"Ladies, I now declare this emergency slumber party of Phi Pi Kappa open! Our motto is?"

"Care Above Dominance," Quinn replied with the six other girls sprawled on the floor of Jamie's basement, and then she sighed and settled back onto her sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling.

She'd been reluctant to rush a Greek organization, no matter how much her mother had been desperate for her to join. While Russell's goals for Quinn included a good education, a solid foundation for her future career, Judy's goals for Quinn revolved around friendship and new experiences with new people. A sorority seemed to be the perfect fit while also allowing Quinn to focus on her studies. For Quinn, it felt like she would be paying for friendship, and distracting her from her ultimate goal: finding and (re)uniting with Rachel. But it was the motto that had attracted her.

Care Above Dominance.

It was the rule by which her sisters lived their lives: the idea that above all else, even above their own nature, caring for their submissive mattered the most. There were the usual parties and going to clubs – which Quinn usually begged off, preferring to stay at home and study – but also there were seminars to attend, learning about how to develop their dominance while protecting the person in their charge. There was another sorority on campus that was more interested in asserting that dominance, and while Quinn didn't necessarily think that was wrong, she found herself far more at home with PPK.

Jamie collapsed onto the floor next to Quinn with a thump, and nudged her. "You all right, Quinn?"

Jamie had become one of Quinn's closest friends at NYU, as close to her as Sam was, if not more. Unlike Sam, Jamie was a Dominant, and also unlike Sam, Jamie was bonded and in a relationship with her submissive.

Eleanor, called Elle by her Lady, was a pretty, sweet submissive studying at NYU to eventually become a neurosurgeon. Quinn had joked with Jamie, who was on the law enforcement track, that it was so cliché, the doctor and the police officer.

"Yep," Jamie had said with a smirk. "I'm going to beat the shit out of people, and Elle will tape them up so I don't go to prison."

Jamie's bravado belied the fact that her love for Elle ran deep and strong, and theirs was a bond that Quinn envied. It had started rather unconventionally; Jamie and Elle had grown up together on the same street, and their parents had been fast friends. They'd spent every waking moment together, Jamie would recall with a fond smile, and she cherished the memory of when 8 year old Elle had proclaimed "I'm going to marry you someday!"

But then they'd found out about bonding. Jamie realized she was Dominant, and there had never really been a question that Elle was submissive. Elle would sound wistful, sad when she talked about it to Quinn, the devastation of realizing she would be meant for someone else when even as a child she felt that her heart belonged to Jamie. Her parents had tried to tell her that it would be all right, that she would find someone she would love even more than her best friend, and that she would always have Jamie no matter what. But she didn't want just that, Elle said. She didn't want a love and Jamie, Jamie was her love, or so she thought. But reality was warring with fantasy, it seemed, and Elle found herself unable to deal.

"She stopped talking to me," Jamie had told Quinn, the pain still evident in her voice. "We went to the same school, had classes together, and she just ignored me. And one day I couldn't take it anymore. I told her I was unhappy, that I was transferring schools. She could move on and bond with someone and be happy."

The thought of Jamie moving away had been too much for Elle. She'd thrown herself at her best friend, sobbing, feeling as if her entire world was collapsing around her.

"If I can't be yours," Elle had said, the tears running down her face, "Let me just have this."

It been urgent, frantic, aching, two girls grasping each other and pouring every emotion that had gathered in fifteen years into one, first and last kiss.

The bond, Jamie said with a beaming smile, cuddling Elle close to her, was sudden and strong, as if they had been without their hearts for years, and suddenly had them back.

She'd been to Jamie's apartment several times, and it always hurt a little, seeing the gentle, loving way that Elle and Jamie reacted, and knowing that she didn't have that – and may never. Jamie and Elle's dynamic was a little different from what Quinn expected; while they were primarily "Lady" and "pet," Elle looked younger than she really was and Quinn knew that on any given day she could go to Jamie's apartment and find Elle curled up in her lap, "baby" taking comfort in "Mommy."

It had been nice, knowing that there was a Dominant her age who had actually found their submissive, and actually had them. Jamie knew Quinn well, and so when Rachel had turned her away, Jamie had been the first person to receive the call.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Liar," Jamie said without malice; the other girls murmured their agreement and she turned on her side to face her sorority sister. "Look, this emergency is for you. We could be having so much more fun studying and doing laundry, but instead we're here having pizza and drinks." Jamie sighed dramatically and Quinn rolled her eyes. "At least show your gratitude by being honest."

"What do you want me to say?" Quinn asked softly, and Jamie laid her hand on the girl's arm. "I found her. I found my girl. Only she's not mine and she's trying to make it clear that she doesn't want to be."

"'Trying,'" Jamie repeated. "So obviously she failed at making that clear."

Quinn nodded. "There's something there, Jamie." She glanced around at the other girls, all of them giving her various expressions of sympathy and regret. They all knew her story, revealed during one of the "Get to Know You" sessions during rush week. The hugs and care Quinn had received for a week afterward had cemented her decision to join if asked.

"I know it's there. I can't… feel it. I haven't been able to feel anything from her but it's there. She wants me, but something's holding her back."

"So find out what."

"And how do I do that, spray her with the mace you gave us?" Quinn joked. Jamie took her studies in law enforcement seriously – and her role as president of the sorority – and made it a point to give all new members mace and self-defense lessons. Quinn had laughed at first, but you could never be too vigilant, especially when you walked home from classes at night.

"No," Jamie snorted, with a not-too-soft punch to Quinn's shoulder. "You go to her again. Talk to her. Find out what's holding her back. If you can fix it, you fix it. If you can't… you move on."

Move on.

As Quinn took her seat in the diner, with a wave at Burt, she knew Jamie didn't believe what she was saying, and Quinn didn't think there was any way that she could move on. But when Rachel came out from the kitchen and threw a dirty look in her direction, for a moment Quinn wished she could.

Still, she couldn't take her eyes off the small girl wearing the hideous pink uniform.

It was clear that Rachel was the only waitress in the place, or the only waitress for that shift. It was also clear that she wasn't really made for the job. She looked tired, Quinn noted, with dark circles under her eyes, and she didn't move as quickly as someone in the middle of the lunch rush ought to. And yet… the way she moved…

There was a grace to it, a power in her that it didn't seem like she should have. She was short, and tiny, but she moved from table to table, order to order, as if the diner floor was her stage and she felt in complete command of her role. It didn't, however, appear as if Quinn was meant to appear in the play, because move as she might from table to table, Rachel specifically avoided hers. Even when everyone else had cleared out and Quinn was the only customer left, Rachel stalked off to a booth in the far corner of the diner, and sat down, making a point not to even look at her again.

Quinn sighed, and lifted her hand. "Excuse me?" she called. "I'm ready to order."

She wasn't hungry. She wasn't even thirsty but if ordering food was the only way to talk to Rachel…

Her lips tightened in disapproval when Rachel sighed a very audible "Ugh," but still the girl walked over to her, only to whip out her order booklet and wait with her pen poised, still not saying a word.

Quinn shook her head. "I'd like a water," she said quietly. "A water, a cheeseburger with no ketchup." She paused. "And for you to talk to me."

"I'll be right back with your order."

She tried to distract herself from the tightness in her chest by pulling out her sketchbook. Quinn had been working on the same picture for the last week: a drawing of Rachel, center-stage, with an adoring audience standing and throwing flowers. One flower, a gardenia, had a green ribbon tied around it, the other end held in the hand of a girl in the front row.

She wasn't even sure if Rachel liked gardenias.

"Here's your order, miss."

Quinn's head shot up just in time for her to see Rachel's eyes widen.

"I-I call all of my customers sir or miss," she hastened to explain, placing down the plate of food and looking awkwardly about the diner.

"Of course you do," Quinn said, smiling slowly. She gestured toward the seat across from her, trying to ignore the little flutter that had replaced the tightness the second she'd heard that word.

Miss.

"Have a seat?"

"I have things to do."

"You have no customers except me," Quinn pointed out. "And you look tired; Burt can manage if you take a little break. Have a seat."

"Burt can't manage anything without me," Rachel muttered, sounding affectionate as she sat. "And I'm not tired, I'm perfectly fine."

"I believe you," Quinn said, even though she didn't, taking a bite of her burger. Really she was going to gain fifty pounds if she kept coming to the diner; Burt's food was just that good. But it would be worth it, she thought. Great food, and Rachel.

"Pass me the salt, please. When did you start working here?"

"It's not really any of your business," Rachel said, sliding the salt across the table to Quinn. "But last year."

She grew quiet then, and Quinn glanced up from sprinkling far too much salt on her fries to see what had captured Rachel's attention. Quinn had pushed her sketchbook off to the side so that she could eat, but had left it open to the drawing of Rachel, and now the girl's eyes were trained on the image of herself on stage.

"Put the salt back," Quinn said. "What do you think?"

Rachel shrugged as she tucked the salt shaker back into the metal holder. "I didn't know you drew."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at Rachel. "Yes, you do, Rachel," she said firmly. "I've always drawn."

"You need better subjects then."

"No, I don't," Quinn said, feeling the frustration rise. "I'm drawing you, where you belong."

"I don't belong on stage."

"Well, not all the time," Quinn said. "You forgot to bring me a napkin. You also belong with me."

Rachel tore a napkin from its holder on the next table over and handed it to Quinn. "I belong here, at the diner. And at home."

"I don't think you believe that."

"I don't think you know what I believe at all."

"I used to, until you shut me out."

Her eyes went back to the drawing, and Quinn wasn't sure what the feeling was that came over her heart as Rachel's hand reached out and traced the line of the ribbon in the picture, from the flower to the hand at the other end.

"What happened, Rach?" Quinn asked gently. She caught the wince and now her heart ached, but she pressed on. "What happened that you thought you had to leave?"

"I didn't think I had to, I wanted to."

"You were just as sad that day as I was; I know you didn't want to."

"You don't know what I wanted," Rachel said, shoving the sketchbook away so that it nearly dropped off the table on the other side.

Quinn caught it and sat it back up, unable to keep herself from glaring a little. This wasn't going well, she knew. She had to fix it, to change the course, somehow, but… how? She'd thought Rachel wanted to be found, she'd thought Rachel would run into her arms and they'd go back to her apartment…

"I have an apartment," Quinn said, so suddenly that Rachel jumped a little. "I have an apartment across town a-and I got into NYU." She found herself rambling much like she did into the silence late at night, when she hoped that Rachel would be able to hear. Now that she knew Rachel hadn't heard, suddenly it felt urgent that Quinn tell her everything that she had said, everything she had wanted to say, since that day years ago.

"I study history, I – do you remember, I always loved history."

"… I remember."

Emboldened by Rachel's quiet admission, Quinn went on. "I'm part of a sorority too, we have a lot of fun and – oh! You have to meet Jamie and Eleanor, Elle; I think you'd love both of them. And Sam, too, Sam! You'll meet him whenever you come over to the apartment, but first we – "

"I'm not coming to your apartment."

Quinn trailed off, not wanting to believe what she had heard. "What?"

The diner suddenly felt cold, too cold even with the jeans and fleece pullover that she wore; she was tempted to pull on her wool coat, such was the chill that ran through her at Rachel's words when she repeated them.

"I'm not coming to your apartment."

"But… I want you to meet Van," Quinn said miserably. "My cat," she explained, "Van Gogh Fabray. He's… got part of his ear missing and he's cranky some – all the time, but I love him and I know he'd love you."

"You want me to come to your apartment," Rachel said slowly, "to meet your cat."

"Yes!" Quinn said, a little excitement creeping into your voice. "But no, not just that. I want you to meet Van and Sam, Jamie and Elle and I want you to see my apartment. It's kind of small but it works for me, and once you move in we could maybe start looking for a bigger pla – "

"You want me to move in with you?!"

She caught the note of panic and Quinn stopped, biting her lower lip as she looked up at Rachel, who had gotten to her feet and stood staring at Quinn as if she'd grown three heads.

"I… you belong with me," Quinn insisted. "You know you do, Rachel. You remember everything; you can't tell me that you don't."

Rachel didn't answer, preferring to cross her arms over her chest and stare out the window at passersby.

"Rachel," Quinn said firmly. "Tell me you don't remember. Tell me you don't remember the time we spent, being as together as we could be. Tell me you don't remember when I got sick and you stayed up all night. When you made a cake for me and then described every flavor, every sensation you were having to me as you ate it. Tell me you don't remember that first time when you scared me half to death. Tell me you don't remember everything. Do that and I'll leave you alone. For good."

It well may be that we will never meet again…

They'd loved each other, hadn't they? Quinn thought. Elphaba and Glinda had cared about each other, and Elphaba had "sacrificed" herself, partly for Glinda, hadn't she? She wasn't sure she quite remembered the story; it had been too long.

"I can't," Rachel said, but the confession was so heartbreaking that Quinn felt none of the pride she had expected; instead she felt the intense need to gather Rachel up in her arms and tuck the girl on her lap, a little like Jamie would do when she knew Elle was having a "little" day.

"I can't say I don't remember it because you know I do, what would be the point in denying it? There is no point, just as there is no point in you being here, Quinn, because nothing has changed. Nothing will change."

"It can change," Quinn said, not willing to give up so easily.

"It can't," Rachel said, and Quinn almost smiled, remembering how stubborn the girl could be. She really was as stubborn as ever.

"What did you think, Quinn, that you would waltz in here and things would change back to the way they were back then? That we would pick up as if nothing had ever happened and that I would… I don't know, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be with me," Quinn said. "Because you're meant to be. You know that's how this works."

"Says every stalker ever," Rachel said with a snort.

Quinn sighed. She'd made a complete mess of things, so now she tried a different tactic. Pushing her empty plate off to the side, she brought the picture back over and smiled down at it.

"I don't think I did justice to how beautiful you'll look onstage."

"I won't ever be onstage."

"Ever?" Quinn countered.

"Ever."

"So you don't like Broadway anymore?" Rachel didn't answer. "I-I heard you talking to Burt last time, you still like Broadway. You went to Wicked… I did too, when I first moved here."

Rachel glanced around the diner again, hesitating before sitting back down across from Quinn. Her hand reached out to toy with the edge of the picture.

"You went to see Wicked?"

"Not just Wicked," Quinn confirmed. "I saw Wicked, Rent, Chicago, Mamma Mia; I saw as many musicals I could cram into a week, every week for… a while."

"Why?"

"Because… I missed you." Quinn sighed and looked out the window, wondering why this was what Rachel wanted to see every day. The same people, passing by the same window, on their way to… what? Life. Jobs. Family. She wondered if Rachel envied them, if she ever wanted to break free of the little grubby diner on the bad edge of town.

"I missed you and it was the only way I could be close to you. But I stopped going."

"Why?" Rachel asked again.

"It hurt too much. It hurt too much knowing that I should be sat out in the audience watching you on the stage."

"You should go back. The more you go the easier it will be to accept."

"I'm not going to accept it!" Quinn snapped, slamming her palm down on the table. Rachel jumped and Quinn flexed her fingers, struggling to regain control.

"I'm not going to accept it," she said again, more gently this time. She reached out to grasp Rachel's hand, trying to ignore the pain when Rachel pulled away, clenching her hands together on her lap.

"I can't accept… this," Quinn said, gesturing. She told herself that she should hold back, that what she wanted to say would only hurt Rachel, but it had been so long, so many years that she had talked without ever hearing anything in response. She was powerless to keep from saying how she really felt.

"I can't accept seeing you working here."

"It's a good job."

"It's a diner. You're a waitress. And yes, you're right, it's a good job and there's nothing wrong with it, except that it's wrong for you. You don't belong here, Rachel." Quinn took a deep breath, struggling not to cry.

"And where do I belong?" Rachel wouldn't look at her.

"With me," Quinn insisted. "Because it's destiny, Rachel, this is how it works. You should be with me, in my home, in my heart, in my bed." She thought she detected a slight flush rise up in Rachel at the words, but Quinn pressed on.

"Or, you don't even have to be with me, but you should be on stage, making thousands of people fall in love with you because of your voice. You should be in Wicked, or originating a role, you should be in the movies. You should be there, instead of being so unhappy working in a shitty diner serving up food to people who'd just as soon grope you than applaud you!"

"Get out."

Quinn stared at Rachel, who still wasn't looking at her, but was studying patterns on the table as if she could see her future in them. "W-what?"

"Get out," Rachel said again. "Get out, and don't come back here, or I will call the police."

"Rachel, baby…"

"No!" Rachel's voice rose as she stood up, and she glanced around to make sure no one heard, and then she leaned down, both hands on the table.

"No. I am not your baby, and I want you to leave."

"I'm not going to," Quinn said, but felt her resolve falter as she saw the anger in Rachel's eyes.

Anger, and something else.

Pain.

"You are. And you're going to f-forget this silly dream about us being together."

"You can have it, Rachel," Quinn pleaded. "I don't know what it is you're fighting but you can have us. And Broadway. Whatever you want."

"I don't want it!" Rachel said, and then shook her head. "I can't, Quinn. I can't want it."

"Why not?"

Rachel took a deep breath, and Quinn's heart broke as the tears began to rush down her face.

"I can't want it. Those are… the dreams of a child. Silly romantic notions of fame and love that are never going to happen."

Quinn's head tilted in confusion. "Who told you that?" she asked slowly. "I never said that your dreams were silly. I'd never."

"I know you wouldn't," Rachel began, and then caught herself. "I told them to myself. Because it's true. Broadway is a silly dream, and love is even sillier. Childish games that I no longer have the luxury to indulge in. There is nothing I have to offer Broadway, or… anyone. So it's time for you to go."

"Rachel, who told you that? Who told you that you have nothing to offer?" Quinn asked, exasperated.

"I want you to leave," Rachel reiterated, and backed up, pointing to the door.

"If you care for me the way you think you do, then you'll do what I w-want… and go."

Quinn paused, wanting with every part of her to stay, to make Rachel see what she did. But she found herself standing up in spite of it, and gathering her sketchbook with shaking hands. Clutching it to her chest, she looked at Rachel.

"Rachel, please…"

But Rachel pursed her lips and looked away.

Quinn nodded, and moved to the door. Once again she paused, and looked back.

"I love you," she said tearfully. "I love you, and everything you are. You say you have nothing to offer, but all I want… is you, Rachel. I just want you."

"And I can't even give you that," Quinn heard Rachel say as she walked away from the diner.