It's been a year.
The last time you saw her, she was pregnant with Blaine and Kurt's child.
Using your egg.
(You'd said that you would have been happy to carry the baby, but Kurt had a fit about your bacon intake. Trying to explain that that was just a pregnancy craving didn't help matters.)
So Rachel stepped up. Of course. Who else would it have been?
You try and feel sad about the fact that near the end, when Rachel and been at her most... well, Rachel... Jesse had turned out to have acted his most... Jesse, and decided that maybe being married to a fellow diva wasn't all it could've been.
The feeling doesn't come.
She glances around the restaurant while waiting to be seated. You avert your eyes, bringing your wine glass up to your lips, holding onto the fact that the two of you being in the same place at the same time is pure coincidence as being enough to keep you hidden from her ga-
"Quinn!"
Well, shit.
You wave back, and of course she takes it as an invitation to come over.
Pregnancy has done her good. Or maybe it's the lack of wedding band. She looks fantastic.
Of course.
When did she ever not?
(You've tried so hard to forgive yourself for all the bad things you've ever said to her. You haven't been very good at it.)
And now here she is, standing in front of you, dressed up to the nines. Just like you. It could almost be a date.
"Hey, Rachel. It's been too long."
"Very true. I was quite surprised when you weren't there for the birth."
She doesn't mean it maliciously, you know she doesn't. That doesn't stop it stinging somewhat.
"Yeah, about that, I'm s-"
"It's fine, Quinn. You really don't need to apologise."
You tilt your head in acquiescence. She looks at the seat opposite you. You can see the cogs in her head turning over the fact that only your place is set.
She smirks.
It does nasty things to your insides.
(No it doesn't)
"I can't believe that looking like you do, you're here alone."
You can't control the blush. Or that voice at the back of your mind whispering 'She missed out the 'tonight' in "looking like you do tonight".'
You really wish you could, so you mask your constant internal failure with your best shit-eating grin.
"Well, sometimes it's nice to go out just for yourself. And hey, if it shows all the girls and boys what they're missing, all for the best, right?"
Her smirk turns into a genuine smile.
God, that flash of teeth...
"I take it Sofia is finally no more, then?"
You laugh.
"It's been months, Rach. You never really did take to her, did you?"
"No. And with good reason, evidently, since you broke up with her."
Your brow furrows, and you sigh into your wine, taking a long sip.
"What makes you think that I-"
"Quinn. Nobody in their right mind would ever break up with you."
Your eyes lock on hers, hard. Your eyebrow quirks, in the classical Fabray tradition.
She has the decency to look slightly ashamed.
"The brain doesn't fully set until you're about twenty-five, Quinn, so I think that it's entirely possible that you could argue that teenagers are definitely not in their right mind."
You smile.
(Why can't you stay mad at her?)
(Oh, right...)
"Relax, relax. You're both forgiven a hundred thousand years ago."
She does relax. You get a half-smile back on her face.
It's not enough.
You motion towards the opposite seat.
"So, what do I have to do to get you to join me? I think I've had my fill of alone at the table for one night."
She makes what you long ago deemed her 'awkward situation' face.
"Kill my blind date."
You're not sure you controlled the look of defeat fast enough. In fact, from the split-second quizzical look that passes across her face, you're damn sure you didn't.
You notice her subconsciously fondling a red rose, just poking out from her clutch. Easy to miss, if you're deliberately not looking.
You manage to laugh. It very nearly doesn't sound fake.
"Blaine or Brittany? Because there is no fucking way Kurt or Santana would be that cheesy."
She huffs.
Your heart misses a beat.
"You shouldn't use that kind of language in a respectable upmarket establishment like this one."
Your turn to smirk.
You hope it does nasty things to her insides.
(No you don't.)
She huffs again. It almost looks like a blush.
"It was Blaine. He swears I'll like this one."
You're this close to choking on the mouthful of wine you've just imbibed. You manage not to, but can't put the same effort into stopping your eyebrow from resuming its HBIC perch.
"'This one?' How many?"
"Third this month. Last month he tried all girls, just for a change. A couple of them were cute, reminded me of Amy, the stagehand?"
You nod. You remember.
(Mainly, that you were really tetchy around your boyfriend of the time for absolutely no reason whatsoever.)
(Well, even more 'really tetchy' than usual, at any rate.)
"But I guess I'm just not that into that."
The last thing you need is New York Finals flashbacks. You wonder if that's a seed planted by Santana, but you hope that even she wouldn't be that cruel.
(You hope that she may have been that kind.)
A man comes up behind her. You relax. It's just the mâitre d'.
"Your table is ready, Miss Berry."
She thanks him, turns to you and shrugs.
"Destiny awaits, I guess."
You, once again, force a smile.
"I'm sure he'll - or she'll - be lovely, Rachel."
She doesn't look convinced.
"They've all been lovely, Quinn."
Of course.
"There just hasn't been that spark, you know?"
You know.
So you nod.
Just nod.
You don't trust yourself to say anything at all.
The mâitre d' is waiting. She makes no sign of imminent movement.
So you do.
Getting up, you embrace her.
"Well, I'm afraid that this lovely wine has done things to my insides..."
Hah.
"...so I'm afraid I must leave you to your fate. You'll be fine, Rach."
Of course she will be.
You pull away. She has a look on her face that you can't quite place.
(The wine actually must be affecting you, you're rhyming.)
She gets that determined look on her face. Your heart melts yet further.
"Thank you."
You smile, your widest smile. Your smile for her.
"Anytime. We should catch up properly, soon. Grab a coffee, maybe. I'll e-mail you in the week. You can tell me how well - or not - your date went. Okay?"
That quick, singular, nod. You know she's all set.
"Okay."
"Later, Berry."
"As soon as possible, please. Fabray."
That smirk, one day it'll be the death of you, you swear.
Tonight, you can't watch her leave. You turn your back on her, hoping that you won't cry in the toilets.
You didn't cry. You make your way back to your table, actively trying not to scan the restaurant for Rachel and her date, who must surely have arrived by now. Your focus is such that your hand is already pulling out your chair when you see the rose.
Your eyes snap up to hers.
The extra place looks like it's been there all night, just waiting for her. Your glass has been refilled. She doesn't appear to have touched hers.
You sit down.
She picks up her glass, motioning for you to do the same.
The two of you clink.
She takes a sip.
You wipe your cheek.
"So..."
She takes another sip. You can't talk. Not one word is coming to mind.
"So. We're both single. We haven't been single at the same time for... ever, I think. Our ships always passed in the night. To be honest, I thought that with myself and Jesse, and you and Sofia, that any chance we might've had to act on our latent feelings for one and other had finally gone. That we'd be destined to only ever be 'just good friends'. But..."
She trails off, just in time for you to find your voice.
"We're both single."
"Yes."
"How long...?"
"A while. To an extent, you've always confused me, Quinn."
You can't hold back the bittersweet snort of laughter.
"Rachel..."
She lifts her glass again. You ready yourself to meet her.
"To second chances."
Your eyebrow does its thing. She laughs.
"Or whichever one this is."
You can't help laughing back.
"Second chances."
Clink.
She wipes your cheek.