put backspin on her volley, just in case Rachel decided to sprint in the opposite direction again. But Rachel knew she was beat.

The crowd jumped to their feet, roaring out their appreciation for the magnificent point, and equally fantastic match they had just witnessed.

"Jeux, manche, match, Mademoiselle Fabray. 7-5, 3-6, 12-10" the chair umpire announced over the deafening applause.

Rachel made her way to the net, where Quinn was already waiting, her hands resting on the net cord. The two women shook hands, and Rachel obliged when her vanquisher leaned in to kiss each of her cheeks.

"Good game, Rachel", Quinn complimented quietly, and the brunette did her best to smile at the blonde. The blonde must have sensed her distress, because she squeezed their still clasped hands one last time before letting go and turning towards the chair umpire.

Rachel followed her, robotically reaching up to shake hands with the umpire. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths, in and out, as she quickly packed up her things, wrapped a towel around her neck, picked up her bag and began the long walk off court.

She heard someone on a microphone saying some words in French that were followed by her name, and got the gist of it when the crowd gave her another ovation as she headed back to the corridor. Rachel briefly raised her hand to acknowledge their appreciation, but quickly returned her eyes to the exit. 'Just keep breathing' she reminded herself. She knew the disappointment was clear on her face, but she was determined not to break down with the whole world watching.

Quinn's contact details were the furthest thing from her mind right then.