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.

15. Chapter 15

As usual this turned out longer than I expected so I decided to post the first part to ease your curious minds because everyone kept asking if Rachel's dead. I haven't worked on the second part yet, I got this out in two days so I'm going to rest for like a day. On another note, they'll be one more chapter and then the epilogue.

---

I was so undeserving
And yet, you were relentless
I pushed—you pulled
I wept—you embraced
I bled—you repaired
I faltered—you shushed
I stopped—you smiled
I was a disaster, the worst of its kind
And yet you still had the audacity to let me know that I was beautiful
Which is why I refuse to ever let you go

—Anonymous

•••

January 26th, 2017: 9:38 a.m.

One minute.

The paparazzi staring at her made her feel like she was a criminal under investigation for insurance fraud, stalked by photographers who were hired to provide evidence. Paparazzi are the ultimate hunters. They are patient, prepared and precise. They'll ruin the illusion that this is your fake life—the life that you show to the world while keeping all the secrets of your real life hidden.

Three minutes.

Rachel was right. Fame did something to her.

Her ego needed it. After reading those comments about her in newspapers and knowing what the whole world thought of her, the publicity stunt was a way for her to restore her dignity, and her uniqueness.

As always she wondered if there was something she had done wrong. Surely divorcing your traumatized wife could not have garnered that much hate? Maybe everyone just viewed her as nasty in a bad way because no matter how hard she tried she didn't give out a flirty, likable vibe? Maybe everyone only viewed her as the ice-queen she once was in Lima? And maybe when she tried to break through the ice veneer to find that sweet, amiable girl, she tended to just look vulnerable, fragile, in fear of abandonment, and needing to be held? Either way, the publicity stunt was supposed to fix this, it was a way to convince everyone beyond a doubt that she was not rapacious and greedy.

There's nothing like external validation. She craved it. That's why she was Head Cheerio in Sophomore Year. That's why she agreed to be back on the Cheerios in Senior Year. The theory of objectivism claims that there are certain things that most people in society can agree upon. A cheerleader is pretty. A heterosexual actress is smart and sweet. Society is based upon objectivism. That's the only thing she's learned all through this fiasco she's caused for herself. She was too busy worrying about her relationship with Rachel to learn about anything else.

Five minutes.

Her life was a fantasy. The leading lady in a movie. Mark Morley was her leading man. They have chemistry. A twenty-four year-old lesbian could apparently have chemistry with a straight man, could that mean she would have chemistry with anything? Her life was a fantasy with fantasy lovers and its make-believe conversations with make-believe people. So she was the perfect candidate to be in love with a man and consummate their pretend love.

Reality was the difficult part. And the reality at the moment was that it's Friday 26th of January, 2017, 10:54 a.m. and Rachel was making her wait.

Seven minutes.

She didn't know what to do.

So she waited.

Ten minutes.

She didn't know why Rachel was taking so long. She pictured Rachel nervously preparing a mental monologue of what she's planning to tell her. She pictured Rachel opening the drawers and cupboards and scampering around for her phone, maybe her purse too. Rachel tended to misplace her phone a lot. She pictured Rachel staring at herself in the mirror and not liking her outfit, then deciding to change it.

Eleven minutes.

Yes, that was it. That's why she's taking so long.

So she continued to wait.

Twelve minutes.

For the past ten days so much of her time seemed to be spent waiting on Rachel, knotted with stomach cramps and trying to act casual, willing for Rachel to finally confide in her. The moment she read about the hospitalizations, she had the urge to run to Rachel's aid, but she didn't have the energy to do it. Unexpectedly, a voice sounded in her head saying, If Rachel's in trouble she'll contact you. She's been insisting that she's okay. The hospital would not have discharged her if her condition was serious.

A drill sergeant voice accompanied it, telling her that she's missing out on all the opportunities she could help Rachel during the difficult time. She could hold her hand, hug her, kiss her, reassure her. There was another voice, it called her selfish and ignorant for not being by Rachel's side, for ignoring all the signs, it followed her everywhere and stuck with her through all the events, signings, interviews, photo shoots, where it laughed at her stupidity.

Fourteen minutes.

But it was during this long wait that she began to realize something terrible has happened. That those voices were haunting her body, just as the image of Rachel lying unconscious was haunting her mind.

Fifteen minutes.

She felt the future drain away from her, like a rush of blood to her toes. It was physically painful.

Quinn learnt too late that after five years of developing parallel loyalties and trust, permanence and commitment, talk of babies, and leading up to the accident, memory loss and the divorce, that absolutely anything can happen and if it can it probably will. She learnt too late that what is most important to us is always most precious the moment it occurs, and it is precious in its absolute immediacy and not as some vague confirmation of future directions; since the only certain fact, aside from death, is the flimsiness of everything. Such flimsiness hit her like a knockout blow on that pavement when she heard the siren of the ambulance.

She must have looked bad standing there because a paparazzo came over and asked if she was okay. Then more sirens and soon the place was surrounded by police men and women pushing everyone out of sight in order for the medics to run in the building. Quinn stood there, she just stood there. A wave of adrenalin connected the pain from her heart to her feet and refused to let her move. Her head began to spin. It felt like half of its regular weight even when it wasn't spinning. She felt unbalanced, like she might faint. It scared her. She hated the world so much when the world went wrong.

The fact that she wasn't running into the apartment made her guilt grow stronger. She was in the middle of a tragedy, hers and Rachel's, and the longer she stood there, the less she could think about the thing at hand, the more she became obsessed with the thought of turning back time and re-living the last half an hour all over again. She wished for time to reverse. All she could picture was convincing Rachel to go to the hospital instead of telling her to get dressed and getting food, they'd be there by now and Rachel would've been unconscious where a doctor would be able to help her. An image of herself in great relief, slumping on one of the chairs of having been smart enough to think of such a thing.

Such wishes are ridiculous.

It was horrific how much the situation in front of her were like the movies. Did movies get it right or did they teach us how to act? She heard a lot of yelling and screaming: Get out of the way, get out of the way, no cameras, have the decency to respect their privacy, this is not a red carpet event. She heard someone say, Quinn shouldn't you be up there with Rachel. At that point, she realized she was hoping it wasn't Rachel.

Such hopes are ridiculous.

She was trembling when the front doors of the building opened. She was so entirely prepared for this event: everything was exactly as she'd seen in the movies. The police were clearing the obstructed area. Rachel lay on the gurney, her face covered by an oxygen mask. There, lay a whole huge portion of her future: babies and travel and dreams and a long life together. The image of Rachel's body slammed past a black fog of lethargy and into her mind. Inside of her, one part was saying, There must be some mistake. This is not happening. I'm dreaming. The other part, further away, but more insistent, was saying, That's Rachel. She's lying unconscious. The sound of Rachel's name when it left her lips echoed around her.

Quinn, finally able to move her feet, took a step towards one of the medics. She placed a hand on his forearm and he looked down at her curiously. Her breath was coming in short, erratic pants, like she'd just run a marathon uphill. When everything finally hit her, it hit swiftly and with full force. Her mind tried to hold onto the scene. But the last thing she saw before she fainted was Rachel standing in her wedding dress.

Quinn, you're not supposed to be here.

Rachel was radiant, astonishing. She looked so beautiful it would scare anyone. Beautiful and hardly even tried. Quinn stood taking it all in, inhaling it like a scent, breathing in Rachel's image like her life depended on it. Quinn was so happy to be standing there, to bathe in the presence of uncomplicated joy.

Quinn?

Yeah.

You're staring again.

You're so beautiful. Let's just get married right now.

It's ten o'clock at night.

That's not stopping you from wearing your wedding dress.

I'm trying it on.

You tried it on two hours ago.

How do you know that?

Your dad told me.

I could've gained weight.

In two hours? That's extremely unlikely. Besides, if you do gain weight you'll have tomorrow to work it off.

Quinn, I'm still mad at you for writing those vows. This isn't the best time to be sarcastic. Also, I think you should go back outside and write new ones.

But I'm tried. I thought we could have pre-wedding sex.

No. We are not sleeping in the same room together—

Rachel, this isn't the right time to start lecturing me about the importance of typical wedding rituals. You did that yesterday and quite honestly, my ears are still hurting from listening to you.

Rachel's eyes were haunting with desire and Quinn had never seen her so beautiful. For some reason, she was having great difficulty holding herself together when Rachel closed the gap between them and kissed her. She was trying to relax, but the moment Rachel pushed her on the bed, within minutes—miraculously—she arched her back as Rachel dug her nails into her skin, her mind was doing that thing, you know the thing, kind of like zooming over landscapes. Gliding through the ether. Nothing like that had ever happened before.

January 26th, 2017: 1:10 p.m.

Rachel's first conscious sighting was of a pale green ceiling that showed hairline cracks and a few bits of peeling paint. She thought at first it was part of some terrible nightmare, with plastic tubes connected to her arms, nose and body, fluids flowing in and out of her, and the feeling that she was unable to breathe and was suffocating. Then increasingly, she saw the smiles on everyone's faces: Her fathers, Judy and Kurt. She began to sense that it was all real. Everything was real. But the most real of all was the sudden terrible awareness that Quinn wasn't with her. She closed her eyes again and tried to catch her breath. Maybe if I wait awhile and open them again, Quinn will be standing in front of me. Twenty seconds later, opening her eyes, nothing changed. She felt something terrible, some deadly acid was flowing into her bloodstream through the attached tubes and searing her veins and flesh.

"Quinn." She managed to squeeze out.

Kurt's movements caused her to painfully turn her head to the right. Quinn lay on the bed beside her with an oxygen mask. Sweat ran down her face. She was suffocating again, her breath stifled as if the valves of her heart weren't closing and the blood was rushing back into her lungs. Her heart flared wildly then, and a hot adrenalin burned through her. The heart monitor beeped uncontrollably. The thought that it was Quinn's frightened her even more until she scanned her eyes around and saw that Quinn wasn't hooked to any machines. She let out a deep gasp of breath and sat up instantly and continued to pant, struggling for air.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and shapes being pushed aside and new shapes hurrying to her bedside. She swung wildly at them, tearing a tube out of her arm and sending blood shooting in a bright red fall. A nurse pressed the vein shut and stuck the tube back into her arm while someone else gave her a shot.

"Let me go!" Rachel yelled. "What happened to Quinn? Why is she—"

Two nurses were struggling to hold onto her arms. One of them said, "Rachel, Rachel, Quinn's okay. She fainted, she's just sleeping. You're both doing great."

Then the morphine took hold and she was floating upwards, she glimpsed a star or a silver moon through the clouds. Already, the hospital was a distant memory, half-sensed, half-lost, she was floating now, through the constellations, gnawing on ether, endlessly satisfied, and happy too. Her mind opened out into the sunlight. Quinn appeared before her standing on top of the hill and she could hear the sound of a waterfall in the distance. She could feel the sun enveloping them like the mist, tendrils and wisps of contentment.

Hey baby, come and look at this stone.

Rach, you should come here. I can see my house.

We're in Colorado, that's highly impossible. Come here, seriously, you're going to laugh at this.

They had taken a little ambitious hike in the mountains. Rachel knew Quinn was nervous about the wedding and did her best to help calm those nerves. Standing by the stones parched along the large tree, they examined the graffiti that had been scratched: small jokes, DG Was Here, Canada Forever, Thatcher Out.

We could carve our initials.

What, Q 4 R?

4 Ever.

That's lame, Rachel.

Look at that one with the penis. Imagine climbing all this way just to draw that. Did he bring the pen with him, do you think?

I wonder what he was thinking: It's a lovely view, natural beauty and all that, but what will really make it a better view is an image of a massive penis.

Rachel laughed mechanically, and stopped when she noticed Quinn's eyes were gold and blazing, her skin was hot and moist when she pushed Rachel against a large stone and kissed her. Quinn had a sublime softness to her. In her lips was all the ineffable essence of welcoming. Quinn smelled so neutrally and abstractly of nothing but heat and sweetness. It was a whole new experience as Quinn's tongue and fingers touched every inch of skin on her body. It was the most elevated experience she had ever had; she was spinning in glorious cycles.

January 26th, 2017: 2:20 p.m.

The moment Quinn opened her eyes, great sorrow overcame her, or perhaps it was just the sadness continuing from the morning. At first she felt it as two bands of pain across her middle. She shifted on the mattress to take a moment to stretch, but when she looked to the bed beside hers, the sadness merely resumed its position. It felt in fact like exhaustion. From there she contemplated the potentially debilitating, despair-inducing and claustrophobic notion that she really hated the world when the world went wrong.

Quinn turned on her side to watch Rachel's sleeping body. Her mouth stretched into a small grin when she noticed Rachel breathing, it was a very good sign. The image of Rachel's face disappeared behind the tears she couldn't blink out of her eyes, so endlessly and soundlessly they were falling. She felt a sense of desperation; how can she make Rachel's pain better. She was so pale, and it was like Quinn was looking at her from behind a waterfall. She could feel a tingle of adrenalin at the back of her throat, the uncertainty about whether or not Rachel will get through this. She felt beads of sweat on her brow. She felt slightly uncomfortable in her clothes.

She began making a list in her head, a list of things she likes, and maybe somehow she could write her way out of the mess she's in. Okay, write a list—I like movies, especially in the 70's. I also like to watch them in the early hours when the rest of the world is sleeping. I like to watch football. To me it's a strange and beautiful sport from another planet. I like Rachel. I love Rachel. Her warmth, her eyes, her sense of humor, attitude, legs, voice, laugh—And then she stopped and her mind began to wander. She tried to concentrate to bring it back but it was hard to think of things—Travel books. I like travel books. Fan fiction, I like reading them, especially about me—Then she gave up because her head began to throb and she asked herself,

Will Rachel ever get better?

"Quinn."

Rachel's voice was glorious, if it were possible she would parade their glittering magnificence. Rachel's eyes were translucent and radiant with whatever medicine they had given her.

Quinn's organs jolted into motion. She nearly jumped to her feet. Rachel was smiling back at her, happy in her own world. Relief and joy pounded through her so potently she could have wept again. Hope washed over Rachel's face, the same emotion she was feeling, and then Rachel snapped her eyes up to meet hers. Quinn wasn't sure what to say, so instead she shuffled to the edge of the bed, her arm stretching to the side, reaching out for Rachel and simultaneously, Rachel stretched out her arm and their fingertips grazed lightly in-between their beds, dangling in the air.

They came together so wonderfully and remained so wonderfully separated.

Rachel's the only person in the entirety of the universe to make her go weak-kneed. Quinn knows this for a fact, even though she hasn't met all seven billion people on the planet. She knows this for a fact because it's impossible to go weak-kneed while lying down, but it's exactly how Rachel made her feel at this very moment. Watching Rachel gave her heart palpitations and a rush of intimacy, flooding her with adrenalin and desire.

They remained like that. Their fingers conveying all the emotions. The minutes passed. The sun's glow turned Rachel orange, and it was like staring into the Ultimate Orange for Rachel's hair was auburn surrounded by an orange halo, her pale face a faint orange, she saw the sun on the horizon of Rachel's pupils. Quinn couldn't turn away from the fluorescently expanding display of light. She glanced down at their fingers so happily enmeshed, then back at Rachel, completely absorbed in her sweetness as she sighed and smiled and giggled and hummed.

Gratified, Quinn smiled and closed her eyes, and there appeared a vivid image of Rachel lying in her bikini on the beach, reading a book. Quinn thought about this and eventually fell asleep.

Is it just me or—

What?

Is everyone on this beach completely naked?

The long hot day crawled on. After the hike they trekked to the beach and swam and slept and read, and as the fiercest heat faded and the beach became more and more populated, Quinn was the first to notice the many naked bodies amongst them.

Oh yeah. Don't ogle, Quinn!

I'm not ogling. I'm observing.

You're not an anthropologist, you don't get to observe.

I could be, you know.

Well, until then you're not allowed to observe naked bodies.

What about yours?

Well—I...

Maybe you should be naked, Rach.

No!

Why not? I want to observe.

Did you not observe enough when you practically devoured me on top of the hill this morning?

That can't be classified as observing as I was too busy exploring you with my tongue—

Quinn!

Rachel.

You're not funny.

Get naked for me.

I will do no such thing.

Okay, I'll get naked.

You're not serious?

Baby, have some fun. We're getting married tomorrow, and then we're going on our honeymoon. You're not going to see these people again.

Sounds like something I told you in high school when you refused to come out.

So... you're not taking off her bikini?

No, I'm not! And you're not allowed to either.

What are you going to do?

Withhold sex.

Rach, you know I'm irresistible. You really need to come up with another threat, baby.

I'm not comfortable with anyone else looking at your naked body, Quinn.

Why's that?

Because you're mine. You're planning on becoming an actress and you're going to be on screen a lot. One day, the whole world is going to be mesmerized by your beauty. I want to see parts of you that no one else ever will.

Rachel's face was so close to her neck that Quinn could feel her breath, while she watched the sun reflect of her bronze skin. Quinn could feel the warmth of Rachel's skin, beckoning her, lulling her. That scent so uniquely Rachel's—daisies. She didn't know how to respond so she kissed her, warm and hearty, for a long moment.

I hope my grandmother doesn't suddenly appear.

I doubt your grandmother or your fathers even knows this place exists or else they wouldn't have let us roam free.

Quinn?

Yeah.

I love you.

Thank you.

You're not going to say it back?

Nope. Tomorrow.

You're making it extremely easy for me to want to call off the wedding.

I'd believe that if you hadn't just told me you loved me.

You're really not funny.

Rachel Berry is like an eastern deity, forbearing of all of Quinn's uncertainties, patient with all her quirks. She never pressured, never created drama, well, other than the usual diva-know-it-all-I-have-to-have-every-solo attitude. She gives Quinn all the room she needs (that meant letting Quinn deal with her emotions in her own way). Rachel has an infinite kindness, and she's someone who is comfortable with awkward silences and doesn't mind Quinn not talking a lot of the time. Most of all, Rachel taught her a lot of things about life, especially how it's okay to feel something extraordinary about someone.

January 26th, 2017: 2:35 p.m.

Rachel lay watching Quinn as she slept, and wondered what she was dreaming about because there was a smile tugging at her lips. The sun on the horizon behind Quinn illuminated her beauty. There wasn't really much to say. Quinn's elegant shoulders, the laminated luxury of Quinn's fingertips brushing against hers, and even in her sleep, Quinn's fingers twitched as though trying to convey some kind of message. While lying there, she's beside herself with happiness and the pleasure was peppered with anxiety. She was very much aware there were obstacles in their lives that were yet to be hindered. But watching Quinn sleep, there was a burst of sensations. Rachel couldn't register the noises around her, those voices and clutters outside of that room; her focus was purely on Quinn. She was so absolutely present, so undistracted.

What will she say to Quinn when she wakes up? They've been incommunicado for way too long. There was too much talk inside her head. Sometimes she forgets whether she spoke it or not. It will be good to finally get the words out and communicate all her fears and agitations. It would be good to talk, long hours of talk, something more complex than just their careers.

She would tell Quinn, that she tried to believe and she tried to not believe that there were vultures as big as pterodactyls circling overhead waiting to descend on her soul as it expired its final weak breath.

She had never thought such things before and it was an effort trying to suppress them. She had known for a long time she was in trouble but she didn't know what it was. She had a glimmer of awareness that the spirit had been squeezed out of her. There were times she didn't know if she could ever survive without the drugs, without Valium. It was a world of trepidation. The truth was, it was awful and frightening, having so many drugs in her system after having none to begin with. She could sense the Valium levels getting higher and higher the more her head ached, like the rain flooding the desert after a long drought. She felt brittle and dusty, and in the past couple of days while waiting for the results, she found herself close to tears. But she couldn't cry and at such moments she felt alarm edged with despair, and despair edged with alarm.

And then she'll say, whenever she thought of Quinn she understood what it meant to be a couple: It meant that whenever she's on stage, amongst the hundreds of faces clapping and cheering for her, it was Quinn who was more present to her than anyone else. It meant that Quinn was with her wherever she was—on stage, on a flight to Los Angeles—because she knew that no matter what happens between them they would always find their way back to one another. It meant that she could endure all this pain, all the obstacles, just to be back in Quinn's arms again.

She lay still for several moments trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Quinn was still smiling and Rachel wanted to peek into her dreams. Her thoughts were distracted when a shadow enveloped her and she turned to see Kurt hovering over her.

Every line of his face was withered with concern but he managed a smile. "Hey, I'm so glad you're awake."

"Shh, Quinn's sleeping."

He glanced over to see their grazed fingertips and chuckled. "You two are so gay it's impossible to be any gayer."

Rachel ignored him and gestured toward the cup perched on the table and he handed it to her. She downed the cool contents, it was like a revitalizing agent. "Where's everyone? Don't tell me no one visited me in my time of need?"

"The two of you were sleeping so peacefully we decided to get some food. Your dads are outside, do you want me to call them?"

"It's okay. Do you know what's happening with me?" She asked.

He shrugged, the action was stiff, more clipped. "No idea, Rach. What do you remember?"

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. The last thought to have drifted through her mind before she blacked out was of Quinn waiting impatiently for her outside the building. She hadn't told Quinn she loved her, and that thought spiked her heartbeat further. It beeped loudly on the monitor. From the corner of her eye, she saw Quinn twitch and lurch in her position.

Her piercing hazel eyes were broad and unsmiling. Slowly, very slowly, her eyes adjusted and they locked gazes. Rachel could feel Quinn's panic. "What happened? Are you okay?" She asked.

"I'm okay," her heartbeats slowly subsiding. Very slowly. "Slight error."

"Why's your heart beating so fast?" Quinn studied the monitor. She relaxed when the numbers reduced, and then she just stared at Rachel with a questioning eyebrow.

Embarrassed, she blinked and focused the attention on Kurt. "Quinn, you didn't say hi to Kurt. That's rude."

Her eyes flickered over to him, who looked casual and unconcerned. "Hey, Kurt."

"Wow, Quinn, that's a lot of enthusiasm in your voice," he said smugly, watching Quinn pad her way over to Rachel's bed. "I can feel the love."

She didn't bother answering him and climbed onto Rachel's bed—completely uninvited—adjusting herself comfortably, snuggling close. The atmosphere was suddenly warm and soft, their close proximity soothing her skin. It didn't take long for Rachel's subsiding heartbeats to amplify.

A glimmer of humor lit Quinn's eyes, making the green appear almost yellow. "Oh, so that's why your heart is beating so fast."

"Okay, you two are too gay even for me to be around," Kurt said. "I'll get your parents." He lunged forward and pulled both girls into a hug. "I'm so glad you're both alive."

The moment Kurt left the room, Quinn leaned over and kissed her and Rachel wondered whether it was all a dream, a delirium brought on by exhaustion—except she could feel Quinn's palm on her thigh, not to mention the lingering, aching frustration between her legs that was beginning to build up. How did Quinn always manage to do that? It can't be normal. Quinn must not be human. That would explain those exquisite eyes which seemed to change color depending on her emotions.

The longer they kissed, Rachel became self-conscious about the fact that she should've brushed her teeth.

Quinn pecked her lips a final time before pulling away. "I'm sorry, Rach. I didn't—"

"No, it's not—"

"No, I'm sorry. None of this matters to me, all the fame and money," Quinn shifted in discomfort, and glanced down at their clasped hands then back to meet her eyes. "It wasn't that I lost sight of it, I just—I wish you had told me, and I was just bitter about it, you know, that I had to find out from—"

"How long have you known?" She interrupted, her tone was uncompromising, and she held her breath waiting for the answer.

"Ten days." A sudden coolness settled over her face, and it was as though Quinn was punishing herself silently for not acting sooner; taking in all the burden. "I'm sorry. I—Rach, I'm just sorry."

Rachel exhaled the breath in—relief? Joy? Calmness?—she had honestly expected a longer length. That's not to say that Quinn ignoring her pain for ten days didn't hurt, but she knew that if it had been a month she would've boiled in anger.

Quinn's expression was oddly tight and sulking in her position. Rachel reached out to reassure her. A blush crept up on her cheeks and she had no idea why. "I'm not going to lie and say that it doesn't hurt knowing that you didn't comfort me, but I should've confided in you sooner."

"I haven't made it easy, have I?" Her tone was sullen. "You know, with Mark and all that?"

"No." She's thought of the many times, night after night, waiting for Quinn to call, or counting the minutes until her next text. If it weren't for her headaches being a distraction and the fact she had so much to deal with, she most likely would've cried every night. Her mood weakened, a shadowy foreboding fluttering at the back of her mind. "Quinn, we've been through too much together and we've come this far. I don't think I can lose you again. I don't want to."

Despite Quinn's efforts to stay strong, Rachel heard the remorse in her tone. "I know, Rach, and—I need you. I need you to yell at me when I'm being ignorant and a bitch because you keep me grounded. And this whole publicity thing, I'll end it—"

Rachel cupped her face in her hands and looked directly into her eyes. "It had nothing to do with the publicity, Quinn," she said with a quiet intensity. "It was you. And partly us."

"You really do know how to be direct." Quinn's voice was cool, but she detected no bitterness, sensed no shame, just apology.

Rachel wound her arm around Quinn's waist and leaned into her. "I'm not saying I'm not at fault. It would've been—"

Hiram, Leroy and Judy entered the room at that moment cutting off her words. Quinn slid off the bed to embrace Judy and Rachel's fathers bought her in for a bone crushing hug. Their hug threw her backwards onto the bed, air shoved out of her lungs. When she was able to breathe again, she inhaled deeply to fill her nostrils. But it was proving difficult so she said with a strangulated voice,

"I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry." Hiram ruffled her hair and hugged her again. "We're so glad you're okay."

"How are you feeling, Quinn? You gave me quite a scare." Judy said.

"I—"

"What happened to you?" Rachel said in a ragged breath suddenly realizing Quinn had been lying unconscious on the bed beside her.

Quinn's cheek tinged pink and she wiped a hand over her jaw. She was smiling. "Oh, um, I fainted—"

"When? Why? Are you—"

"Rach, obviously I'm fine."

Rachel dragged in a deep breath to fill her lungs with oxygen before saying, "I can see that. What I meant was—"

"I fainted when they carried you out of the building and I—"

"Oh okay, I understand."

Leroy's face reddened, he had a pinched look, and then suddenly he burst out into laughter. A loud, belly rolling laughter that engulfed the room and held onto the railings to keep him steady.

"What are you laughing at?" Hiram asked, confused.

Leroy's broad grin, flushed face, and bright eyes—adrenaline obviously still going high—made it impossible for everyone else not to smile. Hiram nudged him on the ribs and repeated the question.

"It's just funny," he said through laughter. "That only the two of you can understand what you're saying. You cut each other off mid-sentences. What kind of communication is that?"

"Some things just don't change." Judy added. "Remember the big family dinner? They were having their own conversations."

"And the wedding!" Hiram said. "They basically said each other's vows!"

"Don't forget the family dinner with your mom," Leroy said. "She thought they were insane."

For a moment, Rachel and Quinn both went still. Rachel glanced over at her and caught her gaze. As a blush heated her cheeks she looked away and pretended to be mesmerized by the fabric of her hospital gown. As good as it was to hear them reminiscing about the past, a part of her tried not to dwell on the fact that she had no memories of it. How easy it was for them to just pluck a memory in the air and recall it, while she struggled to remember something. Her mood darkened, a cold fear wrapped around her. For a long time it hadn't bothered her, but it was moments like these she wished things could be different.

Still looking down and pretending to be fascinated by her gown, Quinn's hand covered hers, and feeling the tingle of pleasure at the gesture, she tugged Quinn closer and buried her face in the warmth of neck. Quinn was like the promise of everything wonderful, the promise that it didn't matter she no longer has these memories, because she had Quinn and that was better than any memory.

Quinn held her tighter kissing the top of her head. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut feeling tears sting her eyes.

"Rachel, why are you crying?" Judy asked.

"Oh," she wiped them with the back of her hand. "Just a little emotional."

Quinn changed the topic. "Where's Kurt?"

"Not really sure," Leroy answered. "He told us you were awake and then left to go somewhere. Where the hell is that doctor?"

She felt those sparks of panic again, anxiety. It seems all she's been feeling is anxiety. Anxiety for the results. Anxiety for telling Quinn. Anxiety for her life. Minutes passed. Maybe ten, she wasn't sure. She tried to be positive by telling herself that she's no longer alone in this and that Quinn is with her. It was the way the clock ticked on the wall that made her nervous, tick tick tick, the hands moving closer to the results, closer to when the doctor appears. Even the feel of Quinn's body leaning against hers did nothing to extinguish the anxiety.

A lot of the time she couldn't concentrate on the conversations at hand. There was something close to terror now. She looked out the window and could see the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. Tiny as it may be, she saw the park, a dark rectangle around which traffic edged. At one point Quinn's gentle squeeze on her hand shook her out of her trance.

"Homework has little educational worth, and is therefore a waste of the students' time."

"It encourages children to work more independently."

"Homework provides a link between the student, school and time."

They were debating about homework. Not Quinn though. Quinn was lazily running her fingertips along the length of Rachel's forearm, writing invisible notes: I love you, Q 4 R, This is boring. It was as though weeks of Quinn's light caresses have enabled her to distinguish the messages on her hypersensitive skin. Every stroke alleviated her anxiety. Quinn literally swirled her blood, head and body into a hallucinatory expansion until she could feel nothing but the intense beating of her heart.

The heart monitor beeped wildly and the room went quiet. She really needed to control that.

"Sorry," Rachel said. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure, Rachel?" Leroy inspected the numbers on the screen. "That's really high. Where is that doctor?"

"Really, daddy, I'm fine," she stilled Quinn's movements on her arm and caught the knowing glimmer in her hazel eyes. "What were you talking about?"

"Oh, we were debating about..."

Her mind started to drift into a spiral, tightening and speeding up. Around her everything blurred. There was a whining in her head, a terrible racket, like the sound of screeching tires. She could not hear her thoughts. She could not hear the conversations around her. She could see the fear in Quinn's eyes. She could see Quinn's mouth moving. She could feel Quinn's hold on her tightening. Then just as suddenly everything went silent and a second later it cleared. She could think again. She could hear again. She sat bewildered, so far removed from pain yet so immersed in it.

"Rachel?"

Her heart hammered at the sound of Quinn's voice and she could see Quinn push out a relieved breath when she nodded in acknowledgement. The heart monitor continued to spike.

"Headache?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah."

A knock on the door interrupted them and they all turned as the serious-faced doctor asked silently for permission to enter. The first thing Rachel noticed about him was the shadow of a beard. He was one of those men who, no matter how often they shaved, always had that shadow.

"Doctor Hawkins," he said, walking forward, hand extended to shake Rachel's and Quinn's. "I'm so glad you're awake."

"Hi," Rachel waited for further pleasantries but none were forthcoming.

Hiram stepped up to him and shook the doctor's hand in a quick shake. After introducing himself he said, "Where's Doctor Andrews?"

"Doctor Andrews referred me to your case." He locked eyes with Rachel, seeming to pin her to the spot. Rachel didn't like the word case. It made her feel like a Law & Order victim.

"Is something wrong?" Hiram asked.

"Before we get started," he turned to Quinn. "How are you feeling?"

Quinn shrugged as though her health wasn't the slightest bit important. "I don't feel any different."

"You had quite a faint," he scanned the chart in his hand. "You were unconscious for three hours." Then he quickly added, "Oh, according to this it's as though you fainted and in the process fell asleep. Didn't sleep well last night?"

A blush crept up on her cheeks and she sucked on her bottom lip. "Big night. But I'm fine. What about Rachel?"

He took a beat as if to ready himself before delivering the blow. It scared her. She knew there would be something wrong, but his hesitation sent a wave of fear through her body. She began to break out into a sweat and her gown was melted into her skin, she yearned for relief from the pain as a man lost in the desert yearns for water. Everything was still all around her.

She told herself, there is no point in being nervous because I can't affect the outcome, what's done is done.

"I'm sorry to have taken a while to have gotten back to you. I want to make sure that my assumptions are correct. Okay, let's get started." He pulled the small table closer to him and placed a photograph on the surface. "Tell you what you see in that photo."

Frowning, she tipped her head up to question him. "Excuse me?"

"It's part of the test, Rachel. Tell me what you see."

Rachel knew an order when she heard one, no matter how politely stated. "Um, okay. I see you and a woman with blonde hair and a cute child."

"Tell me what your mind is thinking as you're looking at the photo."

She didn't answer straight away. Instead she sighed and gazed up at Quinn who smiled. "Nothing, really," she finally answered. "I mean, there are no thoughts there. Well, I assume that's your child and that's your wife. She's very cute. Your child, that is. Your wife is cute, too. Cute is probably not the right word, but she's not ugly. I mean—I'm sorry, this is—"

He chuckled. "It's okay, Rachel. I won't tell her you said that." The doctor straightened in his position and asked, "Can any of you lend me a photo. Not a recent one. Preferably one that Rachel won't remember."

Leroy was the first to take out his phone and seconds later, settled on a photo. He placed the phone of the table and the doctor said, "What do you see?"

"Me. At graduation."

"Your thoughts?"

"Um, I look happy—"

"Tell me everything you're thinking. Pretend we're not here."

Self-consciously, her grip on Quinn's arm tightened. "I see that I'm happy, really happy. It's my graduation from NYADA. I assume that I was valedictorian and delivered a wonderful, heartfelt speech. Afterwards we celebrated at a nice restaurant and spent the night out with my friends. We talked about our futures, keeping in touch. We did—I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He summoned a smile and immediately her tensed muscles relaxed at the certainty in his eyes. "You're condition is extremely rare, Rachel. It's called Transience Attribution. The problem is you're forcing yourself to reclaim your lost memories and your brain is having a difficult time distinguishing between what's real and what isn't. It's not able to store the new memories because you're focusing on your lost ones. Does that make sense?"

Rachel took a deep breath, sensing again that blur rushing toward her. This is not the time to blackout, she told herself. She took in the doctor's words and the terror hit her with such paralyzing intensity. "I understand. What does that mean, though?"

He asked her three questions—

Is your brain cluttered? Do you sometimes have difficulty concentrating on a task? Is it hard for you to do the simple things, like sitting and eating? It's as though you can't get yourself to act out the simple gesture of sitting on a chair.

To all questions she nodded reluctantly.

"Can I be honest with you?" He said. Another nod. "You're not getting your memories back, Rachel. If you do, it's scattered and it happens at the most unlikeliest of times."

Leroy came to stand beside her, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. She smiled, patted his hand and then looked back at the doctor. He watched her with interest. Rachel wished she knew what he was thinking, just have a peek inside his brain and get all the answers she wanted.

"The funny thing with memory—" He continued, "—is that the process occurs automatically. When I look at this photo," he gestured to the one he had bought. "I see myself, my sister and my niece. I see the memory of us at the beach and Lily got stung by a jellyfish and she cried all the way home. What you do, Rachel, is that you read too much into a photograph and you're trying to conjure up an image which most of the time isn't real but you think it's real and you hold onto that. And that is cluttering your brain.

Basically, at the moment all the neurons and cells are just out of whack. Every time you conjure a memory, a lot of noradrenaline is being transmitted, diffusing across the synaptic cleft and into the hippocampus where long-term memory is stored. When this happens, it expels all new memories and makes room for fake ones. The main reason why you feel cluttered is because nothing is happening automatically anymore. The fact that you sometimes have a hard time not knowing what to do when you see a chair is a sign that you're losing the body's automatic reflex mechanisms."

She struggled to compose herself as Leroy continued to rub at her shoulders. She met Quinn's expressionless gaze but couldn't hold it. "So, what's the treatment?" She asked.

"There's been no known cure," he said. "The only recommendation is to stop thinking."

"That's it?" Quinn spoke up for the first time. "Stop thinking?" She narrowed her eyes and reined in her impatience. "What kind of advice—"

"Quinn." Rachel said softly.

"Not to stop thinking per se," he held up his hands in a calming gesture. "What I mean is, when you look at a photo or read a letter, imagine it from a stranger's point of view. It's just that; a letter and a photo. When you looked at my photo, you only saw what was in front of you, there was no memory to conjure up because you have had to be there, you have had to experience it. That's what you need to do, Rachel, that's all it is to you.

It's reasonable to ask questions like, what did I do afterwards, who did I celebrate with, but not to imagine that you experienced it. There's too much happening in your brain at the moment. I'm sorry to be brash. There really is no easy way to tell you this. Everything that you see or read from all the memories that you've lost is from a stranger's point of view. And you need to keep it that way in order to recover." He stopped for a moment and added, "I do however want to do an Intracranial Pressure Monitor. It's a procedure where we insert a probe through your skull to monitor its pressure."

"You know, for a doctor, you're horrible at your job." Quinn said, and he stared at her in stunned silence. There was such a coldness and anger in her tone. "You let her suffer for days after doing all these tests and the only solution you have is—"

"Quinn, he's just—" Rachel started but he interrupted.

"It's okay, I understand that you're frustrated, and I know my advice isn't much, but I'm sorry I can't offer you any more than that and a prescription to stop the headaches. The tests we did were all inconclusive. We didn't detect any abnormalities in the MRIs and CT-scans which is why everything has been puzzling." He replied in a clipped professional tone. "Your condition is extremely rare. It's sort of like post-natal depression. Some women get it after birth, some don't. The same apply to you, some amnesiacs get it, some don't."

Quinn's fingers drummed impatiently on her arm, and for some unknown reason she envisioned Quinn's fingers doing other things to her body. Preferably between her legs. Instantly, heat stung her cheeks at the thought and she looked up to meet Quinn's unwavering gaze.

Wonderful. I have a rare condition that can only be treated by not thinking—and yet I'm envisioning Quinn doing explicit things to me. Well, really, in a rife day with aberrations, what was one more?

"I've scheduled you in to theater for four p.m. The process won't be any harm." He handed her a consent form. "If you wish to, that is."

Without bothering to read through it, she signed it and handed it back to him with an added, "Thank you."

"What a stupid doctor," Quinn said when he left, her stubbornness, anger and impatience firing at once. "If that's all it takes to be a doctor, I can even do a better job."

"Medical school is seven years, sweetie." Judy said trying to calm her.

"Yeah, and in that seven years his advice is to stop thinking and put a probe in her brain. Don't worry about the blackouts, just stop thinking and it'll all get better. What the fu—"

"Quinn!" Judy said sternly. "Language."

Quinn threw herself off the bed and stomped her way over to the other side acting like a spoiled brat who's mother didn't buy her a Barbie doll. Rachel watched in fascination as Quinn muttered angrily to herself, it wasn't nearly half as bad. Rachel was kind of used to it; it was a typical Quinn Fabray reaction. Quinn couldn't get angry at Rachel's condition because, well, it's concealed in her brain, but the doctor was more of a convenient outlet especially since his advice was brief and did nothing to assist with the blackouts except offer more medication.

The next step Quinn will take is to attempt some measure of control, and Rachel had to let her succeed. In a day or so she'll calm down and be less confrontational. Recovery for this Quinn was just a step away, and patience is highly recommended.

She focused her attention on Leroy as he spoke, "Well, that was—"

"A waste of fucking—"

"Quinn!" Judy said again. "Stay in your corner and sulk until you've calmed down." She turned back to Leroy. "My daughter is like a child sometimes."

He laughed. "Rachel can be just the same."

"Hey, I'm right here."

Hiram squeezed her in for another hug and a kiss. "At least now we know what's going on, better than anxiously twiddling our thumbs."

"Should we get some food? Have you girls eaten?" Leroy asked.

The thought of food made her stomach rumble and wondering what Quinn was thinking, she glanced over and Quinn was still muttering to herself. She wondered what she could do to get her to stop arching her eyebrow and frowning, or get one side of her mouth to curl. She had a nicely shaped mouth, and even a lovelier smile.

"I haven't eaten," Rachel said. "I'm starving."

"Okay, we'll bring you back something."

By slow degrees, the world around her was flattening into two dimensions like the inside of a children's coloring book. Gradually, she too, began to drift, a searing thinness and a desperate panic, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of her body. Try as she might, she couldn't feel the weight of the disaster. The sound of Quinn's voice kept distracting her, lighthearted, simple, and luring her out of the darkness, away from the dour intonations of her blackout. Her eyes never strayed away from Quinn, as if her gaze were one strand in a fragile, delicate web whose slightest disruption would bring the world crashing down upon her.

Rachel leaned forward and grabbed onto her hand. She too was watching Rachel with apprehension, but after a moment she saw Quinn glance at the door as two or more people entered the room, then glanced back at her reluctantly, as if helpless, the beating of the heart monitor sounding in the distance. She kept spinning and gathering momentum, the centrifugal force won't allow her to stop. She can't stop. Now she can't see anything. She's tumbling, falling off the axis. She's spinning into that blackness again, unable to hold on, and then she heard Quinn say, Rachel I love you and she said I love too but whether it actually escaped her lips she couldn't be sure.

Out of the blackness came a vision of herself and Quinn walking around Colorado in search of a local bar, eating peanuts and playing closely matched games of pool through the late afternoon.

I don't think your grandmother likes me very much.

Of course she does, Quinn.

She has barely spoken a word to me.

She's just a bit grumpy because you keep interrupting me whenever I talk. She's like that, our grandmother.

I wouldn't be surprised if she objects to the wedding tomorrow.

She's not going to do that.

I said I wouldn't be surprised. I didn't say she's going to do it.

Can we go home now? I feel woozy from all that beer. Which was a bad idea on an empty stomach.

I haven't won a game yet.

Quinn, after ten games, if you weren't going to win the first three, you're never going to win.

Where'd you learn to play pool so well?

Just another one of Rachel Berry's hidden talents.

Is staying silent during sex number one of that list?

I find it extremely amusing that you can relate everything back to sex. I'm starting to believe you have a problem.

It's not a problem. It's just you.

Rachel won another game and frustrated, Quinn gave up, cutely pouting as they walked back to her grandmother's cabin in the evening light, woozy and affectionate from the beer. Watching Quinn through her family's eyes, Rachel felt proud of her; Quinn twinkled at her aunt, was girlish and funny with her cousins, seemed sincerely interested in her uncle's koi carp and talked about football as though she knew who was going to win the championship. Only her grandmother seemed skeptical of Quinn's appeal and sincerity. Divorced with two sons (one of them gay), resentful and perpetually exhausted in her old age, the poor woman was not in the mood for another gay wedding.

Their week in Colorado was a chance to hit two birds with one stone. No, she shouldn't use animals as a metaphor, that's inhumane. Banana? Hit two banana's with one stone. It was a chance for a holiday and in the process have a discreet wedding. Which they have both insisted was not really a wedding, more of an excuse for a party. They had a difficult time deciding where to have the wedding: Colorado or Columbus. Both places holding the most significance to them as Rachel was in Colorado and Quinn in Columbus the first time they had spoken through tumblr. It involved weeks and weeks of lists, pros and cons and most of all, arguments—

My grandmother's garden is bigger! My dads had their wedding there.

I haven't seen my grandmother in a year.

Don't use your neglect for your grandmother as an excuse, Quinn.

In the end, they drew up two contracts—

I, Rachel Berry, hereby grant Quinn Fabray permission to have a bachelorette party in exchange for a wedding in Colorado. Quinn shall not—1. Touch another woman (or man). 2. Get drunk to the point of unconsciousness. 3. Be home any later than 2 a.m (any time after that she will sleep on the couch for a week). 4. Do anything reckless involving Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman. 5. Look at another woman (or man) if they have less than five items of clothing.

I, Quinn Fabray, hereby grant Rachel Berry permission to have the wedding in Colorado in exchange for a bachelorette party. Rachel shall not—1. Call me every five minutes (I will call every two hours to let her know that I am very much still alive). 2. Sit at home and whine that she's not having any fun. 3. Wait up for me (if she so much as times me I swear to God she will be sleeping on the couch). 4. Watch Barbra Streisand movies to pass the time. 5. Bombard me with text messages (two every hour is the maximum).

As strange as it sounds, the contract was their biggest accomplishment to date. The fact that they could even agree to something as complicated as this was a huge accomplishment. When choices are reduced, you can really concentrate on one thing at a time. Too many choices had them going into a meltdown. And in Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray's world, two was more than they could deal with.

That night she got started on her vows. After reading Quinn's vague vows they agreed that it should be secular and not too sentimental. The idea of sitting face-to-face and composing promises to each other was almost too embarrassing. Rachel got set to work in earnest, typing up a structure, then switched the font from Courier to Ariel to New Times Roman and back again, changing it to italics to bold to underline and then deciding normal font would look best. She adjusted the paragraphs and margins so that it looked more substantial, and then she counted the words: My bride's speech to Quinn.

That was it. Five words. Twenty-two characters. Twenty-six with spaces. She had been sitting on the laptop for half an hour. The fact that Quinn was able to write more than she did horrified her more than the fact that for once in her life, she was at a loss for words.

Santana called me today.

Did she finally agree to not come to the wedding?

Rach, the only way she's not going to come is in your dreams.

My nightmares, you mean.

Anyway, she said that you registered for the gifts.

And—?

You registered for a million dollar Barbra Streisand statue—

Oh—

Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself—

It's a Barbra Streisand statue, Quinn! It would look great in the living room. Kind of like a, Hey, welcome to—

It was all you registered for!

You registered!

No, I didn't. That was your job!

What do you mean, my job? We were supposed to register for whatever we wanted separately.

That's not how it works, woman! It's one wedding, one registry.

So what? No gifts...?

No one is going to get us a million dollar statue.

I was hoping they would split the—

Are you really that dense, Rachel? We don't know any millionaires. Half of our friends don't even have proper jobs!

I told you we should've waited until they were more successful to have a wedding. Or at least when we make millionaire friends.

Should we cancel it?

Do you think we'll get the deposit back?

Probably not.

I guess you're stuck with me then.

I guess so.

Quinn Fabray is like a sinewy goddess. Every time Rachel is around her there's always a flickering and a sparkling that grows more intense, and even when they're apart she feels this force, a rush of vertigo, a luminous pull towards her. Quinn makes her feel breathless sensations just with her fingertips, every stroke of the palm of her hand on the nape of Rachel's neck, on her back, every hot-breathed kiss. You know, the sensations that you can't quite explain because there are no words to do it justice, since the sensations alone are so exquisite.

Quinn Fabray is anchored in the center of her heart.

January 26th, 2017: 4:05 p.m.

Jerry Springer was on television. It's a hypnotically bad show and Quinn can't seem to look away. A red-faced audience member stabs the air with her finger and shouts at a guest member, You're stuck on stupid, Victor, waiting to get dumber! Beside her, she heard Kurt trying to stifle a giggle. We all deal with things as best we can, and the best she can deal with things at the moment is through bad television. The television in one of the rooms is set to a documentary and Quinn watched the cuttlefish mate. Where do all the fish come from? In the split second of coupling, his body changes color from white or grey to a vivid pulsing crimson. She read the subtitles and the narrator is saying that this is so other males know what is taking place and keep away.

At any rate, despite how good documentaries can be, television is a hit or miss, not such a good thing when you're feeling depressed.

She misses Rachel: something as simple as her boiling a cup of tea.

She couldn't stop thinking about the image of Rachel going from full consciousness to full unconsciousness in the span of a minute. The moment Rachel's face paled and her head swirled back and forth lightly she knew what was about to happen. Rachel moaned a little, not out of pleasure, and then her head slumped forward so fast that her spine bounced twice in the reverberation. Her hair untied from the jolt and she ended up flopped back on the bed. They brought her into theater to do the procedure right away and it's now been exactly an hour and a half.

Quinn sat there trying to dissect her personality like dissecting a rat's organs. She shouldn't use animals as a metaphor, Rachel would not like that. A tomato? Tomatoes are complex, just like her. They have organs and seeds and divided into sections. She has been told that she has a very complicated personality, hard to read, emotionless. Finn Hudson even said to her at one point—Do you not feel anything, anymore?—that bastard. People develop a compelling curiosity about her plight, and each hangs around for a couple of weeks. Sooner rather than later they sense the inviolability of the wall that surrounds her, and then they leave. If they don't jump, she pushes them.

Then, there's Rachel. Adamant, stubborn, hopeful. She's got a fiery determination to never give up and that is the only reason their relationship has yet to dissolve all these years. Because of Rachel. Everything is because of Rachel and her damn perfect never-give-up personality. Their relationship could be summed up in that poem she read. She pushed—Rachel pulled. She wept—Rachel embraced. She bled—Rachel repaired. She faltered—Rachel shushed. She stopped—Rachel smiled.

Very quickly she began to understand the selfishness of her love and wondered why Rachel even stayed with her for so long. Everything she's done has mainly been for herself. The divorce, putting distance between them, the publicity stunt, ignoring all the signs of Rachel's health. All these years and she's still wrestling with her demons.

Quinn turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Kurt. "Let's go get something to eat. Your mom said you haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry. I'm just gonna wait." She answered dryly.

"Come on, Quinn," he stood, and Quinn nearly gawked at how transformed he seemed from his regular features, he looked like a happy child. "When Rachel's out from surgery your mom will call."

"I want to be here when she comes out."

Kurt's gaze closed, and while his smile remained, it had lost some of its warmth. "Quinn, you need to eat."

"I can't go out anyway," she said. "There's paparazzi everywhere."

"We'll go to the cafeteria."

For a moment, she focused on his chin and squelched an irrational urge to slap him. "Kurt, I really don't—"

"What's Rachel going to say when she finds out you haven't eaten all day?" He was hurt by the rejection.

"Oh yeah, use Rachel to get me to do things." This time, beneath the wry humor lurked a faint warning.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Quinn. You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself or you can come with me and eat while feeling sorry for yourself. At least you're not watching horrible television."

His relentless calm began to irritate her, largely because she was anything but calm. They stared at each other for a while, in a silent battle for something she didn't quite understand. When she spoke, she tried not to raise her voice, "Kurt, just leave me alone, okay? I don't want to go. I don't want to eat. I want to sit and wait."

"You're scared and feeling out of control, and you don't like it. I understand that." He hesitated, then gripped her shoulders with the tip of his fingers, as if afraid she was going to slap him if he pushed for deeper contact. "How is sitting here going to help with anything? You're worrying yourself into despair."

She stood up in an effort to redirect her restlessness and irritation. Kurt moved several steps away from her. "Fine. You're paying."

"Says the girl who's about to make millions." She heard him mumble before following him to the cafeteria.

Quinn wasn't much for hospital food. All this only reminded her of the horrible accident when all she ate for weeks was hospital food. It seemed as though she hasn't left the hospital since that fateful day. There was that same smell, the same noises from the monitors that kept her up at night, the same forlorn faces, the same conversations, the same chaos day in and day out: Nurse I need help I peed blood, nurse can you get me a bed pan, where's the doctor he said he was going to see me soon, can I use the phone to call my husband, I can't feel my legs, I think I'm having a heart attack.

Kurt did most of the talking while she sat and ate ash in the form of potatoes and chicken. Kurt told her that Rachel will get better soon. He said that once Rachel wakes up everyone will leave them alone and they can have some quality time together. He told her that Rachel will get through this because she's strong and she's got a lot of support. All this is just going to take some time. Time heals all wounds.

The funny thing with time is, it flows neither fast or slow in a landscape of pain, and there is never any way to prepare for the moment when your life shifts from comfort to discomfort. Someone once told her that, time is merely nature's way of making sure everything doesn't happen at once. Yet, if you had taken Rachel Berry to the carnival on that summer evening, watched the way her eyes lit up, alleviate her nerves after the rides, played the carny games and shot the ducks, won her a teddy bear which earned you a humongous hug, walked barefoot along the pier, hand in hand, took her home and snuggled in her arms, you would want it all to happen again and again, all the time, forever.

She knew clearly that when time is not right and there is nothing in the world she can do to push things; there is nothing for it but to sit through the discomfort, obeying a timetable not her own. And then it strikes her that patience is the most difficult thing in the world.

Quinn sighed, pushing the half-finished plate of food away from her. "This tastes horrible. I think you should get me something better."

"And how would I do that, Quinn? You're not allowed out of this hospital." He said, pointing the fork at her.

Maybe it was only the lingering film of tears, or her sudden weariness, but she thought she glimpsed a hint of sympathy in his eyes that, oddly enough, left her feeling safe and on solid ground for the first time that day. "Thanks," she said softly. "For being here."

"We're friends," he returned her smile. "Besides, we New Yorkers have to stick together." His phone buzzed and for a moment she thought it might be news about Rachel. A few seconds later he said, "It's Blaine. He's on his way."

"Oh, joy." She said sarcastically. "You're not going to act all gay in front of me as punishment for earlier, are you?"

"You and Rachel are gay enough for all of us."

When he asked whether anyone else knew they were in the hospital, she said she told Santana who in turn will have no doubt told Brittany and Puck, who will then have told everybody else. Then they spoke about the publicity stunt which proved to be a very delicate subject and it only raised her guilt levels. It was good to talk to someone. She told him about their arguments, how Rachel said she was obnoxious and arrogant and how Rachel wanted to break up with her. Kurt didn't judge, he didn't point out any flaws in the situation, he listened patiently, and then she ended up blurting out all her bottled-up feelings.

"I don't know why I agreed to do it in the first place. What the hell was I thinking? We have enough problems to deal with which have yet to be solved and I'm prancing my fake relationship in her face without any concern for her feelings. Of course she was going to agree to it—"

Blaine arrived and Quinn continued to talk.

"—Rachel's amazingly patient when it comes to my needs and extremely supportive. I mean, I'm always the one running away from my problems and she's there just waiting for me to cool down and come back to talk about it. Who does that, Kurt? Oh, hi Blaine when did you get here? After all these years I still don't understand why she puts up with me. I called her selfish after the divorce when in fact, I'm the selfish one for getting the divorce. What the hell was I even thinking? She needs me and I'm fucking running away from everything. Fuck, it took me a year to realize this."

Kurt and Blaine stared at her for a few minutes, completely shocked by her outburst and possibly scared of what she was going to do with her frustration. She hadn't wanted to burst like that. The moment she started she didn't know how to stop and she couldn't figure out a way to wiggle out of the motion, for once she couldn't stop her mouth from moving. It was as if she were standing outside her own body, watching in fascinated horror as she plunged toward a certain crash-and-burn.

All she had to do was shut her mouth and pretend she enjoyed Kurt and Blaine's company—which under any other circumstance she would—but the words wouldn't stop tumbling out. It was like in Mean Girls. What was that phrase? Word vomit. And what a horrible way to vomit it. Everyone was staring at her.

"I've never heard you talk so much, Quinn." Blaine said.

"She's been around Rachel too long. It was bound to catch on." Kurt said.

"Do you think she's calm enough now?" Blaine asked.

"I don't think so. Maybe another two minutes." Kurt answered.

"Should we comfort her or something?" Blaine asked.

"I feel like she's going to blow up again." Kurt replied.

"I'm sitting right now." She leaned back in her chair and examined her two casually smiling friends while she felt like crawling out of her own skin.

Kurt reached over to place his hand on hers. "She loves you. That's why she's stayed."

"She can do better." Hot with humiliation, Quinn stared at their joined hands.

"I think her wanting to break up with you must have triggered something," Kurt speculated. "She's never made a threat like that before, has she?"

"No," she said honestly. Her little adrenalin rush rapidly fading. Kurt's hand on hers was gentle. "It was always me." She caught his wary expression and added, "I don't mean I make threats to break up with her every week, geez. I'm just saying that this is the first time she's ever actually said it."

Blaine leaned his arms on the table. She caught a wisp of men's cologne and it hurt her nose. "You'll work this out. You always have."

She liked Blaine, she really did, but sometimes she wished he had better things to say rather than the obvious. Of course they were going to work it out, they were Quinn and Rachel. What she needed was advice. How to make it better. How to stop running. How to take away Rachel's pain. How to fight her demons. Where was Santana when she needed her? Talking to two gay men about lesbian problems is hopeless. They might be gay but they still function like men—emotions and all.

Saved by her phone, she answered it in one ring and was told by her mother Rachel's back in her room. They made their way up to the fourth floor. She saw Hiram pacing back and forth outside Rachel's room talking on his cell phone. When he saw them he waved and gestured it was safe to go inside.

Quinn lit up like a Christmas tree when Rachel smiled at her. It was Christmas in January for all she knew. She held Rachel tight in a hug, heat radiated towards her. Rachel's hair was wet, she must have taken a shower. She could feel Rachel's soft hospital gown against her skin, and the unmistakable daisy scent chased away all the hospital smell. She heard nothing but Rachel's breathing, felt nothing but heat. Her thoughts began to warp in that sensory delirium. The thought flickered through her mind that she wished she had a machine that could measure her skin temperature. What extraordinary level would it register?

She felt the bed railing between them. It was beginning to hurt her stomach muscles. A voice inside her said, Stop hugging and push the railing down. Clearly it would have been more comfortable, but sometimes comfort is not the point.

"Do they always hug for this long?" She heard Blaine's voice in the corner.

"You should've been here earlier. They were communicating with their fingers." Kurt said.

When she finally pulled back she saw the look of dreaming and surrender in Rachel's eyes.

With her body still close against Rachel's, she stared directly into her brown eyes, so close she could see the rim of black around her irises. "What did they say about the procedure? What did they do?"

"I was under anesthetic." She answered. "But he said if all goes well I can go home tomorrow."

"When did you have time to take a shower?" Quinn asked, examining her wet hair.

"I've been alone for half an hour. You all left me!" Rachel's eyes moved along her neck, and her hand beneath Quinn's went taut. She wondered whether Rachel was thinking something sexual.

Quinn tried to defend herself. "I didn't want to leave. Kurt made me leave—I thought your dads were staying."

"Nobody cares about me." Rachel said lightheartedly, slightly pouting.

"So first they hug for what seems like an hour, and then they ignore everyone else and have their own conversations?" Blaine asked Kurt, puzzled.

"Welcome to the Quinn and Rachel show."

"Blaine!" Grinning expectantly, Rachel got off the bed and hugged him. "I haven't seen you for—how long has it been?"

"Months!" His smile was just as wide.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Rachel," Kurt said, crossing his arms and pouting. "I'm just your best friend but my boyfriend deserves the first hug. That makes sense."

Rachel laughed and hugged him just as tightly. She held his face in her hands. "You look like you haven't slept."

"Worrying about you too much." He answered.

The doctor, whatever his name was, changed Rachel's medication to Fioricet. She described its effects like this—Not only do I feel sublimely good, but that I feel I can, methodically, and efficiently get all my tasks done. I can hear my thoughts again, I can focus on things and know what I'm supposed to do. I don't have the feeling as though I'm about to lose everything. On Valium, my consciousness was made heavy by exhaustion because Valium eased the pain, it didn't prevent the blackouts. My mind continued to feel cloudy at times. This just feels like—wow. I feel normal.

And that was that. Rachel finally got a diagnosis. It wasn't a brain tumor. It wasn't an aneurysm. There was no known cure but it wasn't deadly either. At least Quinn didn't view it as life threatening. This she could handle. She could make sure Rachel doesn't think too much about a photograph or a letter, she could tell Rachel the correct memory so she won't have to conjure one.

Life changing, as they say.

She needed to take stock of her life. She felt completely amazed by her sudden emptiness. But the good thing about emptiness is just how much space there is. So she made a decision to first and foremost protect Rachel within that space. She planned to get everything sorted out and organized. Clean. She could consolidate everything and be a normal person—as normal as normal would allow her to be. No more running. Time to battle her demons. Rachel's health is the first thing on her new plan; it was simple and non-problematic. If she has Rachel, she has a future. Rachel is her vision of the future.

Quinn was brought out of her thoughts when Mark appeared at the door. Not at all happy with his sudden appearance, she glanced down at Rachel who refused to meet her eyes and had now moved a few inches away from her.

"Oh my God," Kurt squealed. "You're—you're—Oh my God!"

"Alright, Kurt," Quinn said patting him on the shoulder. "Calm down, he's just a person."

Kurt ignored her and turned to Blaine. "That's Mark Morley! I can't believe I've completely forgotten we have a friend who knows him."

Blaine seemed so unsure of what to say he just nodded. Quinn told Rachel she'll be right back and headed out the door to meet him. She could hear Kurt continuing to ramble on in his star-stricken haze. She heard things like, he's so handsome, I wonder if Quinn will give me his number, do you think he could be gay, he looks a bit gay with his tight jeans and shirts that are a size too small.

"What do you want?" She asked him as soon as she closed the door.

"Whoa, okay, not happy to see me." He paused at the glare in her eyes and continued a moment later, "Well, I heard you were in hospital and you know, me being the boyfriend and all—"

"About that, that's over now." Number two on her new plan was to get rid of Mark. Well, technically the publicity stunt. Mark and the stunt just so happens to be a packaged deal.

Startled, he said, "We didn't agree on that."

Quinn briefly closed her eyes in frustration. "Mark, you're a great guy. If you look pass the arrogance and smugness, you're really nice, and I like hanging out with you, but it's uncomfortable because I know you want to sleep with me. And I'm just really gay and I love Rachel."

"And you decided this—what? Just now?"

"Today, actually. I've sort of had an epiphany."

Mark started to sit down, expecting her to do the same, but when she didn't, he straightened again, not sure what to do. The silence stretched on. Quinn knew she was being too forward. During their time together she never spoke about her emotions, or anything related to emotions. It was just work and the occasional friendly chatter. Being with him is just sadness. Being away from Rachel leaves her with a vast void, an emptiness, needing to be filled. And it's when she's back in Rachel's arms she feels complete.

She had to take stock of her life and get rid of all unnecessary baggage. "I'm sorry," she said. "Well, not really. But I mean, you know, I had fun."

"That's the most words you've ever spoken to me in a minute." He joked.

"That's been happening a lot today." She mumbled to herself, remembering the incident at the cafeteria.

His mouth flattened slightly and he nodded in understanding. "Have you called your publicist?"

She shook her head. "I'll probably do that tomorrow. Are there still paparazzi out there?"

"Yeah, they're lined up. It's crazy." He scratched the back of his neck. "Be careful out there, Quinn. I think you should call your manager before you go home so she can figure out a way to help you out."

She hugged him, her mother taught her that cruelty is inexcusable. Back inside, the look on Rachel's face, Quinn could see the sting. It was like Quinn had been hit with some sort of hard ornament: She could see it sail toward her. But she didn't flinch, didn't move. Then crunch. Her body catapults. And it shocked her almost into tears.

Her adrenalin had nowhere to go, so she sat beside Rachel and paid partial attention to the conversations around her, waiting for everyone to go home so they could be alone. She knew that she knows nothing of the future. All she knows is hope. When she looked at the present there's only Rachel, and it made her toes tingle and the smell of Rachel's fragrance made her feel that she can live once again. They're exactly where they're meant to be, in the right place at the right time.

Later, much later, the night shift nurse appeared at the door and informed them visiting hours were over. Their conversation just had to wait until tomorrow.

One by one each hugged and said goodbye to Rachel with her dads saying they'll visit her again tomorrow and that hopefully she'll feel well enough to be discharged. Judy was waiting for Quinn outside and they had about two minutes alone so she decided to make the best of those two minutes.

"Rach, there's a lot we need to talk about—"

"Yes, there is—"

"I've sort of had an epiphany today which I really want to tell—"

"I can't wait to hear it."

"But it has to wait so I'm just going to tell you I love you and kiss you for now."

And she did. Her thumb tracing along Rachel's cheek bones. Their kiss wasn't sleek and sophisticated, just a lot of heat and urgent need, like teenagers making out in the backseat. Not that it was any disappointment. Rachel's lips are addictive, she kissed like a dream, and right now Rachel's hand was sliding under her shirt finding the hot spots. Quinn pulled away instantly.

"Rach," she breathed out.

"Stay."

"I can't." Quinn placed light kisses on her neck.

"You stayed last time." Rachel said, holding onto the back of her head to keep her in place.

"I was a patient last time."

"Well then, faint."

She laughed. "I'm not going to do that."

A knock on the door interrupted them and the nurse said, "Visiting hours are over." She smiled sweetly with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. Quinn nodded in acquiescence and turned back to Rachel who said,

"Maybe you should flirt with her."

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously," her grin was wide. "She'll let you stay if you flirt with her. Maybe ask her out on a date."

"She's not even—"

"She is so gay, Quinn. The way she looked at you? Gay."

"Rachel, she's a professional. She's not—Don't give me that look—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Rachel crushed their lips together, completely arousing and her mind drifted into the familiar territory of seduction. Rachel knew exactly what to do with her tongue, it was silently pleading with Quinn to do as she asked. She was mindless of anything else but that tongue and those strokes and the way Rachel bit her bottom lip and pulled her closer until she had no choice but to put one knee on the bed and oh God Rachel's hand was under her shirt moving upwards to run her thumb along her nipple and she is just so whipped—

"Okay, fine, I'll go flirt with her." Quinn said, flushed and breathing heavily. "One condition—"

"I won't mention it again—"

"Never again."

Rachel had worked her up to a state of such arousal she had to take a minute or two to calm down. She was shocked to see everyone waiting for her once she opened the door. There was a knowing look and she blushed from their intense stares. She told them that she planned to stay and wait for her manager in order to escape the paparazzi outside, Judy argued that they could help her escape and she argued that she'd rather wait for professional bodyguards and they stood there arguing until Judy saw a glint in Quinn's eyes and smiled mischievously. Great, now her mother knows she's up to something.

"Behave yourself, Quinn." Judy said, kissed her on the cheek and left with the Berrys, Kurt and Blaine.

The nurse—her name tag said, Registered Nurse, Amanda Childs—stared at her from behind the reception desk. She didn't look away when Quinn met her gaze. She was pretty, tall, pale, black hair, black eyes, though she seemed about thirty. They smiled at each other. She was reading a book called The Snow Leopard, and that was reason enough to start talking.

"That's a great book." Quinn started. How the hell do you even flirt?

She studied the cover. "Just started. Care you tell me what happens?"

Quinn shivered from her seductive tone. Nowhere near the same way Rachel makes her shiver. This one was more like a lightning bolt. "So, Amanda, I was wondering if—"

"Dinner?"

Wow, okay, we're already not compatible because you can't do that thing Rachel does where she finishes my sentences correctly. "I was actually wondering if it'll be okay for me to stay the night." She imagined she was talking to Rachel and dazzled a smile.

It seemed to have done the trick. Amanda perked in her position. "Miss Fabray, I really can't do that."

"You can call me Quinn. That makes me sound old."

"I'm sorry, Quinn. If I allow you to do that then I have to allow every other family member to."

Quinn went in for the kill, she didn't want to drag it out any longer. This was hopeless and she had a perfect girlfriend waiting for her. "How about if I take you out to dinner?"

"You're serious?"

"Of course."

"But it's in exchange for letting you stay the night?"

"Well—"

"I really can't do that, Quinn. It's a policy in every hospital."

This woman was a hard nut to crack. She decided to give up. It just felt awkward. "You know what, I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have asked. It's your job and I know it's a policy."

Satisfied with her apology, she moved away but Amanda grabbed onto her wrist. She walked around the desk, stepping into Quinn's personal space and whispered, "My manager is in the room behind me." Amanda slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "Don't leave the room until tomorrow morning and lock the door."

Quinn discreetly cleared her throat so Amanda could release her hand. She smiled ruefully and stepped back. "Call me." Before Quinn had a chance to register what had just happened, she spoke again, "Are you and Rachel..."

How to answer this question? "Oh, um... we're—"

"I shouldn't have asked. I read about your divorce. It's good to know that you've maintained a friendship, although kind of weird that you're still so close."

Yeah, weird. She preferred one of a kind.

She felt like cheering but it stayed inside. It was time for the decorum and she lingered her hand on Amanda's shoulder as a way of flirting (that's part of flirting, right?), said thank you and left at a moderate pace, but with a spring in her step. Rachel looked up with a hopeful smile when she came in.

"How'd it go?"

She tried to play a little joke. She pulled a sad face and shook her head. "I can't stay." But a smile broke out on her before she could even finish saying the words. She held up the piece of paper, "Just joking. She gave me her number."

Rachel grabbed it out of her hand in quick speed and tore it up. "You won't be needing that." She squealed and put her arms around Quinn's neck. "I can't believe it worked."

"What? You had no faith in me?"

"I didn't think you still had it in you." She laughed at the faint frown on Quinn's face, then got on her tip toes to plant a kiss on her forehead. "You really need to shower, Quinn."

She had another epiphany in the shower. The color all around was silver, the temperature was close to scalding. The noise was deafening but cleared her mind. The thing is, running makes her feel on top of the world. She's always wanted—no, needed—control. When events slow down and the emotional stuff happens, it makes her angry and confused and nothing is right.

She's heard that this is called denial. It makes sense. The brain shuts down at times of true crisis, and nothing but the locus of hilarity (or is it hysteria?) is active. Nothing could've stopped her, not even the depression and the confusion hovering off-screen, back in New York where Rachel was. She went to L.A and then further north and around the world. She plunged herself into her career and worked hard to expand it as if it offered greater absences from life. She delved into a relationship with Mark knowing clearly the problems it would cause. The explosion and disintegration of her relationship with Rachel was briefly tempered by the alien hypnosis of admiration from another.

Nothing at all seemed strange during this time. Since everything was new, everything seemed correct.

When she came out, Rachel was smiling at her from the bed. It was as if the very color that came into her cheeks was flooding into her soul as well. "You can wear that if you want," she said pointing to the pajamas she laid out for Quinn. "Or you could sleep naked."

She went for the former. They needed to talk. When she got on the bed, Rachel laughed a low, easy sound that sent goosebumps rippling all over her. She slid one arm under Rachel's neck and her breath caught briefly. She was fighting the urge to not explore Rachel's body—even after five years, she still can't get enough.

"I've been thinking," Rachel said, in a low, chirpy tone. "We should see a therapist."

"Like a relationship therapist?"

Rachel nodded after glancing at the ceiling and back to her again. "After the accident we never worked through our problems. We were apart for a long time, and when we saw each other again and sparks flew we picked up from there. We suppressed a lot of issues."

"I know." Quinn said, her voice sharper than she had meant it to be. "We'll do therapy then."

A look of surprise crossed her face and then she gave a philosophical shrug. "That must have been some epiphany, Quinn. I thought I would've had to twist your arm to agree with me."

Quinn missed Rachel's energy and quick smile, those expressive eyes and her blunt honesty. It still surprised her how easy and comfortable she felt in Rachel's arms after all they've been through, all the tension and arguments. So comfortable and easy her guard slips every time. Rachel makes her think, and for her—a doer not a thinker—sometimes it wasn't always a good thing. Because right now she's thinking of all the guilt and problems she's caused due to her selfishness.

Taking in a deep breath to clear her head, she said, "Rach, I'll do anything, okay. I'm so sorry for everything. I'll stop running. I'm not going anywhere, anymore. Ever. So you're basically stuck with me for the rest of your life and I'm going to follow you everywhere like really everywhere and just never leave your side."

They stared at one another. Quinn searched Rachel's face for emotions and she only sensed a playful gleam in her eyes. Quinn pulled her closer and said, "I mean it, Rach. It's been a year and it's the worst year ever. We've never been this out of sync. Back then we were apart but we understood each other and talked and laughed. I miss that. I miss you. And I'll work through our issues any way to get it back."

"You know, Quinn," Rachel said with a wicked grin. "It took you a whole year to talk about your emotions. I've never heard you talk—"

"Alright, I get it. Today I've just been like a talking machine. Why does everyone have to point it out?" She said without menace, but it was quiet and serious. While Quinn could accept her mistakes and failures, she absolutely loathed regrets. Losing Rachel would be a regret she'll never recover from. "Rachel, I can't lose you. Kurt cleverly pointed out today that you wanting to break up with me hit a nerve and he's right in every way."

Rachel gave her a speculative glance, part curiosity, part understanding. A scant second later, Rachel's gaze slowly tracked downward over Quinn's low neckline. She could almost imagine Rachel's fingers touching her with the same lingering slowness as her gaze, and she grew warm again under her scrutiny. Then, Rachel squeezed her arm. "We've both been really selfish. I didn't want to break up with you. It was a threat to get you to react in some way. And the fact that it has to lead to an argument and a break up for us to finally talk about our issues is a sign we need professional help."

Slowly, Rachel's words sank in and she relaxed into the mattress. "I wholeheartedly agree."

Rachel's hand lingered in her hair and then slid down to cup her cheek. "I wonder why that nurse agreed to go on a date with you. She must have read about Mark."

"She probably overheard our conversation." Seeing Rachel's confused expression, she said, "Oh, I called it off. I'm gonna call my publicist tomorrow and let him know."

"Oh, are you—"

"Yeah, I'm sure. The movie did great at the box office."

Silence, then Rachel gave a hearty laugh. "I'm still astonished the nurse let you stay. Was it too cruel of us? It's not like you're going to call her."

"I can't now since you tore up her number."

"I wonder why she even agreed."

"You think she's after my money?"

"I highly doubt it's your charm."

Quinn glanced at her and she knew they were thinking the same thing: they had a future. They were no longer in that dark unease of burnt-loyalties and remembrances of past things. There was a future beyond this hospital, a future full of recovery and hope, without the medication and most of all, without guilt. A future where they grew old together.

A slow smile curved her mouth. "I charmed you into marrying me, didn't I?"

"Hardly, Quinn," her eyes laughing. "You must have put me under some spell."

"Hocus pocuses are your specialty. I'm just skilled in the art of seducing Rachel Berry."

Rachel stared at her dreamily, grinning. They lay there sprawled together. The light from the moon poured through the venetian blinds and Rachel's head shimmered and disappeared in the glow. The room seemed alive. She felt suspended in time, almost content.

"Quinn, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Did we have sex on top of a hill?"

Quinn turned to face her, twirling her hair. "You remembered that?"

"Whenever I have a blackout I get random memories. Today it's been the days leading up to our wedding." Rachel's blush was visible in the dim light, and meeting her eyes, memories of the penis drawing on the stone came rushing back to her. She tried not to laugh but failed miserably. Rachel's eyes narrowed, "Why are you laughing?"

Rachel's face went serious and stern and Quinn's inner alarm went off and she stopped laughing just as quickly as it started. "I was just thinking about the penis drawing."

"Was that what set it off?" Rachel murmured.

"Set what off?"

"Your hormones. Seeing the penis."

"No!" She squealed. She didn't like the way her voice went a little high.

"How am I supposed to know? We were talking and the next minute you devoured me."

"I'll devour you right now."

"Is there any place your willing to not have sex?"

As Rachel spoke, her breath stirred the hair over her ear, and it was all she could do to not shiver. Against the satin of her nightshirt, her nipples tightened with an almost painful ache of need. She was suddenly very aware there were less than two items of clothing between them.

"I have yet to discover any place not worth trying." Then she leaned in and kissed her.

Rachel returned the kiss. She slid her hand across Rachel's waist and up her broad back, snapping her bra open, delighting in the play of her muscles. Rachel flinched for a millisecond and resumed kissing her. When she felt Rachel's tongue, she sighed, tasting in her hot warmth. Quinn shifted on top of her and had expected a protest. When non was forthcoming, she moved down to suck on the delicate spot beneath Rachel's ear, biting and nibbling on it. She stopped when Rachel let out a loud moan.

"You have to be quiet, Rach, or I'm going to put a sock in your mouth."

"Are you going to tie me up and spank me in the process too?"

"We tried that a few times, you know. You enjoyed it."

Rachel opened her mouth in surprise and Quinn captured her lips. She took her time, reveled in the luxury of Rachel's body, being reminded of the first time they had seen each other naked and how she felt when their naked bodies came together, the way her heart beat seemed to stop and start again every few seconds.

Under her fingers she could feel the play of Rachel's muscles as she moved and the way Rachel's hand was warm, scratching her own skin. She loved the scent of her, the lingering daisies, the faint tang of perspiration. It smelled so earthy and so Rachel and so arousing, and she had to stop for a brief moment to take a deep breath before sliding her hand through the fabric of Rachel's underwear. She was never one for damaging items of underwear, for being irresponsible with clothes, so she forced herself to pull apart for a few seconds until they were both naked.

Quinn's eyes never strayed away from Rachel's. She watched the brown orbs turn grey and wet, mouths close, breaths heaving. Rachel scratched Quinn's back hard, then squeezed and then her thighs shivered and she shuddered a few times. Her jaw unclenched. Quinn came a few seconds afterwards. She had no idea what state she was in except it was exhilarating. She untensed and fell beside Rachel. They lay like a statue, hardly breathing. Quinn felt like she was in a trance.

Completely immobilized and out of breath, Rachel said,

"I love you a lot."

"Is that all?" Quinn said, with the little strength she had left. "I really love you."

"No, 'really' and 'a lot' mean the same thing. I just said 'I love you a lot', that means 'I really love you'."

"Okay then," Quinn smiled. "In that case, I guess I really, really love you."

Rachel chuckled, placing one last kiss to her lips before closing her eyes. Quinn did the same and fell asleep with the feel of Rachel's breath on her shoulder.

A strip club appeared before her. Tiffany's Dolls, the sign said. A naked woman flowed across the runway. She was wearing a bedsheet. The sheet blew all around her like a sail. Where was she? New York. Tiffany's Dolls. Strip club. The things that visit her when she closed her eyes.

The strip club was pure money but no product, nothing was manufactured there but hope. Or rather, hope becoming desire, desire becoming yearning, yearning becoming this desperate, this desperate... She remembered the spangled patterns, the warmth of the vodka down her throat, Puck giving her money, Santana cheering at the women that walked pass, Brittany cheering just as loud. The windows were black. She was somehow lost in all the light. She kept looking at the time. She kept checking her phone for text messages and missed calls. At 10:00 p.m. she called Rachel.

Are you drunk yet?

I miss you. What are you doing?

Nothing.

Nothing? I don't think it's fair that I'm out and you're home. I think I'm going to—

Quinn, stay out. Enjoy it—

But I'm not—Rach, the contract was stupid. This kind of makes me uncomfortable.

All those naked women making you uncomfortable?

They're not you.

Baby, enjoy it okay. I'm fine at home, honestly. I'm going to take a bath and then I have to read over the script changes for Avenue Q.

You're not lying, right? About not having fun?

No, Quinn, I'm not lying. This is your last chance at independence. We're getting married in two weeks and then you're stuck with me for life. Enjoy it. I love you.

Quinn spent most of the night admiring Brittany and Santana's relationship, how they were so effortlessly comfortable with one another touching another woman. If Rachel was touching another woman the way Santana was touching the woman in front of her, Quinn would no doubt have snapped. And she couldn't enjoy the night the way her friends were. Puck seemed content watching the strippers modelling in front of them, sitting back in his seat acting completely at home, putting a few dollar bills in their bras and underwear.

She had never realized how alert people were at midnight, and yet she felt flat. She figured once she had a bit of alcohol in her she would have fun, but of course when your mind is elsewhere and you only want to see a 5'2" brunette naked, you tend to skip the drunk part and go straight to unhinged. It was loud and crowded. She could feel the future exploding upon her. Nothing mattered. She left her friends and went home at 12:30 a.m.

Quinn, you're home early!

It was boring.

Were you even trying to have fun?

I don't know how you can try to have fun when you don't feel like having fun.

Where's everyone?

I left them there—

That's irresponsible—

They can take care of themselves.

Now that you've had the experience of a strip club, I think it should be my turn when I turn twenty-one, don't you think?

No.

You got the chance—

Santana made me—

She did not hold a gun to your head.

Santana and a gun are one and the same, Rach. She could shoot you without any warning.

It's still unfair that you have all the fun.

When you turn twenty-one I'll strip for you. How's that?

Why don't you strip for me now?

In Rachel's arms, life had a purpose again. There was a crispness to existence. Life seemed to unfold around her, spending time with Rachel drove her near crazy. Every minute was delicious. Another way of putting it is that she's merrily, merrily, in the heartfelt embrace of inert splendor.

Rachel Berry makes the frenzied patterns of the blood vessels in the center of her heart dance.

---

Note: Rachel's condition is not real. I Googled fancy words and made it up. Whether it actually exists or not I have no idea. Again, thanks for all the reviews and all that stuff! You're all awesome. :)