Some people thought it was difficult to have a deep connection with another person, so deep that the other person seemed to be in your very mind, rather than just, well, reading it. Quinn had heard of a few people who had had to go into therapy once they had been bonded, because they'd found themselves unable to handle the sudden onslaught of thoughts and emotions that were no longer their own. There were even classes at the university on how to relax your mind so that the other person wouldn't feel or cause your agitation, and even classes on how to block your thoughts at certain times, if you needed to. That wasn't recommended; most experts said that if your intended's emotions were blocked for an extended period of time, it could be potentially damaging.

Quinn knew that well.

Maybe it was because it had happened when she was so young, at an age when many children still had imaginary friends, but Quinn had found it quite easy to adjust to the addition of Rachel Berry in her life and in her head. Mostly because Rachel's presence was comfortable, even familiar. Despite that initial fear the first time they had "talked," Rachel had slipped into Quinn's heart and mind almost as if she had always resided there. They made sure to be quiet in each other's minds while they were sleeping, or with their parents, or while in school, but most days Quinn couldn't wait until she could shut herself up in her room, or outside in her treehouse, and be alone with Rachel. They were far too young to understand the nature of their relationship, but Quinn knew that Rachel was her very own, that no one else could talk to Rachel the way she did, and the fact that they were both only children made their relationship even sweeter. Usually their days "together" were filled with laughter and quiet companionship, only broken every now and then by Rachel's soft sadness. Quinn hated those moments.

Rachel Berry lived in New York, Quinn had been able to discern. She couldn't tell Quinn where, since they were supposed to discover each other later in life, let fate run its course. Or at least that's what Daddy said, when he had admonished her to not tell Rachel anything other than that she lived in Ohio, and not to let Rachel tell her anything either Quinn wasn't sure she understood, but Rachel would never tell her, no matter how many times she'd asked (what Daddy couldn't hear couldn't hurt him, Quinn reasoned). But it was okay, Quinn had decided, the where wasn't important. What was important was that her name was Rachel Barbra Berry, she was six years old, and she lived in New York with her mommy Shelby.

Quinn had been surprised that Rachel didn't have a daddy, since she'd thought that everyone had a daddy. In fact, she thought everyone should have a daddy just like hers: tall and blonde, with a booming laugh, and who worked a lot but always came into her bedroom to kiss her good night before she went to sleep. But no, it was just Rachel and her mommy, Rachel had said, a little bit wistfully. She'd tried to hide that, but it was easy to catch on to when you were so in tune with someone's thoughts. Rachel wanted a daddy like Quinn had, someone to swing her around onto his shoulders when they walked through downtown, or to tuck her in bed at night with a kiss and a "Night night, don't let the bed bugs bite!", then tickling her until she giggled. It made Quinn sad, knowing that Rachel would never have that, but she tried not to mention it for Rachel's sake.

One thing that Quinn didn't like was when Rachel would tell her about school. Or when Rachel would come home quiet and unsettled, and Quinn knew that the kids had been at it again. Rachel went to a school just down the street from her house, with children who were a little bit richer, a little higher in status than the daughter of a single mother. But Rachel was a lot smarter, and a lot more talented, and that, Quinn knew, could be a recipe for disaster. And for her shy, sensitive little "friend," it was. Quinn had no idea why Rachel's school had a slushie machine in the cafeteria, nor why everyone seemed to make it a sport to throw slushies in Rachel's face. It made her angry, knowing that they made fun of her Rachel, and she longed to race to New York and beat up all of them. But she was too young and she wouldn't even know what school to go to, so she had to be content to give Rachel a hug in her mind, and then distract her with movies or music.

Rachel loved to sing. Quinn loved that Rachel loved to sing, except on those days when Quinn was tired or cranky and Rachel insisted on singing all the time. Okay, she secretly loved it even then, but pretended to be fussy about it just so she could "apologize" and make Rachel sing again. Quinn liked to sing too, in her house with her Mommy while they were cleaning, or with Daddy when he'd put on his old records on a Sunday afternoon, but there was nothing like Rachel's voice. Quinn's favorite thing was to lie in her bed at night, knowing that Rachel was falling asleep in her own, and hear the soft, tired sound of her beautiful voice filling the room.

But Rachel's mom… didn't like Rachel to sing. It made Rachel sad, and Quinn didn't understand it, but she knew Shelby yelled a lot, mostly when she'd catch Rachel singing, and so gradually, Rachel didn't sing much at all anymore.

Quinn didn't like Shelby. But she didn't ever tell Rachel that.

Besides, she was pretty sure Rachel knew it anyway, and that's why she never really talked about her mother that much. Instead, Rachel would fill her own mind with happy thoughts so that Quinn wouldn't worry. Thoughts about things Quinn didn't really understand: Broadway, musicals. Wicked and Rent. Or she'd excitedly think about what her life would be like with Quinn when they were older. They had just started their new adventure together, neither of them old enough to know what it really meant, but both of them alive with the fire of hope and possibility. And Quinn loved it because she could feel the happiness and contentment that would settle in Rachel's belly, and she could hear the light, lilting tune of the song Rachel would begin to hum, before she'd startle, suddenly aware of what she was doing, and stop. To Quinn, that stop was the worst thing in the world. Rachel was meant to sing, and she couldn't understand why her mother didn't want her to.

Now, at 19 years old, Quinn had searched the internet for "Shelby Berry" more times than she cared to admit, and come up empty handed every time. She'd wanted to search for Rachel, too, but oddly enough, Quinn was afraid to. Afraid of what she might discover, afraid of what she'd be forced to know. So she didn't. Her mother and father kept reassuring her that if it was meant to be, it would happen. She'd find Rachel, and things would work out.

"Love always wins," her grandma also would keep reminding her.

But Quinn, as she sat in her apartment and scratched Van's head absently – to his utter aggravation – didn't necessarily believe that. She shook her head when Van rolled over and offered up his tummy for rubs; it was the only thing that kept him happy.

"You're spoiled, you know?" she said, grinning when the low rumbled purr began. "Such a spoiled, ungrateful boy." He batted at her with his paw and she laughed. "Yeah, I still love you."

Love always wins.

It hurt, being so close to Rachel yet so far away. She had thought that nothing would ever hurt so much as that day when she was 15 years old. But going through the next four years had been worse. Knowing that Rachel was alive, and in New York, and that Quinn had to wait until she could get to her, to be with her… and now that she was in New York, knowing that she had no clue where to look, and that Rachel wasn't going to make it easier for her…

She'd thought about hiring a private detective. Then she'd be guaranteed to find answers, and she knew her parents would be willing to pay, if only to see her happy. But that felt to Quinn like she'd be cheating… God or fate or whatever it was that ordained she be in this situation – bonded to a girl that no longer wanted her. And so she didn't.

But that didn't stop her from wishing.

Tuesday was Quinn's "no class" day. Also known as Lounge Around In Pajamas Day, No Really I'm Not Getting Out of Bed Day, and Crap I Have No Food Time to Go to the Store Day. She'd had cereal earlier that morning but if she wanted to eat dinner she seriously needed to get some motivation, so she stood up from the couch, grinning again when Van meowed his disapproval.

"You have food," she reminded him. "If you want to keep having it, then Food Person needs some as well. So I have to go to the store, lazy cat."

Once dressed, Quinn headed down the stairwell and out into the cold New York afternoon. It had taken her some time to adjust to living in New York; in fact, if it hadn't been for Rachel, Quinn probably would have gone back to Lima the first week, despite the fact that she was smart, and had gotten into NYU based on that. Every indicator pointed to Quinn Fabray living up to her designation as Most Likely to Succeed in the McKinley High School yearbook.

Compared to Rachel, Quinn had had an easy childhood, and an even easier high school career. She was the pretty, popular blonde girl, captain of the cheerleading squad – following in her mother's footsteps – and paramour of all the football players. In fact just after… it had happened, when she was 15, Quinn had tried to date to help her "get over" Rachel. His name was Finn, and he was the star quarterback. It could have made for the perfect fairytale: the quarterback and the cheerleader in a romance for the ages, happily ever after.

But Finn was a Dom, and a boy who didn't really know how to be in a relationship at that; and Quinn was a Domme whose heart had belonged to someone else for eight years. Not to mention that someone else was a girl. Their relationship had fizzled a few months later; Quinn didn't know what had happened to Finn after high school. She'd lost touch with pretty much everyone after graduation, her mind had been so focused on finding Rachel.

Despite her failure at getting over Rachel, Quinn hadn't lacked for any friends in high school, but she had never felt like any of them were true friends. The other girls on the squad, Quinn felt like they were little more than hangers-on, pretending to be loyal to her because they thought it might give them an in with Coach Sylvester, the brutal yet matter of fact dictator of the squad. Oddly enough it was Coach Sylvester who had seemed most sympathetic of Quinn's plight; Quinn had spent countless afternoons in the woman's office trying to make sense of things. Sylvester hadn't been any help to her with that, but still it was nice to have an ear offered to her every now and then. Most of the students Quinn's age were either happily bound or still eagerly awaiting the arrival of The One; none of them knew what it was like to have a connection so unceremoniously torn from them.

In fact, no one in Quinn's society really knew what that was like. Having a connection severed was almost unheard of, and as such there were very little resources at Quinn's disposal. This had angered her parents, because Quinn had been devastated, and barely able to function for the entire summer. A therapist was brought in, but he'd just made things worse by patting Quinn on the shoulder and saying that perhaps it was all for the best anyway, maybe she just wasn't ready to be a Dominant.

She'd chased him out of the house and he hadn't dared to come back the next day.

But other than talking to Coach Sylvester, Quinn hadn't had anyone that she could talk to, to tell them about how difficult it was, to go from knowing someone so well to suddenly… knowing nothing about where she had gone, what she had been thinking, what she needed. But it had been Sylvester who had offered the only suggestion that made sense, the only thing she was able to cling to, to make things easier.

"Maybe you ought to go to New York."

Those eight words, spoken in an office when she was sixteen years old, had set everything in motion. She had thought when she was younger and she and Rachel were still connected, that perhaps Rachel would want to come to Ohio. It had made Quinn smile, the thought of Rachel joining her, and the two of them setting up a little house in Columbus or Cincinnati. Quinn would be an art teacher or an illustrator for one of the small, independent publishing houses, and Rachel would, of course, be a singer, maybe with one of the local theaters. Because with Quinn, Rachel would always be allowed to sing.

With Quinn, Rachel would be allowed to be herself. No more bullying, no more yelling. Just Rachel, safe and cared for, together with Quinn.

But then it had happened, and Quinn knew that the only way she and Rachel were going to be together was if Quinn found her, as she had promised to do all those years ago.

So Quinn had thrown herself even harder into her studies. A dedicated student already, she'd increased her efforts ten-fold, even giving up the cheerleading squad so she could devote more time. That had made Sylvester mad, but Quinn didn't care. National competitions paled in comparison to her need for Rachel. Her parents were concerned; worried that she was devoting herself to a lost cause, but despite her love for Rachel Quinn also had the desire to be successful in her own right. That had reassured her parents enough, and everything else fell into place. She'd graduated top of her class with a full ride to New York University's College of Arts and Sciences.

Quinn was on her way.

And then she'd made it to New York, and her future hit her with full force. To say that the young girl from the small town of Lima, Ohio experienced a severe culture shock was an understatement. Everything in New York had been so different, from the attitudes of the people to the buildings to the traffic to the weather… everything. And within a week Quinn's hopes and dreams were fading fast, and she would've called it quits and run home to her parents with her tail tucked between her legs if it hadn't been for the endless, pressing thought of Rachel, and the gentleness of a new friend named Sam.

As she walked towards the grocery store on the corner, her favorite in the city, Quinn realized that she didn't much feel like shopping after all. She had a drawing pad and her pencils in the bag that she always wore strapped to her back, so perhaps a walk through the park, and then a nice bench to sit on for a picture. One of the best things about New York was that there was no shortage of parks or benches.

No shortage of theaters, either. After she'd gotten over her initial homesickness, one of the first things Quinn had done was see as many musicals as possible. She saw Wicked twice, since that seemed to be the one that was Rachel's favorite. There was a revival of Rent, and that had quickly become Quinn's favorite, so she saw it three more times before it finally closed down a few months later. What followed was a frantic stream of front rows, mezzanines, nosebleed sections… Quinn Fabray gave herself a crash course in musicals, if for the simple reason that it made her feel somehow closer to the girl she hadn't heard from in almost 5 years. It came with its own sadness; she wished more than anything that she was sitting with Rachel in those rows, or that she was sitting in the audience watching Rachel. Gradually it had gotten to be too much for Quinn to bear, and like Rachel had stopped singing, Quinn stopped going to the theater.

She'd go back, she told herself. She'd go back with Rachel, when Rachel was hers again.

Lost in her thoughts, Quinn had wandered a little further into the city than she had in her entire year there, and her eyes widened when she saw the stretch of unfamiliar shops and restaurants laid out before her. But rather than feel worried, she was excited. Here was a new discovery, a new chance at finding the frayed end of that green ribbon, and connecting it with hers. Her feet began to carry her down the sidewalk quickly; she laughed a little to herself, wondering if now she was walking like a true New Yorker.

Her eyes scanned the storefronts; she glanced into the windows of restaurants and felt that familiar frustration well within her as each glance was met with no sign of the object of her search. But still she walked on; still she looked, even ducking into one particularly seedy-seeming pharmacy. But she quickly stepped back out, concluding that there didn't appear to be any legal drug transactions going on in there, and perhaps it was best if she went somewhere else. She kept on until she reached the end of the row of buildings, the end of the sidewalk, and Quinn sighed. A small, mostly empty park was laid out now in front of her; tired and hungry she decided to give up her search for the moment.

What would she do if she found Rachel, anyway? Quinn thought to herself as she took a seat on a bench and pulled out her drawing pad and pencils. She'd thought about this every day of her life for the last 5 years. Would she run up to her and give her a hug? Would she be shy and quiet, awkward after having not talked to her so long? Or would she throw Rachel over her lap and spank her for leaving her in a constant state of worry and silence?

… that last choice probably wouldn't go over well.

But the truth was, Quinn didn't know what she would do. She knew what she wanted to do: take Rachel in her arms, take her home, and tell her everything would be okay. That everything would always be okay, as long as they were together, and to please not shut her out again. She'd take Rachel home, fix her dinner, dance with her, sing with her, and take Rachel to her bedroom.

Then gently, ever so gently, with all the love and care in her heart, Quinn would guide her submissive to her knees.

She just… had to find her, first.

Quinn glanced down at her paper to see what she had been drawing without focusing on it, and she almost laughed out loud. This always happened, she thought to herself, the fingers of her left hand lightly stroking over the image on the paper, the pencil marks smearing. She continued to run her hand over it, until the tips of her fingers were gray and the features on the paper obscured. The prominent nose, the dark eyes, the curly hair, dark brown to almost black. Rachel Berry at eighteen. Or at least, how Quinn imagined she would look.

Her stomach growled, and Quinn decided that she had been defeated enough for the day, it was time to get something to eat and head home to Van. She still had chapters to read for her classes tomorrow, something that she was actually looking forward to. The girls of her sorority called her a nerd, a badge Quinn wore with pride.

She stowed her drawing pad and pencils back into her bag and glanced around. A diner sat at the corner on the other side of the park and Quinn shrugged. It was better than nothing, and she hadn't eaten there before. Maybe there'd be something there that she hadn't discovered. She trudged toward it, hearing the quickening wind whistle, and she shivered, pulling her coat tight around her. Glancing to her left she thought she saw the merest wisp of a green ribbon dangling off one of the trees; Quinn blinked and it was gone.

She shook her head. "Now you've really gone off your rocker, Fabray," she muttered to herself.

A bell sounded over the door as she opened it and pushed herself inside the diner; it was empty except for herself and the "chef," who poked his head out from the kitchen and nodded in greeting.

"Have a seat," he called. "My darn waitress is late again; if she doesn't get here in the next few minutes I'll come and take your order. Make it too. Best food in the borough, you'll see."

Quinn smiled a little. "Take your time; I'm not in a hurry." Her stomach growled again as if to say yes, we are in a hurry, but Quinn ignored it. She was more tired than anything. Tired of searching, of worrying, of always wondering. Wishing and waiting. Once again that ugly self-doubt reared its head, telling her that she should give up. She should just give up and move on, because no person was worth waiting this long for, especially when it seemed that they were thwarting her efforts with every turn.

Rachel was worth it, Quinn stubbornly told herself, trying to silence all the discouragement. Rachel would always be worth it.

The bell sounded again and Quinn made a face, but didn't look up from the menu; she had hoped she would be alone to enjoy her dinner in peace. But maybe the newest patron wouldn't be loud and obnoxious; maybe they wouldn't try to talk to her or worse, ask her out.

"You're late!" the cook barked from the kitchen.

Ah, the waitress.

"I'm sorry!" she called, sounding contrite and distressed, and Quinn's world fell out from under her.

She'd know that voice anywhere.

She knew that voice even before she'd turned around and saw the tiny figure pulling off her coat, revealing a comically retro white uniform skirt and top with a pink apron. She knew the voice even before she recognized the cascade of brown-black curls falling over her shoulders before it was hastily pulled back into a ponytail, the long, dark eyelashes fluttering over tan cheeks.

"Yeah I bet you are, that's the third time this week! Whatever, you got a customer."

"I know, I know," she said, and Quinn felt the tears rush to her eyes.

She was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away as the girl approached her, all smiles with a dimple on her cheek and the nameplate over her right breast confirming what Quinn already knew, had always known since she was 7 years old, and would always know, for the rest of her life.

"What can I get you?" the girl said.

What could she say? What did she call her? The girl was watching her quizzically as Quinn's mind raced through the possibilities.

Princess. Gold star. Little one.

"Are you all right?"

Quinn licked her lips, struggling, and finally the word came, soft and low.

"Rachel."