Rachel realized the moment had arrived as Quinn stood up, quietly announcing that she's going to find a room and drop her stuff off, leaving Jed and Rory talking to Chevy about Afognak and fishing.

She followed Quinn out of the dining hall, tentatively at first but gaining momentum as she went, chasing after Quinn while half lost in memories of the times she'd done it Before in the halls of McKinley. This time Quinn isn't wearing a uniform and Rachel isn't intent on arguing with her about Finn or Glee, but it's familiar just the same.

She should have stayed behind. Should have learned everything she could about their destination. How long would it take them to get there? Would they have to stop to refuel and how they would even manage that? Maybe she should have checked on the others, made sure they were settling in alright. Definitely should have checked on Skyler.

Should have, could have, would have. At this point the only thing she knows for sure is that she doesn't want to be doing that dance with Quinn. The one person in the world that's… well she can't really sum that up either.

Always - always with Quinn. Something - someone - she can't define or figure out despite numerous attempts. More than once with the help of a therapist.

Her journals, long lost, were full of scrawled hypotheses: Quinn had anger issues stemming from a life in a gilded cage, Quinn had postpartum depression, Quinn was lonely and needed a friend... The lists went on and on, some crossed out, and others circled. Some had a star next to them.

Rachel shook her head and rolled her eyes thinking about her teenage self. She'd thought her obsession with solving the riddle of Quinn Fabray came only from wanting to know what Finn liked about her; if she could figure it out then she could copy without jeopardizing herself and the boy would fall at her feet.

Now she knew why her therapist had given her such a shrewd look over the top of her glasses when Rachel had shown her the "research".

What she wanted to do was so different from what teenage Rachel would have attempted. Perhaps just as blunt but… not. She didn't want to scare Quinn or drive her away, or even get a simple answer. What she wanted was an indication that she - that they - were on the path to an understanding.

She didn't even have her thoughts organized entirely - no pre-planned speech or lecture. It was dangerous to leave it that way. She knew how she could get if she just spoke her mind. But at least there weren't any slushies around. And she doubted Quinn would slap her.

Well, she hoped Quinn wouldn't slap her.

The things that Rachel had on her mind had been brewing since the night Ethan died; she wasn't sure what Quinn's reaction would be, but she had to voice them. That much hadn't changed.

She had to voice them before they boiled over and she said them in front of an audience.

Quinn seemed to know that she was being followed - of course she would. Just because they were "safe" didn't mean anyone should or would be letting their guards down. Rachel smiled every time Quinn glanced back her way, making sure to drift from one side of the hall to the other so she was never in the same place, or in the expected place. At one point she was sure she'd heard a muffled chuckle.

Quinn stopped on the upper deck at the door just before the Captain's Quarters, leaned her forehead against the metal and letting the mangled drab green pack that hung from her shoulder slip down, clinging to the crook of her elbow. She sighed, knocking her head lightly on the door with a metallic thud that made Rachel wince.

She didn't say anything, instead leaning back against the far wall, arms crossed under her breasts, watching Quinn's back move as she breathed. Patience wasn't her favorite virtue, but she didn't want to be having the conversation in the hall either, something Quinn seemed to realize after a few minutes. She didn't look back as she opened the door, leaving it open as she went into the small room.

Rachel followed her in after a second, closing the door behind her. Turning around, she leaned back again, fumbling for and sliding the lock in place. Quinn jumped at the sound and let out a grunt, dropping her pack onto the double bed.

The room looked just like all the others. There was a bed - a simple mattress with all the linens neatly folded at the foot and two pillows stripped bare. A small couch took up the rest of the wall, a card table bolted to the floor in front of it. A desk was similarly bolted down on the shorter wall right up against a light colored wooden wardrobe. One plastic door took up the other wall leading to the tiny bathroom. All of the fabric in the cabin was a rich navy blue, and Rachel couldn't decide if that was because they were on the ocean or if it was because the color was thought to be soothing.

She didn't feel all that soothed. Not at all.

Quinn patted at her thighs and turned, eyes trained on the blue linoleum floor.

Actually, there was probably way too much blue going on.

Rachel licked at her lips, pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin. It was time. Things had to be said before they exploded. Before she exploded, at least, which was why they needed to talk in the first place. She desperately needed to be on the same page - in the same book - as Quinn. That would only be accomplished with words.

It was the least painful way she could think of.

Something was sitting just below the surface with them as it always had been. It felt large but not ominous in any way and Before Rachel had wanted to know what it was, what the ticking time bomb she could almost hear in every conversation and every look they'd shared was. The numbers continued to tick down and now, standing in a locked room facing a very timid looking Quinn, it seemed like maybe the timer had finally hit zero.

Or maybe it was just, at least, infinitesimally closer.

"We need to talk, and I don't mean about earlier." She watched closely as Quinn slumped, fingers picking at the torn edge of her shirt. The light spilling in from the small porthole window brought out the brightness of Quinn's sun bleached hair and highlighted the dirt trapped in the creases on her face. She looked tired, so achingly tired and filthy and somehow, while Rachel thought she should look older, she looked so young in her tattered Guns 'n Roses raglan and distressed skinny jeans. They were all tired, had been tired for days upon days. Years. It had become so normal that she'd forgotten that it wasn't normal. In the new light and new environment it hit her all over again. They'd been too close to death for far too long that she wanted - needed - to put the life back in Quinn. Back in all of them.

"Quinn, please look at me."

Quinn did as told and Rachel bit into her bottom lip until she tasted blood. Those hazel eyes were bloodshot and looked at her seriously and with so much uncertainty in her full expression.

"I know," Quinn said and stopped fidgeting with her shirt. "We do need to talk."

Rachel stepped closer to her, shaking fingers uncurling and reaching out. She shook her head and redirected her hands, one to rub at the back of her neck and the other to scratch below her collarbone.

Too much. Too fast. Too soon.

She thought it even as the shakes intensified, traveling from her fingers down her arms and through her body. Her knees wobbled and her lip trembled; what she was about to do would either send them further down the track to healing or it would ruin everything.

"I want you to touch me," she whispered, throat too tight for her to say it full voice.

"W-what?" Quinn's eyes went wide for a second, and she turned her head the slightest bit away. "Why?"

"Please." Rachel reached out and grasped Quinn's wrist gently. She was careful and slow, watching Quinn's face the whole time to see the way her brow furrowed, the way her lips parted the barest inch to draw in more air. How her eyes started to shine in the light of the setting sun with tears that wouldn't be shed. "It's okay."

"It's not," Quinn said roughly, not resisting when Rachel pulled her hand over and set it on her hip. "Rachel - I'm - I can't let…"

Rachel slid her palm down and held Quinn's hand against her skin, keeping both of them still and anchored in the moment together with just the touch. No more drifting, not if Quinn would accept it. She could feel her twitching, the tendons in her hand moving as fingers started to hold Rachel in turn.

"I'm here," Rachel said softly, determined to get her point across but afraid of spooking Quinn by speaking too assuredly all the same. They had to do this together.

"Quinn, I'm here and I'm alive and I'm not leaving. I need you... I need you to be here with me. You can touch me; I'm not going to disappear. Or break."

"You could die." Quinn shook her head, voice wobbling. "You're the only person in the world that I know that's left, and you could die and I'm afraid of- It's so lonely. I can't…"

It felt to Rachel like her heart stopped as she waited for Quinn to choose. She had to make the choice, Rachel had done what she could.

Fear was plain in Quinn's expression, in the way her breathing had sped up, coming out ragged and pained. She whimpered and then her other hand reached and joined it's twin on Rachel's other hip.

Sensing a stall, Rachel decided to push just a little harder. "People die, Quinn. But that's not a good enough excuse, for either of us. I don't know what this is either, but I want…" she trailed off, searching for the right words. "We can't be afraid of something that could be when we need this. I will not let my fear keep me from trying to figure this out." Rachel looked down and covered Quinn's other hand, squeezing both and letting out a sigh. "Stop running from me, okay? Whatever else is going on with the world with all these people, I know you. I know you and you know me and that's not something we get to be afraid of. I don't need you to prove to me that you're tough or untouchable or unlovable or whatever else it is you're carrying around. It's not your fault. Stop punishing yourself and look at us - look at me. Look where we are. We're alive and that's okay. You don't need to feel the guilt anymore than I do. I need you," she admitted, ducking her head, blush burning her cheeks, and peeked up through her bangs to see Quinn staring at her. "And I think you need me, too."

She took a deep breath and held it as something flickered in Quinn's eyes. A flash of recognition, perhaps. Recognition of a need that they'd both been trying to push to the side. Now she'd given voice to it and it appeared that neither of them would be getting to hide from it any longer.

Or maybe they would. It all depended on Quinn. Rachel was ready for either decision, she just wanted it to be made.

"What does that mean?" Quinn asked on a shaky exhale.

"It doesn't have to mean anything more than what we want it to," Rachel said gently. "It means whatever we say it means."

"I don't - I can't deal with more. It would be my fault when-" Quinn cut herself off, huffing out a breath and running a hand through her hair. "I don't know anything except running anymore, Rachel. I don't know how to do this, how to trust you more than I already do. I trust you more than anyone still living right now, but I don't think I could let go of you and I don't understand it." Quinn swallowed and flexed her hands, fingers dragging against soft skin. "I don't know what to do. Running sounds really good."

Rachel shook her head and blinked back a fresh rush of hot tears. "You trust me because you know me, Quinn. You know me and I know you. More than anyone else in this whole group. Maybe in the whole world. We know each other. That's why you trust me - because you know me."

Quinn smiled lopsidedly, huffed a quiet rueful laugh, and pulled. Rachel shuffled forward obediently, closing her eyes when she was folded into a tentative, but warm, hug. "I know you," Quinn whispered. "Your dramatics and your speeches and that crazy tenacity..."

"You don't have to run anymore. Not from me," Rachel told her, tucking her nose into the crook of Quinn's neck. "We're not done, but this is enough. For now. We'll work on this together, alright?"

Quinn nodded, her cheek rubbing against the side of Rachel's head. "Okay."

Internally, Rachel wanted to shout and do backflips or something equally celebratory. The overwhelming feeling of joy and rightness - of success - was filling her with an energy she hadn't felt in years. She clung to Quinn for as long as she would allow and when Quinn started to pull back she didn't fight her. Smiling, she touched her fingers to Quinn's chin and thought about high school for a second. About all those times she'd wanted to hug Quinn just so she would know she wasn't so terribly alone - and now she finally had.

It felt just as good as she'd imagined it would.

"Two dramatic, broken, messed-up women trying to figure each other out. This could be fun," she said with a laugh.

"What could possibly go wrong?" Quinn wondered, and tugged a lock of Rachel's hair.

That night, the first night in their new "home," Quinn laid wide awake in her bed. An actual bed that was soft and had sheets, blankets, and small lumpy pillows. The sensation wasn't new but it might as well have been after so long.

As the ship rocked gently from side to side she could hear the waves lapping at the sides and the wind whispering past the port hole. Beside her Rachel was silent, lying curled up with her back to Quinn. Apparently they didn't need to talk about it, because Rachel made herself right at home stripping off her shoes and jeans before crawling under the blankets. It reminded Quinn of high school Rachel. She'd cracked a small smile, watching Rachel squirm for a moment, grunt once, then sigh - most likely in bliss at having a long lost comfort returned.

But Quinn couldn't sleep, not yet. She didn't think Rachel was asleep either but she was too tired to attempt conversation and too awake to close her eyes.

The rocking of the ship was soothing in a distant sort of way, though it messed with her equilibrium. She thought that might be what was keeping her awake - the new environment, action of the past few days, and all the other things combining to make a thick mess of thoughts and feelings for her to try and process all at once.

She laid on her back and thought of Rachel's words earlier, feeling a strong surge of fondness. Smiling up at the ceiling, her thoughts wandered again. From tan skin, dark hair, and brown eyes that had become so serious to pale skin, blonde curls, and blue eyes.

It was strange to think of Becca, but Quinn couldn't help herself. The ache in her chest came back, and with it a phantom pang low in her belly.

She'd gone to see Becca earlier, as she'd promised. Found the little girl in a corner of one the conference rooms scribbling with some broken crayon pieces on the back of an old itinerary.

It appeared that Luz, ever the go getter, hadn't wasted any time getting to work. The conference room had been stripped of furniture, save for a couch. Mattresses had been set up on the floor and the children seemed content, making their beds and chatting with one another. The younger ones had been paired up with an older child to help with adapting and hopefully keep them from experiencing any more trauma than necessary.

Becca had lit up at the sight of Quinn, happily shouting her name and toddling over on wobbly legs to present her a picture.

Another pang of loss, this time chased with guilt but also accompanied by a small flutter of hope, ran through her: Becca had scribbled a picture of two stick figures. Both had yellow hair, but one was smaller and "holding the hand" of the other. The taller one held a black brick shape in its other "hand."

"That's me, and that's you," Becca had explained, bouncing on the toes of her destroyed shoes.

Rachel hadn't said anything then either. When Quinn came back to what she supposed had become "their" room clutching the picture and near hyperventilating, she'd simply smiled, taken hold of Quinn's wrist, and dragged her over to the wardrobe, her thumb rubbing smooth little circles against her pulse the whole time. Where she'd found duct-tape Quinn couldn't fathom, but something had simultaneously broken and filled in when Rachel taped the picture to one of the doors.

"You need to talk some more?" Rachel asked groggily.

Quinn shook her head and then turned over onto her side, unsurprised to find Rachel had rolled over and was staring at her. Reaching out, she took Quinn's wrist again.

"... Do you want me to go?"

"No. I don't think I could sleep if you were somewhere else; I'd worry. I'm just processing."

Rachel hummed a low note and awkwardly reached her other hand to touch her fingers between Quinn's eyebrows. "You need to sleep, Hollywood. Give that big brain a rest."

"What if I - what if I don't wake up?"

"You will. I'll wake you up."

"When?" Quinn licked at her lips and leaned into Rachel's exploring fingertips. "How will you know when to wake me up?"

"Internal alarm clock paired with an inability to sleep as heavily as I used to," Rachel replied. The sheets rustled noisily as she squirmed closer. "Plus… while I admit that the idea of waking up someplace that isn't inside the Bronco is exciting, it's only almost as exciting as waking up to see you here."

"What if you don't wake up?" Quinn whispered.

"Quinn."

"I know, we talked about this. I'm sorry."

Rachel made an odd sort of noise that Quinn couldn't quite place. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust that I'll be here to wake you up and that we're going to have an adventure tomorrow. One that won't involve the bad things we dream about." Her thumb moved in a couple of lazy circles, and Quinn resisted sagging further into the touch. "I'm really hoping that - that this place will mean happier things to dream about."

"The island?" Quinn sucked in a deep breath and pulled her wrist away. She hurried to grab Rachel's hand before Rachel could think she was rejecting her offer of comfort, tangling their fingers together. "I'm trying not to make comparisons to a certain zombie film."

"I really hate that word."

"Are you about to make another movie reference? Be still my beating black heart."

Rachel snorted and squeezed Quinn's fingers. "Stop it."

"Not the slightest bit sorry."

"Do you think you can sleep?"

Quinn groaned. "Well now that I'm thinking about Milla Jovovich..."

"Oy vey," Rachel laughed, charming in a sleepy sort of way. "What am I going to do with you?"

Shaking her head, Quinn smiled and pulled their hands up to rest in the valley between the pillows. "I - I have an idea."

Rachel froze and when she spoke her voice took on a timid tone. "Oh?"

"Will - could you stay awake with me? Until I can fall asleep?"

"Yes, yes of course I can." Rachel sighed and slid her head over on her pillow until her cheek was resting on the back of Quinn's hand. "We can talk more, too, if you need to. Whatever you need."

"You're too nice to me." Quinn huffed a mirthless laugh and tried to quiet her body down. The raw current of their contact had her stiffening, ready to leap off the mattress and flee. She couldn't though. Even if she hadn't voiced it, she'd made a silent promise that she would try for Rachel. It seemed the least she could do. Combating her cowardice when Rachel was trying so hard to be brave for both of them. She could do that.

She would be brave.

Not just for Rachel.

For herself.

TBC...