"You did what?"

Jamie accepted the drink from Elle and smiled when she handed one to Quinn, then came back and knelt at Jamie's feet.

"I told you to talk to her, not act like a damn stalker."

"I'm not a stalker," Quinn muttered, taking a sip of the drink and feeling it burn her throat. She didn't drink often, but after a day like today she wanted something to dull her senses.

"I didn't say you are one, I said you acted like one."

"You told me to fix things," Quinn insisted, tucking her legs underneath her and trying to curl into a smaller, less humiliated ball on the easy chair in Jamie's living room.

Jamie's apartment was decorated like most other college apartments: sparsely, with borrowed furniture and dirty dishes in the sink. But what it lacked in amenities it made up for in personality. Pictures of Jamie and Elle littered the walls: Jamie's graduation; Elle's first dance recital at age seven. Jamie and Elle's vacation in Europe. Elle on her knees, staring adoringly up at Jamie. And her favorite, Quinn thought: Jamie sat in the very chair Quinn herself was in now, with a sleeping Elle tucked under her chin, a blissful smile on her face. It was clear through all of the pictures that while there might not be a lot of furniture in the apartment, there was more than enough love and devotion.

"I told you to fix things. I didn't tell you to go to the diner and insist that Rachel was yours, that she had to be with you. I definitely didn't expect you to try to get her to move in with you."

Quinn sighed and hung her head. "I didn't try to get her to move in," she pointed out miserably. "She could've started out with a visit."

"She barely knows you," Elle pointed out, her chin resting on Jamie's knee. Jamie nodded her agreement, running her fingers through her girl's hair.

"She's known me since we were seven!"

"No," Elle said, and then hesitated. Elle's nature as submissive was such that she enjoyed having many decisions made for her, to the point that she often asked or deferred to Jamie for permission to speak, even though one of the things Jamie had fallen in love with was Elle's mind, and she wanted to hear Elle's opinions as much as possible. Jamie nodded again, and Elle continued.

"She was bonded to you for eight years. She knew your thoughts, knew your emotions, but she'd never even met you in person, Quinn. And then she breaks off the connection, for whatever reason, we don't know. So for four, almost five years, she's been cut off from you."

Jamie was beaming with pride, looking alternately from Elle to Quinn as if she was witnessing the most intelligent woman in the world give the dumbest a lecture.

Maybe that's exactly what she was doing, Quinn thought.

"For almost five years, let's assume that Rachel hasn't even thought of you, somehow. So one day she's late for work, she looks over, and sees you. Do you have any idea what might have been going through her mind?"

Quinn shook her head. "I thought she'd be happy to see me."

"She cut off the connection," Jamie said. "How could she possibly be happy to see you?"

"Gently, my lady," Elle said, catching Quinn's wince, and she smiled, trying to soften her next words. "But she's right, Quinn. Rachel cut off the connection. She doesn't want to see you. I know you didn't think of that, and you don't want to think of that, but it's true. Rachel doesn't want you."

"Yes, she does," Quinn said with an exasperated sigh. "I know she does."

"So you think your omniscience gives you the right to make her decisions for her?"

"Omni-what?"

"All-knowing, my lady."

"Oh, right."

Elle smiled lovingly at Jamie and looked to Quinn for her answer.

Quinn shrugged. "I wasn't trying to make her decisions for her."

"But you were," Jamie said. "You show up out of the blue after five years. Rachel doesn't run into your arms; she tells you she hasn't thought of you, she's happy where she is."

"She's lying."

"Not the point. Rachel hasn't seen you for five years, and you start talking to her as if you're claiming her tomorrow. Telling her to leave the diner, to come visit you, that she's meant to be with you… Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

"It's how this works."

"Yes, if she hadn't cut off the connection. You're not operating under the bond anymore, Quinn. The game is different and so are the rules."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"I think you do," Elle said, smiling when Jamie pulled her onto her lap and cuddled her.

It wasn't really what Quinn needed to see at that point in time, it just reiterated, to her, everything that she wanted to have and maybe never would. Rachel, in her lap, soft and heavy and warm. Held so close against her chest that Quinn would be able to feel her heart beating, smell the shampoo she used. Rachel in her life, greeting her with smiles and soft words and loving obedience.

And she wanted Rachel in her bed too, but for Quinn, every time she thought of finally finding Rachel, it wasn't about just the sex. It had been five years, she just wanted Rachel near.

She just wanted.

She wanted.

What did Rachel want?

To work at that diner for the rest of her life? No, Quinn knew Rachel couldn't possibly want that. They'd talked about it. She knew Rachel wanted to sing. But if it was her choice…

She sighed heavily.

"I'm an idiot."

"None of this is on your terms anymore," Jamie said, and Elle nodded. "Rachel took the bond away. I don't know how, I don't know why… Elle, pet, have you ever heard of anyone doing this?"

"Very vaguely," Elle said. "It's supposed to be a horrible experience. I don't know why anyone would choose such a thing."

"I don't either," Quinn said wryly. "I'd have given her everything."

"But Rachel took what she wanted, and that meant cutting off the bond. And now, if you're ever going to have a chance to be with Rachel, you have to let her come to you."

"What if she doesn't? What if I know what she needs?"

"When you found out you were bonded to Rachel, what was your first instinct?"

"To protect her."

"Then do that, even if it means protecting her from you."

Quinn hunched forward slightly as if the words hurt her, raising a shaking hand and resting it against her forehead. Rachel needed protection… from her.

"What have I done?" she asked herself aloud. She hadn't meant to do, well, any of it. She'd only set out to find the girl she loved, to help her, to make things right. And instead, she'd made it even worse.

Rachel was probably terrified of her. She should have thought of all of it, how Rachel would feel upon seeing her. Had she been shocked, scared? Had she pushed the memory of that day long ago so far into her mind that the moment she'd seen Quinn it had all come rushing back? Had she lain awake at night thinking about Quinn, or had she gone home and given her mother the desserts, talked about her day, the weather, what was on television, everything but Quinn?

"She said she was going to call the police on me," Quinn said in a near-whisper. She looked at Jamie and Elle, with tear-filled eyes.

"I made her so scared of me that she was going to call the police. And I love her more than anything."

"You just need to think," Jamie said sympathetically. "I can't imagine being without Elle, not now, but I can't imagine making her afraid of me either."

She thought about it for the rest of the night. And every night for a week, as she couldn't sleep. Thought about it as she tossed and turned, trying to sleep but instead causing Van to hiss at her more than once. But then he crawled up next to her, batting lightly at her face as she clutched her pillow and sobbed into it with realization.

She thought about it as she finally dragged herself out of bed on a Thursday morning and packed up the little box, and thought about it some more as she got dressed and began the walk to the diner.

If looks could kill, Quinn would have died as soon as she entered the diner.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and Rachel's hair was falling out of her ponytail; it had clearly been a busy morning already. But the restaurant was empty again save for Quinn and Rachel, who now stomped over to Quinn with an expression of complete and utter fury.

"I thought I told you to leave and never come back."

"I know," Quinn said softly, the hands holding the box trembling. "There was just something I wanted to say."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say," Rachel muttered, and pulled out her phone.

"Please don't." Her voice cracked and a tear fell.

Rachel glanced at her, and Quinn could swear that for a split second she saw the angry veneer disappear before it slid fully back into place again.

"Who do you think you are?" Rachel said. She took a step toward Quinn. She smelled of grease and sweat and a light, flowery perfume; Quinn breathed in, wanting to capture the memory.

"Rachel, I—"

"No," Rachel snapped. "For once you're going to listen to me."

"Okay…"

"Who do you think you are?" Rachel asked again. "Did you think when you came back that I would just jump into your arms, that you would carry me off to your apartment and we'd live happily ever after like some silly childhood fairytale?"

Well, yes, she had thought that, but Quinn stayed quiet. She held the box closer to her chest, the trembling now starting to grow over her entire body.

"I am eighteen years old, Quinn Fabray. I am eighteen years old and beyond that, we are not connected together any more. I did that. I severed the connection. It was my choice, and this is my choice."

Unlike the first time Quinn had spoken to her in the diner, Rachel's voice was no longer uneven and shaky. Instead it was strong, loud, assertive, and if the circumstances had been different, she might have found it hot. But now, it was merely unnerving, and sad.

"You ask me if I want to stay in the diner for the rest of my life. What if the answer is yes? What if the answer is no? Regardless of what the answer is, it is my answer, Quinn. My life is just that – mine. It is not a decision for you to make."

It was so like Rachel's old rambling, Quinn thought, and if her heart wasn't breaking she might have been induced to smile. Rachel's train of thought had always run on its own track, wild and free, and Quinn supposed that even now it was no different, even if the words weren't anything that she wanted to hear.

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Quinn. I'm a strong, independent woman, and I won't have you waltzing in here every day thinking that you can suddenly sway me into running away with you, and kneeling for you. Because it isn't going to happen."

"Okay," Quinn said again, unsure of what she was meant to say after that. But it was clear that she hadn't really been meant to say anything, because Rachel pursed her lips and rolled her eyes before continuing.

"You scared me," Rachel said, and Quinn's heart dropped because for a moment, Rachel's voice lost its bravado and became small, uncertain. "I don't know you, Quinn. You came here and you could've done anything to me. I don't know what you've done, where you've been. I don't trust you."

It was true. Of course it was true. Rachel had had no clue where Quinn was born and raised, that had been a condition of their bond. And after she'd broken the bond, she'd had no clue of what Quinn was doing. Maybe she hadn't ever even thought of Quinn coming to find her. It was impossible for Quinn to imagine that Rachel wouldn't have known she'd come looking for her, but maybe, again, Rachel had pushed her so far out of her mind that she really had nearly forgotten.

"And I'm sure you think it's romantic," she said, stronger now. "I'm sure you think it's romantic and passionate, that you think this is some kind of Broadway show where the couple has been apart for years but they still love each other, that pain has always been there. They run across each other in an old, beaten down diner, they stare at each other longingly across a room and sing an emotional song of hope and redemption to each other. The curtain drops, it's intermission; will they or won't they?"

For the second time that day, Quinn had the urge to smile. Maybe she hadn't forgotten, after all.

"But do you know how this musical really plays out?"

There was a pause, and it took another moment before Quinn realized that Rachel was, essentially, giving her the right to speak.

"How?" she asked dumbly.

"The curtain never comes back up. One of the actresses has quit. For whatever reason, she's decided that the role isn't for her, that no matter what obligation she has to her costar, the production company, the story, it isn't for her. So she's quit, and she's left. Becomes a waitress across town. Where she's happy, where she's healthy, where she's safe."

"Not really fair to the costar," Quinn muttered, and she briefly hated the sympathetic look Rachel gave her.

"It's not the costar's decision. It's the actress's. She doesn't want the role, so she's quit. It's up to the costar what she wants to do from that point on. She can stay on the stage, waiting for the actress to come back, or she can go off and find another role, or another costar. Someone better, someone more deserving of her."

"You don't want me to do that," Quinn tried.

Rachel shook her head.

"What you want isn't the same as what I want, Quinn."

She hated the way the assertiveness had once again dropped away from Rachel, now replaced with a painful tenderness. As if Rachel was speaking to a small, delicate child instead of a grown woman. Quinn felt angry, but she also knew even that wasn't her right.

"What… what do you want?"

Rachel studied her. "I want to be happy. I want to be happy and healthy. That's all I need."

No, she wanted to scream. That isn't all you need. You need love and care and happiness and Broadway, everything you dreamed of when you were 7 years old.

"And I need you to leave."

She knew it was coming, knew that Rachel wouldn't say anything else, but it was still a knife through her gut and Quinn took a step back, struggling to maintain her control in the face of it.

"Can I say something first?"

"Quinn—"

"Please?" she begged, and then held out the box. "I-I brought this for you. I promise you that it doesn't have a bomb or anything that's going to hurt you, I don't even know how to make anything like that."

Rachel quirked an eyebrow, and Quinn felt like kicking herself. Why did she always take a turn for the awkward when it came to Rachel?

"Please," she whispered.

Rachel hesitated, and then took the box. Her eyes still on Quinn, she opened it slowly before looking inside.

There had been 8 years' worth of presents in Quinn's apartment. Birthdays, Easter, Valentine's, Hanukkah, Christmas. But she'd chosen this one carefully.

Rachel's hand shook as she lifted out the gift.

"It's a crown. It's silver, and it's shiny, and there's a little gold star at the very top. 'cause you're my gold star."

"I came here to say goodbye," Quinn said, the tears beginning to fall again. Rachel's eyes flicked to her, and then back to the crown. The box had fallen onto the diner floor; Quinn didn't bother to bend down and pick it up.

"You're my princess. You're my Princess Rachel, and you always will be. I don't want another role, I don't want another costar."

Rachel glared at her, and Quinn rushed to explain.

"I love you, Rachel Berry. I've loved you ever since you scared me when I was seven years old. Since I was seven years old I've loved the way you used to ramble, the way you used to care for me, the way we used to talk together. The way I used to know that you were there, that anytime I needed you all I'd have to do was think and you'd be right there."

Quinn smiled faintly. "And since I was seven years old I've wanted nothing more than to be with you. But… you don't want me. And that… that's your decision to make, I can't change your mind and I shouldn't try."

"Quinn—"

"I am so sorry," Quinn sniffled. "I'm so sorry that I came here, that I talked to you like you didn't have a mind of your own. I'm so sorry that I scared you, Rachel; you have to believe me that I didn't mean to. I was just thinking about myself, about what I wanted. And not what you want, what you need. I am so sorry."

She swiped at her eyes, taking in yet another deep, shuddering breath before she continued.

"And you're right, you don't know anything about me, and I don't know anything about you. I want to know everything. I want to know who you are; I want to know what you've done since we've been apart. I want to know what makes you smile, what makes you laugh. What makes you cry so I can go beat up who or whatever it is. I want to know what movies you can quote, what TV shows you refuse to watch, which political party you belong to."

There was so much to Rachel that she didn't know. Quinn had thought of it all during that week. Rachel's favorite foods, her favorite songs. What made her angry, whether she liked dirty jokes or puns. If she swore, if she liked to party or if she just liked to stay at home. What books did she read? Did she read? What was Shelby like? Did she get mad at Rachel for singing? Why couldn't Rachel go to Broadway shows?

And most of all, she still wanted to know why Rachel left. But that answer would never be hers, now.

Rachel's fingers were running over the crown, almost lovingly touching the gold star. Her mouth was open to a small, silent "o," and she was watching Quinn now as if her life depended on it.

"I love you… but you don't want me. I love you, so I came here to say goodbye."

The tears were falling fast and hard now, and Quinn was desperate to get the words out before she collapsed into a blubbering heap on the floor. She was thankful that she and Rachel were still the only ones in the diner; she didn't think she could do this with anyone else listening.

"You deserve to be happy, and healthy, and safe. I-I know what else I think you should have, but you're right, that's your decision. You deserve to be happy, and to smile, and to be that bright shining star that you always have been. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be cherished. And I—god, Rachel, I want more than anything to be the one to give you that. But you… whether I'm the one to give it to you or not, you still deserve everything beautiful and bright, no matter if you're singing on Broadway or a waitress in the diner."

In the back of her mind she could still see it. Rachel on stage, a spotlight shining down on her. If she closed her eyes – and she didn't want to, because this would be the last time she ever saw Rachel and she didn't want to forget it, even if her last memory of Rachel would be of her in a dirty waitress uniform – she could hear Rachel's voice, rich and soaring over the crowd. She could see the gardenia, resting on the wood in the midst of a sea of roses, the green ribbon tied around its stem.

What she couldn't see, didn't know if she'd ever be able to see again, was herself holding the other end of the ribbon.

It made her sick to think of someone else having Rachel; she remembered Jamie talking about how awful it was, trying to convince herself that even if Elle didn't have her, it'd be all right if she found someone else to make her happy. She wanted Rachel to be happy, and she knew it was selfish to want Rachel to be happy with her.

Quinn shrugged. "I love you, Rachel," she said brokenly. "And you can't blame me for that. I love you, and I hope you'll be happy, for the rest of your life. I just came… to give you that, and to say goodbye." She shrugged again and tried to offer a reassuring smile.

Maybe it would get easier. She'd get up and go to class every day, as usual. Throw herself into her homework. She already got straight As, but a little extra studying never hurt anyone. Maybe a part-time job would help, give her something to do. She could be a teacher's assistant, Quinn thought; the history department was always looking for students to assist with classes and grading papers. So that's what she could do. She'd be absolutely determined to focus all of her time, energy and thoughts onto school and work. She'd go out with the girls of Phi Pi, and maybe live a little vicariously through Jamie and Elle.

And hopefully, maybe, eventually… Quinn Fabray would stop thinking about Rachel Berry. She'd become a distant memory, or, if she was really lucky, maybe Quinn could forget about Rachel altogether.

She hoped.

She doubted it.

Rachel was still staring at her, the crown now clutched tightly in her hands, resting against her chest.

"G-goodbye, Rach—"

"What are you doing here?"

Quinn jumped at the harsh tone in Burt's voice. "I-I was just—"

"She doesn't want you here, don't you get that?"

Ah, so Rachel had told him. Well, she seemed to get along with him, maybe she'd asked him for advice.

Advice on how to stay away from her.

"I'm just leav—"

"You're darn right you're leaving, and you're not to come back here again," he said. "I'm not going to have my employee harassed by some crackpot little—"

"Burt, she can—"

"I'm not a crackpot!"

"Crackpot little brat who doesn't know when to call it quits!"

"Burt—"

"Now I want you out of here." He reached for Quinn's arm, and she wrested out of his grasp.

"Stop that!"

"You're stalking Rachel and you're telling me to stop that? Get out of here, kid, and don't come—"

"Burt! She can stay!"

Burt stared at Rachel; Quinn froze.

"What?" he said.

"What?" she said.

Rachel turned the crown over in her hands, her finger once again trailing along the outline of the gold star.

She looked at Quinn, the merest hope of a tiny smile on her lips.

"She can stay."