Next one. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as I've said before, any obvious tweaks when it comes to Brit-speak are always appreciated.

Good lord, he loves their apartment.

It's just so… Kurt rests his satchel on the table, and trundles his case into his room, where his walls are covered in old film prints and quotes that he'd felt were important, and the occasional sketch from his pad, pinned up with accusatory blu-tak, there to remind him that he has plans.

It's theirs. They've been here nearly two and a half years, and have created a space and a routine which works for the both of them. And sure, so it is maybe three more stops along the subway than would truly be convenient, but it means that they have a space that is functional and doesn't set off Kurt's claustrophobia.

It also means that Rachel goes from being potentially as annoying as hell, to being an almost perfect housemate. Somehow the extra square footage means he likes living with her, likes the rhythm they have. He even likes the dimension that Brody adds, who has become an extra housemate in Kurt's head because he's here so frequently.

Nice, non-offensive, metrosexual man candy who can cook and doesn't make a mess. What more could a person ask for in an unavoidable house guest?

When Kurt's unpacked (in a sense, he threw all clothing in the laundry and left the rest of his travel essentials on the floor), he wanders out to make coffee, resigned to the fact that he is now awake, the day has started.

Brody's got his feet stretched out in front of him, practically horizontal on their couch, nursing his own coffee. When Kurt flicks on the machine again, Brody looks around, and waves a hand vaguely over his head. His voice sounds gravelly when he says 'Oh hey man, sorry, I would have asked if you wanted one, but I thought you'd be sleeping too.'

Kurt glances at Rachel's closed door.

'Rachel's risking throwing her body clock out of synch? She must be tired.'

Brody scratches at the back of his head, and then rolls both his shoulders, clearly trying to shake off journey aches.

'Yeah, she's not been sleeping good, the past couple of nights. And you know it makes her cranky. She's all set for this week's seminars, so hopefully a day in bed will help her feel a bit more alive.'

Kurt sits on their armchair, cradling the hot mug in both hands, and blowing. Brody looks tired himself. Kurt cannot imagine Rachel being subtle if afflicted with insomnia. Reminded of his own fight with sleep on the plane, Kurt presses enquiring finger tips to his lower eyelids.

'On a scale of tea bag to grocery bag, how horrendous are these?'

Brody squints at him, and then drains his mug.

'Nothing a quick nap couldn't fix. I'll catch you later Kurt, rehearsal calls.'

Kurt hadn't realized Brody was working today. He seems remarkably calm for someone about to meet up with a new cast. Kurt raises his mug to him, as Brody shrugs his coat on.

'Good luck Mr Fantastic.'

Brody grins at him once, and closes the door quietly behind him.

He doesn't mean to nap, but finds himself flat out on the sofa with the midday news murmuring from the tv when his eyes blink open.

Kurt sits, and spots Rachel trying pace quietly around the kitchen, in an over sided jumper with her hair a mess.

'I don't suppose you are about to create food, are you? I'm wasting away here.'

Rachel turns, and rolls her eyes at him. 'Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'm just toasting bread, shall I put some in for you?'

Kurt turns himself over, and stands on the second attempt. Rachel shifts over a bit, so Kurt can put his own toast on. He then plans to head for the fridge, but finds Rachel leaning her head on his shoulder, and sighing.

He freezes for a moment, and then puts an arm around her shoulders.

'You okay there sleepy head? Remember that I am not a bed please.'

Rachel doesn't move, and after a second says 'Kurt, have you ever…'

Kurt prods at her, when nothing more is forthcoming. 'No, Rachel. Never. What are you asking me?'

Rachel lifts her head, and appears to gather herself, running a hand through her hair.

'I mean, did you ever, when you were… um. I mean. Have you ever found yourself…'

Well, this is going marvellously. Kurt opens the fridge, finds his spread.

'Rachel, I'm very happy to provide answers when you manage to ask me something. Shall we sit?'

Rachel eats half a slice of toast before she remembers how to use words again.

'Santana has invited me over to stay the night. Watch some films and do girl things.'

Kurt nods, and nibbles on a crust.

'Sure, like first year. Will you be taking cookies or brownies? I ask because I think we might be out of eggs.'

Rachel pushes her plate an inch away from her on the table. 'Quinn's there too.'

Kurt squints for a moment, trying to figure out why Quinn makes a difference to the cookie slash brownie question. Does Quinn have strong feelings about one of them? 'So…'

'I'm not sure if I'm going.'

In the background the news channel flips to adverts, and the increase in volume draws Kurt's attention. When he looks back he could swear that Rachel was blushing.

Kurt can remember a time when Rachel would have given her left eye to do a sleepover and girl things with Quinn.

'Did you two fall out? You were odd, very odd during the journey, may I just say.'

Rachel blinks at him, looking weirdly twitchy. 'No, why… why would you think we'd fallen out? I just… maybe Quinn and Santana should have alone time, you know. Ah, catch up time. I don't want to be the third wheel.'

Kurt shrugs, tearing his toast into unequal halves.

'Whatever. But, if Santana's invited you, it's because you're welcome. That girl has no qualms about being rude, believe me. And you'd be a third wheel if it was Brittany. Not Quinn. The universe would implode if Santana and Quinn ever hooked up.'

Rachel looks at him for a long second, and then laughs abruptly, sparking Kurt to join in.

'Oh my god, can you imagine… they'd just end up arguing about who does what.'

Kurt doesn't particularly enjoy musing on hypothetical lesbian romps, but the concept is kind of ridiculous.

'Santana would think that she should be in charge, due to her knowledge in the field, but Quinn never truly lets Santana be in charge of anything. They wouldn't round second base without throttling each other, is my estimate.'

Rachel snorts, and stares off into the distance for a second, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

'I don't even know how that would work. They'd be like two magnets, bouncing away from each other.'

Kurt flaps a hand, fighting off a vision of Quinn and Santana literally being flung into walls by the force of their incompatibility. He raps his knuckles on the table, calling order.

'So you're going?'

Rachel gulps, and looks down at her plate.

'I… well. Maybe. I might… if Quinn messages, probably. But, she looked really tired on the plane. She might just want an early night, rest up for the next day.'

Kurt stands, suddenly unimpressed by his toast, and flips it in the trash.

'Oh just go Rachel, Quinn isn't that much of an old lady. And take brownies please, I always like the left overs.'

Rachel shrugs, and taps at her phone, distracted.

'I'll see how I feel, okay? Shall I make brownies anyway? I've nothing else happening today.'

Oh, that turned out well. 'Wonderful. Do what you want Rachel, just make sure you bake me something while you decide. I'm going to actually try and sleep now, rather than just pass out.'

Quinn doesn't know why she puts the blazer on, standing in front of the mirror in Santana's room.

Santana's in the shower, singing loudly because there's no lock on the door and the countless interchangeable girls that she shares with seem to have no concept of privacy. Quinn always manoeuvres the cabinet in front of the door, whenever she's in there, so at least she gets a second's warning.

The mirror isn't full length, but Quinn twists in front of it anyway, trying to see, foolishly, the back of the blazer.

It isn't as if the cut or the size can have altered, since Rachel wore it, but it just feels different, somehow, like it isn't hers anymore.

With a sigh, she takes it off, and rests it on the top of her case. She runs her hands through slightly too long hair (seriously, she really needs to have a proper cut, the next time she goes to the salon), and then sits on the edge of Santana's bed.

Quinn's phone isn't requiring her attention, but she looks anyway, scrolls mindlessly through her contact list.

She thinks, maybe, if she could just clear the air with Rachel, that would make the entire thing reset back to normal. She'd be able to stop thinking about it so much. Rachel has clearly been freaking out over it since the party, and Quinn feels guilty, regardless of whether she's actually guilty, because she isn't planning on telling anyone. If she could just communicate that to Rachel, somehow, then the whole thing would rest a bit easier in everyone's mind (she hopes).

But as it is, she literally cannot go for two minutes without flashing back to the cold seat on the wall, and the way Rachel had been so warm. And details keep emerging now, ones that she isn't even sure actually happened, but are rather a product of her imagination embellishing the truth.

Like how Rachel's lips had tasted.

Or the way Rachel's thumb had rubbed at the inside of her palm, without plan or purpose.

Or how Rachel had pressed closer into her, until her heart beat had seemed countable, readable.

Those sorts of details.

Clearly, some kind of line needs drawing here.

Her phone has gone into energy save mode while she considered this. Quinn presses the button again, all ready to just call Rachel, and jump into it, because the first shock of it will be forgotten after two seconds, but then the door across the hall opens, and Santana strides into the room, clad in a towel and dripping water everywhere.

Quinn stuffs her phone back in her pocket, standing awkwardly, 'I'll go wait in your kitchen San…'

Santana points at her, motions her to sit back down. 'Hold it there McPrude, just restrain yourself from openly leering at me and we'll be fine, we need to talk.'

Quinn fixes her eyes on the wall in front of her, and grits her teeth, asking the question, although she already knows the answer.

'About…?

From the corner of her eye, Quinn can tell that Santana has dropped the towel, and really, sometimes Quinn can't tell if Santana likes getting naked around her just because she knows it winds Quinn up.

'About the fact that I'm inviting Berry over to watch some movies and stay, unless you have any logical objections.'

For the millionth time, Quinn wonders whether Santana can't read body language, or just ignores it. She can't have not noticed how awkward everything was at the airport, Quinn had felt like she was about to turn inside out at any second just from the sheer pressure of it all.

'I… what? I have no illogical objections. I'm tired, Rachel looked tired…'

Santana interrupts, flinging what Quinn hopes is a rejected sock at her for good measure.

'And I'm suggesting we sleep. You know, that cure for tiredness? I'm not, I don't understand, am I accidently saying lets go run a marathon?'

Quinn waves a hand around the room, biting back, 'Where does this sleep happen Santana? Three into a double bed is not a comfortable night's sleep.'

Santana swears, and opens a drawer. 'So I have an airbed? Two of us share, one of us on the blow up. Hardly advanced math.'

Quinn looks down at her hands, incapable of thinking of anything to dissuade Santana that isn't going to sound like she suddenly hates Rachel for no apparent reason. (she really doesn't. That isn't what this is about.)

'Okay, sure. Your call. Are we going to order in, or are you expecting me to create a banquet?'

'Order in, no? My cupboards are bare. Especially of vegan ingredients. Can you tell Berry please? I'm out of credit. Around sixish. You can defreeze now, by the way, I'm decent.'

Quinn snorts, already panicking about how to frame this message. 'You're never decent Santana.'

Santana cuffs her lightly on the head in response, and heads out into the corridor.

'Come on, we need to set up camp early in front of the TV, or one of my house bitches will no doubt claim it for the night.'

…

Santana ends up snoring next to her on the throw covered sofa, while the tv chats away mindlessly, and honestly, Quinn has never known someone with such a capacity for sleep.

After about an hour, the message she finally sends reads;

Hey, Santana says come over about six. We'll order in and watch movies. Bring over night stuff!

Quinn has double and triple checked it, but concluded that nothing untoward could be gathered from that. She'd even gone into her sent messages to check it matched the tone of communication between them before it had happened.

Once she presses send Quinn has a minor panic that she'd accidently sent a winking smiley rather than a standard one, but investigation proves that this isn't the case.

There. She just have to find a moment to speak to Rachel about the party over the course of the evening.

Twenty minutes later Rachel messages back with;

I'm sure that will be fun. I'll bring brownies! I won't be staying though, have to be up early in the morning. Please let Santana know.

Quinn tries to resettle after reading it, tries to get comfortable.

She really wants a bit of normal back, please.

…

When Santana wakes, it's because her phone has just vibrated by her hip.

I'll be there in ten. R x

Santana looks over to wave this in front of Quinn, only to discover that Quinn's asleep next to her, the lazy bitch. She has somehow managed to steal all the throw that was supposed to be keeping both of them warm, and is generally looking like the sort of immaculately perfect person Santana should hate with a passion.

If only she drooled, or something, but no. Quinn looks perfect even when she looks a mess, in sweatpants and a sweater with a hole at the elbow. Santana, on the other hand, looks a mess even when she looks perfect, and those two things are not the same.

Santana considers drawing on Quinn's face, but puts the impulse to one side, and rises quietly, shuffling out towards the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet. Hopefully things stay that way. Santana is not in the mood to deal with people right now.

In fact, she's in her usual, post-Brittany, fuck off and leave me alone mood. The one where suddenly she decides that everyone is more attractive than her, and Brittany will inevitably realize this at some point and start seeing someone way better than Santana could ever be.

Santana flicks on the kettle, and then stands with her hands on her face for a second, before pinching at her temples hard.

She's fine. She'll see Brittany again soon. Her and Quinn are at least on a par, in hotness stakes.

Santana doesn't know why she does this. It just happens.

This is why Rachel definitely needed to be invited over. Santana and Quinn would just watch in silence, making the odd sarcastic comment, which would allow Santana to rattle around in her own head for two hours. Rachel however, will inevitably monopolize the remote and pause the film every three minutes to launch into some kind of director's commentary and analysis on the motives of the main protagonist, leaving Santana and Quinn to laugh and moan and throw cushions at her head. As it should be.

Santana needs Rachel to fill in the gaps, sometimes. Particularly post-Brittany.

After rooting in her cupboard for forever, she finds the soy substitute she keeps for Rachel, and sets about making a hot chocolate. Because the weather outside sounds brutal, and she doesn't need Rachel to die of pneumonia before she's improved Santana's mood.

The buzzer sounds, and Santana presses the button to allow Berry up. She sticks her head around the living room door, where Quinn's still in the same position on her couch, but blinking rapidly at the television screen.

'Morning princess. Berry's coming up.'

Quinn stands suddenly, and she looks dishevelled and bleary eyed, and Santana can't help but snort a little. Quinn moves over to the mirror, trying to tame her hair.

'Thanks for the warning…' Quinn mumbles, but Santana just shrugs, because whatever, it's only Rachel.

When she opens the door, Rachel's standing there looking like the wind has made a good job of re-styling her hair. Santana takes the tin out of her hands without saying anything, and looks at Rachel enquiringly.

Rachel coughs once. 'Brownies.'

Success is hers. Santana generously stands to one side. 'And that means you can come in.'

…

She's going to murder Brittany.

Turns out that the film which Brittany sold to her as 'Imagine Me and You, but in Sweden' is a lot more x-rated than Santana had anticipated.

And so, because Rachel loves Imagine Me and You, (or has a massive girl boner for Lena Headley, Santana can't tell), Rachel had voted for that, and Quinn had non-committaled herself into agreeing, and now it would appear they are watching porn.

With some kind of heavy, vaguely depressing plot.

But also porn.

And, god, this is going to be fucking ridiculous in about a week's time, but right now Quinn and Rachel are probably thinking Santana's just watching it so she can picture the blonde one as Brittany. And she can't even turn it off, because Rachel's got the remote, and if Santana were to fling herself across the room to retrieve it and abort this evening's entertainment, Rachel would think it was because Santana was about to cry and Quinn would think it was because Santana was about to orgasm.

Neither of which are the case.

Maybe she'll murder Rachel instead, for being so goddamn open-minded that 'a rom-com is a rom-com, regardless of the genders involved.'

Or maybe Quinn, for being a complete prude and leaping to her feet to ask if anyone wants anything from the kitchen, every time a make out session looks like becoming too heavy.

Or maybe she'll just pretend to fall asleep.

Or maybe she'll just fling herself out of the window.

Santana can't even look at Quinn, and even Rachel's stopped pausing the DVD to comment on the cinematography and has gone vaguely pink.

And thank fuck for the pizza boy. Santana's never up from the couch so quickly.

'Food! Food, guys. Get plates. Berry, turn it off.'

…

Four slices into her pizza, and Santana can't help but notice that the film is still paused, in at some scene where hot blond is about to kiss hot brunette, and both Rachel and Quinn are resolutely refusing to look at the screen.

In a snap decision, Santana reaches across quickly, and flicks the television off at the wall, before stuff the remainder off her crust into her mouth to avoid speaking for a second.

Rachel, bless her, with her best 'I'm not homophobic' face on, is gearing up to pretend that she really was enjoying watching that, and Santana flaps a hand at her.

'Sorry guys. I couldn't handle watching anymore soft porn with you two poker facing your way through it.'

After a second, Quinn snorts, and takes a big gulp of her glass of wine.

'But Santana, it was European porn. With subtitles. Practically high-brow.'

Santana pushes at Quinn's shoulder, and then laughs.

'Feel free to borrow it for your own personal time, but I don't think a pyjama party is quite the right setting for it.'

Santana enjoys the way that Quinn blushes hard at that, and immediately feels less awkward. She leans back on her elbows on the floor, and pokes her toe at Rachel.

'What about you then Berry? Want to borrow it?'

Rachel tears a small piece of pizza off, and then raises both her eyebrows at Santana.

'No, thank you Santana, I prefer my porn with significantly less plot, if it's all the same to you.'

The way Quinn chokes on her drink at that announcement makes the entire episode worth it.

…

The brownies taste amazing, as per usual. Seriously, it's the one vegan thing that Santana thinks Berry is cooking correctly, everything else cannot possibly be supposed to taste like that.

Quinn thaws a bit, after another glass of wine, and they end up staying sat on the floor watching an old set of Will and Grace re-runs that Santana found on some god-forsaken channel. Santana has an excellent time pointing out all the ways in which Rachel is exactly like Will, until even Quinn is laughing along.

By the time it gets to eleven, Berry's standing, and calling a cab, and generally making 'I'm leaving' noises. And Santana realizes she's hardly thought about Brittany at all.

'Hey, I thought you were staying?'

Rachel looks a little startled when she answers, and glances at Quinn.

'Ah, no, I told Quinn. I've got to be up early. Sorry San, another time, maybe?'

…

Santana swings herself around the corner, hanging onto the door frame.

'Catch you later Berry, be safe, okay?'

Rachel hopes to make take that and hammer some meaningful conversation from it, even has her mouth open, but Santana's already in her kitchen, chatting to Lydia, one of the endless collection of girls she shares this place with. Rachel has to shut it, feeling like a moron, and then turns to Quinn, determined for this to be as painless as possible.

She's been trying to be normal, she really has. The switch to Will and Grace helped. But she still feels like she's about to explode from the unsaid, and that film seemed to strip Rachel of all of her carefully accumulated normalcy, that she'd dragged together from three years of good friendship with Quinn.

Her announcement about her porn viewing habits, and Quinn's subsequent reaction hadn't helped. She'd intended for it to be a joke, but…

Quinn stands there, and then makes an odd gesture at her side, as though she wanted to reach for her pockets, but remembered at the last moment that her sweats didn't have any. The action makes Rachel chest do something funny, and she nearly misses Quinn's half attempt at a started conversation.

'So…'

Rachel picks up her purse, and tugs at her coat collar, checking it's adjusted correctly. She discovers it easier to look at parts of Quinn, rather than take her all in. Quinn's ankle receives meaningful eye-contact. Quinn's shoulder gets a smile.

'So! Hope you have a fun few months; don't work too hard.'

Good lord, what is she, Quinn's aunt? Rachel reaches for the door handle, hopeful to emerge on the other side, where this moment is in the past.

Quinn reaches for her wrist.

'Rachel… wait.'

It's so easy to follow instructions. Quinn's made a request. Ball is in her court.

Quinn drops her wrist when she's sure Rachel isn't going to dart off, and crosses her arms. Rachel finds herself doing the same.

'This is… silly. I'm sorry about the party. I'm sorry it upset you. I don't want this to suddenly become a big awkward thing, okay? It was nothing.'

Rachel looks at Quinn, and finds her biting her lip. Quinn stops a split second later.

'Just…can we accept that a kiss is sometimes just a kiss? I'm not sure I'm enjoying whatever all this… weirdness between us is, Rachel. I'm not preying on you, or going to try and seduce you, okay?'

Santana laughs somewhere, far distant, in the shared kitchen. It helps, a bit, helps Rachel smile, and say appropriate things.

'Oh god, of course, let's draw a line under the whole thing…I thought you'd think that I was preying on you somehow!'

Quinn eyes Rachel for a moment, and then smiles, the first normal smile Rachel thinks she's received since all this began.

'Well… I suppose that could make more sense. I am completely out of your league.'

Rachel gasps, and hits Quinn on the arm in affected outrage. Quinn steps into her to avoid the second blow, and before Rachel can even decide whether she's in a stable enough mental state for this to happen, Quinn's hugging her.

Thankfully her body reacts on auto pilot, and she does what she normally does when Quinn hugs her; smile and hug back.

It's a relief. Quinn feels like she always does, smell like she always does. This is how it always is.

'Now, Rachel, let me just say that sometimes things like this happen, and this doesn't have to be the end of the world, okay? I'm not telling anyone, so you can stop it with the internalized panic. It's good, in fact. Friends do this all the time. Very normal.'

Do what? Accidentally kiss, and then spend nearly a week obsessing about it? Rachel isn't sure about that one, but decides that maybe Quinn's right. Also, speaking about this in a hug turns out to be surprisingly easy, because Rachel doesn't have to think so much about how her face is reacting.

'Okay then. That's good to know. Sorry I've been so weird about it.'

Quinn releases her, and but doesn't back off much, just stands there and reaches to tug vaguely at Rachel's scarf.

'Have a good few weeks; I'll have to come visit soon to check you aren't letting Kurt do all the interior design, huh?'

Rachel smiles gratefully at her, grateful for so many things right now. Her voice wobbles slightly when she says 'I'd like that.'

Quinn nods, and then looks at their feet for a second, before stepping back.

'Remember to tell San you got back safe, she always gets really stressed otherwise.'

Rachel twists at her bag strap slightly, and then realizes that this is her cue to leave.

'Sure thing. Bye Quinn. Have a safe journey back.'

Quinn mock salutes, and Rachel's out in the cooler stairwell, already a flight down by the time the door clicks shut behind her.

The stair rail is polished smooth by generations of hands, and is cool to the touch, and Rachel keeps her palm to it all the way to bottom, carrying an echo of the sensation out onto the street.

There. At least that's settled.