Rachel kept to her word and shooed Brittany and Santana home when the karaoke was done. That lead to what caused you to wake up naked in her bed the next day. You didn't actually get out of bed much that day either. You practiced so little for your audition that as you stand outside the theatre your hands are shaking because you're so nervous. Rachel helped you pick out your audition song, which you can't remember for the life of you.

When they call your name you remind yourself that this is a small part in an off-Broadway play. It's not a big deal if you don't get it. So you step onto the stage and Rachel keeps telling you, you know how to do.

When you get home, Rachel shoots off of the couch, "How'd it go? What song did you sing?"

You drop your purse on the floor by the door and lock the door behind her, "The only song I could remember the words to was Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac."

She looks worried at that. You have trouble keeping up your neutral face. "Well what did they say?"

"Before or after they told me I got the part?" A grin breaks out on your face.

Her eyes grow wide and she jumps into your arms, "You got it? That's awesome! I'm so proud of you."

That warms you more that you can say. She's proud of you. She's the first person to tell you that in a really long time.

She pulls you to the couch and sits you down, "Well tell me all about it. How was the stage? How was the set? Were the casting directors nice?"

"They were great," you tell her, still overwhelmed with emotions.

Rachel takes your hands completely invested in the conversation. "Did they say anything about the song?"

"They told me there was something very Stevie Nicks about the character and that they knew the second I started singing Gold Dust Woman they knew I was the one."

"So you're Wendy?" she asks, referring to the part that you auditioned for.

You shake your head with a grin, "They gave me the lead."

"The lead?" her eyes are wide with disbelief.

You frown, "Yeah which is a lot scarier now that you say it like that."

"No no no," she shakes her head, "Don't be nervous. You'll do great. I'm just slightly jealous. I'm in my first leading part right now and I've been in musicals and plays since middle school."

"Oh god," you fall back onto the couch. You didn't think about it before. You were just so excited to get home and tell Rachel, "I'm in over my head."

"No Quinn, That's not what I meant," she takes a deep breath, "you will be amazing. I didn't get lead parts because I wasn't ready. You. Are. Ready. I promise. I wouldn't throw you into this if I didn't think you were okay?"

You look at her and nod, "okay."

"Great let's read this script."

You feel a little better after you both sit down and read it, Rachel in the corner of the couch and you sitting between her legs leaning back into her. Your head falls back perfectly on her shoulder and you both read the script together. She reads every part that's not yours and you read yours. You feel more comfortable with it and when you're both done.

"You're going to be incredible," she kisses your cheek

You find volumes of encouragement in her voice. You take the script out of her hand and drop it on the coffee table. You take her hands and wrap them around you as tight as you can without hurting her. "You really think so?"

"Definitely," she squeezes you and kisses you again, "Soon we will be walking down the red carpet as Broadway's number one power couple. There will be Biography Channel specials on our relationship. We'll get adjacent starts on the Walk of Fame. You are going to be incredible and I am going to be stunning and together nothing can stop us."

"Well," you turn your head and give her a peck on the lips, "If you decide acting isn't for you anymore, you'd have a lucrative career as a public speaker."

She laughs with you for a moment. Then she brushes some hair away from your face. "May I take you out to dinner to celebrate?"

"You may," you kiss her again because you can never, ever do it too much.

You both get dressed up and she takes you to a five star restaurant where the food is so expensive that they don't even print the prices on the menu. She orders a bottle of wine and pours it for both of you. You pick up your glass and swirl it around. It's just hanging in your hand over the table as your thoughts lead you away.

You can just see her laying in a bed, in a room with a view of the beach. Her beautiful tan skin contrasts wonderfully with the white sheet she's wrapped in. The salty ocean air is blowing through the open door to the balcony of your room. The view is beautiful, but you can't take your eyes off of her.

"Quinn?" Rachel asks, pulling you from your fantasy. She grins when you duck your head and blush. "Where'd you go?"

You shrug. It could have been anywhere, but you say, "It could have been Greece or Tahiti. Somewhere with a beach."

"Was I there?" she asks.

You set your wine down and nod, "Of course."

"Was I wearing clothes?" she chuckles.

Again you duck your head and bush, "No."

"Ooh sex on the beach?" she leans forward and rests her chin in her hand. Her gorgeous hair falls around her face.

You shake your head and set your wine down on the table, "You were asleep. We were in a room. You were…you are so beautiful."

Her face gets sentimental and she softly smiles at you, "Thank you. You are not so hard on the eyes yourself."

You bite your lip contemplating the question you're about to ask. "Do you think it'll happen? Us being like a Broadway power couple."

"I know it will," she tells you, reaching around your glasses on the table to take the hand that's playing in your hair. "You know, you're making my dreams come true."

You tilt your head to the side and look at her. You just look at her for a moment. Her eyes shimmer in the light of the two candles on the table and her smile is relaxed. Her hair falls effortlessly around her shoulders. You feel goosebumps run across your arms. Like the first time you saw her. Her chin in her hand as she just gazes back and holds your hand.

You shake your head to get your brain to start again. "I'm sorry. You just…" you can't describe it. She just took you away. You pick up your wine and sip it, "Your dream. How am I possibly doing anything to help that?"

She picks up her head and turns your hand over so that her thumb can stroke your knuckles. "Since I can remember, I've always wanted to be on Broadway, but just as long I've wanted someone to share it with. Someone who appreciates it like I do. It doesn't matter to me that you're going to be a huge star, although I don't think I've been more proud of anyone, myself included." She smiles wider at you and you feel tears sting your eyes. If she keeps saying that you're going to keep to start keeping tissues on you at all times. She inhales slowly before continuing, "This is pretty much everything I've ever dreamed of."

"Even the girl part?" you ask, playfully.

"That was a nice surprise," she adds, "I'll admit that if my fourteen year old self was imagining this, you'd be Taye Diggs." A coy smile flexes with the words.

You laugh. This warm all over feeling you have is something that you're starting to get used to.

When you get back to your apartment, you sense that she's tired so you kiss her goodnight in front of the couch and send her to bed.

The next week you have lunch with Ethan during your break from rehearsal because you feel like you've been neglecting your first non-Lima friend.

"I'm workshopping off-Broadway," you tell him as you're scarfing down a grilled vegetable gyro. The whole catharsis of acting completely famishes you.

"Awesome," he grins, "not that you're workshopping because they don't pay you but you're doing something that you like right?"

You nod. You love it. It's like having a proxy for all you pain. You can release your emotions into the universe with the vessel of your character. You can get rid of unwanted emotions and it's like you're not the one doing it. "It's great. I've met some cool people and they're not like I expected."

He sips his drink with a chuckle, "Stuck up hippie artists or high maintenance divas?"

"Exactly. I live with a high maintenance diva. I don't need to work with any. Anyway, how's the gallery going?" You feel especially bad that you found out about a space he was offered for his work from Rachel who has apparently become friends with your favorite handyman.

"It's great," he beams with absolute pride, "It's almost done. I just have to use my handy-manning skills to fix some things and then it'll be ready for public viewing."

"I expect an opening night invitation." You tease.

"I already gave it to Rachel. You weren't home I guess. She said she'd love to come."

"I'll be there too." You assure him.

You check your watch and see that you need to get back to the theatre. You hug Ethan goodbye and run back to the theatre.

You find that you're the only one that got back from lunch on time. You set your stuff down in the shared dressing room and walk onto the stage. Right now the stage is pretty bare. Right now you're just blocking while trying to memorize your lines at home. You stand in the middle of the stage looking out onto the empty audience. A smile spreads across your face. You feel at home on the stage. You can forget that there are people watching you and pretend to be someone else. A girl who falls in love with her best friend while trying to find herself. Okay so you're pretending to be someone who is kinda like you. You have to admit that your character is funnier than you are and her best friend is a government data clerk with an apartment across the alley from her. But she's fun to be for the few hours at you are her.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, imagining a packed house and a finished set. You're not you. You're her. You're talking to her best friend, talking over cereal pretending not to be in love with him. You'll wear longing glances and feigned disinterest in his love life.

Your eyes fly open when you hear footsteps walking toward you in the wings of the stage. You turn to see Rachel standing there with a flower in her hand. She smiles apologetically, "I'm sorry. I interrupted your moment."

You open your arms to her without moving your feet. She immediately walks over to you and takes her place in your arms. The way you fit together always amazes you not matter how many times you hold each other.

"It feels good huh?" Rachel asks you quietly, passing the flower off to you, "Like sitting in front of a fire on a cold day."

You look at her with a questioning eye. "Or raindrops on roses?" gesturing to the flower in your hand.

"Mhmm," She giggles, "And whiskers on kittens."

"I don't remember that next line," you confess.

She feigns shock and shakes her finger at you, "We're watching The Sound of Music when you get home tonight. The words to my favorite Julie Andrew's song are essential to know."

"Of course," you nod with a fake air of seriousness.

She rolls her eyes and playfully pushes you away, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

You spot some of your cast mates walking in from the front doors of the theatre. When they see you and Rachel their loud laugher dies down and they start whispering to each other.

Your most outspoken and blunt cast mate, Amelia walks right up to both of you and presents her hand to Rachel. "Hi, I'm Amelia. I'm a huge fan of yours."

Rachel politely shakes her hand with a gracious smile, "Thank you so much Amelia."

Your male lead loops his arm around your shoulders. He quietly whispers to you, "I was totally going to ask if the rumors were true, but I thought that would be unprofessional."

"What rumors?" you ask, watching Rachel sign various pieces of paper for some of the crewmembers that are meandering in.

"The ones about you and her," he nods between the two of you.

"Where did you hear these rumors?" you cross your arms and take a step away from him.

He holds his arms up in the air, "Hey, I didn't start he rumors. They've just been kinda…floating around. And I don't blame you for doing it. I totally went on a date with a casting director to get a commercial. It was for like a pet store so all I did was hold a puppy and smile, but it was totally worth it."

You look him over and grit your teeth. He couldn't possibly be suggesting what you think he is.

"So when you're like done with the charade," he whispers, placing his hands on your hips and his lips way too close to your ear, "We can go out and party hard?"

You clinch your firsts. You throw his arms away from you and resist kicking him in the groin. You open your mouth to say something, but you're so furious you can't actually form words. Finally you just stalk off. When you get off the stage, you throw open the door to the dressing room and pace behind the row of mirrors and chairs. On one leg of your marathon of stomping and muttering to yourself, you see Rachel standing in the doorway.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she asks you quietly.

You shake your head and continue pacing, "Tony just…accused me of using you to get this part and then hit on me. Go out and party 'hard'? What kind of shit is that?"

"Excuse me?" Rachel asks, her eyes widening and her rarely seen death glare set on her face. She turns on her heel and before you even register what is going on, you hear yelling.

"How dare you speak to Quinn like that!" Rachel who was at least a foot shorter than Tony made him look like a little boy being scolded by his mother, surrounded by everyone involved with the play, "That was not only disrespect of a woman, that you with never be left alone with mind you, it was grotesquely unprofessional."

Just as you're about to go call off your guard Chihuahua, the producer of the play walks up behind her, tapping his clipboard nervously in his hand, "Uh, Ms. Berry? Is there a problem?"

She whirls around, hands on hips. "There is a huge problem."

You slap your forehead and shrink back behind the legs of the stage. This is definitely not going to make anything easier for you. You're going to have to go back to real estate.

Rachel surveys the stage and turns back to the producer, "Before I launch into an extremely long winded rant about why this…person shouldn't be allowed to play such a great part in a wonderful play, I want to ask the ladies in the room, has this," she turns to Tony and asks his name. When he supplies it she continues, "raise your hand if Tony has his on you."

Most of the girls in the room raise their hands. Your eyes widened. At least you're not alone. Then Rachel nods as if she knew the answer. She asks a different question, "Keep your hand up if when he shamelessly hit on you, he offered any extraordinarily lame innuendos referring to sex?"

Most of the women kept their hands up. Granted it was a small production, but there were still a fair amount of women.

Rachel looks to the producer, "In this day and age, how can you put up with such barbaric behavior when there are more and most likely better, actors just waiting to be discovered?"

"I um well…Ms. Berry, I can't um…" the wiry man nervously taps his clipboard again, "We need…" He looks around at all the people in the room, women and men both, staring at him with a look of 'well, do something'. He finally let out a sigh, "Tony may I have a word with you in my office."

Tony walks as far away from everyone as he can, slinking down the backstage hall. The producer follows the actor down the hallway.

Amelia hugs Rachel who laughs at the contact. "Thank you so much! He was insufferable! And I thought it was just me."

Rachel's eyes seek you out over Amelia's shoulder, "It's happened to the best of us."

"You are the best of us!" Amelia laughs loudly.

The director finally got control of everyone and the crew starts working on the set again, leaving the actors to do their pre-rehearsal exercises. You don't really have any of those so you just wait for Rachel to walk over to you.

She pulls you into a dark corner of the backstage and rests one of her hands on your side a little above your hip. "Are you okay? Did he like…touch you inappropriately?"

You shake your head, "No. But you going all Gloria Allred doesn't make his point any less moot."

For a beat her eyes widen in panic. She took what you said the wrong way. So you quickly shake your head, "The point that I didn't get this job by myself."

Rachel places her hand over her heart and takes a deep breath, "You did get this job by yourself."

You shake you head venomously, "No I didn't."

You can see Rachel scan around her for a moment, looking for somewhere more private before taking your hand and pulling you to the spiral staircase that leads up to the catwalk. It takes a few minutes, but when you get up there, you both sit down facing the stage.

"Don't get me wrong," you finally say, "I really do appreciate you standing up for me like you did."

She drops her head and nods, "But I overstepped. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you take her hand, slipping your fingers between hers. "I just…I realized that I've never gotten anything on my own."

Rachel turns her head and looks at you, "What do you mean?"

You sigh. This is something you weren't actually planning on telling her. At least not until you'd been married for fifty years and you told her while you're both watching your grandchildren play. "In high school, the second I start struggling with something, a class or a project I enlisted help. I didn't get on the Cheerios my first try-out because Coach Sylvester said that she had already reached her blonde quota. My dad bought the entire team new uniforms before Coach let me on. My mom talked to a few people at Lima Real Estate before I even submitted my resume. You got me this audition before I even decided on a career." You pull your knees to your chest and rest your forehead on them.

"Who lead the McKinley Cheerio to two consecutive national titles before defecting to the glee club?" Rachel asks after letting you stew for a few minutes.

Instead of answering, you just turn your head to look at her. You can see where this is going.

"Who was the second highest grossing real estate agent in Lima? Who got the lead role in an off-Broadway play on her very first try, making her girlfriend extremely jealous?" she pokes your side with an affectionate smile, "I think you get my point Quinn. You may have had a little help here and there and maybe the people you know opened a few doors, but you're the one that walked through the door and awed all the people on the other side."

You allow her to pull you into her arm and kiss your forehead, "I realize at this point I'm more of a handicap than anything, so I'll try to keep the protective outbursts to a minimum."

"Thanks," you sigh into her, closing your eyes, "You can't go scaring off all my on stage boyfriends."

"As much as I would like to…" she trails off with a chuckle.

You two take a minute to just sit there and think before you decide that you better get downstairs. Most of the actors are done with their warm ups so you need to get to work. Rachel tells you goodbye, but doesn't kiss you because of all the people watching. You're disappointed, but you're sort of relieved.

Another week or so goes by and you have your first full weekend off. You have to admit that it's a special kind of nice to not wake up at the ass crack of dawn. It's so nice that you don't even get out of bed when you wake up. You just snuggle under the covers and sigh contently.

That's before Rachel comes thundering toward your room. "We can be official now!" she runs into your room and jumps on your bed. She drapes herself over your blanket covered body and kisses your cheek, "but we have to be caught in a PG kiss."

This is a lot for your not even awake yet brain. You take a second before answering. "Get caught? Do you wanna go make out on Times Square?"

She laughs and burrows into you, "No. Jacob is on a plane right now so as soon as he gets here we can just go out and he'll follow us in his freaky stalker way. When he posts the pictures on the blog, Kathy will release a statement and that will be that."

"Good," you roll onto your side, dumping her onto the mattress next to you. Now that your arms are free, you pull her to you, "I'm tired of having to stop myself from having to restrain myself from kissing you."

"Restrain no more." She doesn't restrain herself either. She kisses you hard, pushing you into the mattress.

After a little at home PG-13 making out, she rests her head on your stomach.

"This is good timing since I don't have rehearsal and you don't have a show," you offer, remembering that you were supposed to do something tonight anyway because you rehearse during the day and her shows are in the evening you haven't been getting to see much of each other except on Sunday evenings after her matinee show and your Sunday rehearsal.

"Some may call it good timing," She sits up and grins, "I call it shameless begging." She waits for you to finish your giggle before explaining, "I've called Kathy everyday for two weeks begging and pleading and threatening, the latter not working very well. Regardless, I finally and reasonably explained to her that today is the perfect day and that I can't stop myself anymore. And that the next time someone hits on you I can't be held responsible for what happens to them or anything that comes out of my mouth."

"Like fire?"

She rolls her eyes and whacks you with a pillow. You just smile in return. After she dips her head down to kiss you, she adds, "Anyway, Jacob is going to text me when he arrive and I'll tell him where we're going. After that we just have a good time."

"Isn't that kind of creepy?" you ask, admiring her sleeping shorts. Her very short sleeping shorts. Your fingers lazily slide up and down her thigh gradually climbing higher.

"No creepier than it was in high school," she answers evenly. She's doing pretty well for her. Usually you start doing this and as soon as your fingers cross under her shorts she's pawing at your clothes. But she's remaining composed and still sitting up even though you can see the intense concentration it's taking on her face.

You decide to try a new tactic. You remove your hands completely and stretch with your arms above your head. You know that your shirt is riding up exposing you stomach and your shorts slip down just enough to be suggestive. Then you slip out of the bed, "I'm going to take a shower."

You can hear an audible pout as you cross the threshold of your bathroom. After starting the shower and taking off your clothes you call back to her, "Wanna join me?"

She doesn't need to be asked twice.