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Rachel spends the rest of the night trying to do anything but think. She remembers hearing the oven beep, the sound of the door closing, muffled voices. It doesn't really register as she stares out the window, ignoring the slight sucking sound she thinks her chest is making.

She does recall Puck staring up at her dark window, his face too small to make out what he's thinking. His car starts and then he drives away, far away from her and this sadness she thinks he must now realize is always hovering around her like a storm cloud in those cartoons she had watched as a child.

Rachel doesn't know whether she's angrier or just…she doesn't know how she feels about Puck pushing her, just pushing her, to finally admit out loud what everyone's been afraid to ask her about. She concedes that he probably didn't think that she would have dropped something like that on him.

In the end she ignores the tentative knock on her door, ignores the rumbling of her stomach as she scrolls through her Ipod and pops in a earbud. Soon the dulcet tones of Dan Mason and the rest of the team fill her ears. Jeremy had adored this podcast and maybe this was her way of keeping him close to her, a small gesture that brings her comfort. She eventually finds sleep hearing Jon Carter lament about Arsenal's lack of depth, one hand fisted into her pillow.

The next morning Rachel leaves the room when she knows Mike and Matt have left for work. She cracks open the door slowly, darts her eyes back and forth and holds her breath. There isn't a sound so she treks towards the kitchen, opens the fridge to see a healthy portion of last night's dinner still in the pan.

Puck must have left without eating.

Rachel closes the fridge and opens the freezer, grabbing the tub of sweet corn ice-cream she had managed to procure from a local Asian grocer. It was another small gesture, much like the podcast. Digging her spoon into the dessert, she slumps down into the couch and flicks on the television. She finds a repeat of Never Been Kissed and decides that she's going to watch some other woman find her prince. There was no reason for someone else not to be happy after all.

Drew Barrymore is just about to confess her true identity when the doorbell rings. The decent sized tub of ice-cream is almost half consumed. Rachel licks the spoon and doesn't know whether to get the door or not. It was probably Puck. The person at the door is leaning against the buzzer now and Rachel thinks that Puck is probably just as stubborn as she is. Dropping the spoon into the plastic container, she peers through the peephole and is surprised to see the last person she expected on the other side.

'Quinn?' Rachel takes in the blonde, her eyes wide. Quinn, on her part, brushes by Rachel breezily.

'You look like someone ran you over,' her friend remarks casually. Rachel sighs and closes the door.

'What are you doing here?' Rachel gets right to the point. Quinn regards her warily, as if she is a second away from loosing control of her composure. She's probably right. Rachel feels like her nerves have been stretched taunt and right now, she's just waiting for the ends to fray and unravel.

'I can't visit an old friend?'

'You heard about last night then,' Rachel tells her and Quinn's shoulders slump a tiny bit. The former Cheerio taps her fingers against the wooden island before answering.

'Puck called me at some ridiculous hour, slurring his words,' Quinn admits. 'I managed to get the gist.'

'Are you here to make sure I'm alright?' Rachel doesn't mean the slight bite to her words but Quinn seems affronted.

'I am actually. Is that such a hard thing to believe?'

'No,' Rachel breathes out, feeling tired. She looks up into Quinn's blue eyes and offers her a smile. 'I apologize. I'm just a little…' She trails off and her friend closes the distance between them, places a soft hand on Rachel's shoulder.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

Rachel's first instinct is to say no. She was just sick of people telling her that it was okay for her to pour her feelings out. It was cathartic, they'd say, it'll make you feel better. Rachel had never liked discussing her feelings much, her real feelings. She had no trouble making her opinion heard on anything music-related as her friends from Glee could attest. But while before in her early years she had spoke without a filter, Rachel had slowly reined in the tendency to spill her guts as Mike had often eloquently put it. Jeremy had commented once when they had first met, when they were both in that initial phase of friendship progressing into something more, that she was the kind of person that expected others to share themselves with her without reciprocating.

'Rach?' Quinn prompts and Rachel feels her control slipping. Mike and Matt were such guys but Quinn was here now, all feminine and maternal, and Rachel could feel her eyes starting to burn.

'I just…I don't know what to do Quinn,' she says and suddenly it's like a gate has been opened. The words come pouring out and the tears are finally letting themselves spill over onto her cheeks. 'He was supposed to be it. And it was just so easy with Jeremy. I felt at peace, like I'd finally found the person who fit.'

Quinn was guiding her towards the sofa, smoothing her hand down the length of her spine.

'We talked about getting married on the beach. Just a small thing, you know? Friends and family. He tried to persuade me that wearing his favourite pajamas was acceptable. And I told him I didn't care what he wore, so long as he was there with me.'

'Oh sweetie,' Quinn whispers and Rachel presses the palms of her hands into her eyes.

'Our first boy was going to be named Nathaniel. And if we had a girl she was going to be called Isabella. But I said that I would hyphenate my surname. Jeremy offered to take mine,' Rachel says wetly and there is a hitch in her breath as she laughs. Her breathing becomes heavier and now there is a tightening in her chest. This doesn't feel like before and Rachel sucks in air frantically, her stomach roiling around.

'Rachel? Rachel!' Quinn is yelling at her and Rachel wants to reply but can't. Her body feels numb and there is a sense of panic flooding through her veins. For some reason Quinn is asking her if she's alright and Rachel wonders why.

Vaguely she hears someone knocking at the door. Quinn flickers out of her vision and then comes back into her line of sight with a man.

'Shit. What the fuck is wrong with her?' A gruff voice demands.

'I have no idea. She was talking and then she started breathing and shaking,' Quinn tells him and Rachel wants to ask who this person is.

Warm, calloused fingers grip her arms and Rachel finds herself looking into a pair of hazel eyes. There are flecks of green interspersed throughout. For a moment everything slides out of focus and then she is looking into a pair of dark brown eyes with that familiar twinkle on the side.

'Remy?' She asks and hears Quinn gasp.

'When she'd start breathing funny?' The man asks. Rachel doesn't hear Quinn's answer, trying to decipher why Jeremy sounds so…rough.

'Berry. I need you to breathe for me okay? Slowly,' the man's voice was gentle and low. 'It'll make you feel better.'

The squeezing in her chest loosens and Rachel deems this stranger trustworthy, even if he isn't Jeremy.

'Now breathe in for about six seconds and then hold your breath for the same amount of time. Can you do that for me? That's it. That's my girl,' he coaxes and Rachel finds herself following what he tells her to do. She can feel her head start to feel heady and suddenly everything clicks back into focus. Rachel blinks and finds Puck crouched down in front of her, the dress slacks Quinn has on behind his shoulder.

'Better?'

'Puck?' She questions and the strained smile he gives her gives her pause.

'Yeah, it's me.'

'Good,' Rachel is able to get out before the black that hovers at the edge of her vision sweeps over. She doesn't manage to tell him to catch her, to make sure she doesn't fall.

Puck does so anyway and Rachel isn't awake to see the tender way he shifts her in his arms, brushes the hair out of her face.

But that's okay because Quinn does.