A/N: Some things you should know! But I'll make it brief, because I am not fond of Author's Notes in the slightest:
1. This is completely canon up to the end of SEASON TWO. Any information from season three is irrelevant.
2. There are roughly 19 more chapters planned out and I'd say about half of that is already written, though that means nothing because I rewrite everything three times before I post it, and what's written is not in order or all together, which is both annoying and MY ISSUE.
3. I make no promises when the next update will be. Because of every chapter I have, it is one of three with nothing written, and isn't completely planned out, AND you see how long this one took me, so.
4. This chapter is longer…so… Happy reading! :)

Santana nodded as she stood at her closet, hanging up one of the shirts that had just been thrown at her. "And you're okay with him knowing? About you?" she asked, not turning around.

Quinn looked towards Santana, not stopping her pacing as she put her hand over the bottom of the phone, whispering, "What is it you called me? A pressed lemon?" Quinn rolled her eyes when she heard Santana snicker. "If you can tell, Kurt can, too, right?"

"I can tell what?"

Quinn jumped at the voice coming from the phone. "Oh my god, Kurt. You scared me."

"Well, Quinn Fabray, you are the one who called me, so I do believe if anyone is scared here, it should be me."

"What would you be scared of?" Quinn asked curiously, walking back towards Santana's bed to go sit down. Realization hit her as she reached the foot of the bed. "Oh, you meant scared of me."

"Don't be afraid of her, Hummel. She's harmless," Santana dragged out the last word as she hung up her last shirt.

"Firstly, hello, Santana. Secondly, I certainly did not mean I was scared of you. I'm not afraid of you, Quinn. I was referring to the reason you called! Because you never do." He gasped. "Oh god. You're not pregnant again, are you?"

"What?!" Quinn exclaimed, sitting down at the foot of the bed. She bent over with her head in her hand. "No! Kurt. Please."

"I was just asking."

"There will be no more pregnancy scares. You can be assured of that." Quinn said as she sat up, looking over to Santana who quickly covered her mouth to contain her laughter as she made her way over, sitting back against the pillows at the top of her bed. Quinn grabbed one of the magazines beside her and threw it at Santana, completely missing. Turning her attention back to Kurt, she continued, "No. I was wondering if maybe you were still up for that makeover you offered me sophomore year, actually."

"I see." He paused. "And of course, I am always up for a makeover. When is it that my services are required?"

She scrunched her eyebrows together, hoping for the best before asking, "Now?"

"And where are you?"

"Santana's," she answered, shrugging as Santana raised an eyebrow at the use of her name.

"Hmm…I'll meet you at your house in ten then."

"But I can't wear anything of mine," she replied quickly.

"Quinn Fabray, if it's put together by me, you can wear anything. Ten minutes. Don't be late." And with that, hung up the phone.

"Come on Santana, we have to go to my house," Quinn said as she walked down to the foot of the bed and picked up her purse, thinking for a moment before continuing, a sneaky smile forming on her face, as she turned back to look at Santana. "Apparently all of your clothes are too…golf course-y."

Santana jerked her head towards her. "What?"

"What?" Quinn asked, smiling innocently, as she stood up, purse in hand.

Santana raised an eyebrow at her. "My clothes are too golf course-y?"

"Oh, that was nothing." Quinn waved her off. "Come on, S."

As Quinn began walking towards the door, pulling her car keys out of her purse on the way, Santana jumped up off the bed to catch up. "What do you mean by my clothes being too golf course-y?"

Quinn was already ten feet ahead of her, laughing lightly to herself. "It's nothing, Santana."

Kurt was leaning up against his car, arms folded across his chest, watching as Quinn and Santana got out of the car. "You're late."

"I know, I know!" Quinn said as she shut the driver's side door. "It's Santana's fault."

"My fault? My fault?" Santana asked as she walked around the car.

"Yes, yours," Quinn replied. She turned to Kurt who had walked over and was now standing next to her. "She made me go the long way to avoid the golf course."

Kurt looked around Quinn to stare oddly at Santana, but didn't say anything before looking back to Quinn. "Well, come on." He gestured for Quinn to lead the way.

Quinn began walking towards the front door, fiddling with her keys as Kurt, then Santana followed. As she approached the door and unlocked it, she asked, "So how is Blaine?"

"He's great! He and Puckerman are playing Call of Duty with Finn," he answered as he watched Quinn open the door and walk through, following her. "I should thank you for saving me from enduring another afternoon of that. Completely surprises me Blaine would enjoy that madness."

"Right? He seems like more of a PGA Tour kind of guy," Santana commented as she walked through and closed the front door to the Fabray residence.

Quinn chuckled as began walking up the stairs. "You would know."

"Okay, enough with the golf jokes," Santana snapped as she started up the stairs behind Kurt. "Frankly, they aren't funny."

"Oh, I think they are hilarious," Quinn laughed as she walked into her room.

"Well, what is so funny?" Kurt asked finally, frustrated, as he walked through Quinn's bedroom door and set his satchel down. "I'm tired of being out of the loop. If I'm not the butt of the joke, I'd at least like to be in on it."

"Well, apparently all of my clothes are two golf course-y, Hummel. Or did you not think Q would relay your insult to me?" Santana snapped as she walked through the door.

Kurt turned to her and crossed his arms. "My insult? I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Quinn rolled her eyes as she fell onto her bed. She sprawled out, with her arms above her head, closed her eyes, and sighed. "I give up. I'm a bad gay. I'm kicking myself out of The Gay Brigade."

"I'm sorry, but The Gay Brigade?" Santana asked mockingly, as she walked over to the bed and sat down next to Quinn, who was reaching for a pillow to put over her face.

Kurt stared at Quinn oddly, shaking his head. "You are as bad as Rachel. This reminds me of her suggestion for The GayLesBall sophom-"

"Okay, what the hell is The GayLesBall? But first," She held up a finger to Kurt, who was about to interrupt her. "How are you a bad gay?" she asked, reaching to pull the pillow away.

Quinn's grip only grew tighter as she mumbled through the pillow. "Beguzz Iv gen crying ta bake hay yokes fa za yast den bonnets and ooh ham days art hitting them."

"I thought Rachel was a vegan. How are you going to bake her a ham if she's a vegan?" Santana asked as she finally yanked the pillow away from Quinn's face.

"Give me that," Quinn said as she took the pillow back and sat it on her lap. "I said, 'Because I've been trying to make gay jokes for the last ten minutes and you damn gays aren't getting them.'"

"Oh," Kurt responded, attempting to remove himself from the conversation as he walked towards the closet.

After a few moments of silence, Santana burst into laughter.

Quinn rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the bed again. "Ugh."

"So," Kurt said as he began flipping through things in Quinn's closet. "Let's move away from this conversation. What am I dressing you for?"

Santana immediately stopped laughing. "She's got a date."

Quinn sighed forcefully, and put her hands over her eyes. "It's not a date, Santana."

"Don't play that with me, Q." She grabbed the pillow from Quinn's lap and hit her in the face with it. "You've called it a date since you made the plans."

As Quinn sat up and tried to retrieve the pillow back from Santana, who kept snatching it away from her, Kurt asked, "What is this date's name?"

Quinn stopped her movements long enough to mumble something inaudible.

Santana also stopped her movements, and loudly asked, "What was that? I couldn't hear you. Don't think Hummel could either."

"What's her name, Quinn?" Kurt pushed, leaning out of the closet to look at her.

Quinn sighed. "Kurt, if I tell you, you can't say anything. Not to Mercedes, not to anyone. Especially Mercedes, actually."

"I cross my heart, and swear on my nicest Alexander McQueen." Kurt made an X over his heart with his right index finger and smiled.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at Kurt before responding. "How about we talk about your lack of reaction to the new information you've learned today instead?"

Kurt turned back into the closet midsentence, pulling out a white blazer. "What new information?"

Santana stood up, rolling her eyes. Turning to Quinn before she walked out the door, she said, "He better know by the time I get back."

Quinn waved her off dismissively before returning her attention back to Kurt. "'What new information?' Kurt, you can't be serious." She shook her head at the blazer he was handing her.

He paused before taking it back and turning back to the closet. He hung it up before he responded, pulling out a coral sweater. "The fact that you are more lesbigay than an early Ellen DeGeneres is not new information, my dear Quinn. I've been waiting for you to let the cat out of the bag." He took a sharp breath in and peeked around to look at Quinn. "Please don't attempt to make any lesbian cat jokes. As a gay male, I will not find the humor."

"Lesbian cat jokes?" Quinn asked, confused.

"Don't worry about it," Kurt said, turning back to replace the coral sweater with a bright red one. "Should I ask for details of this 'new information' or should I just ask who the special girl you are so concerned about impressing whom you are not taking on a date is?"

"I'm not concerned about impressing her. Well, not exactly," Quinn replied, looking down at her hands in her lap. "It's not as if it's her first time seeing me. But it's the first time I'm trying, too, you know?" She moved her hands so they were on either side of her and she sat up straighter. "She always chases me, and now it's my turn to chase after her."

Kurt nodded and turned around, putting his hands on his hips.

Quinn looked up at him and gave him a soft smile. "I've stopped running…I have. But that's not enough." She took a deep breath, and blinked slowly before focusing hard on Kurt. "If Rachel is going to believe that I'm serious, I'm going to have to try really hard and that means I need everything to be as perfect as it can possibly be."

Kurt could hardly contain his smile as he walked forward and leaned down to wrap his arms around Quinn. She returned the hug and squeezed him tightly. After a few moments, Kurt stood back up straight, and sighed. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"

Quinn nodded, smiling.

"This is not new information either," Kurt admitted.

Quinn's smile dropped as she put her head in her hands. "Of course it isn't." She let out a loud and forced sigh as she picked her head back up. "How many people do you think know?"

"About which part?" he asked, turning once again back to the closet. "I'd venture to say the only the ones who know about you being gay are the actual gays. Meaning, Santana, Brittany, Blaine, and myself."

Quinn slowly nodded. "And Karofsky. He knows, too."

Kurt stopped what he was doing for a moment. "Is that so? I would have named him as well, but I wasn't aware David's preferences were common knowledge."

"Oh, they aren't. But he and Santana have gotten closer, which is very odd." She scrunched her eyebrows together. "And Santana and I really have no secrets anymore."

"Is that why you're so comfortable with all of this? Because you seem very comfortable with it, Quinn." He pulled out a beige blazer to which Quinn shook her head in response. "I would have never thought you'd be so…flippant about it all."

"I do seem that way, don't I?" Quinn agreed. "Nervousness is like drunkenness to me. Verbal vomit and all that." She stood up and walked over to sit at her vanity. "But other than that, Santana has been over-exposing me to all things rainbows and unicorns, as Brittany would, and does, say." She smiled as she began fiddling with her hair. "She has been a really good friend through everything. She had to deal with this all on her own, and she didn't want that for me. So, she puts up with my failed attempts at gay jokes, and she listens to my fears about Rachel, and she understands me when even I don't know what the hell I'm talking about."

"If only we all got to see this side of Santana," Kurt commented.

Quinn looked at Kurt through her mirror and smirked. "If everyone got to see that side of Santana, she wouldn't be Santana."

"Touché," Kurt replied.

"But anyway, she just wants me to be as comfortable as possible before my inevitable denial comes back," she said as she combed her fingers through her hair in the back.

Kurt walked over to the bed and sat down on Quinn's bed. "That is something you're good at, denial."

Quinn laughed, but not out of humor. She turned in the seat to face him. "You try being in love with someone you're supposed to hate, and you see how fast denial becomes your best friend."

Kurt nodded slowly in understanding. "In love with, hmm? It's that serious?"

"It is," she answered with a sad smile. "That's why I want it to be special." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "Because not only do I have to show her how much she's worth to me, I have to make up for all the wrong I've done to her."

"She's forgiven you, you know that," Kurt said. "So are you so concerned about this being perfect because of that, or is it because you haven't forgiven yourself?"

Quinn took a deep breath in and swallowed the tears that were about to form. "I'm doing this because she deserves the best, Kurt. I want to give that to her."

"Mhm," Kurt hummed.

"Maybe I should wear pink…" she said after a few moments of collecting herself. She turned around to look at herself in the mirror. "That's her favorite color." She picked up her mascara, and opened it. "But I don't want it to be completely obvious that I'm dressing for her…" She began applying it as she continued. "I can't wear light pink because that's too Fabrayic… I could wear navy blue…since that's my favorite color… In a combination with the pink…" She switched eyes and thought for a moment. "I think I have a navy blue shirt, with light and bright pink peonies all over it…it has ruffles on the front. I have a pink sweater somewhere, too…" She closed the mascara and put it back as she stood up. "And a light beige skirt, it has ruffles on the bottom… Oh, and my navy blue pumps…" she said as she walked towards her closet. "With the ribbons that tie on the top," she finished as she bent down to pick up the shoes.

As she stood up, she was face-to-face with Kurt, who held out three hangers to her. On them hanging the sweater, shirt, and skirt he found while Quinn was describing them. "It doesn't seem like you really needed much help."

"What?" she asked, her shoes in her right hand as she took the hangers with her left. "I wasn't… I didn't…"

"You just planned a perfectly coordinated-to-Rachel Berry outfit, Quinn," Kurt pointed out as he crossed his arms. "It seems to me that you don't really have to try very hard to be perfect when it comes to Rachel, Quinn." He watched Quinn turn around and lay the outfit down on the bed. "I'm pretty sure you already are."

Quinn whipped her head around to Kurt and there were tears quickly collecting in her eyes.

Kurt sat down at the top of Quinn's bed, and gestured towards the clothes lying next to him. "Go on, get dressed! I won't look. I'll talk, you listen."

He turned his head to the wall to prove his point and after only a moment's hesitation, Quinn began to undress herself.

Kurt crossed his left leg over his right, his hands clasped at his knee. "There will be no more crying allowed. There's no time for makeup retouches." He turned his head only slightly to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Kurt!" Quinn exclaimed, trying and failing to cover herself with the dark grey shirt she'd just had on.

"Quinn, please," Kurt scoffed. "You do nothing for me."

"It doesn't matter," Quinn retorted, stepping into the beige skirt. "I don't let anyone see me like this."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Kurt told her with sincerity. "But if you insist," he added, rolling his eyes as he turned away.

"Thank you," she said as she brought the skirt up around her hips and reached behind herself to zip it.

Kurt looked down at Quinn's bedside table and picked up the dark brown wooden box sitting on it. "My step brother isn't the shiniest accessory in the jewelry box…" he said as he opened the lid carefully. "He can be selfish at times, and he makes mistakes, but I believe he means well, no matter what his actions say." He looked inside and picked out two pink rhinestone earrings, and closed the lid once more. "And I love him, I really do, but I don't love him with Rachel."

Quinn turned around to look at Kurt straight on as she buttoned the second to the top button on her shirt. She didn't say anything, only waited for him to continue.

Kurt looked back at Quinn after setting the box back down. "Rachel is one of my best friends. She is high maintenance like no one I have ever known. She moves in everything she does at the speed of light and slows down for nothing. Finn will never understand what it takes to be with a girl like Rachel… And I don't think it's something he can learn. That's not his fault, and it's not hers either." He shrugged. "They are just two different people and there is too much change that would need to happen for them to be compatible."

"She changes when she's with him," Quinn said quietly.

"Yes, she does," Kurt agreed. "And there are a few reasons for that. Some she is aware of and some she isn't. I want to tell you something, but I'm sure you already know."

"What?" she asked, holding out her hand for the earrings Kurt still held in his.

He reached out and dropped them into Quinn's palm. "She doesn't think anyone will ever love her better than Finn does."

Quinn froze midway between putting on the left earring. She resumed what she was doing after a few moments and then moved to the right one.

Kurt stood and picked up the sweater as Quinn fixed the ruffles on her shirt. He took it off the hanger and held it out for Quinn to put on. As she put her arm through the second side, he finally said, "But you're going to prove her wrong."

Quinn turned to face directly towards him, her hands on either one of his arms. "Yes, I am," she said as she pulled him into a hug, smiling widely.

"Really?" Santana questioned as she walked through the door with a handful of rainbow-colored Goldfish. "I go do a nice thing by hiding all the alcohol in case anything goes wrong tonight, and I come back to this?"

Quinn turned around quickly, her skirt twirling when she did. She lifted her hands slightly on both sides and then dropped them again as she smiled. "Shut up, Santana. How do I look?"

Santana looked her up and down a few times before seeing the smile on Quinn's face and smiling back. "Good, Fabray. You look good."

"Thank you," Quinn said sincerely. "I know how much you prefer me in jeans." She winked at her playfully before turning around to examine herself again in the mirror.

Santana popped a few goldfish in her mouth before responding, making her way to sit on Quinn's bed. "This is true."

Kurt looked back and forth between the two girls, clearing his throat, choosing to not bother asking. "So, since I missed out on a makeover here, I thoroughly expect you to let me give one to Rachel when you two become…closer."

"Rachel doesn't need a makeover," Quinn said simply, not looking away from her hair, which she'd just made sit the way she wanted. She picked up a thin navy blue headband and put it on.

"Well, clearly I was wrong in my assessment before," Santana stated, leaning back onto her elbows on the bed, watching Quinn in the mirror. "Berry actually dresses like the fantasy of an insane, blonde, teenage closet lesbian with a very dark specific fetish."

Quinn whipped her head around to glare at Santana. "Rude. I am not insane."

"Quinnsane Fabray, oh yes, you are," Santana laughed.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror, fixing her headband unnecessarily. "Oh, here we go with the names again."

"Can I just point out that the only part of that sentence that she denied was about her being insane?" Kurt asked, cutting in as he started to sit down at the foot of Quinn's bed.

"That's because it is actually the least of her dark specific fetishes," Santana explained as she moved her feet out of the way for Kurt to sit down.

"Oh, really?" Kurt asked inquisitively. "Do tell."

Before Quinn could stop her, Santana nonchalantly answered. "Girls in football uniforms really do it for her."

"Santana!" Quinn halfway shrieked.

She just shrugged.

"Quinn Fabray, that is nothing," he reassured her. "I'm actually a bit more concerned about your attraction to Rachel's everyday… 'fashion' than anything."

"There is nothing wrong with her everyday fashion," Quinn stated forcefully.

"Well, then you make sure to report back to us exactly what her outfit of choice was this evening," Kurt replied after a few moments, and Santana nodded her head in agreement.

Honestly, Rachel's outfit was the least of Quinn's concerns as she sat in the booth waiting for the other half of the "date" to arrive.

Who cares about what color knee socks Rachel's wearing when bitchy!Quinn could possibly make an appearance?

Who bothers thinking about what animal is going to be on Rachel's sweater when Quinn might not build up enough nerve to even apologize?

Who wonders how short her skirt might be when Rachel might not even forgive you?

To say she was nervous was probably the understatement of the year.

After Quinn's beginning of summer breakdown, she and Santana had come up with a plan. Making amends was first and foremost. If she didn't get past this, the rest didn't even matter. It's not as if she could go from supposedly being enemies with Rachel to telling her, "Oh, by the way, I've been in love with you since the moment I locked eyes with you after we ran into each other on the first day of school."

No, no, no, no, no.

Going over the (potentially unnecessary) plan was absolutely not helping, so instead, she opted for the next choice and resorted to making a mental checklist of all of the things that could go wrong tonight. (Obviously, she was not talented at handling stress.) It probably wasn't the best idea, but she had to do something to keep from locking herself in the BreadstiX bathroom. She could only straighten the menus and rearrange the sugar and sweetener packets so many times. (No, she had not been there thirty minutes early.) No matter how she tried to distract herself, all her mind kept bringing her back to were all the ways trying to fix things could potentially blow up in her face. She was probably four and a half seconds away from hiding herself under the-

"Quinn."

She was suddenly pulled away from her thoughts by the normally comforting voice she knew all too well. When Quinn quickly turned to face the girl the voice belonged to, she was met with a familiar beaming smile, and shining brown eyes.

"Rachel," she breathed out softly, unable to contain the smile on her face.

"7p.m. sharp?" Rachel laughed, clearly nervous herself.

Quinn nodded a bit too eagerly. "Yes. Please, sit." She gestured toward the other side of the booth.

Rachel ducked her head slightly and slid into the booth until she was directly across from Quinn. She pulled her purse off her shoulder and set it beside her. "Thank you so much."

"Thank you for agreeing to dinner," Quinn replied, smiling sweetly at her.

"But of course! I could never have turned you down, Quinn. I certainly hope you know that," Rachel answered as she opened up her menu, never taking her eyes off Quinn. She looked down at the menu on the table as she pondered for a moment before looking back up to Quinn again. "You didn't think I would have declined, did you?"

Quinn chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked from one side of Rachel to the other before finally settling on Rachel's eyes. "I wasn't sure, actually."

A flash of hurt crossed Rachel's face before it disappeared just as quickly as it came. "Well, I suppose it's all right. You really don't know me well enough to know what my reaction would have-"

Quinn stayed silent for a few moments, again unable to look at Rachel until she finally forced herself to. "I've done a lot of terrible things to you."

Rachel contemplated for a moment before responding. "I'm not going to pretend like you haven't, Quinn. But our peers have done some of the same things to me, some even-"

"I'm so, so sorry, Rachel," Quinn choked out, unable to contain herself. She forcefully sat back, dropping her hands in her lap, and looked over to her left, focusing on where the booth was connected to the wall as she felt the tears starting to spill over. She heard rustling on Rachel's side of the table and then nothing, only the sounds of the happenings of the restaurant around her. She couldn't bring herself to look up and see Rachel gone, so she instead sat and let the tears fall. She was in the middle of BreadstiX crying, and yet she didn't care. She was lost in her thoughts of Rachel and how she hadn't lasted a minute and a half with her. Suddenly, she felt the seat beside her dip down, and her breath hitched in her throat when she felt a tiny, warm hand on her arm. She slowly turned her head away from the wall to look at the tan skin against hers, taking in the small, manicured yet unpolished fingers wrapped right above her wrist. She watched as Rachel began rubbing small circles with her thumb, goosebumps forming on her skin from the sensation. Her embarrassment of the reaction to such a small touch is ultimately what made her look up.

As soon as she could see it, Rachel's eyes quickly scanned over Quinn's face. Rachel smiled at her, as she picked up her other hand, showing Quinn that she was holding tissues. "I figured you might need these?"

Quinn forced a small laugh as she held her hand out for the tissues. "Thank you."

Rachel let her now free hand fall to the table while her other hand stayed on Quinn's arm as she looked away from Quinn to give her a small amount of privacy while she lightly dabbed at her face. "I normally keep tissues in my purse, but I used the rest of them when I lost myself in a Celine Dion song this morning during my vocal lesson. I've told Mrs. Tomlinson time and time again to stop using the tissue boxes I have at her house for her cat allergies. Those are property of Rachel Berry and are not to be used because she decides to live with seven cats when she's allergic to them. I tell her over and over, just get rid of your overabundance of cats, and you wouldn't have this allergy issue, and therefore wouldn't have a need to use my tissues and force me to use my travel pack of tissues. I have that for emergencies. I-"

Quinn tilted her head just enough to see Rachel out of the corner of her eye and smiled at her, making the girl pause and return the smile. "Thank you, Rachel." She turned her head back forward, took a deep breath through her nose and blew out through her mouth before continuing. "And I'm sorry for my…sudden outburst."

"Please, Quinn, do not apologize. Actually, if you could learn to be able to access that emotion at the drop of a hat, you could make an amazing actress." Rachel laughed lightly at herself. "Not that I'm sure you aren't already. You are incredibly talented in many areas."

Quinn continued to look at the table, where her eyes had landed in the middle of her apology a few seconds prior. "Not this one."

Rachel looked at her puzzled. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Quinn sighed, now looking down at her hands in her lap. "This isn't how it was supposed to go. I don't really know how it was supposed to go, actually. But I suppose it could have gone worse." She looked up to meet Rachel's eyes. "I know- I know that a simple dinner and 'I'm sorry.' is not going to fix everything. I know that. But I just need you to know that I really am sorry, and I would do anything to make it up to you."

"Good evening, ladies. Welcome to BreadstiX."

Quinn's attention snapped up to an oblivious, twenty-something waitress, who had just walked up to their table. She glared at her. "Are you serious?"

The waitress only raised an eyebrow in response.

Quinn inhaled sharply. "I know you don't think you can pull that off better than-"

"What- what my friend means is," Rachel said, cutting her off, "It's sort of a bad time, and while you're only doing your job, we would appreciate a few minutes, if you don't mind. Oh!" She flashed her a wide smile. "But we will take a peach iced tea, and a strawberry lemonade."

The waitress rolled her eyes and turned to walk away as Quinn leaned forward to put her elbows on the table and hold her head in her hands. "She's probably going to spit in both of those."

"I would say that assessment is most likely correct," Rachel agreed, nodding, even though Quinn wasn't looking to see her. "Do you think maybe I should follow her to ensure our beverages remain untainted by her bodily fluids?"

Quinn's head popped up as she laughed. "That sounded really gross."

"Another person's saliva in my peach iced tea is very gross, Quinn!" Rachel retorted.

"Okay, okay," Quinn laughed.

With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Rachel slid out of the booth to follow the waitress. Quinn reached in her purse for her phone, looking after Rachel to make sure she was going to be gone for enough time. She opened her text messages to Santana.

I. Made. A. Fool. Of. Myself.

There was a response almost immediately.

Of course you did.

Quinn rolled her eyes, throwing her phone back into her purse. She saw it light up with another message.

1 New Message from:

Satan Lopez

She laughed at the autocorrect she never bothered to change and proceeded to open the message.

What did I say about texting me during your date, Q?

She fought the urge to roll her eyes again as she threw her phone in her purse again. It lit up once more.

1 New Message from:

Kurt Hummel

Really?

Make sure you snap a photo of your future wife's outfit for me, Quinn!

She didn't bother stopping herself as she rolled her eyes and shoved her phone in her purse, face down.

Not a minute later, Rachel came back, holding both drinks in her hands. Quinn looked at her questioningly.

"Oh, I spoke to the manager and requested another waitress. And retrieved these," nodding towards the glasses she was now setting down, "while he went to look for one." She put her hands on her hips and flashed Quinn a bright smile.

"You're- I-" Quinn finally settled on, "Thank you."

"I couldn't very well risk catching some sort of disease," Rachel responded, waving her off as she sat down in the booth across from Quinn. "What if something happened to my throat? Do you recall my bout of laryngitis our sophomore year? I spent seven weeks trying to figure out where that was contracted so I could avoid the germ-ridden place origin. Daddy finally had to put a lock on the 'Berry Activities' filing cabinet. Quinn, I cannot afford another seven weeks of extra work for myself at this point in my pre-Broadway career." Rachel finally took a breath. She looked as if she was about to have a panic attack.

"Whoa there," Quinn said, laughing a bit. "You took care of it, so there's nothing to worry about. And look at it this way; at least you'd know where the 'germ-ridden place origin' would have been this time." She smiled trying to keep herself from laughing more.

"This is not a laughing matter, Quinn," Rachel responded sternly. "My future on Broadway is not a joke in any way, shape, or form."

Quinn looked at the not only annoyed, but slightly hurt look on Rachel's face. "I know it's not. I'd never laugh at your dream, Rachel."

"Why not? Everybody else does," Rachel stated quietly, not looking away.

The sadness in Rachel's eyes was almost too much to take. Quinn didn't know how she was ever supposed to make this up to her. "Rachel, I- I know you have no reason to trust me or what I'm saying, or any of it, but I have never not believed in you." She took a deep breath and fought from looking away as she continued. "I know it may not have seemed that way when I spent so long acting exactly opposite, and I will never stop being sorry for that, but if anyone is going to make it out of Lima and do what she was made to do, it's you. There is nothing I believe more than that, and it's not something I'd ever laugh at."

Rachel sat and stared at Quinn for going on twelve seconds (Quinn knows, she counted) before she spoke. "You keep rendering me speechless." She laughed.

Quinn joined her.

"I can't believe she ignored my request."

"Hummel, you probably freaked her out when you called Berry her wife," Santana pointed out, as she paused the trash TV they were currently watching, sensing this wasn't a one statement and done conversation.

Kurt huffed as he stuck his nose in the air. "It's harmless."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Not to Q." When Kurt looked at her questioningly, she continued. "All of that incessant Berry-like talking she did with you before she left? Her nervousness? Does that seem very Quinn Fabray to you?"

"She mentioned-" Kurt began before he was cut off.

"No, she didn't. She's not aware of it," Santana said sharply. "She overthinks. It's one thing to talk about Berry in the present, but Berry in the future is a flashing hot pink neon sign of 'NO!"

"I'm not sure I'm following," Kurt said, looking at her tentatively.

"If you put the image of Berry in a white dress in that girl's head, you may as well light the plan on fire and throw your accelerant of choice on it," she explained further.

Kurt shook his head. "I'm still not seeing your point, Santana."

"You've been hanging around your step-idiot too much," Santana groaned. "Do you not recall why she called you in the first place? An outfit, Hummel. A friggin outfit. That is the damn cherry on top of the Quinn Fabray lesbian sundae I've had to deal with all week."

"Don't you mean 'Berry' on top?" Kurt chuckled.

Quinn looked down at her drink for the first time since Rachel brought it back. She didn't look up from what she saw when she spoke. "Rachel, there are two straws in this glass."

Rachel, being in the process of taking a sip from her own drink, nearly choked and quickly set down the glass before responding. "You do prefer two straws, do you not?"

Quinn looked at her puzzled. "I do." She thought for a moment before continuing. "But how did you know that?"

"I- I just pay attention to detail," Rachel said quickly. "I find it is a great quality to have as a friend. I'm sure it isn't actually typical friend-like behavior, but it is Rachel Berry friend-like behavior. I know a lot of preferences about many people, if it helps. None as much as you. But I- it's nothing, because I'm sure everyone knows everything about y-"

"That's actually not true," Quinn responded, cutting her off, twirling her straws around in her glass. "People think they know everything about me, but they don't really know much of anything."

Rachel hastily shook her head. "I didn't mean-"

"No, no! I wasn't referring to you, Rachel," Quinn corrected. "I have no doubts that you most likely know me better than anyone." She sighed. "More than you actually even think you know me. But the thing is, I don't let people get to know me, and I didn't want you of all people to."

"Me of all people?" Rachel questioned.

"It's not what it sounds like." Quinn frowned at herself. "One day, I'll be able to explain it to you. I promise I will. Again, you have no reason to trust that promise, or when I say that it's not what it sounds like, but-"

"You'll tell me one day," Rachel encouraged. "Whenever it is that you find you're able to. And I'll be waiting, Quinn. No matter how long it takes."

Quinn gave her a small smile. "Thank you."

"I find patience is also a good friend-like quality to have," Rachel explained. "Though it may not seem like I have much of it… It all depends on the situation, really. For instance, should someone sing a piece slightly sharp, or heaven forbid, flat, that is undeniably unacceptable and must be fixed immediately. But, should someone say, be making great strides in trying to be the infinitely wonderful person I know she can be, well, that- that is where I can be exceedingly patient. Like no Rachel Berry you've ever seen." She finished the sentence with a bright smile and a wink.

"Thanks for hanging out with me tonight, Hummel," Santana said as she walked Kurt to the front door of the Fabray residence.

Kurt reached the door and put his hand on the doorknob before turning around and smiling. "Of course, Santana. You're not half bad," he complimented, playfully elbowing Santana.

"Watch it," she teased, as he opened the door to let himself out. "Hey, you never did say what that thing Berry came up with was."

"It's The GayLesbAll, and it stands for 'gay and lesbian alliance'," he answered, clarifying. "And now that I think about it, nowhere does it say anything about it being a straight alliance. So maybe Quinn has a better chance than we thought."

Santana shook her head. "Oh, that doesn't matter. The GayLesbAll and The Gay Brigade? How do you even come up with that? Clearly, they're made for each other."

Kurt laughed. "Speaking of made for each other, I forgot to ask. How are you and Brittany?"

"Nope!" Santana answered, with a firm shake of her head. "Out!"

"If you insist, then I will drop it," Rachel said as she walked through the door Quinn was holding open for her. "But I insist that you allow me to pay for our next outing."

"Our next outing?" Quinn asked, letting the door go and turning to face Rachel where she'd stopped to wait, raising a teasing eyebrow at her.

Rachel froze momentarily. "Well, if this was a onetime occurrence, I suppose that's fine. I was under the impression we had a lovely evening. At least I did. You seemed to be having a nice time as well, from what I could tell. Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous of me to-"

"Rachel…" Quinn drawled out.

"Yes?" Rachel asked.

Quinn smiled at her. "I had a wonderful time, and another outing sounds fun."

"Oh," Rachel laughed. "I really had a delightful time tonight, Quinn. I'm glad we could do this. Getting to know the real you, and not just the you I'd thought up in my head, it was…very nice."

"How do I compare to the Quinn in your head?" she asked.

Rachel thought for a moment. "Well, I couldn't tell you exactly. I'm quite sure no one could be talented enough to make up exactly who you are in her head. But I will say, you are much more than I could have ever imagined."

Quinn looked at her nervously. "Is that a good thing?"

Rachel blushed and tilted her head down so she had to look up at Quinn through her eyelashes before softly replying, "It's a very good thing."

Quinn smiled at her, fighting the urge to kiss her right there. "Can I walk you to your car?"

Rachel didn't hesitate in her response. "Sure, I'd like that very much."

They slowly walked in silence, Quinn staring ahead, holding the handle of her purse firmly in front of her with both hands to keep from reaching over and taking Rachel's hand, and Rachel smiling to herself, glancing over at Quinn every few seconds.

When they got to the black SUV, Rachel turned to Quinn and smiled. "So, I was wondering, and feel free to say no. I will completely understand and there will be minimal hard feelings."

Quinn looked at Rachel curiously. "What is it?"

"Could we- could we maybe take a picture together?" Rachel asked, clearly nervous of what response her question may elicit. "I won't post it anywhere and I won't let anyone see it. No one even has to know it was taken. I don't want to make you uncomfortable at all or put you in a position where you'd have to explain anything. I'd just like…something to remember this night with you by."

Quinn looked at Rachel with tears in her eyes. One rolled down her cheek as she spoke. It was barely a whisper. "I really am so sorry, Rachel."

"It's fine, it's fine," she said quickly, trying to hide the slight trace of hurt in her voice. She shook her head. "It was silly of me to even ask such a req-"

"No!" Quinn yelled. She cleared her throat once. "No. That's not what I meant. I- I'm sorry that everything I've done has led you to fell that- I- I'm sorry."

"Oh, well, I already told you I forgive you! You don't have to keep apologizing to me," Rachel replied, smiling reassuredly.

"But I do," Quinn choked out. "You think I'm ashamed to be associated with you." She took a deep breath in and walked over to half sit on the back of the SUV. "And why wouldn't you? I've been terrible to you and now I all of a sudden want to be nice to you? I'd walk on eggshells, too."

Rachel studied Quinn for a moment before taking a seat beside her, leaving about a foot and a half between them. "I trust you, Quinn."

Quinn looked over to Rachel and tears flowed down her face.

Rachel smiled at her in a way that was only reserved for Quinn in these moments between them. "This is something that's new to both of us, and it's more than normal that we're each going to say or do the wrong thing multiple times. But as long as we're both always trying, that's all we can ask of the other, right?"

"Right." Quinn forced a smile through the continued tears. "Rachel, I'm going to make this hard without meaning to. You're going to be thrown for loops on this rollercoaster with me, and you are never going to know what's coming. I can go from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, and the twists and turns are unpredictable." Her face grew saddened. "Tonight is just the beginning."

Rachel didn't reply for a few moments as she smiled at Quinn. "Luckily I meet the height requirements for most rollercoasters now, so it shouldn't be a problem."

A/N: Too much gay or…? Y/Y?

A/N2: This one is for everyone at FaberryCon West. (Though half of you are writers and infinitely better than I am. :))