Author's Note: Thank you to those who added Concede as a Favorite Story or signed up for Author or Story Alerts and a bouquet of flowers to those who left reviews! I've been on vacation for the last few weeks, but am ready to continue punching out more of Concede. There will be a bit of lag time between now and the next update because I want to write more to make future updates more frequent and regular.

Yes, Ranog is just a scrambling of Agron. Kudos to everyone who noticed that little joke!

Also, I've been debating with people about whether or not Rachel Berry is, in fact, vegan. In an episode, she ate a slice of pepperoni pizza with Finn, which made me question the whole vegan angle. Will someone fix this dilemma?

Concede

Part Three: A Couple

o o o o o o o

Quinn didn't know how Cara had managed to convince her to return to the brick-walled manor, but here she was again, standing outside while nervously wringing her hands as she waited for the blonde Mistress.

A week ago, she had retold her story to Mercedes over a full pint of Ben & Jerry's Strawberry Shortcake ice cream. Sadly, all the bacon had already been consumed. Kurt didn't sympathize with that particular misfortune of hers. Mercedes had only raised her eyebrows and commented, "Wow."

When the door opened, Quinn blinked at least four times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating because there was no way that the woman who was standing opposite her was the same Mistress Cara from last week. Cara was dressed simply and casually in dark blue skinny jeans, a white V-neck shirt and a black leather jacket dangling from her hand. What startled Quinn the most was Cara's hair. Parted down the middle, it hung loose with the ends brushing her shoulders.

"Surprised?" the Mistress teased, her trademark smirk in place.

Quinn nodded. "I thought you had longer hair."

"I just pin the plait on whenever I'm working. Otherwise, my partner prefers this," she tilted her head, letting Quinn get a look at straight blonde locks.

"Your partner?"

"Yes," the Mistress confirmed, arching an eyebrow that dared Quinn to ask her next question.

"As in your husband?"

Cara grinned deviously, "We'll all get to have lunch together after our coffee."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

Cara chuckled. "Don't be. Even I enjoy being domestic once in a while."

"Still, you can't go without even a little leather," Quinn giggled, pointing to her black boots, the leather wristband adorning the other woman's left arm and the leather jacket she held.

"Hmm…just something I've grown to appreciate over the years. Shall we?" Cara gestured toward the large car garage just behind the manor.

Inside the massive garage, Quinn counted four cars—including her own red convertible—and twice as many motorcycles, ranging from sharp-cut sport bikes to retro standards. She was sure the garage could house at least ten more cars with room for a rolled out red carpet. In addition to her car, there was a modest-looking white truck, a deadly silver two-door Benz and a sporty red compact hatchback.

"I'd ask you if you want to take your car, but seeing as I invited you out and I love driving too much, we're taking mine."

Quinn expected the Benz, but was mildly baffled when the lights flashed on the compact red hatchback as Cara disarmed its system. Of course, she should've known from the crimson red paintjob and custom license plate—M CARA. Quinn slipped into the passenger seat as Cara pressed the clutch and turned the ignition, a satisfied smirk crossing her features.

"Who owns the Mercedes?"

"Santana," answered Cara, slipping on sunglasses before pulling out of the garage.

"I thought for sure it belonged to you," Quinn commented as they made their way down the long driveway, Cara smoothly shifting the car into the proper gears.

"Unlike her, I prefer a more practical car, though the bikes might suggest otherwise."

"You own all of those?"

At the opening leading to the main road, Cara stopped and placed the car into first. Quinn didn't like the smile that slowly spread across the Mistress' face. She knew behind those shades, Cara's green eyes were dancing with mirth and mischief. Cara revved the GTI's engine.

"I like going fast."

o o o o o o o

"I don't see why you're looking at me like that," Cara commented while she perused the extensive menu.

Quinn scowled and continued to glare at the green-eyed woman. Her own menu lay in front of her drumming fingers.

"What? It's not like you're arriving in multiple, unidentifiable pieces at the hospital," the Mistress teased, waving a server to their window-side table. "I should think that would be the overriding positive point of your debate about whether to stop glaring at me or not."

"Good morning, ladies," greeted their server, a redheaded girl with pleasing blue eyes. "My name is Brie. Can I get any drinks or pastries prepared for you?"

"A cup of the house blend," answered Cara, smiling up at the young woman through her lashes. "And a hot chocolate for my friend." Quinn's brow twitched. "Make it more on the bitter side."

The redhead bit the inside of her mouth, her eyes downcast and cheeks tinted with an adorable pink flush. "Will that be all for you, Miss…?"

Cara took a deep breath, drawing the redhead's attention to her chest. "Cara." The girl's face nearly matched her hair. "And this," the blonde continued, "is Quinn." Hazel eyes darted between the Mistress and the young woman, recognizing Cara's seduction.

"Pleasure to meet you," Quinn greeted the redhead, finally understanding the situation.

"And you," the redhead whispered to Quinn though her gaze never left Cara's, her tone dripping with reverence. "I'll return with your drinks."

Cara sighed, her eyes gazing at their server's retreating figure. Quinn also watched the young woman slip behind the counter and noted that her figure had a rather appealing backside. Quinn leaned forward as she jested, "Ten says she'll try to get your number."

The Mistress canted an eyebrow and hummed. "Oh, she may try all she wants."

Quinn chuckled.

Brie returned, placing down two mugs the color of sunshine. Quinn watched as the redhead's blue eyes stayed glued on Cara, her hands expertly setting and arranging their napkins and the little dishes of cream and sugar.

"Tell me," Cara said as Brie left, "how is Noah doing? Santana and I haven't seen him in a while."

"He's fine. His work with S.F. State keeps him busy."

"And out of trouble?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes, and out of trouble."

Sipping her coffee, Cara continued, "He's the one who told you about us."

Another nod.

"Do you regret it?"

Quinn set her drink down, her eyes following it to the table. Did she regret it? Following Puck's out-of-left-field advice to be met with drop-dead gorgeous women laced down and up in skin-tight leathers and somehow run into the one woman in all the world Quinn thought she'd never see again. Did she regret it?

"I don't know."

Cara leaned forward, taking Quinn's hand in one of her own. Quinn noted, with surprise, the gentleness and strength with which Cara squeezed her hand, brushing a lightly calloused thumb across her knuckles. Quinn liked the warmth of Cara's hand, reminding her of the times Kurt had intertwined their fingers when Quinn was depressed or scared. Such genuinely comforting gestures had been few and far between before she'd left her hometown behind.

"Are you afraid?"

Quinn lifted her eyes, confused at the whispered question. "Afraid of what?"

"Of me, of everything I may represent and the one part of who I am." When Cara's voice was low and seductive, Quinn decided, it was impossible to not answer, even if that answer was false and forcibly ripped from your lips. There was no doubt this Mistress could break and subsequently command anyone.

"No," Quinn answered, eyes cast demurely downward, "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then what?"

"I'm afraid of becoming like you."

Tilting her head inquisitively, Cara leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. Quinn could see Cara becoming Mistress Cara. The cool, calculating gaze was telling. It also voiced the question that needed no words.

"I can't be like you. You're so confident and sure of things, of what you want."

"Most would be thrilled to have these qualities you see. Why fear them?"

Quinn shook her head. Cara didn't press her, knowing an immovable object when she saw one. The Mistress sighed. She would have to work better or, possibly, another angle to understand the blonde sitting across from her. Quinn Fabray was a bundle of secrets locked away so well under such emotional complexity that it would take Cara more than coffee dates to win Quinn's trust.

"I seemed to have crossed a line," Cara squeezed Quinn's hand. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Hazel eyes met green and noted that the Mistress had reverted back to Cara. "It's okay," Quinn assured the other blonde. "Kurt tells me I shouldn't bottle myself up so much."

"Who's Kurt?" Cara asked, glad for the opportunity to change topics.

Quinn grinned. "My gay husband."

An hour and a half later, along with nearly two rounds of coffee and hot chocolate and a few of Brie's amusing attempts to flirt with Cara, Quinn settled back in her chair, dabbing at the corners of her eyes to stem the mirth that had nearly gone over the edge. Cara only smirked.

"Quinn," the other blonde began.

"Hmm?" Quinn sipped at the last remains of her drink, peeking over the bright yellow of the mug's lip.

Cara's cool green eyes were locked on her, playfulness glinting behind the cold indifference. "Are you ready to go back? See me play the doting wife?"

Quinn smiled and nodded. "Just try to stay within twenty of the speed limit."

o o o o o o o

As Cara pulled into the enormous garage, Quinn noticed that the silver Benz was gone and that the blonde Mistress had parked next to a zippy-looking black sports car. Quinn didn't have much time to admire the sleek machine. Cara arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, hummed deep in her throat and began a rather fast trek out of the garage and toward the mansion.

Instead of going through the front entrance, however, Quinn fought to keep up with Cara as the Mistress led them around the mansion to a far end hidden behind baby redwoods and wrought iron fencing. Through the foliage, hazel eyes took in a modest lawn and stone driveway. The small two-story craftsman house matched the lawn in its simplicity, completely unlike the mansion that towered beside it. Quinn wondered how she never noticed it, how anyone would notice it.

As they entered, Quinn was about to inquire who lived there, but the question died on her lips when Cara tossed her keys in a dish on a nearby table and hung her jacket in a coat closet with such fluid and well-versed motions. Quinn fumbled with her cardigan as Cara walked deeper into the house, leaving the other blonde to take in her surroundings.

Quinn entered what she guessed to be the living room or family room. On the shelves, the fireplace mantel, the shiny black upright piano and along the hallway she'd walked through were various photos of Cara, a brunette with sky blue eyes, a rugged looking young man, an older man with long white hair and several attractive women who Quinn guessed were somehow affiliated with Cara's business. There were even a couple with Santana and that girl Brittany. There were a fair number of photos that Quinn recognized as significant from their placements around the room. At the center of the mantelpiece, a definite place of honor, was a photo of Cara with that blue-eyed brunette. The brunette was sitting on what looked like a sofa with Cara's arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind, both women looking at the camera. The woman was smiling. Cara had on her trademark smirk.

Quinn continued to study the candid photo. She remembered another time with a different blonde and brunette.

Rachel struck a match in the darkness. Its flickering glow danced in the brown of her eyes. The moonlight cast pale silver tones in the living room, stretching dark shadows across the walls and along the carpeted floor. She lit a cluster of candles on the coffee table. Then, another cluster on an end table and more along the shelves.

On the plush sofa, leaning back to let the cushions absorb her worries and to admire the soft, romantic glow of a dozen flames, the brunette felt slim arms wrap around her shoulders from behind. "Hi," a low, silky breath brushed just below her ear. The soft caress of even softer lips along her jaw sent a tremor of wanton need down to her toes.

Rachel tilted her head back, sinking into the cushions even more as if trying to press herself against the blonde through the sofa. "Hey," Rachel whispered, closing her eyes.

"Your hair's getting longer," Quinn softly observed. "It's almost as long as mine." Rachel loved it when Quinn played with her hair, scratching her sensitive scalp oh-so teasingly.

"Mmm," the brunette quietly moaned. "Well, you know, this incredibly gorgeous woman once told me I would get more attention with longer hair. I have to concur. There's this blonde bombshell that can't seem to take her eyes—or hands or lips—off me."

"Bombshell, you say," Quinn huffed, nipping at Rachel's exposed neck.

Rachel slowly turned around, keeping Quinn's arms on her shoulders, and ran her nails up the blonde's hips and under the hem of her shirt.

"Oh, yeah," the brunette growled, grabbing the back of Quinn's neck, bringing their lips so close she could count the lashes obscuring her view of Quinn's hazel eyes. "She makes me hit those high notes."

"There you are." Quinn whirled around to find Cara, a hand placed lightly on a canted hip. "Come. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

She followed Cara farther down the hall and into the kitchen. The light streamed in from the tall bay window, delightfully illuminating the marble counters, wooden cabinets and floor, the bright silver and copper of pots and pans. The warmth of the room failed to welcome Quinn as wonderfully as the woman preparing a myriad of vegetables at the island counter. Quinn recognized the woman as the same brunette pictured with Cara.

Her white peasant top, with its flowing sleeves and lacy texture, made her glow like some magical woman out of a fantasy. When the brunette looked up from her work, Quinn had to suppress a gasp. She was stunning, holding Quinn still with the intensity of her piercing blue eyes. The blonde was sure this woman could stop anyone, maybe even tip the world on its axis, just for a moment with that gaze.

The brunette dashed all of Quinn's uneasiness with her brilliant smile that seemed to reach and radiate through her eyes. "Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. "I'm Kahlan."

"Quinn." The blonde shook the offered hand. The strength and gentleness that she'd felt with Cara was also to be found in Kahlan's touch.

"It's wonderful to meet you. Cara told me that we might have a guest. I'm sorry I wasn't able to join earlier. I wanted to pick up a few things for our lunch." Quinn shook her head, waving off the apology. "I hope my wife behaved herself."

Cara snorted, taking over food preparation.

Kahland quirked an eyebrow, asking Quinn with her eyes.

"Other than a need for speed and subjecting a poor girl to a stuttering mess, she was perfect."

"Well, that's good to hear," the brunette chuckled. "Quinn, would you like anything to drink? I picked up some wine."

"Water will be fine. Thank you."

"So," Kahlan said, moving about the drawers and refrigerator to pour their drinks, "I understand Santana and one of Cara's new recruits were the cause for some discomfort."

Quinn merely nodded her head and accepted the tall glass of water.

"No lively chitchat, Kahlan?" Cara teased. "Social graces usually demand at least one round of beating around the bush."

"Oh, but, Honey, I thought you liked it when I left the beating to you?"

Quinn smirked at Cara's narrowed eyes. "How long have you two been together?"

Cara grunted. "Ball and chain for almost ten years."

The brunette came up behind her wife. "Again, I'll leave the chains and bondage to you." Quinn watched as Kahlan's hand trailed down Cara's side before disappearing behind the counter. Cara's furrowed brow was the only indication that something was happening.

"Kahlan," the green-eyed Mistress hissed.

Quinn giggled.

"Anyway," the brunette circled the island counter coming to stand beside Quinn, "what it is that brings you here?"

"I've been told that I need to work on my love life, that I need to start seeing people again. I want to. I really do, but…" Quinn watched Cara at the stovetop from the corners of her eyes.

"But…?" Kahlan pushed.

It was funny, Quinn thought, how different she felt under each woman's gaze—one smoldering and the other summoning. Each drew her in, though they fell on separate points of the seduction spectrum. She could just imagine it—Cara literally whipping someone into devoting their existence to her, whereas Kahlan would disarm them with her charming smile and piercing blue eyes, perhaps a touch and they'd come undone. How they were able to cohabitate without tearing each other apart was something Quinn was sure she'd learn later in life. Quinn was sure that both women could have anyone catering to their beck and call. And right then, Kahlan wanted an answer and Quinn couldn't deny this Siren's song.

"I'm scared. I'm so scared of what wanting…or needing…this…might mean. Not just because of my friends or my job, but what I've known and believed in. I mean coming out felt impossible to do. I still feel like I'm coming out."

Kahlan smiled. "That's because you are."

"What?"

"Just because you come out about one way you identify doesn't mean there's no more possibilities for that to continue to change. This is just another coming out."

"God, how many more times is this going to happen?"

Kahlan lifted Quinn's chin to look into her eyes. "I don't know," the brunette answered honestly.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, Quinn turned away. She couldn't look into the other woman's gaze without wanting to confess everything that had happened, everything that she'd caused two years ago.

"Look, there are some things I'd rather not talk about," she snapped, immediately regretting her words when she got pinned with Kahlan's concerned eyes and Cara's sudden cease in movement. "Please, I want to know why I'm so afraid, why I'm even here in the first place."

"You said you were afraid of becoming like me," Cara said, her back to the two women as she tended to their food. "Afraid of confidence and your wants. Silly really."

"Cara," Kahlan admonished.

"What?" the Mistress shrugged. "You didn't marry me because I was weak."

"You know good and well why I married you," the brunette countered with her steely tone. "And we know that Quinn has to work through these feelings and issues if she is going to resolve whatever fears she has. This is about more than strength and weakness, Cara."

"Hmm," the Mistress agreed.

"Then what is…this about?" Quinn inquired.

"Power," Cara and Kahlan answered.

"Power?"

"Yes. Control and vulnerability."

"Control? Vulnerability?"

"Playing Parrot doesn't suit you, Quinn," Cara sniped.

"Cara," Kahlan scolded again. The brunette touched Quinn's arm, drawing hazel eyes to blue. "Quinn, what Cara and I are trying to tell you is that power comes in all forms, both tangible and otherwise. Everyone draws power from something—talents, skills, looks, wealth, people. Anything. Sometimes, we lose that power and not always because it's taken by another. Rather, we give it up, toss it away and forget when and where we lost it."

"And if the source is gone?"

"Your power is like your love. There is no finite amount. If your source was a person and that person died or you were cut off from each other, then that doesn't mean your power is gone. You still have your memories, your image and understanding of that person. A source is never truly lost, only our path to it."

"Is that what you call what you do in that mansion?" Quinn huffed, turning her gaze on the other blonde. "All that spanking and tying people up? Power?"

Kahlan moved to the stovetop. "What Cara does in that mansion is about power, but it's just one physical manifestation of power."

Cara stood in front of Quinn. "Remember what I told you? That there is a control in submission just as there is a vulnerability in domination?"

"Yes, you said that Subs are not slaves." Quinn shook her head, crossing her arms. "I don't see the point."

The Mistress smiled. "Fear of being confident, of having control, is normal, which is why there are fewer people in charge than there are people who are being ordered around. What would happen if you were just one of ten assistant directors in that gallery of yours, all of you ordering around the same ten people?"

Quinn snorted. "It would be chaos. We'd never agree on anything."

"And not anyone can be in charge, right?"

A nod.

"Because the person in charge has to be able to handle the responsibilities, the pressure and the stress of any consequences. As a Mistress, I understand the needs and limits of those I dominate. I have to open myself up to their emotions and their pain and take it upon myself to turn it into something good and pleasurable. They have to be able to trust me. I need to be able to trust them to understand their own limits. We work together to understand those needs and wants and limits."

Kahlan took Quinn's hands in hers. The blonde could feel the warmth spread throughout her body as those hands gripped hers with such tenderness. Kahlan's blue eyes beckoned her. Quinn couldn't help the shiver that rippled along her spine and the dull aching tug that pulled her from the inside out.

"I'd like us to help you find the path to your source again. Along the way, I hope you'll trust us enough to tell us what happened to you that caused you to lose your way."

"It's horrible," Quinn sighed. "I'm not sure if I even deserve to get what I need. Forget about what I want."

"Set up a session with Santana," the brunette barely whispered. "Maybe one day soon, you'll find your power. And when you do find that power, let it give you the strength to open yourself up to the one thing…or person…you need the most."

o o o o o o o

Kurt squared his shoulders and made his way down the hallway toward his roommate's bedroom. The stark white door never seemed so ominous before. He stepped quietly and leisurely, trying to form his words. The first sentence kept hanging him up. There was no graceful way to ask about your roommate's coffee and lunch date with a leather-clad dominatrix.

Turning on his heel, Kurt made his way back to his room. Nearly half an hour later, he was rooted to that same spot in front of Quinn's door. He'd traded in his vintage—vintage, damn it…not old—outfit for the soft comfort of cotton-polyester-blend pants and his favorite N.Y.U. shirt. Girl talk was done better in sleepwear, he reasoned.

"C'mon," he mumbled to himself, "You played football for Gucci's sake!"

Another minute ticked away.

He heaved a sigh. "Quinn?" Kurt called out, softly knocking.

No answer.

"Quinn?" He tried the handle. It was unlocked. "Are you okay?" Kurt poked his head in.

She was awake. With her back to the door, the blonde was in her too-small boxers and faded Cal shirt, sitting at the far edge of the bed. Kurt couldn't see her face, but her gaze was tilted down to her lap.

"I've got a session in two weeks."

Kurt nodded, though she couldn't see him. "I know. I saw the calendar."

"Good. Just thought you should know."

He approached her, taking tentative steps. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Quinn stared at the small object resting on her right knee. Even in the dim light of her room, it twinkled and sparkled as if the darkness that surrounded its history meant nothing. She swallowed, wishing on the little star-like object that she could swallow and get through her guilt just as easily. But there were no wishes to be made and fulfilled tonight. Quinn felt a tear escape and had almost hidden it when she heard Kurt gasp.

There, nestled in white silk cushions and contained in the small telltale black velvet box, winked the clear-cut facets of a simple but painfully beautiful diamond ring.

End of Part Three

Season Two! I've been having a serious case of Pinoy and Charice pride these last few days. This is due to the fact that I am a Filipina named Cherise. Seriously. Of course, I'm a half-foot taller with (maybe) a tenth of her vocal talent…but I can dance and act! Ooh, pick me! Pick me!

**crashes into her own motorcycle**

Anyway, thanks for reading! Leave reviews! '^^