Remember us

by gayfordiannaagron

The Vow—Faberry. It's different to the movie, but the premise is the same. Rachel and Quinn are married and a car accident causes Rachel to lose her memories.

13. Chapter 13

There's not going to be much on the past anymore because I feel as though that story has finished. Thanks for all the comments, favorites all that stuff :)

---

Someone once asked me what it felt like to love you
They may have as well have asked me to describe the taste of water
So, in turn, I asked them to live in absence of it
You can get by without it for a day or so
You may even survive without it for a week
But eventually, the body will begin to wither away
And so the idea of living without water
Is equivalent of not loving you—
Impossible

—Anonymous

•••

November 21st, 2016

"Are you home?"

"Indeed I am. Where are you?"

"Waiting for the elevator."

"So."

"So."

"That's it? You're not going to say anything more?"

"We'll talk afterwards."

"Quinn, if you only came here for sex—"

"Of course, I did. Why else—"

"I'm not letting you in."

"Good thing I kept the keys, then."

Quinn shut off her phone when she reached Rachel's apartment. From her bag produced an immense set of keys, and began work on a complex of locks. It had been four months since she last stepped foot into her old apartment; the act was bittersweet. Rachel was standing a few feet away from the door when Quinn opened it. The scowl on Rachel's face, along with arms folded, should've been enough to frighten her, but she sensed a layer of anticipation in the way Rachel was staring at her. Rachel seemed confident, more assured than the last time they met, and again Quinn felt a slight shock at seeing her. It was different now, newer feelings, not simply memories anymore. If anything, Quinn's attraction to Rachel had grown stronger over the past month than it ever did over the past few years, more intense, and it made her feel a little nervous in Rachel's presence. It was now exactly a month since they've last seen each other—at the airport in Delhi—it was impossible to not feel abuzz with excitement.

Quinn held her breath as Rachel continued to stare at her. Even the whole room seemed to hold its breath. A thin beam of sunlight slipped past the curtains over the window, illuminating Rachel's bronze skin. A gentle breeze caused the curtains to dance over them, circle them in a wispy, private heaven. Her pulse leaped. She stepped forward; Rachel's warm, soapy scent enveloped her. Leaning in for a kiss, Rachel decided that seemed to be the right time to start talking,

"I don't like this whole arrangement. We haven't seen each other in a month due to all the stress of our careers and you show up out of nowhere expecting me to put out—"

"I told you I was coming over yesterday."

"Regardless. I am a young, competent, bluestocking—"

Quinn wasn't really sure what a bluestocking was, but nevertheless still felt a twinge of arousal at the word 'stocking'. As Rachel talked, Quinn pictured her wearing blue stockings before deciding blue stockings wouldn't suit her, or anyone in fact, and that stockings should really only ever be black or possibly white like those ones Rachel used to wear in high school which hid her long, toned legs, and then decided that maybe she was missing the point about the phrase 'bluestockings'. This kind of erotic reverie occupied great swatches of Quinn's mental energy, and she wondered if perhaps Rachel was right, perhaps she was a little too distracted by the sexual side of things. Her defence is that they haven't seen each other in a month and they haven't had sex in four months. Rachel's career heightened in the past month, her reputation strengthened after the interview on national television and soon the demands for her attention increased. Quinn however, spent the past month relaxing and enjoying a vacation locked up in her apartment doing nothing but sleep, except the occasional phone calls to Rachel. Surely in a moment like this it was natural to feel as if she'd just got out of prison, which in all honesty, if you think about it, she really did just get out of prison. Prison being her apartment.

Concentrate. Someone she cared for dearly was engaged in some kind of nervous collapse, and she should concentrate on that, rather than tearing Rachel's pants off, needing skin-to-skin contact. The softness of her body, or how her name would sound on Rachel's lips as she found her pleasure. Concentrate, Quinn! She steered her thoughts away from the subject of sex, her brain nimble as an aircraft carrier. She watched Rachel pace around the room, her mouth still moving but Quinn really couldn't concentrate on the words. And she really would, she should, except she had so much happening in her brain at present.

"Are you listening to me, Quinn?" Rachel was looking at her with frank disgust.

"Of course I am."

"What did I just say?"

"You were talking about being a bluestocking—"

"That was ten minutes ago!" She said bitterly.

Quinn covered her nervousness with laughter. "Well, I seem to have lost my short term memory at the moment—"

"We're not having sex today."

"How do you know that?"

"A wise old gypsy told me."

"You went to a wise old gypsy in your free time?"

"Yes, I did."

"And how did you manage to do that with all the interviews and attention you've been getting?"

"I have a body double. She does my interviews for me while I sneak away to deal with personal issues." Rachel's lips twitched and Quinn felt her heart skip a beat. She looked so relaxed just then, so sexy. She loved it when Rachel lost her reserve and simply enjoyed the moment. Rachel hasn't allowed herself to do that very often these weeks.

Then Quinn was kissing her, and Rachel kissed her back, feeling the weeks of separation dissolve into passion. Quinn forgot about everything, her only thoughts consisted of Rachel and that wicked mouth. Without slowing the kiss, Quinn pushed her onto the couch and peeled away her clothes as if the idea of Rachel not being naked was a stupid idea. It was almost slow motion as their naked bodies finally came together, both of them trembling. The last time Quinn had Rachel naked, she was drunk, now that she was sober she noticed Rachel respond in anticipation at her every touch. She kissed every part of Rachel's body, listening as she made soft, whimpering sounds.

The friction of her thigh between Rachel's leg almost caused her to go off like a rocket. Quinn paused while Rachel nipped at her jawbone, her neck, and she blinked. Quinn pulled back, searching Rachel's gaze. Then, she slowly grinned,

"You smell like daisies when you're turned on."

Rachel stilled, confused, "I don't understand what you're implying."

Quinn's smile widened. "I can't believe I only figured this out."

"What?" Her cheeks heated.

"This," Quinn laughed with genuine amusement. "Since high school you've smelt like daisies every time I'm around."

"Maybe that's due to my perfume. Have you ever thought of that?" Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips seductively.

"At first that's what I thought, but you haven't used that perfume since the accident."

Heat flared in Rachel's eyes, melting like chocolate fondue. "Are you going to finish this or continue talking? Just for that, you're going to be punished."

"How? Spanking?"

Rachel sounded so eager, Quinn almost laughed. "Much worse, Quinn. If you don't do something now, you won't be getting any orgasms."

Quinn swooped in and gave her another tongue-thrusting kiss. Her hands and fingers frantically worked over Rachel's body, plumping her breasts, caressing between her legs. Within minutes, Rachel was writhing and moaning her name. Quinn licked her way down the body of the girl beneath her, her own stomach quivering. Without pause or breath, Quinn drove her tongue into the heart of Rachel. Rachel had to bite down on her tongue to cut off screams, causing sultry, hungry moans of total abandon to emerge. Her tongue continued to torment Rachel, making her ache and claw at Quinn's shoulders.

Two hours later, they slumped back atop the yellow sheets on the bed. Deep breath in, deep breath out—another deep breath gradually released. Very slowly, Quinn's mind faded to black. Her body relaxed into the mattress. She was very aware of a deliciously naked Rachel beside her, who was however, very awake. Three orgasms (each) later and she was still awake? That was very unlike her. Maybe Quinn was losing her touch? The energy centered inside her stomach, swirling and pushing for sleep. Rachel had other ideas; she traced her hand down Quinn's body, letting her fingers graze just above her stomach.

Quinn didn't speak for several minutes, staring at the ceiling blankly, and just as Rachel's hand dipped lower, she said, "You cannot be serious."

Rachel fingered several strands of Quinn's hair between her fingers. "What happened to your fourteen year-old male alter ego?" Rachel's husky voice sent a shiver through her.

"Our friends are coming over soon."

"Two hours is a long time." Rachel nipped her ear, and whispered, "If my calculations are correct, which they always are, one hour can release three more orgasms. So imagine two."

Her body was exhausted, but unwilling to stop. She reached over, allowing her fingers to caress Rachel's chest. Rachel's bare skin glowed in the sunlight, Quinn's hair draped over them like a blanket, playing peekaboo with Rachel's nipples. Rachel sucked in a breath, and her muscles jerked beneath Quinn's touch. Rachel squeezed her back, her body arched, she bit the cord of Quinn's neck to contain her moans. Quinn's mind began chanting incoherent thoughts as she floated to the stars.

It was relentless, a powerful confirmation of what they had shared just hours before. They went on throughout the hour, alternatively stopping to catch their breaths and it would start again in long sequences, one after another. Occasionally, Quinn would simply stare at Rachel, her body spent and radiant, and feel as if everything were suddenly right in this world.

Afterward they lay together. Rachel rolled to her side wrapping an arm around Quinn's waist. A sensuous spell around them. Quinn could stay there forever. She knew somewhere in her orgasm-induced coma that she should be getting up and ready for when their friends arrive, but her body was thrumming with a sensual remembrance. She soaked in Rachel's lingering scent and let the softness of the sheets caress her. Her skin felt over-sensitized, her thighs bruised, she was drooping towards slack-jawed unconsciousness.

Later, the sound of broken glass and scattered objects tumbling to the ground woke her with a start. She reached over for Rachel, but she was gone. Her head propped up slightly at the sound of the glass being swept into a dust pan. She forced herself out of bed, her muscles screamed in protest but she managed to stay upright, fumbling on her clothes. Her mind was still wrapped in a hazy cocoon.

With her movements slow and halting, she manoeuvred down the hall and peeked into the bathroom when she heard scattering. Rachel was on the ground dusting the broken glass surrounded by the many fallen objects: toothbrushes, tooth paste, pill bottles, combs. Suddenly, Quinn was full of energy. She rushed over to kneel in front of Rachel,

"What happened?"

Rachel continued to sweep. "I was just careless."

Quinn placed the items on the floor neatly in the cabinet and their designated areas. Rachel stood unsteadily for a moment before throwing the broken glass into the bin. She quickly tipped two tablets into her hand and drunk it with tap water. If Quinn weren't still in her hazy cocoon, she would've noticed Rachel completing the action as though her life depended on it.

Quinn eyed her suspiciously. She never drank tap water. "Rach, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she wiped her mouth with a towel. "I just have a headache."

Quinn took the pill bottle out of her hand. "Flunarizine," she read. "This isn't regular over-the-counter tablets."

"It's stronger."

"For what?" Quinn followed her into the kitchen.

"I've just been having quite a few headaches lately. I think it's due to all the stress over the past month."

Quinn's lips lingered on her temple. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"Isn't that what you're here for?"

"I can't look after you all the time, Berry."

Quinn wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but since being back in Rachel's arms, life had suddenly become one long mini-break. If you were to ask her eleven months ago what Rachel Berry is like the only answer she'd be able to give is: she's the kind of woman that would look perfectly at home with her arms draped around a unicorn. This is because for years she's never spent time examining Rachel's features or taken the time to appreciate how much she's grown from the ambitious diva she once was. Quinn just found herself one day in love with not only Rachel but her personality. If you were to ask her now what Rachel Berry is like she would shake her head and blow air through her mouth and say that she has the most desirable traits, like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness.

Rachel smiled at her from across the table and Quinn realized that she's no longer in love with twenty-two year-old Rachel, she's in love with this version of Rachel. They're one and the same, sure, but this Rachel talks a lot more than she used to and she uses words that Quinn is sure aren't even real at times, her ears stick out a bit, just a tiny bit, she's frequently quite stern, with a face that usually frowns a lot or sometimes rolls her eyes at some stupid thing Quinn has said or done. If it were any other person Quinn might have found these qualities discouraging but as she looked at Rachel seated across from her in their apartment surrounded by their friends, her perfect little chin resting on her hand, talking about something like she usually always is, the light overhead glowing her face, she finds Rachel completely hypnotic. She's so mesmerized from staring at Rachel that she's momentarily unable to concentrate on what is being said.

"So what have you been doing, Quinn?" Kurt asked from the far end of the table; looking birdlike and aloof in cashmere beige.

Unhearing, Quinn continued to gaze at Rachel, who raised her eyebrows now in warning. This Rachel seemed to do that a lot. Another item on the list. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Kurt asked you a question?"

"I'm sorry, miles away."

"Showing your gayness has always been one of your best traits." Santana said, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

Quinn threw her a glare and cleared her throat, "Mind your own business, Santana." She drew in a deep breath and tried not to be distracted by the fact that Rachel was braless under her red jersey dress. Through little smirks and twinkles passed between herself and Santana, she knew she was not going to hear the end of this once they were alone. There was silence at the table. Was she meant to keep talking? "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"I wondered what you were up to these days." Kurt asked patiently. He acted as though this were a job interview for the post of Rachel's girlfriend.

"Well, I haven't done much in the past month. Those interviews and promotions I did for three months straight really wore me out."

"Oh yeah, how was Canada? Did you see any hot chicks?" Puck asked.

"Puckerman, I think it's about time you found yourself a girlfriend." Quinn leaned back in her seat so she couldn't look down Rachel's dress since that would be crass.

"I do have one," he said casually. "She owns one of the clubs I play at. She's got firey-red hair, delicious curves, tattoos of all these quotes that I don't understand on her body. She's got the prettiest smile, her teeth are a bit crocked but nothing a dentist can't fix. She doesn't think too much of me. Thinks she can do better. But I see her checking out the Puckerman package whenever I'm on stage."

"Puckerman package being..." Rachel trailed off.

Puck glanced down at his crouch. "This." The table erupted into groans and laughter and Puck added, "I think I'm in love with her."

Quinn made a move to smack him across the head but Rachel glared at her so she crossed her arms instead. "I'm serious," Puck looked noble and wounded, she almost felt sorry for him. "Why doesn't anyone believe me when I say that?"

"Kurt's got a really good theory about love," Brittany said. "Tell them, Kurt."

Kurt smiled without warmth. "My studies have shown that—"

"You studied this in fashion?" Quinn interrupted.

"I took a Psych class, okay?"

"Why?"

"Extra grades."

"Why would you do that? What does fashion have anything to do with—"

"Quinn, will you just let him talk?" Rachel rested her arms on the table. Quinn's eyes automatically dipped down to the curve of her sternum. She glanced away in time to see the smirk on Rachel's face. She had done that intentionally. Quinn wondered if it would be normal for her to have a heart attack. Only four percent of heart attacks in women happen before forty. It would certainly be possible if Rachel continued to gaze at her like that.

Kurt wasn't too pleased with the interruption but continued anyway. "Like I said, my studies have shown—"

"Wait, wait," Quinn said again. She ignored her friends' grumblings. "Your studies? You mean to say you came up with this yourself?"

"Yes, Quinn," he snapped. "We had to write a paper on it. Now shut it. From my studies I've found that the process of falling into mature love happens in four steps." He held up one finger. "When you meet someone, you subconsciously look for cues that they're the kind of person you want to be with. That's assumption." He held up a second finger. "If they pass the assumption test, you begin to get to know them to figure out if they're appropriate for you." He held up a third finger. "If, as you're getting to know this person, the attraction is reinforced with joy or pain or both, you'll fall into infatuation. And..." He held up a fourth finger. "If you manage to make a connection and attach to each other during infatuation, you'll move into mature unconditional love."

"That seems a bit cynical." Santana said, faking interest.

"That doesn't mean its wrong," he said, speaking directly to her. "Take assumption. Your subconscious mind scans women and picks out those that meet your assumption about the kind of woman you're attracted to."

"I'd like to think I'm not too close-minded." Santana said. "Besides, I have no need to check out other women."

Quinn laughed at the confused expression on Brittany's face, saying, you always check out other women, and Santana ducked her head.

"Which is why I'm surprised Puckerman here is in love with this bar owner chick," Kurt sipped his drink. "One of my assumptions is that his women are always beautiful—"

"Like me, if you're searching your brains for an example." Santana added confidently.

"Hey, I'm not shallow. I dated Zizes in high school." Puck said defensively. Quinn noticed that Rachel has stuffed a napkin into her mouth. "I really am in love."

"Yeah, yeah." They all say simultaneously.

They talked all night, switching from coffee to wine to Jack Daniels and it's as though they've been drunk for hours. Rachel didn't drink though, since she took her tablets earlier and Quinn made sure to stay tipsy and not drunk. They talked about everything, catching up on each other's lives and how much it's unravelled and changed for better or worse.

Quinn tried to keep up with their conversations, it was her mind which kept drifting back into the last few months. She had been miserable, it was almost unbearable to be alive then. She had never felt that sad in her life; a sadness that went down to her toes. Most of the time, she was in a terrifying trance but half-aware, not able to leave it, knowing there's something to be solved, a question she wanted answered. Fast forward a couple more months and she isn't sure how she had managed to have lived this long without Rachel. In an instant her sadness becomes a joy that's impossible to describe.

She's happy—extremely happy. No, more than happy. She feels all the heaviness float away from her body, up into the clouds. For one thing, she didn't have to go through the motions of a mourning widow, and now Rachel is beside her. The shimmering light spreads out from where she's sitting like God had sent Rachel back to her. They have a new closeness, intense beyond imagining, it would go on forever and leave nothing but the traces of warmth. She knew that something bright and important at happened, a foreign experience invaded her body. But she didn't want to pause and think about it, or to think about what could have possibly changed within the eleven months; she was trying to get through things a minute at a time.

After dessert, Quinn helped Santana take the plates into the kitchen. They stood loading the dishwasher, well, Quinn was loading the dishwasher and Santana swayed uneasily from side to side, staring at Brittany's behind. She said,

"Who knew married life would be so blissful." Quinn wasn't entirely listening and Santana continued to talk to herself, "God, look at Brittany's ass, can anyone have a better ass than that? She's full of organic goodness."

Quinn straightened. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I'm drunk. Who knows what I'm saying," she turned to Quinn and said, "Do you not know how to load a dishwasher, Q? You can't just put the saucepans in the dishwasher, you have to rinse them first. Useless."

"Do you want to do it?" She snapped.

"No. I'm going to slap my wife on the ass." She left Quinn alone to rinse the pans.

Quinn was not easily intimidated by anyone, but there was something self-sufficient and self-satisfied about Santana and Brittany's relationship that made her defensive. It's certainly not a matter of love; she and Rachel loved each other just as much. What made her anxious was the obligation to prove herself a winner. Santana would never have left Brittany if she were to lose five years of her life, she would've gone through all the pain and heartache no matter how difficult. Santana was not usually a woman of feelings, but she could be hale and hearty and caring if the situation demanded it, especially when it came to Brittany, and Quinn resolved to not let that get to her.

As she entered the living room the axis powers turn to face her, and there was a hasty hush as if they had been discussing about her. She smiled confidently then flopped onto the couch. Rachel had rearranged the living room to look like a country house hotel, right down to the copies of Country Life, Private House and the Economist, fanned out on the coffee table. Another momentary silence. The clock on the wall ticked, and she reached for the copy of Vogue and heard,

"Let's play truth or dare." Puck said, there was general disapproval from everyone.

"We're not in high school anymore, Puck." Kurt said.

"Fine, spin the bottle." He said, more animated than he had been all evening.

Brittany, meanwhile, rolled up the magazine she had been reading and smacked it across his head. "You have a girlfriend, Puck, that you love. You can't go kissing other girls."

"Sure, why not? What she won't know won't hurt her."

"What happens if you kiss me?" Kurt asked. "There are only six of us here, not many options."

"Oh yeah," Puck scratched his head and turned to ask Rachel, who was crouched by the DVDs. "Hey Rach, what do you want to do?"

Rachel didn't say anything at first. Puck asked again. A moment of awed silence followed and Quinn thought that Rachel might have been too mesmerized with their DVD collection to have paid any attention to him. And then there was a crash, an appalled cry from Kurt and Brittany followed.

"Rachel!"

"Rachel, are you okay?"

Quinn looked up from her magazine to see Rachel slumped on the floor like a marionette with all her strings cut. Horrified, Quinn immediately crossed over towards her. She shook Rachel's shoulders lightly a few times, and then her eyes were slowly blinking wide. They helped her to sit up and a dark rivulet of blood trickled down beneath her nose. She moaned quietly to herself. Brittany returned a minute later with a wet towel.

"What the hell happened?" Don't be mistaken, Santana was genuinely concerned.

"I don't know," Rachel said, taking the towel away from her nose. She had a fistful of soaked blood in her hands. "I was sitting and then—"

"And then you just rolled over."

Quinn hauled her to stand and Rachel leaned into her. "I'm okay now."

"Rachel, your nose is bleeding and you had a mini-blackout. You're not okay." Quinn said. She felt guilty in a way—an unusual emotion in this situation. She didn't cause the blackout—because she didn't know what to do to end Rachel's pain. She wasn't altogether sure she understood what had happened.

"I've been getting a bit of a headache. The doctor prescribed me this medication and it's worked wonders."

"It couldn't have worked that wondrously since you fainted." Santana remarked.

"I'm just tired," Rachel leaned further into Quinn and held her hand tightly, trying to regain the balance on both her feet. "It's been a long month."

"We'll get going then," Brittany said. "We'll let you rest."

"No, you don't to leave because of me," Rachel continued to speak into the towel. "Stay."

"And do what?" Kurt asked. "I don't mean that in a nasty way. You need to rest, Rach."

"It's not like Quinn's any fun." Santana added.

A primal scene, Quinn and Santana glared and glared. Instinctively her arm wrapped tighter around Rachel's waist, and she said the only thing that she could think of, "Thanks for coming over."

Quinn didn't leave Rachel's side after their friends left. She stood beside her when Rachel brushed her teeth and did her nightly face-wash regime, she sat by the bed staring at Rachel while she got dressed into her pajamas, she even waited outside the bathroom when Rachel needed to use the toilet. Rachel was paler than Quinn had ever seen her. She had been drained from the headache, or the loss of blood, either way, there was no color left on her face.

"You did a really good job washing these bed sheets." Rachel said. Quinn laughed, a release of air and tension.

The bed was soft and smelt of freshly washed linen. They lay beneath a single white cotton sheet, and Quinn could see the wonderful line of Rachel's legs and narrow hips. Tonight's sexual potential evaporated with the moment of impact and the possibility of a head trauma, but still she turned to face Rachel and placed one hand on her thigh.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Quinn mumbled.

"I'm okay."

"Why am I not convinced?"

Rachel stroked her face. Quinn's head began swirling, perhaps she was also getting some sort of head trauma, too. Her body was floating away, as if the day existed in a spirit-world.

"I'm okay, Quinn."

"You say that a lot. You're usually very verbose. 'I'm okay' is so simple."

There's a silence while she waited for Rachel's response, eyebrows raised expectantly. All Rachel said was, "Thank you for staying over."

Without thinking too much into it, she turned to lie on her back, Rachel's head on her shoulder. "Couldn't leave you to die, could I?"

"Is that the only reason why you're here?"

"Of course."

"I don't like you very much." She murmured into Quinn's neck. "After the six orgasms I gave you—"

"It was only five, actually."

"Only five? You say it as though you have five orgasms every day."

Quinn smirked. "Maybe I do."

Rachel turned away from her embrace completely, mumbling something that sounded like "I'm hurt" into her pillow. Quinn stared at the back of her head, where the long fine hair fell away from the nape of her neck, revealing the darker whorls beneath. She wondered whether she should tell Rachel she loves her, or more tentatively, that she's in love with Rachel of the present, just as Rachel is in love with Quinn of the present.

Inspired, she kissed Rachel's shoulder, and whispered, "Well, you know what they say—" She paused for effect. "You always hurt the one you love!"

That was pretty clever, pretty adorable Quinn thought, and Rachel replied, "That's a ridiculous saying, Quinn," she turned and they were facing each other once again. "Why would you hurt the one you love? That's not love."

"I don't hurt you intentionally. That's what it means. I don't set out to hurt you daily—"

"You set out to provoke me daily—"

"Out of love, Rachel."

"It's a ridiculous form of love."

"Well, stop being so cute and I won't do it so often."

Rachel didn't say anything. She started to giggle, then laughed outright, struggling to maintain the silence as her body shook, making the mattress shudder. Quinn just watched Rachel screwing her face tight to keep it in, but the laughter came in waves now and another surge of hysterics was beginning to build. That headache must have been quite dangerous. Quinn didn't even know what she said that had been so funny. She was not usually very funny. At least not this funny.

Finally, Rachel calmed a little and she wiped away the happy tears. "Don't look so shocked, Quinn. You have your moments where you're actually quite funny."

"What did I say?"

"The way you said it was funny."

"How did I say it?"

"You ask too many questions." Rachel snuggled closer to her and just when she was about to close her eyes, Rachel said, "Tell me another story about us."

Quinn let out a long tiring sigh, then began to recall the story when they were Sophomore in College. They hadn't seen each other in two months, and Rachel had had enough of the lack of physical contact, what she meant was sex, so out of the blue she took a train to New Haven. She fell asleep on the train and it took her back to New York, then she had to catch another train to New Haven. Quinn waited for her at the station until six p.m. That's a lot considering Rachel was supposed to arrive at twelve midday. They hadn't spent the day doing much except sleep in each other's arms, and just as quickly, Rachel had to go back to New York. She didn't dare fall asleep on the train again.

Another time, they were ice skating at Rockefeller Center. That had been the intention. Rachel met some young fans who had seen her in a production of Dorothy of Oz and loved her as Dorothy. Rachel spent the night ignoring Quinn and talking to four twelve year-old aspiring actresses. She gave them advice, encouraged them to follow their dreams. Quinn headed back to the apartment out of boredom, had dinner, watched two episodes of Dexter, returned to the ice-rink three hours later and Rachel hadn't notice she left in the first place.

Gradually, Rachel's breathing became heavy. Quinn began to drift off when Rachel's breath was hot in her ear. "Good night, Quinn." She murmured while she could still speak.

"Good night, Rach."

Their 'good's have become their 'I love you's. Good morning, good luck, good day, good bye, good night.

They didn't say it much to each other—in exactly a month. The spontaneous meeting in India jolted new emotions and they learnt to let go, relax and learn all there is to know about these new versions of themselves. It's sort of like living in a dream world, where time expands like a mushroom cloud. Normally they fought at least once a week, besides the occasional banter, she always seemed to annoy Rachel to an extent that led to Rachel ignoring her completely for a few hours. That hadn't happened in a month; Quinn was beginning to think this Rachel was incapable of being angry at her.

This, she felt, is real life, they weren't kids anymore. They had fallen in love within two weeks in high school, which seems unrealistic now that they've grown and experienced life. It would be inappropriate, undignified, at this age, to fall in love with the ardour and intensity of a seventeen year-old. Falling in love like that was ridiculous, expecting a song or a book or movie to change your life. Everything had evened out and settled down and life was lived against a general background hum of comfort and satisfaction. There were still those nerve-jangling highs and lows, however, they had become less dramatic, didn't expect too much, they were happy in that they had each other but knew that life was not a miracle and that things will never always run smooth for a long period.

There is a point in the future where even the worst disaster starts to settle into an anecdote, and Quinn can see the potential for a story here. It's the kind of story that she would like to tell their kids.

•••

December 2nd, 2016

The headline read:

Is this the most odious woman in Hollywood?

—and for a while Quinn thought there must be a mistake because beneath the headline they have accidentally printed her picture, and beneath that the single word 'disgraceful' as if Disgraceful were her surname. Quinn Disgraceful. With the tiny espresso cup pinched tight between her finger and thumb she read on.

Let's face it, celebrity marriages can melt faster than a stick of butter on a frying pan. Last year there were 13 tinsel town marriages that have ended before the butter could melt. But have there ever been a marriage much like Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry's? The childhood sweethearts married on May 24th, 2015, and 6 months later found them both in a tragic accident that changed the course of their lives. The accident led to Rachel Berry losing five years of her life—five years, in which she spent with Quinn— she had no recollection of their life together. We have two sources that confirm it is in fact true Quinn and Rachel are now divorced, and prepare for further shock, it was Quinn Fabray herself who filed for divorce.

Quinn knew she should stop reading here, just close the paper and move on, but her vision had already glimpsed a word or two. 'Atrocious' was one. She read on—

Divorcing your ill and traumatised wife is like breaking up with your partner on Valentine's Day, or a birthday. So what was Quinn thinking? Certainly not helping Rachel get through the most difficult time in her life. Sources confirm that she began filming a new project in L.A weeks after the papers were filed and on June 21st after a meeting with her lawyer, the divorce was finally settled. Quinn has been seen happily with her co-star Mark Morley on his arm. Could this be the new it couple? They certainly do have a lot of chemistry and share steamy scenes in their upcoming movie. Has she moved on so quickly?

It is no wonder that reports are saying, "What Quinn did is completely atrocious. Vows are sacred and yet she divorced her ill wife! If she was going to leave she shouldn't have gotten married."

Other sources have said that Quinn and Rachel married in order to boost their careers. Two girls from Lima, Ohio who went to high school together, despised each other, fell in love, married happily? Sounds like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

It's also become the talk of the town that the cast of The Mistress of Rome are currently cursed. Candy Shelton was arrested for a D.U.I two months ago and spent two days in jail. And is there a more smug, self-satisfied smart-ass than Mark Morley? A subliminal burst of his cocky, pretty-boy face makes us want to kick the screen in. Honestly, what were the directors thinking casting him for the part of brute, lovable Arius? It certainly can't be the good looks. There are plenty of male celebrities much better fitted for this role.

With the way the casts' reputations are being portrayed over the world, a lot of money will need to be put in to heavily promote this movie if they wish for it to be a success. Let's hope they can turn their luck around.

Certain feelings can be momentarily painless when there is no warning. She felt an enormous thud in her heart, something shattered within her. She was confused for a few seconds, and then the signals cut in. She placed the newspaper on the table. With a great deal of clutter she made herself another cup of coffee, accidentally dropping a mug and it fell into tiny pieces at her feet. She reached down to pick it up and cut her fingers. She pulled the piece out; the pain didn't register with her. It was the explosion of anger; she could feel its hot flow through her hair and down her neck. The anger, in its own strange way, stopped her from lashing out at something, someone. She was in that sweet realm where violence has a resolution in drama.

She leaned forward on the sink with her hand underneath the running tap water. The blood flowed through her hand and she watched the mixture of blood and water swirl down the drain. She didn't feel like fainting, but she did want to lose consciousness and wondered whether it would be possible to go to sleep and wake up when all the drama was over.

Tall poppy syndrome, that's what it is. Quinn said to herself. A bit of success and they want to knock you down well I don't care I like my job and I'm damn good at it and it's much much harder than people think and how the hell did the divorce get out we were so careful well it's no one's business people can say what they want to say at least they're talking about me right God I sound like Rachel for a minute there I'm not going to take this personally I've never cared for the media why start now these journalists need a good story everyone is always looking for a good story well they can have their story and when they find out there's nothing of importance this whole thing will blow over no one ever built statues for journalists.

Variations of this monologue ran through Quinn's head throughout her day; on her trip to meet her manager, during her chauffeured drive to the production office of the television interview she's soon to appear on, the production meeting of said television interview, the hair and make-up sessions, the pre-recording of the interview, the errands she was running, right up until she was sitting in a low leather chair in a glass cube office waiting for the production manager of DreamWorks, she began to feel shaky from too much coffee, sick with anxiety, her febrile state not helped by the fact that Rachel has yet to return any of her phone calls.

The door swung open, the production manager, Marsha walking in with two men Quinn's never met before. She was tall and imposing, with aqua-line features that give her an intimidating Woolfish quality. In her early forties, her grey hair cropped and brushed forward Soviet-style, her voice husky and commanding, she offered her hand to Quinn.

"I'm glad you're here."

Quinn squeaked a reply. She had the overwhelming feeling that she shouldn't be here, is wasting this redoubtable woman's time; she owns a well-established production company, earning millions every week, Quinn didn't know what to feel in her presence. Certainly, Marsha did not look too happy. A silence hung in the air as she lowered the venetian blinds then adjusted them so that the exterior of the office is obscured. They all sat in the half-light, and Quinn had the suddenly feeling that she was about to be interrogated.

"Well, sorry to have kept you waiting, it's unbelievably busy, I'm afraid. I know I didn't give you any notice of this meeting. I don't want to rush this. With something like this it's so important to make the right decision, don't you think?"

"It's vital, absolutely."

"I suppose you have seen the news?"

Quinn squeaked a yes, and glanced at the men sitting by the sofa. They too seemed to be at a loss for words. Marsha continued, "This is none of my business, but I must know, are you and Rachel divorced?"

"Yes," she answered slowly. Quinn felt as if she was being a little stiff, she relaxed slightly. "It was finalized two months ago."

"We're not judging you for anything, Quinn, you must understand that," Marsha leaned forward, impassioned. "What you and Rachel do in regards to your marriage is not of my interest. What I'm interested in is finding a way to rectify this issue and get the critics and journalists talking positively about the movie's release."

Quinn continued to sit in silence. She did not like where this was heading. Marsha said, "Are you familiar with the term public relations?"

"I've heard of it."

"Are you aware that you have a reputation?"

"I have a reputation?"

"In the industry."

"As what?"

"Just that you're a bit unprofessional."

"In what way?"

"In a drunk way."

Quinn's eyes were hot and embarrassed. "Is this—because of what happened in Bombay?"

Marsha, seemingly unflustered, examined her with her sharp blue eyes. "I saw it. You seemed flustered—"

"I wasn't told that I was co-hosting."

"And very drunk."

"That—that was unprofessional, I know. I don't have an excuse for it." She knew karma always had a way of coming back to haunt her.

"Quinn, I'm not going to fire you if that's what you're worried about." Marsha looked a little irritated when Quinn didn't respond. "What I want to do is change people's perception of you. Not only you, of course, Mark and Candy as well."

"Are you suggesting a threesome? I'm not opened to polygamy." She meant it as a joke but regretted it immediately when Marsha was the only person in the room who didn't find it funny.

"No, that's not what I'm suggesting," she said no more, but emanated deep disapproval. Her eyes turned to the papers on the desk. "Everyone has taken a liking to your relationship with Mark—"

"There's no relationship there. I'm sure the whole world knows I'm a lesbian. Having married a woman and all."

"You look very happy in the photo," Marsha slid a magazine cut out across the table. Mark had taken her home after a long day on set and she kissed him goodbye. He said something stupid and she laughed. "There have been news that the two of you have entered into a romantic—"

"Rachel and I are still together," Quinn said immediately, knowing where this was going. "Despite the divorce, we're still together."

"You know what I'm about to ask you?"

"I'm not going to pretend to be in love with someone else. I'm not going to do that to Rachel.

"This is your career."

"No, my career is to make great movies and not to lie about my personal life. If people aren't going to see this movie because of the rumors, then that's not my problem."

"But it is mine, and I'm sure you understand why I'm asking this of you. If this movie is not a success, I'm not the only one who has failed. Your career is also depending on this movie." Disappointment flashed across Marsha's face. "Listen Quinn, this is all part of promoting a movie. This is your first big project and I don't expect you to understand, but when a movie is receiving negative feedback we take measures to improve the situation."

"And what am I supposed to do? Make sure the paparazzi take photos of us together? Hang on his arm like some lost puppy dog?"

Her comment must have struck Marsha as funny, because despite the lingering tension and unease, her mouth curved in a reluctant smile. "There doesn't need to be huge amounts of affection. Just enough to keep the paparazzi interested and guessing."

"Haven't we done enough promotions for this movie?" More often she's wondered when all this was going to end.

"This is to ensure the movie's big opening week."

"How do you know this is going to guarantee a new perspective of me, or the cast? And why does it have to be me? Candy and Mark have just as much chemistry."

"Everyone has been talking about you and Mark, Quinn. Have you not been reading the magazines?"

"I don't read them." She said honestly. After reading a rumor in regards to her womaniser ways and calling her a homewreaker a few months back, she stopped completely. She just so happened to see her name in the newspaper this morning while turning to page ten to read a review in regards Rachel's play.

Marsha looked down at her hands, nail tips drumming the table surface. She stopped it as soon as she realized what she was doing. "A very wise decision. Unfortunately, I do and one of my key skills is taking the initiative to ensure every project this company takes on becomes a success." She noticed the scowl on Quinn's face and added, "I'm not saying that you're a failure. Your divorce has garnered a lot of attention in the span of seven hours. They're calling you 'odious' and 'atrocious'—"

"Jumping into a new relationship isn't going to change that," Quinn said sternly. "It's going to be worse. I'm basically a lesbian, once you go lesbian you don't go back. The LGBT community isn't going to warm to this idea."

Marsha sighed, she was startled by Quinn's sudden admission. "Once the movie is released within the next month or so you and Rachel are able to live your lives. This is done to garner enough attention and bring people to the cinemas."

Quinn made a rude noise. That's what she was to them: the hot-shot money tree. She cleared her throat before speaking, "Am I allowed to talk about this with my partner or is the decision already decided for me?"

"You may talk it over with Rachel, but the end result will always be the same. There really isn't a 'no' to this question."

There was nothing left to be said and Quinn was dismissed. Dismissed. As though she was still seventeen and in high school. Marsha was good at her job, at the way to do things without feeling, at how to get the most money for the least effort, at how to be in charge of everyone around her so danger never happened, doing things just for the money at the expense of ruining a person's reputation. Or was she really trying to help Quinn's? She couldn't tell anymore. It wasn't long before Quinn did a mental somersault where she reasoned with herself that she was doing this for her career and that it wouldn't affect her relationship with Rachel. She had a hard time believing it.

Quinn walked towards the elevator, hot-eyed and embarrassed. Mark had been waiting outside Marsha's office and instantly followed Quinn when he saw her. Heads popped up from cubicles as they passed in possession. That'll teach her, they must think, for getting a reputation.

"Hey, how'd it go?" He asked, ingratingly. "Is she has scary as people say she is?"

"Did you know about these rumors?" She asked.

Mark looked unsure for a moment. "Yeah, it's been everywhere. I didn't think too much of it considering you're gay and all that. What'd she say?"

"That you and I have some faking to do."

"What does that mean?"

"Fake a relationship."

"But you're gay."

"Tell that to the rich grumpy lady who won't take no for an answer." Arriving at the elevator, she jabbed the button.

"It won't be that hard. We've done a lot more on screen," he laughed but she didn't. "Is it really horrible to be in a relationship with me?"

"No one's going to believe this crap. I'm already the most odious woman in Hollywood for divorcing her traumatised wife, imagine what they'll say when I'm suddenly straight after four years with Rachel. It's unrealistic."

"At least, if anything you'll have an amusing story."

An Amusing story? Quinn jabbed at the button again, she wants change, a break, not anecdotes. Her life had been stuffed with anecdotes, and endless string of bad luck in the past eleven months. If it wasn't bad luck with her career, it was bad luck with her personal life. Now she wanted something to go right for once, in both her personal and professional life, simultaneously. She wants success without having to give up anything to achieve it. Especially Rachel. She jabbed the button once more and said nothing, a surly teenager, making them suffer. She waited.

Mark glanced down at his zipper and Quinn frowned at him when his eyes met hers. "Just checking," he said sheepishly. "Nothing worse than unzipped pants when meeting the woman who's basically in control of your life."

The elevator opened behind her and she glanced over her shoulder, almost wishing she had a remark. She decided to keep it to herself and stepped in, waving to him before the doors closed. She slumped against the wall as the elevator plummeted thirty floors and she felt the excitement in her stomach curdle into sour disappointment. Earlier that afternoon when she had gotten a personal call from Marsha wanting to arrange a meeting, she had fantasized an impromptu lunch with the production manager. She had pictured herself drinking crisp white wine, beguiling her companion with engaging stories of her life and future aspirations, and now here she was, spat out into the street in less than twenty-five minutes with an order to do as she was told.

In February of this year she had celebrated being cast as one of the lead actresses in the movie right here, but there's none of that euphoria at the moment. To clear her head she decided to go for a walk, and headed off in the direction of Rockafellar Center. Even the light snow flakes failed to lift her spirits. A car moved along the street and for a moment the flakes horizontal with the line traced by its passing roof tumble and jiggle in the turbulence of its slipstream. She was hungry, but there was nowhere to eat, no one to eat with. Her phone began to ring and she scrambled for it in her bag, keen to vent some of her frustration and realizing with excitement who was the calling.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Rachel said. "I've had a terribly busy morning."

Quinn sighed. "It's okay."

Rachel hesitated. "Are you—I mean, is everything—How are you?"

"So you read it too?"

"Hard to miss your name in huge letters as I was turning to page ten to read the review for the play. Where are you?"

"Rockafellar Center. At the ice-rink."

"Why are you there?"

"It's peaceful here."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, I'm being serious."

"Watching children and teenagers scream is not exactly peaceful. Are you sure you're okay?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, changing the subject. "Tell me about your busy day."

"Oh well, I had rehearsals in the morning. Ian is suffering from gastric flu so we rehearsed with his understudy—" It's that voice Rachel reserved for her, modest, sing-song and affectionate and she felt a fresh burst of contentment. "My confirmations that Andrea is a harlot are entirely true. She has slept with no less than ten different men since I've met her, which was in June. That would mean two-point-five men a month—"

"There's no such thing as two-point-five men, Rach. It would mean that in two of those months she slept with three."

"Oh right, well anyway, enough about her. I had lunch with my dads today. They miss you. We should have dinner together some time. Your mom, too. You haven't spoken to her, have you?"

"I spoke to her yesterday. She's coming up next—"

"That's great, Quinn, I told my dads to come up next—"

"You knew my mom was coming up next week, Rachel. You were sitting next to me when I spoke to her—"

"It's all been arranged."

"Must you always control my social life?"

"It's for our own good, Quinn. I wasn't available to plan your social life last month and instead you spent the whole month in your apartment. Without me you wouldn't have a social life. So, continuing with my day—"

Quinn took the phone away from her ear while Rachel droned on. She needed a new upgrade, it was the phone Rachel had bought for her two years ago. They even had phone sex on the thing. Many times. She could hear Rachel's mumbled voice through it and contemplated how pleasant it would feel to hurl the phone at the teenager making funny faces at her from the ice-rink. She would enjoy the phone hit him like a brick to a wall. But she would have to remove her micro-sim first, which would deaden the symbolism somewhat, and such dramatic gestures are for movies and television. How did people on television just decide to throw their phones away without concern for their personal details?

She continued to glare deadly at the boy, who was now smirking at her. I'm going to do it. I'm going to throw this phone at his head and watch as he falls over and everyone laughs—

"You weren't even listening to me."

Quinn jumped in fright at the shock of Rachel's voice beside her ear. Rachel smiled with radiance in her eyes. Quinn just stared. It was all she could do not to gasp in shock. Rachel was here in front of her in the flesh. Rachel's sculpted mouth that made her knees weak with something entirely different than nervousness. And that dark hair—her fingers itched to weave themselves through its softness. That lithe, flat-muscled body, and those legs... and that voice.

"So... we're only going to stare at each other today?"

She felt her insides churn a bit as Rachel's voice brought her back to the present. She realized she hadn't said anything. "What—what are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came to see you."

"I thought we weren't going to meet today?

Rachel paused for a moment, letting people push pass them before saying, "You've had a bad day. I thought my presence would cheer you up."

Quinn chuckled lightly, and pecked her on the lips. She didn't linger for too long, knowing the longer she lingered, she'd most likely take Rachel right there in the center of the ice. Not that it was realistically possible, but it had always been one of the fantasies she placed in the pile of other unrealistic fantasies.

"Now, tell me what's wrong?" Rachel sounded worried.

Quinn told her about the meeting, about her reputation, what's to be expected and how they wish to rectify the problem. She emphasized they because she needed Rachel to know that this was in no way her choice. She didn't leave any details out. Beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip as she spoke, and her fingers tightened into fists in her pockets. Quinn thought about her anxiety throughout the day, the shock at seeing the article, her short temper when talking with Marsha, she had wanted to run away from it all. The tension was gone now, every bit of it, replaced with love, and she was glad about that as she watched Rachel listening silently.

Quinn glanced at her a few times and watched the way her eyes would spark at a remark Quinn had said to Marsha, as if shocked Quinn had the nerve to talk to a superior like that. She felt strangely aroused when a smile would cross over Rachel's face.

When Quinn finished talking, they stood in tense, uneasy silence as the minutes crawled by. When she was certain it was safe, she wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulder. Rachel automatically leaned into her. "You have no choice." Rachel said.

Defeated, Quinn sighed. "No."

"I told you being drunk on that show was going to cause some form of disaster on your career. Did I not predict this?"

Quinn made a noise in her throat somewhere between laughter and a growl. "It doesn't make you a psychic."

Rachel was grinning expectantly. "It was still a prediction which happens to be correct. When have you ever known me to be wrong with these predictions?" Quinn opened her mouth and before the words could tumble out Rachel said, "Don't answer that. You're going to say something sarcastic."

"You're okay with this happening?"

The muscles of Rachel's arms, still pressed against hers, went taut, and a sudden wariness hardened on her face. "It's only for a couple of months, right?"

"Yeah, it is."

"I don't understand how this is likely to help your reputation? Wouldn't it anger your fans? Our Faberry fans?"

In the same quiet voice, Quinn added, "I'm only going to do this unless you're okay with it."

"You have no choice."

"They really can't do much. How can they possibly fire me? The movie already has a release date."

"I believe that if you disagree to do this and the movie is a failure, DreamWorks has every right to not cast you for any further projects. That includes Paramount Pictures and anything in association with them. Also, they have a thirty picture distribution deal with Walt Disney Studios. So technically—"

"Every major studio in America."

"You're pretty much screwed, Fabray. Not in the orgasm-induced way either."

"Oh geez, thanks for the pep talk. Really lifted my spirits there, Rach."

Rachel moved closer, her arm sliding around Quinn's waist and Quinn's breath caught. She blinked rapidly several times before realizing Rachel's face was not even an inch from hers. Rachel hesitated for what seemed like forever and a second and instinctively Quinn leaned forward. As she did so, Rachel brought her mouth up on hers: a soft press of warm lips, more of a question than a kiss. Quinn answered her question by sliding her hand inside Rachel's coat, around her waist and bringing the smaller girl full against her own body.

It was the answer Rachel wanted, the kiss turned more demanding. She slid her hands upward along Quinn's chest and twined them around her neck. Quinn's senses filled, soaking in the waxy-sweet smell of fresh cut flowers around her, the echo and laughter and voices around them. And above all, her awareness of Rachel: the taste of coffee on her lips, the strength of her arms and chest and legs beneath her clothes, her warmth, the firm feel of her lips, that scent so uniquely Rachel... what her hands were doing to Quinn's hair, weaving them ever so slowly across her curls.

Rachel let out a breath, murmuring what sounded like "shit" and pulled away to rub on her forehead. Her face scrunched in discomfort. Flushed and flustered, Quinn gathered her own rapid breathing before placing a hand on Rachel's back,

"Your head is still hurting?"

"Yeah." She trailed off, scrambling through her bag for the tablets and a bottle of water.

"Did you go back to the doctor?"

"I've made an appointment for tomorrow."

"Let's go home." Quinn grabbed her hand and they headed out in the oppressive cold, finding their way through the people and up the stairs that led out to the city.

"My home or your home?"

"Are we going to have sex?"

"Uh—no—"

"Then you can go to your home and I'll go back to my home."

"You're really not funny, Quinn."

"I think I'm very funny."

•••

April 19th, 2012

"Why is love such a common dramatic device?"

A minute into the glee and Quinn was bored already. Not bored exactly—more like distracted. She could still taste the flavor of Rachel's chapstick on her lips. Fresh from telling Rachel she had gotten into Yale, Rachel attacked her in the bathroom in such a painful way it was arousing. Rachel had grabbed her and pushed her hard against the bathroom wall. She gasped and kissed Rachel's opened lips, then kissed her again harder as she started to respond. Quinn's arms slipped around her neck, and Rachel's body pressed against hers from their knees to their mouths. Quinn breathed in the scent of her.

"I knew you were going to get in, baby." Rachel had said, and then she put far too much distance between them and started pacing the bathroom talking entirely to herself about the distance, financial costs, and planning dates in advance in her clever little head.

It was a moment that was hard to think of, yet one she would remember for the rest of her life. It was a moment that pierced her heart with sudden jolt that she's left bewildered and exhausted in her happiness. In Rachel's smile and Rachel's words, she saw the other girl's warmth and shyness and loyalty, the whole courteous depth of her goodwill and calm grace. Watching Rachel pace around reminded her of a little teddy bear, her unruly hair falling in the way of her eyes. From a distance you would expect her eyes to be black, but somehow in the light of that room—at just the right angle—Quinn noticed them to be crystal blue, only for a second, and in that second looking into her eyes she felt herself soaring into the currents of air. There was a dimple in her cheek when she smiled wide enough. All this description is only love. Well, that is the way Rachel was, the way Quinn saw her.

Mr. Schue walked slowly across the room, his boots clicking against the floor. By this point everyone had learnt to ignore him and no one dared to offer answers or questions. Quinn glanced over at Rachel who was happily scribbling in her notebook. What else was new?

The weeks flew by sort of in a blur. Being the third gayest couple to come out in McKinley (does Brittany and Santana count?) did not guarantee being attacked less with slushies and ridicules. You would think the principal would do something. What Quinn remembered most was the feeling of growing lighter and freer, and how it seemed that the opaque weight of the world was dissolving. It had been as if suddenly, after serenading Rachel in front of the whole school, a switch was flicked and the walls of school dissolved and everything unimportant that happened around her was being teleported into an unreachable dimension to never be thought of again. She didn't mind the slushies, the name calling, the glares, it actually had no effect on her. Something which had scared Rachel into a huge panic attack because she thought Quinn's defenses were up and she was shutting out her feelings when in all honesty, she couldn't care less.

"Love is a common dramatic device because love is persuasive. Temporary as it so often is, love nonetheless compels otherwise rational creatures to behave in the most extraordinary ways." Mr Schue's dark gaze was out the window for a moment, but then his attention was on the class again.

Santana, who was sitting a step down from her, turned around and made a funny expression as if to say, What the fuck is he talking about? Quinn laughed, not because of what Santana was trying to convey to her, but of the expression itself.

"Quinn," Rachel said sternly. "Pay attention."

Quinn ignored her and leaned down to whisper in Santana's ear, "Do you think he knows we're in glee?"

"Sounds like he's rehearsing for a lame Shakespeare play." Santana said in the same whisper.

"I'll have you know—" Rachel leaned over, her top half falling into Quinn's lap. "This is important for Nationals. I wish you both would take it more seriously."

"Are you even listening to what he's saying?" Santana whispered. "It's not even about glee."

"Perhaps this is the introduction—"

"Introduction for ten minutes? How dense are you—"

"Hey!" Quinn raised her voice and automatically smacked Santana lightly across the head. "Sorry," she said just as immediately. "Reflex."

"I'll reflex my elbow in your head next time." It was meant to be a threat but Quinn couldn't sense it in her tone. "You're so whipped." She smirked and resumed facing Mr Schue.

Rachel flashed Quinn the sweetest smile and everything slowed down a little. In the space and the stillness Quinn took stock of her desires. In the presence of Rachel's love for her, she sensed the joy and comfort and understood that deep and basic human desire for companionship at depth. She was going to be eighteen soon, and in complete honesty, she had only been in love once. That once was enough for her to know that she wanted something more. She wanted forever.

It seemed they had been in love for more than a couple of months. She fell into Rachel's dynamism of her warmth. Over the months they became inseparable, shared everything, all trials and tribulations, all dreams and fears. Rachel Berry has somehow become the love of her life. Love. Of. Her. Life. A retrospectively absurd concept since she was still in her teens and still has the next fifty years of her life.

However, the idea that she has any choice in the matter is the great illusion.

It was this illusion which inspired her to tell Rachel her plans for their future, and she had worked up the courage all through glee. But then she had other obstacles to deal with, like Santana for example, cornering her and speaking in what Quinn identified as anything other than English because she couldn't understand a thing, or probably because Rachel said a sweet, I'll wait for you outside, and pecked her on the corner of her mouth which left her floating for the remainder of the conversation. Quinn nodded a lot and most likely agreed to something she will no doubt regret later in the future.

The next obstacle was Finn. She saw Rachel standing with him by the entrance and her desire to run towards them was curbed by the seriousness of the conversation. Finn was creepily brooding in the corner. She wondered what the hell they were talking about. Could Finn be begging Rachel for another chance? Was Rachel saying yes? Surely Rachel was not that dense to take him back, besides Quinn treated her so much better. She started to worry, like perhaps their somber mood had nothing to do with her, and so she went over to them in a hurry. As she approached, she realized they were talking about her because Rachel's mood immediately changed when Quinn was within earshot.

"Quinn!" Rachel squealed her name and hugged her all at once, leaving her deaf in her right ear. Finn didn't smile. He stayed the same, not looking her in the eyes.

"What were you two talking about?" Quinn stood with her hands folded across her chest.

Rachel's face dropped at the seriousness in her tone. "Uh—just—"

"Me." She took in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Rachel's silence and the way she swallowed the lump in her throat was as good enough of an admission. She straightened, her gaze turned inward and she became intent. "Right, well, see you love birds later."

Rachel hurried to her side and tried to grab onto her arm. "Quinn, it wasn't anything like that."

Quinn's only reply was to start walking towards her car. Twigs and branches snapped around them. Overhead she could hear birds flying away, startled, the flapping of wings heavy and close. She wanted to punch Finn in the face. She wanted to cry until Rachel comforted her. She wished they could go back an hour so she could confess her true feelings to Rachel. Everything was ruined, maybe ruined forever. She was so angry and afraid she couldn't think straight.

When she stopped suddenly trying to catch her breath in her throat, Rachel bumped into her and they stumbled backwards. Quinn's back hit the car and Rachel fell into her arms. Rachel's eyes racked over her and she became incredibly conscious of the flare in her eyes. She tried to blink it away but Rachel had already witnessed it.

"Quinn, nothing's going on." She said quietly.

"So you weren't talking about me?"

"We were, but—"

"I'll see you later, Rach." She muttered, eyes closed. Rage swept over her, white-hot in its intensity.

She got into the car and drove off without a second glance. It was when she turned on the music—the compilation disc Rachel had made—shame washed over her for the loss of control, her useless anger and her stupid jealousy for Finn. Rage, threats, jealousy—that was something she wanted to put behind her and it shocked her how quickly and easily she had fallen back in.

The simple fact was she couldn't help herself. She acted on the spur of the moment. Often she didn't know what she was going to do five minutes before she did it. There's no explanation for anything. Her anger drives her to do things. Because it was there. Because you either respond to the emotion or you don't. It was as if she was under hypnosis. She saw Finn and Rachel talking: she saw red. They were talking about her: the rage built. Finn, with his tall frame and broad shoulders, stood there like a giant oaf: the rage push outward. Then robotically, she ignored Rachel and her protests, tried to ignore her rage and not deal with any emotions. And then it was done. She was home. She went straight to her room and ignored her mom.

Slowly, she came back into her mind and only to realize she had left Rachel at school. Quinn was her ride home. She laid there staring at the ceiling, unable to move, terrified by what she had done. There was no reason for it, sure, she was upset, but she was upset with Finn, so her anger shouldn't have triggered her to ignore Rachel altogether, nor should it have triggered her to ruin their normal, pleasant day. She had been abducted. She was not in control. Now she would live in this state of constant anxiety that she would be overtaken by this vacancy of mind. She left Rachel at school. Next time she might leave Rachel on the train. Even the plane. Don't be stupid, Quinn told herself, Rachel's big enough to know her own way home. You're not her mother.

A surge of panic passed through her and she sat up. Oh fuck, Rachel's going to kill me.

The instant the thought crossed her mind, Rachel was standing in her doorway, ripped with fury. Quinn had seen her happy, angry, beautiful, sad, drunk, hanging out. But not this, whatever it was. Rachel stood leering at her, her eyes shooting daggers. More likely fireballs. She seemed no different from her girlfriend Rachel. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd shared—this was something else. She stood suspended, as if about to begin a step. Quinn's mind was racing. Too many thoughts at once. She didn't know which one to act on.

She was in so much trouble.

"Baby," Quinn felt the hesitance in her own voice. "I—"

Rachel stepped forward and automatically Quinn stepped back. They did a little awkward dance until Rachel was beside her bed, and Quinn was standing at the end of it. Her expression wary, she stood in a limb-loose stance that told Rachel she didn't know whether to come towards her or back away. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, no doubt mentally preparing a long, wounded lecture. Quinn on the other hand, was preparing for it. If all Rachel's going to do is talk my ears off, I can handle that.

"You left me." Rachel glared and threw a pillow at her. "How can you just drive off and leave me there?"

"Rachel," she interrupted. "My mom's home, keep your voice down."

It was the wrong thing to say. Rachel stomped her foot, she could no longer hold back her bottled-up frustrations. There was a dark satisfaction that spurted through her, and with all her strength, she swung another pillow at Quinn and smacked her right across the chest.

Whomp! Quinn went down on the bed and landed—hard—on her front.

Rachel stared at her in amazement, she had not expected Quinn to be brought down by a pillow. Quinn didn't move. Rachel knocked her quite hard for a person of such a small stature, and it hurt.

"Quinn?" Her anger faded. She bent over, still clutching the pillow. "Are you okay? I didn't—"

Quinn's hand shot out, nearly snatching the pillow from her. Quick as she was, Rachel managed to yank the pillow free of her grasp and scooted back. With a smooth, fluid grace, Quinn rolled and came to her feet, face flushed, eyes hot. She reached for Rachel again, and focusing way too much on grabbing the pillow away, it hadn't prepared her for another smack. This time across the side of her body.

"Rachel, I'm sorry, okay! Now, give me the pillow."

Rachel just stared at her. Whatever rational or contrary thoughts she was having, did not want any part in taking Quinn's orders. She swung the pillow towards Quinn head, and this time she ducked. When she straightened again, Rachel froze at the furious expression on Quinn's face.

"That," Quinn said through her teeth. "Is it."

Rachel turned and ran for the bathroom and tried to shut the door, but Quinn shoved against it with such force that Rachel stumbled back. And Quinn, the idiot, momentarily worried for her girlfriend's safety, deflated and Rachel ran past her into her bedroom. The same process repeated. Rachel tried to whirl the door shut, Quinn was too quick and shoved it open. Rachel stumbled back against the thick mattress. This time, Quinn didn't deflate. Quickly, Rachel rolled to the other side to keep the bed between them, her pillow raised and ready.

"Give that to me," Quinn repeated, and suddenly lunged, grabbing the pillow and yanking it out of her hands.

Immediately, Rachel snatched the second pillow, and Quinn caught the wicked gleam in her eyes. "You know I'm going to win, Quinn."

An unexpected tickle of pleasure—and anticipation—cracked through her anger. "In your dreams." She said in a low growl.

Rachel was the first to act. She swung the pillow and it missed Quinn by inches, however, it forced her to move back and Rachel took the chance to dash around the bed and pummel her again.

"You are such an idiot!" Rachel said.

Whomp!

"I told Finn that I was in love with you—"

Whomp, whomp...

"And that there's no chance for us."

Whomp!

"Ow! Rach, cut it out." Quinn said, but she was laughing.

With all the force of the temper, Rachel swung the pillow again. This time, Quinn ducked neatly, and threw her own pillow right in Rachel's stomach, knocking her back on the bed with an ooph! Quinn followed, the weight of her body pressing Rachel down into the soft mattress. Her fingers closed over Rachel's wrists and pinned them above her head, trapping Rachel beneath her.

Panting from exertion and ire, Rachel stared up at her face. Quinn was absurdly pleased to see that Rachel was more than a little ruffled. Grumbling, Rachel narrowed her eyes, chest heaving, "What a typical Quinn Fabray response. When all else fails, overpower."

Quinn exhaled loudly and forcefully. "You can be so annoying, Rachel. I don't even know why I'm dating you."

"The feeling's mutual, Quinn." She retorted, glaring.

Their faces were inches from one another. Quinn felt Rachel's heaving breath, and it was cozy, like a river of warmth flowing through her. "I'm going to kiss you now." Quinn said.

"No—"

They kissed frantically, as though they've been starved for each other the way people can be starved for food or water or air. Quinn cupped Rachel's face in her hands and felt the clenching of her jaw against her palms. Rachel's knee pushed between her so that Quinn was straddling her thigh, and Rachel's other hand came up the small of her back, beneath her shirt. The touch of Rachel's skin against hers made her go dizzy but not weak.

Sensing they were no longer alone, Quinn turned around and saw Judy staring at them, her eyes wary. Quickly, Quinn plopped herself on the edge of the bed and Rachel followed. "Sorry, mom."

Judy's teeth gritted, like she was biting back a lot of other things she wanted to say. Instead, she said, "No funny business."

"Yes, ma'am." Rachel said. It was lame, but Quinn found it cute and giggled.

Once they were alone, Rachel stood right in front of her, arms folded, their bare knees touching. The heat between them hit her instantly. Quinn shouldn't have been, but she was excited. Goosebumps prickled her skin. She crossed her legs to ease the ache between them. This wasn't the time. Besides, her mother was home, and since Rachel's fathers discovered their relationship, they weren't able to be alone at her house either. 'The Rules' were still holding firm in both households, and it was beginning to get complicated.

The longer the stared at each other in silence, the more concern she became. By the time Rachel spoke, her stomach was in knots. "Quinn, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't—"

"Finn doesn't mean anything to me," Rachel cupped her face in her hands, their eyes locked. "I love you."

Quinn mumbled incoherently, her voice ragged and something stung the back of her eyes. Rachel's fingers, so soft, so slender and warm, traced her jaw and down the length of her neck. "You know that, don't you?" Her voice almost pleading.

"Yeah." Quinn said in the same mumbled tone.

"What?"

"Yeah." She said louder.

"Then you need to stop this," Rachel held her gaze, and squeezed her hand in a silent gesture of understanding. "Yes, we were talking about you. Only because he asked me for another chance and I informed him that I'm unable to offer him anything." Rachel sat beside her and placed a kiss to her neck. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Why are you in love with me?" Quinn found herself asking.

Rachel was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Despite the tension vibrating through her, she smiled faintly and said in a quiet voice, "I've done horrible things to you, Rachel. And Finn does one horrible thing and you haven't forgiven him. I feel like—" She sighed, unable to stop her hands from shaking.

"Quinn, what is it?"

Quinn tried to gather herself together. A wave of emotion overtook her. Pain? Panic? Regret? "I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm waiting for you to realize that I'm not—"

Rachel cut her off with a kiss. Quinn made a deep mmmmm sound, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist and drawing her closer. Rachel kissed her soundly, thoroughly, and leaving her breathless.

"You have nothing to worry about." Her eyes were silver in the sunlight, startling in their intensity, and Quinn decided she could easily look into those eyes for hours and hours.

The rest of her life.

"I know I will forgive Finn one day. Just not at the moment." Rachel said. "I didn't expect him to do anything like this. I thought we were friends. Friends don't do that."

"So you would expect it from me?"

Rachel nipped her bottom lip and nodded, "I suppose if we hadn't developed a friendship I would have." Composing herself, she said, "Now, kiss me."

"You like kissing?" Quinn leaned in, smiling.

"I do like kissing," her voice was a sultry whisper. "Especially you."

Quinn pulled back and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Okay, only you."

"Smart answer." And she kissed her. While their tongues played, she pulled up Rachel's shirt until she could touch warm bare skin.

She reveled in the warmth of Rachel's mouth over hers, devouring and burning with fire. Rachel's hand on her breast singed, she wound her fingers into brown hair, fisting the locks and lightly held the back of Rachel's head so she couldn't break the kiss. Rachel curled into the curve of her body, her hands moving down the length of Quinn's toned back. The room was stone quiet except for the gasps and pants, the soft sounds of mouth against mouth.

"This is torture," Rachel whispered against her neck. "We need a Plan B."

"Rachel." Quinn couldn't think of anything else to say but her name. It was like there was nothing else worth saying.

She kissed Rachel again, more slowly this time, and that only intensified the kiss. Both of Rachel's hands pressed against her back, and they held each other tighter and tighter, and Quinn started to wonder how much closer they could get. Quinn roamed one hand from Rachel's left breast to her right and then slowly moving down to her stomach, leaving it there for a few seconds, tugging the waist of her skirt. When Rachel didn't protest, Quinn slipped her hand inside, feeling the softness of her curls.

"Quinn," Rachel turned her head, her breath coming in shaky gasps. "Go to Prom with me."

Quinn's hold on her loosened. "What?"

"Go to prom with me." The rumble of Rachel's voice reverberated through her breasts, to her heart. Rachel leaned up to kiss her open mouth, but Quinn moved away,

"What did you say?"

"How many times are you going to make me repeat it?"

Their eyes met. Quinn moved away so that they could breathe normally, but she clasped both of Rachel's hands tightly. "You're serious?"

Rachel brightened so much that Quinn couldn't help but blush. "Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"I haven't said yes. Why are you so happy?"

"Don't you want to go?" Rachel gave Quinn her most melting, pleading look.

That look would've been more than enough to dissolve her into a puddle, but she tried to gather herself. "You're not thinking about running for Prom Queen together, are you?"

Rachel sighed as they looked at each other. "I'm asking you to Prom, Quinn, not to marry me."

Rachel shuffled on the bed until she was lying down, Quinn laid beside her, her head on Rachel's shoulder. Rachel ran her fingers through blonde hair. Quinn voice was muffled as she said, "Do we have to go?"

"I think it'll be fun." She shrugged. Rachel leaned down and kissed her, the most languid of kisses.

One night, alone with nothing but her thoughts, Quinn's mind drifted into the future and what their kids would look like. She hasn't the slightest clue why. She was staring at a photo of Rachel on her phone, and given her own generic background, it crossed her mind that they would have brown-haired children and that maybe being blonde skips a generation. And as if on autopilot, she used the iPhone app, Build A Baby to see exactly what the baby would look like. Obviously she was getting ahead of herself.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Our kids."

"What?"

"Nothing," she quickly recovered and lifted slightly off the bed. "If you want to go then we'll go."

The real heart of love seemed to have moved from here. Since the day they met on tumblr, and tonight came to represent some mysterious point at which the way Quinn looked at Rachel began to change. Or perhaps she was beginning to change: ready for the next big thing to enter; the hard work involved in relationships as life rolls on. It's us against the world, she said to herself. Although five months wasn't an extremely long time, they had their fair share of ups and down, and have reached a point of new commitment and new intimacy. It was a powerful thing.

•••

December 16th, 2016

This is Quinn. You know what to do.

"Hi Quinn, its Rachel. I just called to wish you good luck with dinner tonight. I know it's your first dinner date. I wish I could give you advice on how to properly display yourself but I'm quite unsure myself having never to need a fake boyfriend before. Oh I guess I should say, don't talk with your mouth full, don't get too drunk, and smile for the cameras, act happy? Anyway, give me a call when you get back? What time does your flight land tomorrow? I forget. Give me a call, okay. I'm not doing anything tomorrow so we should do something. I miss you. Good bye."

Quinn stood outside the restaurant and saw Mark sitting alone at the table. He dunked his ciabatta in the little dish of olive oil as if loading a paintbrush, and then opened the menu. Every time she was with him she felt a pang of longing that was partly love. For years now her heart had been heavy with love for Rachel, and now she had to pretend to be not just in love, but in carnal desire with someone else.

Their first public outing as a couple was nerve-racking. She was so used to going on dates with Rachel she didn't know what it felt like to be with someone else. Mark took charge from their first outing. He'd shield her from the paparazzi, he would open the door for her. On the way to a bar he had changed sides on the pavement so that she wouldn't get hit by a runaway bus. She had enjoyed being with him more than she had expected, and they had a lot in common. They debated about art, movies, books, and their cultural life. Things she found it hard to discuss with Rachel because it always led to bickering. They memorized answers to the right questions. How long have you two been dating? We're friends. Did sparks fly right away on the set of your movie? No, we were friends and things developed from there. What's it like and working and dating each other? We're just friends.

These answers piqued their interest more than announcing they were dating.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her heartbeat to its resting pulse. As she did so, her nostrils filled with stale cigarette smoke that floated in the air. There was a voice inside her head; it's been there for weeks. It's telling her, this is what you're supposed to do. You want to further your career you have to make an effort. No one ever got anything done by sitting and waiting for it to happen. Rachel understands why you're doing this. You've spoken to her about it and she's completely fine with it. She's even met Mark and she seemed to really warm to him. Now, enjoy having a fake boyfriend because you're never going to have a fake boyfriend again.

But it wasn't the feeling of guilt that kept her up at night. It was the loss of self-control. It's the fear that she might lose Rachel because of this.

She contained the thoughts as best as she could and crossed the street.

Mark was protective, attentive, he was like an older brother who knew about lots of cool stuff, the difference being that he clearly wanted to sleep with her. Despite her mentioning several times that she's in love with Rachel. But so intent, so doting was his gaze that she frequently found herself feeling guilty and ashamed for what she was doing. That was how he grinned at her now, in the restaurant, standing with such enthusiasm that he knocked the table with his thighs, spilling the glass of water onto the complimentary olives.

"Should I get a cloth?" She asked.

"No, it's okay, there are napkins here."

Quinn wrapped her jacket around the back of the chair and sat down. He was staring at her again. It never made her feel flustered and blush the way Rachel does it, with her shy eyes and wide smile. God, I miss Rachel.

"You look so lovely." He blurted, unable to contain himself.

"Thank you! You too," she said reflexively. He had a crumpled linen jacket over a plain black t-shirt. "I like this," she said, indicating the jacket. "Pretty sharp!"

The waiter took the order for their drinks and Mark said, "Did you see the paparazzi outside?"

"I saw camera flashes, not anyone in particular."

"How's Rachel taking it?"

She really didn't want to think about Rachel tonight. It'll only make her feel worse about herself. "She's okay with it."

"Man, I'd love a relationship like that."

Quinn forced a smile and consulted the menu to distract her thoughts. Mark had prepared the menu humor in advance, and while Quinn tried to concentrate he went into his act and ran through some of the choicer puns (he was a part-time comedian): penne for your thoughts etc. Is this a minute steak or a mine-ute, like a really, really small steak? And what was it with 'ragu' these days, when did good old spaghetti bolognese become 'ragu'? What, he speculated, would they, like call, 'alphabetti spaghetti'? Moist alphabetical forms in a sauce rogue? Or what?

As line followed line, Quinn felt her hopes for the evening fade. It was already bad enough being here, he had to make it unbearable to be here. He is trying to laugh me into bed, she thought, when in fact what he is really doing is laughing me into the crazy home. When they had been to the cinemas there had at least been the pictures, talking and violence to distract him, but here, face to face, there was nothing but a compulsion to riff.

She gulped down her vodka and tonic. Mark had the wine list now, and was doing his material about how snooty wine is: a voluptuous mouthful of forest fire with a back note of exploding toffee apple etc. The C-major scale of the amateur stand-up, this routine had potential to be infinite, and Quinn found herself imagining Rachel across from her. Rachel with a fantastical figure who didn't make a big deal about it, just looked at the wine list and ordered, unpretentiously but with authority.

"... flavors of smoky bacon Wotsits with a succulent back note of giraffe..."

He's laughing me into a stupor, she thought. I could heckle, I guess, I could through a bread roll at him, but he's eaten them all. She glanced at the other diners, all of them going into their act, and thought, this is what it all boils down to? Romantic love, is this what it really looks like from an outsider? Artificial. Eat a meal, go to bed, fall in love with me and I promise you years and years of great material like this? It made her appreciate the fact that she didn't need to go through any typical dating rituals with Rachel. She definitely did not have to sit through this with her. At least with Rachel when Quinn wasn't listening she could stare at her pretty face and imagine ways to devour her.

She actually kind of liked Mark, purely platonic of course, had hoped that tonight they could further explore their friendship, she didn't have many friends in the industry, but instead he was saying...

"... our orange juice is orange with a heavy bass note of oranges..."

Alright, I've had enough.

"... squeezed, no, seduced from the cows, the flavors have a distinctive milkness..."

"Mark?"

"What?"

"Shut up, will you."

A silence followed with Mark looking hurt and Quinn not hurt nor embarrassed for saying it. It must have been the double vodka. They ordered their food.

Hey Quinn, it's me again. I know you're out with Laughing Boy but I just wanted to tell you that Brittany lent me the Star Wars trilogy and I thought we could watch it together. You know, through the phone. Since you're a nerd I suspect you'll be able to explain some of the Star Wars terminology to me. Like what is a Skywalker? Are you having a good time? I hope he's not doing that material where he reads the menu as puns. Remember the first time I met him and he read the whole wine list? You kept kicking me to not laugh. I don't know how you contained your laughter so well. So. Whenever you come back give me a call. That's all. Good bye.

They reminisced about the five months of filming in L.A. and Mexico, the good and the bad. While Quinn had the soup then fish, Mark had gone for a medley of carbohydrates, starting with an immense bowl of meaty pasta. This and the red wine had sedated her a little and she relaxed too, was in fact well on her way to drunkenness. Rachel was not going to like this. But why not? Didn't she deserve it? The last few months had been spent working hard at something she believed in and in the process she has to continue to act outside of her career in order to keep her job. She had the right to celebrate. And Rachel would understand. Quinn will explain all this to her tomorrow and they'll laugh at Mark's ridiculous material and all the stupid things he said.

He poured the last of the wine into her glass. "So have you seen anyone since fiming finished?"

"Not really. I bumped into Scott once outside Madison Square, that awful Italian. He was fine, still grumpy. Apart from that, I try to avoid it. It's a bit like a prison—it's best to not associate with them. Except you of course." She was being way too honest. This was not good.

"It couldn't have been that bad. You enjoyed yourself a bit, didn't you?"

"It was five months of my life I'll never get back." Spoken aloud, the observation shocked her but she shrugged it away. "I was going through a lot with Rachel at the time. It was hard to enjoy everything, really. It wasn't a very happy time for me, that's all."

He smiled ruefully and nudged her knuckles with his. "Is that why you were constantly checking your phone for missed calls?"

"Did I? I don't remember. Probably." She raised the glass to her lips.

"You don't like to talk about it, do you?"

"It's personal. I want to keep that part of my life to myself. What happens between Rachel and I is no one's business."

"Is she getting her memories back?"

"She gets bits and pieces. I doubt she'll ever get it back, which is something we've both accepted so it's comforting now. We're moving on from it."

"You know," he leaned back in his seat. "I don't think you did the wrong thing by divorcing her. You shouldn't listen to what people say. They don't know everything that goes behind closed doors. Hell, I probably would've done the same. I mean, how do you love someone who doesn't remember you?"

The conversation was getting too personal so she changed it. "Let's talk about something else. How's the stand-up career going?"

"Oh alright. I've got this improv gig which is real seat-off-the-pants stuff, really unpredictable. Sometimes I'm just not funny at all!" I won't disagree there. "But I suppose that's the joy of improv, isn't it?" Quinn wasn't sure that this was true but nodded just the same. "And I do this Tuesday night gig at The Laughter Lab. It's a bit more hard-edged. Like I do this material about advertising. Like the stupid adverts on TV?..."

He slipped into his routine and Quinn freeze-framed her smile. It would kill him if she admitted it but in all the time she had known Mark he had caused her to laugh perhaps twice, and one of those was when he fell down the stairs. He was a man with a great sense of humor while at the same time being in no way funny. Unlike Rachel: Rachel had no interest in jokes at all, Rachel didn't even have the sense of humor that Mark had. Sometimes she took things too seriously, and yet with Rachel she laughed all the time, more than she does with anybody, in fact, hysterically. When Rachel had visited her one time in New Haven, they laughed for ten days straight, in-between bickers and arguments. What was Rachel doing now? She wondered.

"I'm going to use the men's room." He was up before she could respond.

She searched through her bag for her phone and was disappointed to find that it had been off this entire time. Her smile widened as she listened to Rachel's voice messages. Why isn't Rachel with her tonight? She was taken aback by the sudden rush of love she felt for Rachel, and decided that she'll call her and tell her how great she is, how much she really, really loves her and how sexy she is in a way that she doesn't think she's sexy which makes her even more sexier and Quinn can't wait to see her because that's all she wants to do, spend the rest of her life with Rachel.

Her phone started to ring just as Mark sat back down and she eyed Rachel's name on the screen.

"I'll be right—"

"Excuse me." Said a girl in a Canadian accent.

Quinn looked up. "Hi."

"Aren't you Quinn Fabray?"

"Um, yeah, I—"

"I'm such a huge fan of yours. I've been sitting over there for an hour trying to figure out if it is really you." She smiled broadly and took Quinn's hand, shaking it vigorously, then Mark's. "So it's true. You two are dating?"

Mark held his hand up. "Guilty as charged! But don't tell anyone."

Me again! Just checking in. So I started Stars Wars without you. I watched Episode I but Google told me to watch Episode IV first. Why is that Quinn? Shouldn't it be watched in chronological order? This is why I need you. You're probably having too good of a time to miss me. Has he made any weird jokes? I want to know everything. What else did I want to say? Nothing. I think that's it. So when you get back give me a call. Good bye.

They spent half an hour talking to the fan and by the time the second wine bottle arrived there was no doubting that they were drunk. The whole restaurant seemed drunk, even the silver-haired pianist, clattering sloppily through I Get a Kick Out of You, his foot pumping the sustain pedal as if someone had cut his brake cable. They were forced to raise their voices through all the chattering and she began to laugh quite naturally—well, as natural as the alcohol allowed.

They split the bill two ways as promised and on the way out Mark pulled the door open, sharply kicking the bottom so that it gave the illusion of having hit him in the face. "Little bit of physical comedy there..."

Quinn couldn't understand it. Even when drunk she still didn't find his materials funny.

Outside a heavy curtain of black and purple cloud had formed across the sky. The cold wind had that ferric tang that precedes a storm, and Quinn felt pleasantly woozy and wine-flavored. Two paparazzi started flashing their cameras, the sound of camera clicks deafening her. They started yelling questions like, Are you two on a date? How was it? Did you have a good time? Mark shot her an unnerving wink, straightened his jacket, and stood with his back like a statue, offering her his arm like the gentleman escort role. He managed to obscure his disdain from the photographers and led them away from the catastrophe. At least the plan had worked.

Hey Quinn, sorry to call again. I was going to stay up and wait for you but its past midnight now. I'm guessing you had a good time? I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow? I lo—Good night.

Mark's studio apartment was lit only by the sodium of the street lamps and the occasional searchlight of the passing buses. Several times a minute the whole room vibrated, shaken by one or more of the night buses which often passed through. In terms of public transport, it was probably the greatest apartment in L.A, but only on those terms. Quinn could feel the tremors in her back as she sat on the couch.

"How can you stand these noises?" She asked, referring to the buses.

"You get used to it. Also I've got these—" He pointed towards two fat maggots of grey wax on the window ledge. "Mouldable wax ear-plugs."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Except I forgot to take them out the other day. Thought I had a brain tumor. I couldn't hear anything for a good half an hour."

Quinn laughed, then groaned as another bubble of nausea released. "I should go."

She noticed his face fall even through her drunken-haze. "Oh okay. If that's what you want."

They listened to the sound of tires on the wet street, white light scanning the room. She stood unsteadily and straightened the front of her jacket. "I've got a photo shoot and a flight to catch tomorrow. Plus Rachel's probably wondering where I am. I've had a lovely time."

"Me too—"

"Just too much alcohol—"

"Me too—"

"I'll go back to my hotel and sober up."

"Are you sure? It's late though."

She looked at her watch. 12:26 a.m. Beneath her feet the subway rumbled by, reminding her that she stood in the dead center of a remarkable transport hub. There's bound to be a cab outside somewhere, arrive at the hotel by 1:00 a.m. easy, call Rachel before bed. Yes, she wanted to talk to Rachel. It would be worth walking in the rain if it meant she could talk to her.

"Yeah, I'm going to go. Thanks for a lovely time." She stood on her tip-toes and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Hey Rach. It's me. I got your messages and now you're sleeping. I just got back to my hotel room. I'm sorry I couldn't return any of your calls till now, I'm a bit drunk, well, really drunk I guess. My plane lands at four tomorrow so I'll be at your place around five, maybe? I don't know, depends on the traffic. Tonight started off pretty awkwardly, he read the menu and the wine list too, but then I told him to shut it and things got slightly better after that. He's not so bad to hang out with. Kind of like Puck 2.0 without the crude jokes. I miss you. I really, really miss you. I haven't thanked you for being so understanding during all this. I know it can't be easy. I know that I wouldn't be able to watch you hang off someone else's arms. I'm sorry for putting you through this. Two more months, okay? Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. I—Good night.

•••

December 17th, 2016

US WEEKLY. ISSUE 566.

There are two rumors about Quinn Fabray... So which rumor would she like to address first?

'Oooh, I love this," the newly turned 24-year-old says in her peculiar L.A via New York accent. 'It's just like truth or dare!'

OK, the first rumor is about the reputation. There is a video going around on Youtube of a co-hosting spot that she did showcasing her unprofessional behavior on television. From what we've seen, Fabray was drunk. There was a lot of fumbling and nervousness on her end. Unflinchingly, she says, 'It was unprofessional of me to be drunk on television. I was extremely nervous going into that interview. But I guess every celebrity gets a "reputation" some time in their career. The fact that mine started out so early is kind of astonishing. I guess I've joined the club.'

So that rumor's out of the way.

The second rumor is that Fabray was spotted in clubs around L.A recently cosying up to her co-star Mark Morley. So does that mean she's bisexual? Straight? Fabray was once married to Broadway star Rachel Berry, however, sadly that marriage ended following the outcome of an accident which left Berry with retrograde amnesia. We weren't allowed to ask about her marriage or even the fall-out, stated clearly by her manager, but regarding Mark, she says with a delighted squeal, 'He's a great friend. We have a lot in common and during filming we've grown very close.'

Quinn was one of the celebrities offered for the cover of the January issue of Us Weekly, depicting the life of her new-found celebrity status. She knew why they picked her. It wasn't for her new movie and her astounding acting skills and steamy love scenes. She was simply the new hot girl in a new movie with a reputation. She doubted they even knew about the movie before they met her, they probably had no idea who she was to begin with. Of course, she panicked and gave a million reasons why she shouldn't do it, but her publicist and manager thought it was a great opportunity. A cover is a cover. Oh, and she had a publicist now. Rachel was right about needing one to resurrect her career, after all. Maybe she was a delinquent?

It was hard to argue with her manager and publicist. They knew better than she did. The cover of Us Weekly complimented the fresh-faced up-and-coming celebrity image they were trying to create. She was extremely nervous walking into her trailer that was sitting atop a hill at the location chosen for the shoot. She felt unprepared and anxious. She was embarrassed to shake the hands of the picture editor and the executive editor of the magazine. She didn't know how to play the character for the interview. She couldn't exactly be herself. The truth about Quinn Fabray—the lesbian in a secret relationship with her ex-wife now girlfriend—needed to stay hidden. The heterosexual, self-confident American actress needed to emerge. She had finally discovered and accepted who she is and now had to convey the image of a woman she wasn't.

They had subtly written a character for her to play in the public, gently coercing her to play the role of an ingénue, fresh but glamorous and with an ounce of naïveté. They guided her into the character by favoring romantic dresses over sexy dresses for red carpet events and to most questions about the movie and her life, they smiled with approval when she answered that her journey from a girl in small town Lima who started off with no real direction to Hollywood actress was a "dream come true". It seemed effortless and surprising: a Cinderella story.

Besides, most of the successful, leading-lady actresses had graduated from this rite of passage.

'What does that mean?'

'It means that we're new to this business and learning how to handle all the pressures that come with it.'

Fabray was very coy in regards to answering the question. That rumor is left unresolved.

As this was her first magazine interview, we decided to go a little easy on her. It's been known that Berry is the star out of the two of them. Last year, Berry outed them during her first magazine interview. When asked how Quinn had felt about it she said, 'We discussed it. We were getting married in a couple of weeks so it was only reasonable that we came out.' She also added,

'I'll never regret my time with Rachel. She's an amazing woman and we've maintained a great friendship.'

We tried one more time—'There's nothing between you and Mark?'

She laughs nervously, 'Mark is smart and handsome. I'm very smitten with him. He's been in the industry a little longer than I have and he's given me some very good advice on my job as an actress. We enjoy each other's company and, I don't know, maybe there could be more.'

We certainly have reason to believe that there's more to their relationship than meets the eye. When speaking about Morley, Fabray blushed and smiled shyly. It was hard to miss the love in her eyes. We sense a greater connection than anyone thought. This could very well be Hollywood's new power couple.

After the photo shoot she was on a plane to New York. In the end she played the heterosexual, self-confident American actress extremely well. Her publicist gave her several thumbs ups when she answered questions regarding Mark with such love. During the entire interview she inhaled and nodded her head a lot. She wanted to tell the person that it felt strange, that she felt out of place, that she was scared of not delivering. Quinn wanted to tell her that she felt pressure to be this image they created for her, to be someone other than who she was. She wanted to say that she felt isolated and that maybe she kind of hated the movie. But she didn't.

Most people would kill to have the opportunity that was given to her. How could she possibly complain to anyone that she didn't like it, heaps of money and fame, the most desired things in society, made her feel uncomfortable? While she waited for her genuine enjoyment to set in, she will simply lie about how much fun she was having.

When she reached New York and picked up her baggage, she called Rachel twice but there was no answer. She caught a cab and on the way she noticed a woman who was about the same age as she was, walking and reading a text book on Anatomy. She glanced away from the book before she could hit the pole. Quinn couldn't help but wish that were her. She wished she were a student living in New York, dating and going to parties. She wished she could travel to another city and stay over at a friend's house without worrying about curfew and what her manager had planned for her the next day. She wished she could walk down the street without worrying about the paparazzi. She wished she could have a life where she could just be with Rachel.

Once she reached Rachel's apartment, Quinn called again but there was still no answer. She let herself in and when she called out to Rachel and was responded with silence, she walked into the bedroom and sure enough, Rachel was sleeping. It was just after five. She stood in the doorway watching Rachel's sleeping figure before deciding to change and as soon as she got into bed, Rachel pressed her face against Quinn's shoulder, murmured something, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, reaching up to touch Quinn's face. That light, carefree abandon swept over her and she took the opportunity for happiness and used it like a salve to cover and heal her scars of sorrow and distress.

"I missed you." Rachel said quietly.

"You too. I mean, me too. I miss you, too."

By tomorrow, they'll be apart again and she knows this short time will only be a memory. But for now it stretched out before her as infinite as a sky full of stars, and she didn't want to think about what would come after. That would ruin it. What mattered was here and now.