Continued thanks for your support on this one; knowing people are interested helps to keep me pushing along :) Someone very lovely (I am uncertain whether they want to stay anonymous, so... watch this space) has also volunteered to reverse Brit-pick for me, so hopefully my usual plethora of errors will be less noticeable!

Kurt can tell he is tired by the way he trips over the lip of the rug that is always on their floor. He flaps for a second, and only just prevents himself from sprawling completely across the hard wood floor, feet making more noise than he thought possible.

He rests, for a moment, leaning on the corner of their table while he catches his breath, and then heaves his bag onto the surface.

Everything had been difficult today. His usual train line hadn't been running, which had resulted in an extra half hour walk which he hadn't anticipated, his hangover had lingered in a most unpleasant fashion, and Tim at the office had decided that today was the day to call in a favor Kurt owed.

He really needs to sit down, and eat something. The concept of taking his coat off at the moment feels a bridge too far.

Rachel sticks her head out of her bedroom after a moment, holding her cell in one hand.

'Hello? You startled me!'

Kurt waves a weary hand at the floor, and raises an eyebrow.

'Managed to almost kill myself on our rug, sorry.'

Rachel nods, and then turns away to finish her phone call, while Kurt manoeuvres himself to their couch, and slumps in a very inelegant manner. The television remote is almost too far away, on the coffee table in front of him, but he manages it eventually.

After a couple of minutes, Rachel comes out of her room, and curls up next to him, with only a seconds' hesitation. She's wearing a hooded sweater that Kurt is sure he's not seen in a couple of years, but seems happy. In fact, it's practically radiating off her. Kurt flicks mindlessly through some of the channels, and then tosses the remote in her lap.

'What are we watching? And, I'm going to order in, I've earned serious calories today. Care to join?'

Rachel shrugs a little, and then sits up straight.

'Pizza! Pizza. I think we should have pizza. You can call.'

Kurt groans, and frowns at her. 'If it's pizza then you are calling, thank you. I cannot deal with the confusion of explaining a pizza without cheese tonight.'

Rachel looks at him with these big puppy dog eyes, but he's developed an impenetrable force field to that particular tactic, and just blank faces her until she cracks, and giggles.

'Okay, fine, hang on, let me go find the number…'

She skips, she practically skips to the drawer where they keep all the various menus that get shoved into their mail, and Kurt grins. He prefers Rachel when she's happy, the oddly sad Rachel he's been dealing with these past few weeks is somewhat of an alien creature.

...

The pizza is amazing, and goes a long way to helping him feel recovered. After five slices he finds the energy to head for his room, put on clothes more appropriate for lying around inhaling carbs.

When he returns Rachel is fiddling with her phone. He slumps next to her and pokes at her ribs.

'So? You and Brody made up then?'

Rachel blinks at him, and then goes back to her phone.

'What? We, we hadn't fallen out?'

Huh. Kurt applies some more dip to his crust, and then re-arranges slightly, on the couch.

'Oh? Sorry, just assumed something was amiss. I'm glad you're happy again, anyway.'

Rachel goes quiet, and when Kurt looks over at her she's tugging slightly, at the sleeve of her hoodie.

'I'm okay. I… is this about last night? Because I'm sorry I was a bit peculiar, there was just a lot to deal with at once, and I wasn't mentally prepared at all. I'm not angry though, everyone had a good time.'

Rachel's sounding weirdly defensive, and Kurt starts to wish he had not said anything. He gets up, and pats her on the knee.

'Well that's good, glad you had a good time. And I'm pleased you and Brody are as flawless as ever. I think there's a cheesecake in the fridge, shall we?'

He finds two spoons after only a second's rummage, and heads back to Rachel with the whipped cream tucked under his arm, because if they've come this far along the junk food chain, surely only full commitment will get them through.

Rachel seems to deliberately stuff her phone as far into her pocket as she can get it, which is a good thing because she'd been checking it every three seconds and it had been driving Kurt a little bit crazy. Kurt tries to resettle, and watches as Rachel scrolls through every channel under the sun.

(He doesn't mind that though, the laws of averages suggest that surely somewhere a watchable show must be on.)

After a moment, Rachel passes the remote back to him.

'I can't find anything. And why do you always refer to me and Brody as perfect? The pressure Kurt, I can't deal with it.'

Oh for goodness sake. Kurt wags a spoon at her, and busies himself with getting the cheesecake out of its box. 'Rachel, seriously, I'm sorry for disturbing your happy place, but the intended outcome of my commenting on the fact that you seemed really happy was not to make you sad again. Please Rach, there is no pressure. I was saying mindless things.'

Rachel frowns at him, and then makes to check her phone again, before stopping herself.

'Okay… sorry. I just… sorry. I'll try and wind in the crazy.'

Kurt laughs a little, and then pats her on the head.

'Good Berry. Think happy thoughts please, whatever made you so happy in the first place. And please tell me you are having some of this with me? I didn't ransack the store hunting for one you can eat for you to not participate.'

Rachel smiles a little, and then grins apologetically. Kurt flaps a hand at her until she rolls her eyes, and picks up her spoon obediently. Kurt flicks until he finds an old re-run of something that looks appropriately horrendous, and tugs a throw from off the back of the couch, throwing a generous corner over Rachel's feet before covering himself.

He's looking at the screen, so it is only out of the corner of his eye that he sees Rachel check her phone again, and smile.

…

It takes Santana about two days before she feels normal again.

Alcohol used to be her friend. Now it's like the family member who is invited out of duty, and then out stays their welcome by a month.

She's getting old, she decides. She'd heard about this, but had assumed it happened to other people, primarily. Santana gets through this by snarling at Fabio throughout the day until he looks like he's on the verge of tears.

The subway is crammed, for some reason, and Santana generally feels like she could happily break the neck of the next bastard who uses this as an excuse to invade her space. Her bag is too heavy, and sits uncomfortably at her shoulder, digging into her and reminding her that she'd always planned to have staff, or at least a private car, by this point in her life.

Her apartment is empty, and cold, with a mess of mail on the floor. From a glance, it looks like the usual cocktail of junk and reminders for overdue money to be paid one way or another. Santana kicks it to one side with her heel, and lets her bag fall to the floor in their hall way. She considers actually trying to make something, because good food usually improves her mood, but then remembers that she cannot make anything close to good food, and so just jams some bread in the toaster, and leans on the side, trying to regulate breathing.

In the past, she's resorted to calling Quinn, and made her talk Santana through the preparations for a meal, to reasonable success. However, in her current mood, this would probably just result in a yelling match, and those don't make Santana feel good anymore.

Brittany. She should talk to Brittany.

…

The toast is burnt slightly, not enough to allow her throw it away guilt-free, but just enough to make it very unsatisfactory.

Brittany's online, and thank fuck for that, because otherwise the next person Santana encounters is going to get it both barrels for no reason whatsoever.

Either Santana's computer is slow, or Brittany doesn't accept the request immediately, but eventually the screen changes, and there's Brittany.

'Hey San, hows… whoa, okay, bad day?'

Santana had forgotten about Brittany's ability to read moods from the other side of the country, and rubs her face in an effort to remove the indicators from her face.

'Yeah… sorry Brit. I'm better now, obviously.'

Brittany grins, and then rolls her eyes, pointing at her face, as if to say duh, of course you are, you're looking at me, and Santana feels herself smile in response. Brittany squints at her, after a moment.

'You didn't bite Fabio, did you? I've told you about being nice to him.'

Santana snorts, and flaps a hand. 'No more than he deserved… tell me stuff, please? What have you been doing?'

Brittany looks down at her desk for a moment, and starts gathering what looks like small squares of card.

'Ahh. Not much. Taught Jonah at Wiggle Club how to moonwalk. Just been talking to Quinn.'

Santana leans back in her chair, reaching for her phone. She glances at the screen.

'Yeah? What about – I didn't think you guys spoke very much?'

Brittany's quiet for a second, and when Santana looks, properly looks, Brittany's eyeing the pile of cards on her desk with a furrowed brow.

'Brit?'

'What? Oh, sorry. We were talking about… ah, wiggle club. And Yale. You know. Whatever it is that Quinn's doing over there. Books.'

Man, that conversation sounds like it had the potential to be hilarious. Santana smiles at pixels, and is hit with a pang of longing so hard she almost winces.

'Brit… can I come visit you?'

Brittany sits up straight, at that, and claps her hands together.

'Yeah! Deffo. The kids at wiggle club think I'm making you up, so you can come demonstrate yourself. And, you know. I miss having a bed that smells like you.'

Santana bites her lip, and wants. She checks her phone again, opening up her planner.

'I could get someone to cover my shift next Friday, and come for a couple of nights? I've still got some money left from Christmas, it should cover my flights.'

Brittany smiles happily at her. 'I'd love that, okay? And I'm sorry I couldn't get over to the Brody thing that was happening.'

Santana shrugs, because it doesn't matter, not really.

'I know. You didn't miss much, really. Quinn was being weird, and Rachel was pretty antisocial. Me and Kurt were the only ones even trying to maintain Ohio's rep as a party state.'

Brittany wrinkles her nose.

'Ohio isn't a party state, though? It is a state of, ah, other stuff.'

Santana rolls her eyes, smiling. 'Well, sure. Since you and I left, maybe…'

…

Quinn has been…odd, since NYC.

Ashleigh is more used to the Quinn who buries herself in books, or decides randomly at six in the morning that she simply must go and see the sunrise, and drags Ashleigh away from her perfectly legitimate sleeping place on the couch in order to try and cure her insomnia with hot chocolate and an enormous coat and fresh air.

It's pleasant, waiting for Quinn's next whim. Ashleigh knows Quinn isn't for everyone, what with the vague air of melancholy and the sneaking suspicion that if you leave her unoccupied for long enough she'll start composing poetry in her head, but Ashleigh enjoys the suspense.

Ashleigh sort of remembers the bratty Quinn that she met in first year, but things move on. High school becomes pretty easy to forget, the longer you stay here.

This Quinn, however…

She's spending a lot of time in her room. Or eyeing her phone. Or generally being oddly positive or weirdly down, or just…different. Like a familiar instrument that's been tuned half a key higher.

Ashleigh asks, finally, the weekend after their trip.

'So… are you mad with me? Because of the Michael situation?'

Quinn frowns over the top of her mug of coffee, and glances up at Ashleigh from her position at the kitchen table. She then shrugs, and goes back to her crossword.

'No. What Michael situation?'

Ashleigh worries at her lower lip with her teeth, because there isn't a Michael situation, no matter how much she wishes there was. Turns out even the nice looking boys are dicks.

'Well… I got a bit, ah, rowdy, and abandoned you in order to go and seduce a boy. Kicked you out of your allocated bed for the night?'

Quinn blinks, and then smiles at her, shrugging.

'No. It was no fuss. And technically I'm the one who abandoned you, really.'

Ashleigh eyes the crossword that is occupying Quinn's attention (and really, who under the age of forty does crosswords?), and sits opposite. Quinn looks up at her after a moment.

'The position that knowledge comes only from sensory observation. Ten letters, last one m.'

Ashleigh suffers a horrendous flashback to the philosophy unit she dropped last year. 'Empiricism. And if it isn't the Michael situation, can you please tell me what is going on? You're different. I can't tell if I need to feel guilty or not, which is crazy stressful.'

Quinn snorts at her after a moment, and carefully fills in the blanks with Ashleigh's suggestion.

'Thanks, that works. And nothing is going on to do with you, thank you. Calm yourself. You cannot hold me responsible for your own conscience.'

Ashleigh is about so say more, but then one of the other girls wanders into the kitchen, greets them, and starts doing something distinctly worrying looking with a chicken carcass. After a moment, Ashleigh, stands, and reaches over to tug on Quinn's wrist.

'Come on. Cake o'clock.'

…

There's a coffee shop just opposite their building, and the owners are pretty used to Ashleigh using it as an extension of her living space. Not turning up in her slippers counts as making an effort.

Quinn has brought her goddamn crossword down with her, and has taken up position in their usual corner, where the big arm chairs sit next to the heating pipes.

From the counter, where she is agonizing over which muffin could possibly be considered as in line with her current diet, Ashleigh watches Quinn. Watches as Quinn pulls out her phone, checks something, and then smiles. And then bites her lip.

Okay, so Ashleigh has been reading this all wrong. Someone on the other end of the phone is making Quinn happy. Ashleigh can definitely stop feeling like she needs to feel guilty. Instead, she can be mock offended that Quinn hasn't told her yet. This is a far improved bargaining position, and Ashleigh immediately feels more comfortable.

Quinn whenever faced with the whole world of variety offered by a coffee shop, always has a double espresso. Ashleigh has long come to terms with the fact that she is apparently good friends with the world's most boring person. Having a little romance in her life can only help things on that front.

She plonks the cup in front of Quinn, on top of the crossword. She then picks up Quinn's phone.

She has to admit, the flash of horror that passes across Quinn's face is pretty amusing.

'Give me back my phone.'

Ashleigh grins at her. 'Or what? Or I get to see head cheerleader Quinn that Santana still has nightmares about? I want to know what's going on with you and other person. Or I check your messages.'

Quinn eyes the phone, possibly calculating the effort required to vault the coffee table and elbow Ashleigh in the neck, but then seems to relax after a second.

'Okay, fine. Something is going on. I think. But it is early days, complicated, and has enormous potential to go wrong, so you'll excuse me if I didn't want to tell you. You tend to get over excited about these things.'

Outrage. Ashleigh does not get over excited about Quinn's love life any more, that incident at the charity speed dating was a long time ago, and she's learned her lesson. She leans back in her chair, and slides Quinn's phone across the table, picking up her mug instead.

'Whatever. So…'

Quinn stares at her. Ashleigh rolls her eyes.

'That was your prompt to fill me in on the who what when where how side of things.'

Quinn glances at her phone, and then picks it up, putting in her pocket. She sighs, 'I think maybe we're on the if page, right now.'

Baby steps are clearly required. Ashleigh steeples her fingers.

'Who is the 'we', please. Do I know him? Or of him?'

Ashleigh watches as Quinn shifts awkwardly in her seat. After a moment she gets fixed with a glare.

'If we are doing this you have to swear to not tell anyone, is that clear? Because I don't really know what is happening right now and having you blabbing this all over facebook is not going to help.'

Ashleigh clutches at her chest in mock horror.

'Okay, a) I am hurt, and b) so it is someone I know. And this all kicked off during the NY visit?'

Quinn purses her lips, and then waves her hand around a bit.

'In a sense. It had been, I don't know. It got real, then, if you like.'

She doesn't really know why this is deteriorating into a game of twenty questions, but Ashleigh continues. A thought strikes her.

'This isn't Michael we are talking about, is it? Because in which case you were totally entitled to be off with me, but on the other hand keeping me in the loop with regards to your romantic attachments would ensure that…'

Quinn cuts her off mid-sentence. 'Ashleigh. This is a girl we are talking about.'

Whoa. Okay. That opens up a new web of possibilities. Ashleigh points a finger at Quinn.

'Is this Santana? Because I've had my suspicions, but I've got to say, word to the wise, I'm not sure Santana is ever going to move on from Brittany, okay? That girl is completely head over heels for her, and so even if you have been vaguely hooking up with her, I'm not sure this is going to end in anything other than tears.'

Quinn laughs shortly, and then shakes her head. 'Why is everyone obsessed with speculating over my love life? It isn't Santana. No matter how much you think we must be sleeping together.'

Ashleigh takes another sip, and mumbles to herself, 'well you do go visit a lot, I'm just saying…'

When she looks at Quinn again, Quinn is eyeing her expectantly. Ashleigh racks her brains, and realizes with a wave of concern that there's only really one girl left who it could be.

'Oh Quinn… we aren't talking about Rachel here, are we?'

Quinn frowns, and then affects an unconcerned air.

'What if we are?

Ashleigh thinks about everything that she knows about Brody and Rachel.

'Isn't… isn't the general popular consensus that Brody and Rachel are made for each other, and super serious and long term?'

Quinn raises an eyebrow at her.

'Thanks Ash, that's really useful to hear right now. So glad I shared this with you.'

Instinctively, Ashleigh holds up her hands in apology.

'Sorry, just, jeez, where's that come from? I mean, could you maybe try building a relationship with someone who isn't already taken?'

Quinn frowns at her, until Ashleigh reviews her previous statement.

'By which I mean, yay? Quinn and Rachel for ever.'

Something inside Quinn seems to un-tense, and she stretches a little in her seat. Ashleigh watches her with some concern as Quinn reaches for her coffee, and drinks, before speaking.

'Look. I know this is horrible idea, but equally I don't know how to stop it. We've been… not doing anything apart from messaging each other. It's just, she knows I like her, and I'm guessing she likes me. Is that so bad?'

Ashleigh bites at the inside of her cheek, and holds her tongue. Because the way Quinn looks now, the way she's smiles at the very concept of Rachel liking her, is enough to make Ashleigh hope that it isn't so bad.

'No, I guess not. You two fit well.'

Quinn smiles happily at this, and Ashleigh decides that her role is to not inform Quinn that this is potentially doomed from the start.

Besides, Michael had been pretty drunk. Maybe he was making up the whole thing about Brody asking Rachel to move in.

…

Quinn still isn't very sure how to do this.

They've been messaging back and forth. None of these messages seem to contain the answers to the hundreds of questions that Quinn is guarding in her head, ready to overflow.

Questions like; what are we doing? What is this, exactly? These messages are almost exactly the same as the ones we used to send, so why does my chest feel like it is going to explode?

All she knows is that at some point during the morning Quinn will get an urge to take a photo of what she's looking at, be it the way the light catches the front lawn of the main square, or the title of the lecture notes, with Quinn's own sad smiley drawn next to it. And that will result in a day long conversation which will cover nothing important but will still be the most important thing she's done all day.

Or, sometimes, Rachel will message her, with a random question or how something she's just heard on the radio reminded her of Quinn, and that'll be it again. Off again.

She can't really explain the feeling, beyond amazing. And dangerous, which lurks at the back of her mind, but what's the point of being young if you can't risk your own emotions?

Plenty of time to heal.

The message Quinn gets this morning is different.

Been invited to a call back. Wish me luck!

It could have been sent to anyone. In fact, it probably has been sent to multiple people, Rachel's dads, Santana, Brody.

Quinn feels like maybe it was just for her.

They'll be idiots not to have you. Unless it is another male lead role Rach, we've talked about those.

After she presses send Quinn doesn't hear anything for another couple of hours, which is enough time to make Quinn start panicking, that Rachel didn't take it in the spirit it was intended, or that it broke her concentration and Rachel's missed her big break just because Quinn decided to send something moronic by text message.

She hears back from Rachel just as she's calling it a day in the library, having fought her way to the end of another essay.

Didn't get it. Could you call me, maybe, if you aren't busy? Kurt's out, Brody's not around until later.

Quinn ignores the twist of discomfort she gets from reading Brody's name, and shovels all her books into her bag like the place is on fire.

She controls herself, and doesn't actually press the call button until she's back in her place, in her room, with the door closed.

'Hi.'

Quinn wants to be there with Rachel, it hits her hard.

'Hi… they are morons, you know. We have talked about this. You'll get something soon enough, and then everyone will be kicking themselves.'

Rachel doesn't speak for a moment, and Quinn is gearing herself up for another soliloquy on the amazing-ness of Rachel's performance ability, when Rachel says quietly, 'I know. They're entirely wrong. It's good though, I didn't make the first audition, they just called me. Shows that I'm… getting somewhere, maybe.'

Quinn finds herself nodding, forcibly. 'Good. Just… don't forget that, please.'

The line is quiet again, and then Rachel says 'I wish you lived closer. I feel like, sometimes my words aren't very good. But thank you.'

There's more silence, and Quinn finds herself abstractly longing for a budding relationship that can be built solely on flirty texts and sudden, passionate kisses, because she isn't sure she's made for aimless small talk.

'It's okay. And you know I'm right. Maybe one of the casting directors was deaf. And the other one blind. Honestly, you should feel more compassion for people with such an affliction, particularly in their line of work.'

Rachel laughs at her after a second, and Quinn sits on her bed, happy to have achieved something.

'You are ridiculous.'

'Sometimes. I reserve a right to be ridiculous when required.'

Quinn feels like maybe her heart is waltzing, or doing something else very peculiar, when Rachel says, 'Yes. I needed you to say ridiculous things to me. You're doing a fine job. I just… I wish you were here. Or I was there. Sorry. Too much.'

Too much from Rachel Berry would seem to be not enough, these days.

'It's okay. I'd probably come, if it wasn't for the fear of having to sleep on your lumpy couch again.'

Rachel snorts, and then murmurs low 'Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?'

Quinn blushing, because now she's thinking about being on that couch, with Rachel above her, moaning into her mouth with every squeeze of Quinn's hands on her breasts. She's re-visited that memory enough, these past couple of weeks. She doesn't need to do it now.

She can't help it.

'It clearly had a big impact on me, having to sleep on it. I can't seem to stop thinking about it.'

This is dreadful, dreadful flirtatious talk, but Rachel hums at her after a moment, and says 'me neither' in a way that almost has her booking train tickets.

Almost. Instead Quinn changes topic, anxious to preserve sanity.

'So when is Kurt back?'

Rachel clicks her tongue, and the voice she uses now is an almost complete contrast.

'He isn't. He's staying at a friend's. Brody's coming over, it's a rest day for him, apparently he wants to cook for me. I can't see that working out too well.'

The messages back and forth between them have never touched on Brody, because it really isn't what Quinn wants to hear about and Rachel never volunteered information. Quinn doesn't know how to respond to Rachel's announcement about her romantic evening at all.

'Oh. Okay.' Part of her want to tell Rachel to call it off, call the whole thing off, and come lose herself in Quinn's bed for a few days, but Quinn doesn't know how to do that, doesn't even know if that is the best idea for both of them.

Hey Rachel, why don't you throw away your solid, stable, happy relationship, and come see me? I think I might quite like to kiss you some more. Beyond that, I'm not sure what I'm even doing right now.

She wonders if everyone feels this out of control, or if this is a brand new emotion, invented and created solely for this particular dynamic she has going on with Rachel right now.

Rachel saves her.

'Sorry. I don't know why I even mentioned that. I'm an idiot. I'm sorry.'

Quinn smiles grimly, and hangs on, for just a bit more.

'We're both idiots, maybe, Rach? We've got to be about equal, right now.'

Quinn can imagine Rachel nodding. She isn't prepared at all, however, for the quiet 'I miss you', that comes down the phone. She clenches her fingers tight in the comforter.

'Me too.'