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Quinn runs a hand over her face, when her eyes blink open, and then she reaches for her phone to check the time.

Half seven. Her body gave her about three hours sleep.

She touches her mouth again, as if searching for evidence, and then attempts to make herself vertical. The throw slides to the floor, un-checked. Quinn sits on something awkward, and roots a hand behind her, before retrieving the tv remote. She places it silently on the coffee table in front of her.

After a moment, she gets up, walks over to the door that separates her from the rest of the world.

It's a latch lock. She could conceivably leave without telling anyone, go to Santana's, kick the door down, drag Ashleigh out of bed by her foot, and be back in New Haven by midday. Nice and simple.

She could message Rachel. When she's safely away. Something like thank you for letting me sleep on your couch. Apologies for the almost ravishing. Btw your boyfriend probably thinks I was getting myself off while watching the shopping channel.

Quinn looks at the couch.

Fuck.

At least Brody had been half drunk when he'd walked in, because Quinn had no delusions about what she looked like. Incredibly aroused, and on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Thankfully he'd just wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes, drinking pints of tap water and eating an inexplicable slice of bread, before waving goodnight and walking into Rachel's bedroom.

It'll be fine.

Quinn moves over to her pile of clothes, fighting off mental images of Rachel, of her and Rachel, of Rachel on top of her, of Rachel moving on top of her, and gathers everything carefully.

There are three toothbrushes in a cup, perched just above the bathroom sink. The sight makes her look away, slowly putting her clothes on without looking in the mirror.

In the living room Quinn carefully folds all of the borrowed clothes into a neat pile, and sits to tug on her shoes. She's got nothing with her apart from her bag, and so runs her hands through her hair a few times, checking herself in the mirror by the door. Her lips look slightly pinker than usual, but Quinn cannot tell if that's just her imagination.

Okay then. Quinn takes a final glance around, checking if she's left anything.

Rachel's door opens, and a tiny figure slides out, clad in far too short shorts. Because nothing in Quinn's life is ever allowed to be simple.

Rachel looks a bit startled to see Quinn standing by the door, coat on, and wrings her hands together, taking steps towards her.

'Hey, um, I heard you… you don't have to go. I could make you breakfast?'

Quinn closes her eyes, scared of getting lost in a daydream.

'No, Rach… I really have to go.'

Rachel bites her lip, and looks away. 'It's half seven Quinn.'

Quinn looks down at her feet, unsure why the hour means that she should stay. It could be half four in the morning and leaving would still be the correct thing to do.

'I'm… look, things are… I'm having a hard time being sensible at the moment, around you, and so space would be…probably best. For both of us.'

Rachel stares at her for a long moment, and then seems to make a decision, and takes several paces towards Quinn, until she's close, far too close.

'Is it for the best because… that's what you want?'

Quinn tries to look at something other than Rachel, and sighs, gesturing vaguely at Rachel's bedroom, where she knows Brody is sleeping.

'Rachel… I don't think I can do this.'

Rachel shrugs, and leans on the wall just by the door, so if Quinn wants to leave she's going to have to brush by her.

'I don't suppose you want to hear about how I'm not sure I can do this either?'

Quinn means to reach her hand for the door, but it ends up resting on the wall, above Rachel's shoulder. At the last second Quinn restrains herself from pressing her palm flat, but instead keeps her fingers rigid, as if that makes all the difference.

The fact that Rachel is still wearing those clothes really isn't helping.

'Rachel… I don't want to hear anything right now. I want… I think I should go.'

Rachel doesn't even look at her, just reaches out a hesitant hand, to readjust Quinn's coat slightly. It should be entirely innocent. Quinn would do it for Kurt, for goodness sake.

Quinn ducks her head down and presses her mouth to Rachel's, because it's only been one minute of self-restraint but she is already exhausted.

Rachel kisses back immediately, hands reaching up behind Quinn's shoulders and threading fingers into her hair. Quinn's hands drop to her hips, to those same shorts, and pull her forward slightly, pulls Rachel into her. Rachel gasps suddenly, and tilts her head, opening her mouth.

Rachel tastes fresh, and Quinn realizes that Rachel must have eaten a mint, or something, before leaving her room. Rachel had wanted this. The thought makes her head spin, and Quinn slides her hand up, up the side of Rachel's body, lifting Rachel's t-shirt up until her palm is resting on bare skin, ribs just below the swell of Rachel's breasts.

Rachel sucks on her bottom lip, and Quinn has to cut off a moan. It somehow brings her back to reality, because at some point today she has to board a train with a very hungover Ashleigh, and she doesn't need to be doing that while teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

Carefully, she tries to slow the kiss, and after a moment, Rachel realizes what she doing, and responds accordingly, until they're just resting foreheads, and Rachel's hands are trying to smooth her hair, rather than incriminate her.

Rachel kisses her once more, softly.

'I'm in trouble, okay? But… I don't see why you need to be, Quinn.'

Quinn shakes her head slightly, at the suggestion, because she knows that nothing which starts like this is resolved easily. This time her hand actually manages to find the doorknob.

'Maybe. Call me, Rachel, okay? I'm not sure I can do another month without talking to you.'

It's too much, far too much, but Rachel just nods, and lifts Quinn's other hand away from her hip, where it is still resting. Rachel kisses the inside of her wrist.

'Of course.'

Quinn feels light-headed, the entire journey over to Santana's.

…

Brittany's running Wiggle Club today.

Wiggle Club is secretly the best club in the world. Brittany has plans, one day, to open an adult version, where people who have to spend most of their time in suits will pay her. And Brittany will give them lots of oversized gym wear, and tell them all that it is okay to wiggle around like a crazy person in here, because no-one is looking at them. And Brittany will demonstrate, and everyone else will join in.

She can see zero issues with this. Santana can do the math. Brittany can bring the wiggle.

'Okay tiny humans, now we be dancing zombies, ready…?'

Seriously. Even the really ass-faced people in the world, the ones who are angry with everything, they just need an hour in the soft play room.

Brittany lurches musically over to her bag, pausing only to be attacked by some kind of body popping alien child, and checks her phone for the time, because the clock on the wall is broken.

There's a message from Quinn.

Brittany. I need to talk to you. You are not allowed, at any point, to say I told you so.

Brittany considers this for a moment, and then returns her phone to her bag. She'll let Quinn call her. Knowing Quinn as she does, Brittany decides that Quinn is likely to be in a really bad mood, if there's even the slightest possibility of Quinn having made a mistake.

Santana said Quinn was over at her place this weekend.

'Snakes, guys! We're being snakes now. They have no feet, remember!'

Maybe Quinn's been making a mess in New York. Brittany slides her way over to the ball pool, and tips a child in when they're not looking, to a scream of delight.

Quinn can definitely call her.

…

He doesn't wake until past midday. Eventually, the sun at Rachel's place always creeps round the side of the building, so it casts a shadow right on their bed, and even the most heavy duty of blinds cannot disguise the glare.

Brody sits, and musses at his hair slightly, blinking at the light. Looking around, he finds an unopened bottle of water on the table next to him, which Rachel must have left out for him. He twists the cap off and drinks slow, while performing a mental stock check.

Amazing night, though. Half of those guys he hadn't seen in over a year. Brody remembers drinking, and sitting on people shoulders, and a dark apartment that seemed half familiar. His feet ache, which does more than enough to remind him of the dancing.

He doesn't remember the entire night, but that doesn't alarm Brody too much, because his subconscious seems guilt free, and he's clearly found his way into the correct apartment. Rachel had left around one, which Brody had kind of been completely okay with, because he'd wanted to be with his friends, and Rachel had been… not awkward, but subtly broadcasting that she wasn't having a great time.

It's fine. They're supposed to have different lives. Brody doesn't exactly want to have to attend one of Santana's sleepovers. Santana may claim that they are completely debauched, but Brody has got an inkling that nail painting is heavily involved.

Pacing through to the bathroom, he detours, because Rachel is sitting at the table, with a couple of books out in front of her. Brody presses a kiss to her cheek, and squeezes at her shoulder.

'Hey. Afternoon. I wasn't annoying last night, was I?'

Rachel blinks up at him, and then smiles.

'No, not at all! How much have you forgotten? Not all, I hope, Michael will be most distressed…'

Brody laughs, and then rubs at his temples, ruefully. 'No, I've got nearly everything. Just a bit…vague, towards the end. Wasn't… was Quinn here?'

Rachel looks away, down at her notes, and puts a line through something in her notes. Brody twists his head around vaguely, to try and read over her shoulder.

'Yes. She was. Gone now though, she's got to get back. And Kurt's gone shopping. Or to a spa, he was looking pretty bleary eyed when he left.'

According to Brody's mental calculations, that means they've got the place to themselves. He hasn't got to be at the theatre until five. That's four hours to kill. He needs a shower, and food, but that's still time for… he slides a hand along the back of Rachel's neck, and strokes her hair over to the other shoulder. When he leans down to kiss her neck she smells of a different shower gel.

'And how long before Kurt gets back, do we think?'

Rachel leans away from him, and then wags a pen in his face. 'Not long enough for that, Mr Obvious. Especially with you smelling like that, thank you.'

Dammit. Brody grumbles for a second, good-naturedly, but moves away, heading to the shower. Just as he's closing the door, Rachel calls after him.

'Do you want breakfast? I'll cook whatever you like?'

Awesome. Brody leans back through the door. 'Pancakes, and you'll be the perfect girlfriend.'

The shower runs slightly too cold, and Brody frowns at it, adjusting the temperature. Other than that the signs are good.

…

It's evening by the time Quinn manages to press all the right buttons in order, and actually call Brittany.

(This is good, because Brittany's been left to consider what Quinn is stressing about for slightly too long, and her scenarios are getting way out of control. The last one had involved Quinn crashing in through Rachel window on a rope like Indian Jones might do, which is ridiculous because the last time Brittany was there Rachel had a fully functioning door.)

Brittany stares at her cell for a second, and then flops fully out on her bed, because she can already tell this is somehow all going to be her fault, so she may as well be comfy.

'Sup Q?'

Brittany counts some of the cracks in her ceiling while Quinn figures out how to say hi, and man, things must be a mess because saying hi really isn't this hard.

'Hey. How are you?'

Huh, curve ball. Brittany wasn't anticipating that one, and has to improvise wildly.

'I'm excellent. You know. Usual. How are you? Did you have fun at Santana's?'

There's a pause, and Quinn answers 'I didn't sleep at Santana's.'

Whoa. Okay. Things have escalated quickly. Brittany tries to pretend like she was totally anticipating a de-brief on what Rachel is like in bed. This is tricky because none of her prompt cards had catered for this scenario either.

'Cool, cool… so. How was it? I mean, good, huh? Scary good, but first times with people are good, generally.'

Quinn frowns down the phone at her. Brittany can feel it.

'What? What are you talking about Brittany?'

Crap, maybe they didn't have sex. Maybe Quinn went straight back to New Haven because Rachel was ignoring her. Maybe… Brittany's stuck. She goes for the truth.

'Sorry. I thought maybe you and Rachel had slept together. Even though you are just friends. I'm sorry, I'm going to need some kind of hard data before I can proceed with this conversation. What is it that I could potentially say I told you so too?'

Quinn is quiet for a very long second, and then sighs.

'I'm not sure if I can do this conversation, actually.'

Brittany reacts instinctively. 'Aww, what, I made prompt cards and everything.'

'You made… okay, did I hear that correctly?'

Brittany scrambles up-right, and picks up a card at random.

'Yes, listen… Rachel can be kind of hard work but then maybe you like hard work, with Yale and all that, so maybe if you are in love with her then it's not all bad, it can be a project, and you know, maybe you'll pass.'

Quinn snorts a little bit, and then groans, so maybe Brittany's not in complete trouble.

'I'm not in love Brittany, things aren't always black and white.'

Whatever. Brittany whispers, in case someone on the other side of the country hears, 'Did you guys kiss again?'

Quinn pauses for too long, so Brittany knows the answer. 'Okay, that's a yes. Were there tongues this time? I mean, I'm sorry to keep fixating on the tongue thing, but that's usually the line between okay, this is fun and omg I'm turned on don't stop. You know?'

Brittany waggles a hand around, and eventually Quinn says 'Yes. I know. I think?'

Success! Brittany roots for another prompt card.

'Okay, so if Rachel is kissing you back, which I'm guessing she is because, new flash, you're hot, then maybe you should talk to her about being more than friends.'

Quinn raises a valid point. 'I'm not sure Brody will be all that open minded about such a suggestion… actually, Britt, I can't do this right now. You're flash cards are good, but this is maybe… this feels a bit too much.'

Brittany makes a face, and then scoops up her cards. 'Can I keep them? And maybe use them when your head is less explode-y? They're color-coded, it'd be a shame to waste them.'

There's another sigh from down the phone, and Brittany feels a bit bad, because she remember how she felt when Santana kept confusing her with all of the sexing and poker-facing, so maybe whipping out the prompt cards was a bit early.

'Okay, sure. Just be normal, okay Quinn? It's fine. Do you need me to tell Rachel off for confusing you? Or just be super silent?'

'Super silent B, okay? I'll call you sometime when… I'll let you know, okay? Bye.'

Brittany squints at her phone for a second, and then drops it, lying back on her bed.

Quinn could probably do with talking to someone who doesn't make prompt cards to do serious conversations. In fact, what she really needs is to process whatever is happening with someone like Rachel, but Brittany isn't sure how well that will work, for this particular situation.

…

Brody leaves at quarter to five, smelling of aftershave and looking perfect. On his way past her to the door he stops, and sits in the chair just next to her.

She makes herself smile at him, just once, but eye-contact is hard today, so she returns to her notes.

'Hey, have a good show.'

Brody hums once, and reaches over to her, squeezes at the back of her neck just once.

'Sure thing. And, are you definitely okay? Because you've been focused on this all day – I could bring you some food back if you wanted?'

She needs space. Just a bit of space, to try and figure everything out.

'No babe, I'm fine, and you're going to run out of clothes if you keep sleeping over here. Go catch up on some sleep, I'll be okay. Kurt will be back soon.'

Brody looks like he's about to say something, but then just stands, and stretches, adjusting his coat. 'Well, don't rely on Kurt for food, remember? Make sure you eat something – I'll start worrying about you if you aren't careful.'

Rachel nods, and taps at her book vaguely. 'Only a couple more pages to go, I swear. And then I'll get something.'

Brody kisses her, as quick as a memory, and grabs his bag.

'Hope Monday morning isn't too much of a pig, then. Take a break soon, okay? Love you.'

Rachel echoes it back, and then sits, lost, the sound of the door closing stuck on repeat in her head.

This book is about the French Revolution. Once Rachel had started pretending to read, she'd had to work really hard to not let Brody see that she was reading a book that had nothing to do with anything. She'd just put it, and a pad of paper, in front of her as a barrier early in the morning, and had spent the entire day copying out random sentences.

Part of Rachel wants to google what counts as cheating? but she's pretty confident what she and Quinn did last night counts as cheating.

God, she'd wanted everything, last night.

Selfish.

The best thing to do, obviously, would be to send Quinn an email. A message, saying something like, terribly sorry, moment of madness, Brody and I are too long term to throw-away, apologies for any inconvenience.

She'd lose Quinn as a friend. But she could keep Brody.

Her fathers had taught her very early on in her life that demanding too much was the quickest route to losing what she already had. Unfortunately, this does not seem to account for the fact that sometimes in life having everything is the only thing that will really do.

The kiss at the party should have been resolved by their conversation at Santana's. Rachel had not been supposed to continue thinking about it in all the weeks that followed. And she should definitely not have allowed it to flash across her mind when she was in bed with Brody.

Rachel feels horribly out of control.

And Brody is… so synonymous with her life here, she can't imagine removing him from it. The whole thing would have to come crashing down. Besides, he's Brody. The guy her dads love, the man her friends love, the boy she's in love with. Whereas Quinn is just… is still Quinn, but is suddenly someone who Rachel is allowed to kiss.

And so, whatever, if kissing Quinn feels amazing. Rachel isn't that much of a gambler.

And Kurt adores him. And Santana actually approves. And Quinn likes him, for goodness sake. The entire notion is ridiculous.

Rachel gets up, and walks to her room, shutting the door carefully.

Humans are animals. Sometimes, while in a long term relationship, an individual may experience desires for another person. These desires are controllable, and fleeting.

The hoodie that Quinn had borrowed from her is on top of the neat pile that Rachel had found, and carefully relocated to the foot of her bed. After a moment's hesitation, she puts it on.

She feels like someone who has made a firm resolution to not allow herself to hit the ground, before jumping off a cliff.

Quinn picks up after three rings.

'Hi.'

Just her voice makes Rachel want to climb down the phone. She's always felt a lot for Quinn, but since when has it had the potential to be all this?

'Hi. Umm. I thought maybe we could talk. Should talk.'

'Okay. Ahh…sounds good.'

Rachel sits on her bed, and then stands up, and then walks to the window, and then walks to her door, and then returns to her bed.

'Okay, excellent! Because, you know, talking is the easiest route to processing, I always find that when… certain things are happening, talking through them allows me time to assess what is actually happening. Sometimes I mind-map, although that would be a challenge to achieve over the phone, but maybe the next time you are in town we could do that?'

There's a long silence, and then Quinn laughs, the sort of laugh that makes Rachel think she was trying not to react, but couldn't fight it in the end.

'Oh god, Rachel… I'm not sure mind-mapping this is going to be very useful. But, talking is fine. What would you like to talk about?'

Rachel feels her nose wrinkle, and stares out of the window.

'The…weather?'

Quinn tuts at her, and Rachel imagines her lips, imagines the shapes that they make when Quinn speaks, tries to visualize everything about Quinn.

'Rach… I'm not sure a weather discussion is going to cut it, either.'

Rachel purses her lips at how warm Quinn's voice sounds right now, how she's speaking low and easy, as if she's right here and just whispering into Rachel's ear. She feels her own voice slow to match.

'Well, maybe…I don't want to talk about, whatever it is we should talk about? Maybe, we could just talk? I want to talk to you.'

It's half an inch away from saying I miss you, but Rachel's mindful that she's not allowed to miss Quinn, yet. But this is too easy. Rachel remembers when talking to Quinn used to be hard. Surely she's earned this much, at least?

Quinn hums quietly in response, and Rachel tucks herself deeper into her hoodie.

'That would be… sure. I'd like that. I like… listening to you.'

Rachel smiles wide, and then bites her lip, adjusting her seat on the bed.

'Okay, well, good, because I've spent the entirety of today reading a book about the French Revolution, for some reason, and so I have a great deal of facts to share. Are you ready, Quinn Fabray?'

Quinn giggles at her, and Rachel swears she never intended to feel like this.

'Ready. Go.'

...