Author's Note: Number 49 of Don't Blink. Yes, we're still doing this. Set after Getting Crazy By the Bottom of the Bottle and before Don't Want to Wake Up Lonely. It's mostly a Rachel/Kurt friendship fic but there's some Quinn at the end.

Disclaimer #1: Still don't own them.

Disclaimer #2: I do not have any tattoos and am aware that this isn't how appointments play out but I'm taking creative license because Rachel filling out an online form before her appointment isn't any fun.


Made Your Mark On Me


There is an indentation
In the shape of you
Made your mark on me
A golden tattoo.
~Dress, Taylor Swift


It takes Rachel months to make the decision. It isn't a constant presence in her mind, more of an occasional tickle of consciousness in odd moments whenever she sees an image or hears a phrase that reminds her of Quinn. There are the obvious and clichéd heart designs, tiny white gardenias surrounded by green ribbons, artful Qs woven into treble clefs, little white rabbits from Alice in Wonderland, and infinity symbols with their wedding date written in the curves. They've all been considered and dismissed in turn—not feeling quite perfect enough to earn a permanent place on Rachel's body.

Her first tattoo hadn't required nearly this much thought. Of course, what thought she had put into the tiny, gold star etched onto the inside of her left wrist had been dulled with the haze of alcohol and the natural high of her first opening night on a Broadway stage. And really—gold stars are kind of her thing.

That's why the one that now graces Quinn's hip is all the more special to Rachel. Although it's not exactly gold, instead a simple, black outline inked into Quinn's pale skin, but that doesn't negate the fact that it's a representation of Rachel on Quinn's body for all the world to see. Well—not all the world. In fact, no one but Rachel (and possibly some of their closest friends who might catch a glimpse should Quinn ever opt to wear a very skimpy bikini in the summertime) will ever see it, but it's the principle of the thing. So Rachel, being quite fond of reciprocity and quite resistant to being upstaged by anyone, even her wife, is determined to ink something onto her body that properly symbolizes Quinn and exactly what she means to her.

She thinks that she's finally settled on the perfect thing, though it had taken at least another month to decide on the size and style and placement on her body. Now that she has, all that's left is actually mustering up the courage to get it done. While she's determined to do this and certain that her pain threshold is much higher than it used to be, she's not about to walk into a tattoo parlor without any kind of moral support, so she drafts Kurt to accompany her to White Rabbit Tattoo in lower Manhattan. (She couldn't resist the name of the shop or the vegan ink they use.)

When they arrive at their destination, the outside of the building doesn't exactly give Rachel a case of the warm and fuzzies, and Kurt is quick to voice his own doubts. "Do we really want to go in there?"

The worn and chipped brickwork has certainly seen better days, and the sign above the doorway could really stand to be redone. It's not exactly an inviting exterior, though it is next door to a rather quaint little coffee shop, but Rachel has an appointment and the photos that she'd seen online of the interior were far more appealing, so she straightens her shoulders and nods her head firmly. "We do."

Kurt doesn't seem convinced, but he follows her inside regardless. The street entrance leads directly up a flight of stairs that could also really use some cosmetic work, but they're soon entering the actual studio with its soft green walls, antique sofa, and picture frames. It almost feels more like the apartment of someone's eccentric aunt than a tattoo parlor.

"Hello, there," greets a friendly voice from behind the counter. "Can I help you?"

Rachel turns her attention to the woman—a bespeckled redhead with colorful ink covering her entire left arm from wrist to shoulder.

"Oh, um...yes." She approaches the desk with a nervous smile, her eyes tracing over the intricate floral pattern and cleverly interwoven animals peeking out from in between. It's a beautiful tattoo, but all Rachel can think about is how many times the needle had to enter the woman's skin to achieve it. "My name is Rachel Fabray." A little zing of giddy delight rushes through her when she recites her new name, still not entirely used to using it even after several months. "I have an appointment."

The woman glances at her computer, using one finger to tap at some keys before nodding. "Dee'll be with you in a few. She's just finishing up with a client. You can have a seat. Feel free to browse any of the design books."

"Oh, thank you, but I already know exactly what I want."

The woman tips her chin up in acknowledgement, but warns, "If it's something complicated, she may need more time to draw it up. You'd need to make another appointment."

"Oh, no. It's fairly simple," Rachel assures her. "No time-consuming drawings required." She can't imagine subjecting herself to anything as detailed as the designs on the woman's arm.

The woman shrugs. "Well, you can browse the books anyway if you want." She then goes back to flipping through the magazine in front of her.

Kurt is biding his time by browsing the photographs hanging on the wall, which pulls Rachel's attention to them as well. One would expect them to be customers showing off the tattoos that the shop has done, but instead, there are a dozen sepia photos in vintage oval frames of men and women from decades long past with their body art proudly on display. It's an unexpected find in a modern shop, but it somehow tickles Rachel's fancy that the owners had decided to pay tribute to the history of tattoos and their profession. It makes her feel a little more comfortable in her choice to come here. It also explains the odd décor in general.

"I know it's merely another form of art, but I really don't see the appeal." Kurt attempts to keep his voice quiet, but Rachel suspects that the receptionist hears him anyway if her soft snicker is anything to go by.

"You don't need to," Rachel reminds him tactfully, pulling her gaze away from the photo of a curvy woman showing off her upper back tattoo above an uncomfortable-looking corset. She takes a seat on the sofa, reaching over to take one of the design books from the table at the end. She may know what she's getting today, but unlike Kurt, she does find some tattoos quite lovely to look at. (Others, of course, are less so.)

Kurt takes a seat next to her with a sigh. "While I understand the sentiment behind this undertaking in theory, I can't fathom why you'd want to subject yourself to thousands of tiny needles driving ink into your delicate skin, forever marring your exquisite complexion."

"Kurt! You're supposed to be here for moral support. Reminding me about the needle isn't helping."

She's not at all looking forward to that part, especially in the location that she'd finally settled on, but she's confident that she can power through the pain if it means enshrining her love for her wife on her body for all of posterity.

His critical expression remains unchanged. "I'm merely making certain you're committed to your decision. There's still time to change your mind."

Rachel straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin in defiance. She's not about to change her mind now, not after all the time and research and indecisive contemplation she's put into this venture. "I'm doing this, Kurt, and you're going to hold my hand and distract me like a proper best friend should."

Kurt's face does a thing—the air of haughty judgment that's a near permanent marker of his personality doesn't exactly disappear, but it becomes unmistakably tinted with a shade of melancholy that typically only appears when he's pouting. It proves an apt interpretation when he mutters, "A position I only seem to hold in Quinn's absence."

It stings sharper than any needle Rachel will be facing today. "Is…is that what you think?" Even as she asks it, she understands exactly why he would feel that way, especially with how caught up she's been with her newly married status these last few months. She's been more than happy to spend all of her time away from the theater with Quinn, and she's suddenly acutely aware of how badly she's been neglecting Kurt.

He looks away, crossing his arms defensively and sinking further down in his seat. It's the poorest posture she's seen on her friend in some time. "I know it hasn't been intentional," he admits quietly. When he turns his eyes back on her, the sad acceptance in them is visible. "She's your wife, and before that, she was your romantic partner. Of course you're closer to her than to anyone else." He shrugs, letting his arms fall into his lap where he fiddles nervously with his fingers. "It's just hard sometimes because you're still the person I feel closest to, the one I go to first with all my highs and lows, but I haven't been that person for you in a very long time."

Rachel reaches across the sofa to clasp his hand, her throat tight and eyes teary. "Kurt, you are my best friend. And you were my first friend. No one can ever replace you in my life, not even Quinn." She chuckles wetly. "In fact, it came to my attention some time ago that I've never viewed Quinn strictly as a friend anyway. I've always been mildly obsessed with her in a semi-romantic, not very heterosexual way."

Kurt barks out a laugh. "Mildly?"

Rachel squeezes his hand and grins ruefully. "Okay, extremely obsessed, very romantic, and super gay. The point is that she's always been more, even before I realized why or how much." For Quinn, the realization had been there long before those first tentative attempts at friendship and had always been buzzing just below the surface of their every interaction. "But you, Kurt Hummel, you have been my best friend through Diva tantrums and bad decisions and broken engagements. You've stood by me and supported me with no ulterior motives when no one else would." Or cared enough to bother. She's not sure she could have made it through high school without him, and she takes a breath, intent on holding his gaze and making sure he understands exactly how much he means to her.

"Maybe my relationship with Quinn is the most important one in my life now, but that doesn't mean that I love you any less. I'm always going to want you and need you in my life, Kurt. You are my brother-in-Broadway-songs, my platonic soulmate, the Rodgers to my Hammerstein."

Kurt laughs again, disentangling their hands in order to brush a stay tear from his cheek. "I'm surprised you're letting me be Rodgers. He is the one with the EGOT."

"That's how much you mean to me," Rachel assures him, though she hadn't actually realized she'd done that until he pointed it out. That he knows that fact off the top of his head is one of the reasons he will always be her best friend. She loves Quinn, but sometimes she just needs to gush over Broadway history and show tunes with someone who shares her level of enthusiasm.

She's struck with a brilliant idea then, making her gasp in excited delight. "In fact, we should commemorate our eternal best-freindship with matching tattoos." Kurt's eyes widen in fright, but it doesn't deter her. "Maybe something like 'changed for the better,' but where?" she wonders aloud, tapping a blunt nail to her chin in thought. It would have to be somewhere discreet but not overly painful.

"Rachel, sweetie," Kurt interrupts her contemplation. "I adore you; you are the only woman I will ever love, but no one is coming near my sensitive skin with one of those hideous needles ever."

She sighs in resignation, mildly disappointed but not at all surprised. "We're okay, though?" she feels compelled to check. Kurt really is so important to her and she never wants him to feel like an afterthought.

"Yes." His smile is warm and reassuring, and then he rolls his eyes and exhales dramatically. "You are permitted to love your wife more than me."

Laughing, she launches herself across the sofa and hugs him tight. "You'll always be my best guy."

He chuckles. "Not your best gay?"

"Well, that's kind of Quinn now too," she admits wickedly, releasing him from her embrace.

As expected, Kurt immediately claps his hands over his ears. "Please don't elaborate!"

She laughs again, tugging at his wrist to get him to drop his hands. "I wouldn't dream of offending your delicate sensibilities. Who else is going to indulge my crazy schemes when they're specifically centered on Quinn? Or dress me in fabulous one-of-a-kind couture?"

He seems to consider this. "It is somewhat satisfying being the one responsible for Rachel Berry making her first best dressed list."

Rachel beams at him, basking in the memory of the Tony Award that she'd received that night with Quinn on her arm as her brand new wife and the gorgeous gown Kurt had designed that she'd worn so soon after that other gorgeous gown he'd designed all in white. The article declaring her the best dressed best actress (with the best dressed date) had been the cherry on top of the proverbial cake.

"Which is why it's such a shame that you're about to vandalize my canvas," he adds with a pointedly arched eyebrow.

Her smile drops. "If you're planning to design any dresses that will reveal this tattoo, I think Quinn might have some words with you."

Both his eyebrows lift higher at that. "How scandalous?" Then he frowns. "And you're making me watch? Where exactly are you having this done?" It's clear that he doesn't want to see any parts of her deemed too private to be left uncovered by a dress.

"Oh, don't look so worried. It's nowhere overly intimate."

He doesn't look very reassured, but before she can say anything else, an attractive brunette with a few tattoos of her own on her arms appears from the back room along with a tall, muscular man in cutoff shorts and a large transparent bandage over a gorgeous dragon on his right calf.

"You're good on all the aftercare instructions I gave you, yeah?" the brunette directs to the man.

"Yeah," he echoes.

"And what's the mantra when the bandage comes off?" she asks with an encouraging smile.

The guy shakes his head, seemingly amused if a little reluctant to play along. "Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize," he finally recites in a flat tone.

The woman laughs. "Good man." She holds out her hand to him, and he takes it with a firm shake. "Give us a call when you decide on your next one."

He nods. "Thanks, Dee. Take care." And then he's heading for the door.

"You too," she calls after him before turning her smile on Rachel.

Objectively, she's very pretty—not that Rachel really notices those types of things, at least not in a way that really matters when she has Quinn Fabray at home, outshining every other person in existence with her unparalleled beauty. But this tattoo artist, Dee, has a very nice smile and warm dark eyes, and her olive skin is an attractive canvas to a number of colorful birds and fairies and ornate lettering from an alphabet unknown to Rachel. If she's going to be tortured by needles in the name of love, at least she'll have someone aesthetically pleasing to look at while she's suffering.

The very nice smile goes crooked around the edges as the woman's eyebrows inch up. "You're my eleven-thirty?" she asks, looking a bit confused as she points at Rachel. "Violet?" And for a second Rachel worries there might be some kind of mistake with her appointment. She's in the process of shaking her head in the negative when the receptionist's voice interrupts.

"Rachel Fabray. That's her."

Ah, the redhead must be Violet. Really, name tags would be a helpful addition to the personnel here.

Dee laughs, looking delighted. "No way. I'm guessing that's your secret pseudonym, because I just saw you win a Tony, like, this year. Rachel Berry, right?"

Rachel suddenly understands the confusion, and she's thrilled to be recognized, beaming at the woman. "I am, but I'm also Rachel Fabray, and it's not a secret at all." She rubs a thumb over her wedding rings.

"Please don't get her started on her newly wedded bliss," Kurt adds in warning.

Dee's smile turns speculative. "I'm guessing the spouse is the gorgeous blonde you kissed when you won."

Rachel's cheeks heat. She's not ashamed of it at all, but she wasn't really thinking about the cameras when she'd done it or the millions of people in the viewing audience who would have seen. "That's her."

Dee nods approvingly. "Nice. Congrats…on both the win and the wife."

The word wife has Rachel smiling widely once again. "Thank you."

"I'm Dee, by the way," she announces in a way that implies she's already fully aware that they'd sussed that out on their own, but she extends a hand in greeting and continues on with, "It's nice to meet you, Rachel Berry Fabray."

Rachel is extra delighted to hear her full name, and she takes Dee's hand to shake it, standing as she does so. "Likewise." She tips her head in Kurt's direction. "And this dapper gentleman is my friend, Kurt, who is here for moral support."

Releasing her hand, Dee acknowledges Kurt with a nod. "We get a lot of plus ones, so you're more than welcome to be a voyeur." She gestures to the counter adjacent to the reception area. "Step into my parlor so we can get this session rolling." There are two stools positioned side by side, and Dee saunters over and easily staddles one of them, spinning the iPad on the counter to face her. Rachel follows, settling herself on the other stool with far less dexterity while Kurt hovers behind her. "So, you indicated you wanted text when you booked the appointment, so tell me exactly what you want and then we'll talk about placement, time period, and price."

"Oh, I wrote it out." Rachel reaches into her pocket to retrieve the slip of folded paper containing the neatly (for her) printed lyrics and presents it to the woman next to her. "Simple and easy."

Dee eyes the words on the paper for a moment, and Rachel can feel Kurt breathing down her neck as he tries to read them as well. "Ah, the wedding song," he finally realizes with a self-satisfied nod.

Rachel glances back at him with a soft smile. "I thought it apropos."

Dee's gaze darts between them, her expression still mildly quizzical. "Lyrics, huh? I'm afraid I don't recognize them, but then, I don't need to." She flashes a grin. "They're obviously important to you."

"They are," Rachel confirms.

"So, first question." She taps the paper with one finger. "Do you want it in this handwriting?"

A small frown pulls at her lips. "You can do that?'

Dee chuckles. "Yep. I can scan this in to create the stencil. We can even turn it into a typable font to generate other phrases. We often do that for people who want tattoos in a loved one's handwriting but don't have a sample of the exact text they want."

"As lovely as that sounds, I'd rather it be perfectly legible." Her own handwriting isn't always that, as evidenced by Kurt's quiet snicker from behind her. She manages to blindly elbow him in the hip. "I was hoping you'd have suggestions for a font that won't blur."

"Well, the sizing and placement on your body is more important in regards to keeping a text tattoo sharp. A lot of artists think that using a sans serif will solve all the blow out problems, but any font can work if it's done right by someone who knows what they're doing…and I promise you, I do," she boasts with a smirk. "Where are you thinking of placing it?"

"My left side." She unconsciously curves a palm over the spot in question, over her ribs and beneath her breast.

Dee takes a noticeable breath, eyeing her critically. "Black ink?" When Rachel nods in confirmation, Dee begins to fiddle with the iPad. "I'm assuming you want it positioned the way you have it written down, yeah?"

"If you think that's doable."

Dee leans back, raking her eyes over Rachel in an entirely professional way. "You don't have any other rib or hip tattoos, do you?"

Rachel shakes her head. "No." She lifts her left hand and turns it over to present her wrist. "This is my only other tattoo."

Dee tilts her head, taking in the small design. "A gold star," she comments with a quirk of her lips.

"Purely metaphorical in regards to my career."

Dee laughs outright. "I can't imagine what else you'd think I'd take it to mean."

Kurt groans. "We all know exactly what else it means."

"Well, that won't interfere with a rib tattoo," Dee promises, quickly getting things back on track. "You need to be aware that the ribs are a very sensitive area to get inked. If you were asking for anything but text there, I'd refuse to do it for you, especially since you only have experience getting one other small tattoo."

"I can handle it," Rachel swears, ignoring the way Kurt practically whimpers behind her. The one on her wrist had hurt like a bitch too, but she hadn't flinched—mostly because she'd had Quinn there to hold her other hand and distract her from the pain and possibly also remind her that if she flinched her star would probably get messed up and she might need to have it filled in with black ink which she absolutely did not want.

Dee hums thoughtfully, obviously trying to decide if Rachel is bullshitting her. "You should also know that the lettering is probably gonna need to be a little bigger than you're probably anticipating."

An unpleasant weight sinks into Rachel's stomach. She already knows this will be painful, but, "How much bigger?"

Dee shrugs. "Depends on the font style to some degree, but you've got enough As and Os that we need to be conscious of spacing so they don't bleed together. There's probably gonna be some stretching over time in that area with weight fluctuation, so I think a looser script font could work well. They tend to be a little more forgiving than the block style that requires perfect letter spacing. But I won't go any smaller than a half centimeter on the lower case letters." She raises her eyebrows and grins. "Still into it?"

Rachel draws in a breath, thinks of the elegant cursive across her wife's skin, and nods slowly. The letters of Beth's name are about that big on Quinn's rib, but the single word takes up far less space than Rachel's will.

"Okay, then," Dee murmurs, turning her attention back to her iPad. "I actually have a couple of my own custom designed scripts preloaded in here that I think might look good with that placement." She swipes across the screen in rapid movements, teeth chewing on her lower lip in a way that reminds Rachel a little bit of Quinn. "I'll draw them up fresh for your body shape but this will give you an idea of what I'm thinking." After a moment, she flips the screen around to show Rachel. "This one is a more ornate style."

Rachel leans forward to get a better look. The letters are a neat cursive, slanted to the right, but not fully connected to each other. She tries to imagine it written across her side, but she suspects that her face is relaying her difficulty when Dee says, "I can tell you're not in love with it." She pulls the iPad back to her and taps a few more times before flipping it again. "How about something like this?"

This version is more artful printing than cursive, the letters having an almost brushstroke quality to them, but each letter is clearly and neatly recognizable. It's far easier to picture this on her skin for the rest of posterity. "That one," she determines with a firm nod.

"Okay, then. It'll take me about fifteen minutes to design it up to scale and print off a stencil. Then we'll see how it looks when we place it. If it's to your liking, we can probably get this inked today. Three hundred is the going rate for a text one this size."

"Cost isn't an issue." Which is a tiny and forgivable exaggeration. Cost is always an issue—they're hardly rolling in mountains of cash at this point in their careers—but Rachel is always willing to pay an artist for their work.

Dee grins again. "Damn. Wish you'd told me that before I quoted a price. I coulda up-charged." With that, she slips off the stool and disappears into the back room.

Kurt hisses out a slow breath as he watches her go, moving to lean against the counter in the spot Dee had vacated. "You still have time to rethink this, Rachel. As sweet a gesture as it is to get a tattoo of the vow you sang to Quinn, those are a lot of letters to have written into your skin."

Rachel only squares her shoulders in defiance. "I'm resolved."

He looks skeptical, but only shrugs. "If you say so."

She refuses to second guess her decision or succumb to a bout of nerves at this late date. She's here. Her design is on the table, as it were. She doesn't have a show today. There's no better time to get this done.

"You know, you could distract me with something other than reminders of impending pain."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Fine. When am I getting my advanced copy of Lucy Quinn's latest book?"

Smiling, Rachel props an elbow on the countertop and relaxes. "Two more weeks. And you're still not getting any spoilers out of me before then," she warns him, happy to talk about her wife and her blossoming literary career for the next fifteen minutes.

In fact, it doesn't actually take the full fifteen minutes before Dee is coming back out with her iPad and showing off the final version of what she's drawn up. There's a subtle difference in the lettering style from the stock mockup she'd first shown Rachel as an example, and she's arranged the words in a way that should contour more to Rachel's body, but the changes only make Rachel love the design even more. "It's perfect," she enthuses, even while her stomach churns with a somewhat unpleasant mix of anticipation and dread.

"Awesome. Let's do this then. Come on back," Dee invites, leading her out of the reception area with Kurt dutifully trailing along behind.

The artists' actual workspace is hidden away by a wall painted in the same green as the reception area and adorned with even more vintage photographs, but once they step through the doorway, the old fashioned aura of the front room disappears into a maze of neat cubicles will high walls, sleek leather tattoo chairs, and gleaming modern equipment. Rachel can hear the buzz of a machine running and quiet conversation from one of the other cubicles as Dee leads them back to hers.

Each station is personalized with decor to the taste of the artist who uses it, and the cubical Dee ushers Rachel into is covered with an eclectic mix of birds and mythical creatures, from dragons to fairies, all interspersed with little placards of what looks to be a similar alphabet to what's inked on her own arm.

Dee swings one of the rolling stools around and tucks it into a corner. "Your moral support can have a seat there for now," she gestures with a polite smile to Kurt. "And you can have a seat right here," she pats the tattoo chair which is currently locked in its most upright position before turning to retrieve a stencil from the nearby printer.

They both do as they're instructed, but while Kurt crosses his legs and hums some jaunty tune under his breath, Rachel's eyes dart to the tattoo machine while her heart races. The last time she'd done this, she'd been pleasantly buzzed on one too many glasses of Zinfandel and even more pleasantly distracted by Quinn's hazel eyes and low, calming voice.

Dee takes a seat on the other rolling stool, stencil in hand. "Go ahead and take off your shirt. You can leave your bra for now until we figure out exactly where this is going."

"And this is the part I've been dreading," Kurt exclaims, slapping a hand over his eyes.

Rachel rolls her own in exasperation as she begins to work free the buttons of her blouse. "It's nothing you haven't seen before." He designs women's clothes for a living. He's probably seen more half (and fully) naked women than even Santana has at this point.

"And not once have I ever enjoyed it," he reminds her, but he does lower his hand, offering her an impertinent grin.

"You picked the wrong career then," she teases, shrugging off her open blouse.

"What career is that?" Dee asks, obviously amused by their banter.

The noise Kurt emits fully conveys his indignation, and Rachel giggles. "Fashion Design. He's Kurt Hummel of Kurt Hummel Designs."

Dee's eyebrows lift. "Ah, I see." She offers Kurt an apologetic smile. "I'm not really into the fashion scene, but I do recognize the name." She laughs then, gesturing to her artfully ripped jeans. "The only designer label on me is Levi."

Kurt sighs heavily. "I suppose I can forgive you. You do make those jeans look good."

Dee laughs again. "Thanks." She turns her attention back to Rachel then. "You said left side?" she checks, holding up the stencil, and Rachel nods, reflexively lifting her arm up over her head. "We may need to tweak the sizing or layout slightly," Dee warns as she bends forward to examine Rachel's torso, "but this'll give us an idea of how it's going to look on your skin." She holds the stencil against Rachel's ribs, and the cool tickle of the stencil paper causes Rachel to giggle nervously.

Dee tilts her head from side to side as she moves the stencil back and forth. "I think this is actually a pretty good size," she determines, sitting straight once again and rolling the stool a bit away. "And I can work around your bra unless you want this to sit even higher on your rib cage." She touches Rachel's side again, just over where her bra ends. "About here is as high as I'll go."

"I wouldn't want it any higher," Rachel agrees. She'd purposely worn one of her skimpiest bras—one that still covers all the essentials anyway—in the hopes that she wouldn't need to strip completely.

"Well, if we mess it up the first time or you don't like exactly where it's placed, we can wipe it off and try again. If you've got opinions, now's the time to voice them, because there's no repositioning once I start to ink it."

"Oh, don't worry, she's certainly not shy with her opinions," Kurt assures cheekily.

"Are you sure you don't want to sub out your moral support with someone more supportive?" Dee questions, just as cheekily.

Rachel laughs. "No. I'm used to him." And really, if she can't have Quinn here with her, then Kurt is the only other person she would want. Barbra knows Santana would only exacerbate her tension—and probably hit on her tattoo artist while she was at it.

"Okay, then. Arm all the way up," Dee instructs, lifting her own in demonstration, "and keep your back straight." Once Rachel complies, Dee delicately nudges the edge of her bra up and out of the way and sets to work disinfecting the area with rubbing alcohol. Her touch is gentle and sure, which helps a bit to ease Rachel's nerves about the process. Once the stencil is positioned to Dee's liking, she directs Rachel to the nearby mirror.

Rachel pads over to examine the words now displayed on her skin, only mildly inconvenienced by the fact that she's reading them backwards. The size and position look good to her, but she turns to Kurt with beseeching eyes. "What do you think?"

He stares at her exposed skin for a moment. "I'll refrain from repeating my thoughts on this entire venture because I know that isn't what you're asking…"

"Obviously," she mutters with a tiny frown.

"But if you're determined to permanently brand yourself, then that will be a very attractive one," he finally shares with an encouraging smile. "I think it looks good there."

"I agree," Dee adds, grabbing her iPad again. "Turn to your left a bit and keep your arm up," she instructs, lifting the device and snapping two quick photographs. "I know it's a little harder to really visualize text in the mirror, so here." She offers up the iPad to Rachel. "First one is the full torso. Swipe left for the zoom in."

While Rachel can't easily read every word on the first shot due to the angle, she does get a very good idea of the size and placement on her body and how other people will see it if she chooses to wear a bikini or sports bra in public. It's when she swipes to the second image that she can actually see how the lettering looks on her skin, and she isn't at all disappointed. "I like it," she decides, handing the iPad back.

Dee sets it aside with a serious expression. "Are you sure? If you want it up a few centimeters or over to the left or right or you don't like the lettering style, now's the time."

"I love the lettering, and I'm not certain a centimeter or two would matter much anyway."

"You'd be surprised," Dee relays, still serious. "Your body. Your skin. Permanent placement. I'm serious, Rachel. If you want anything changed, tell me now."

Rachel takes the woman's seriousness seriously and turns back to the mirror, studying her reflection once again. She's honestly enamored with the lettering style and overall appearance, and she truly doesn't think moving it a little in any direction would make much difference. Dee really has done a fantastic job of placing it in exactly the right spot. Still, Rachel twists her torso a bit, bending this way and that, to see how the words look in different positions. She even pushes her stomach out and sucks it back in to see if that affects anything, ignoring the way Kurt and Dee both chuckle under their collective breath at her antics. She still doesn't see anything she particularly objects to, so she turns back to Dee with a firm nod. "I think it's perfect exactly as it is."

A smile curves the woman's lips once again. "Okay, then." She pats the seat of the chair. "Make yourself comfortable." Rachel seriously doubts that she'll actually be comfortable, but she does settle down into the chair.

"I'm going to recline the chair back, and once I do, I'll need you to turn onto your right side, left arm up over your head." She kicks the medal pedal control on the floor closer to her foot and steps on it, sending the chair into a slow recline. Once the chair is fully reclined into what is more or less a padded table, Dee helps position her onto her side.

She glances at Kurt. "If you want to roll on over in front of her, you can. Just stay up by her head."

"I won't be in the way?" Kurt verifies, even as he toes the stool over to the place Dee indicated.

"Nah, you'll be fine."

Dee adjusts the light to where she wants it and then goes about preparing the tattoo machine and ink while Rachel settles down onto her right side in the same position she was in earlier. She bites into her lip and looks up at Kurt.

"It's still not too late to run for it," he reminds her quietly.

"Stop encouraging my cowardice," she just as quietly reprimands.

He sighs through an affectionate grin and lays his right hand on the chair turned table in front of her face. She reaches up to clasp it gratefully. The sound of rubber gloves snapping into place draws Rachel's attention back to her artist just in time to see Dee roll her own stool into position with her tools in hand.

"Ready?"

Rachel inhales deeply, closes her eyes and nods around a slow exhale. "As much as I'll ever be."

"Now, I need you to stay as still as possible when I have the machine running," Dee gently instructs. "If it gets too painful, let me know. We can take breaks as you need them. If you want me to distract you with small talk, we can do that…or Kurt can…or we can all just shut up and let you meditate or whatever."

Nervous laughter bubbles out of Rachel. "I suck at meditation. Even my acting exercises are loud and chaotic."

"She's telling the truth about that," Kurt concurs with a grin.

"I'd appreciate any distractions you can give me," Rachel tells them both, closing her eyes and trying to ground herself against the pain she knows is coming.

"Well, first I'm going to start on this tattoo, and if you don't bolt off the chair, I'll tell you about the time my ex-girlfriend dragged me all the way to Philadelphia to see Les Mis on tour because she had some weird vocal crush on the actress playing Eponine."

Rachel's eyes snap open in surprise, immediately recognizing the implication. "I think you need to tell me about that even if I do bolt off the chair."

Dee grins at her as she places a gloved hand over her ribs, stretching the skin. "We'll see." And the machine starts to buzz.

Rachel slams her eyes closed again and grits her teeth when the needle touches her flesh. "Mother fucker," she grounds out, squeezing Kurt's hand as hard as she can while she tries to keep the rest of her body from flying off the chair. She ignores his whimper of pain, too focused on her own. It's far more acute than what she remembers from her wrist tattoo, but she manages to keep from flinching too noticeably. "Please tell me your ex isn't an ex because of that crush and this is your method of revenge," she hisses desperately through clenched teeth.

Dee has the fucking audacity to laugh—though her hand remains steady. "No. She's an ex for other reasons, but we're still friends, and she did leave me with an appreciation for Broadway musicals." The machine lifts away from her skin and stops, giving her a moment of relief as Dee gently wipes the area with warm water. "So no revenge plot. Think you can handle twenty-three more letters?"

"Sweet Barbra, that's almost the entire alphabet," Rachel whines.

"And my hand is already numb," Kurt complains, tugging it away from Rachel's grasp to flex his fingers despondently.

"I mean, I can turn this A into an A plus or an A sharp and leave it at that," Dee offers.

Rachel is honestly tempted, but, "No. I'm doing this for Quinn." She closes her eyes again, shifts her shoulder against the chair, and braces for the next letter. "So tell me if you thought my performance was brilliant or merely outstanding."

"Brillant, of course," Dee vows with a smile, starting up her torture device again. "I cried."

"And I'm about to," Rachel whimpers when the needle touches her skin again and she grabs Kurt's wrist, digging in her nails.

"Ow, ow, ow…so am I."

True to her word, Dee does attempt to keep Rachel distracted from the pain. She talks a bit about that Philadelphia performance that she'd seen, then she tells them how she'd gotten her start in the business, a little about her own tattoos, even the meaning of the sanskrit on her arm, and she pauses the actual tattooing frequently in order to give Rachel time to breathe.

It gets easier the longer it goes on.

That's a lie.

It still hurts like a bitch, but as Rachel grows more familiar with the sensation, the pain kind of blurs into a strange kind of aching numbness, and she finds that she can endure it better.

The hour-long session comes to an end with the excess ink from the final letter being gently wiped clean and the rest of her stinging side carefully cleaned with a fresh warm cloth.

Dee steps on the controller to bring the chair upright once again and rolls her stool back. "Go ahead and have a look before I bandage it."

Rachel is eager to see the finished product, but she can't ignore the lingering soreness that radiates out from her ribs, so she doesn't bounce up from the chair with quite as much energy as she'd like. Instead, she stands gingerly, wincing mildly as her skin flexes with the movement. She makes her way back to the mirror, and aside from the expected bright red cast of her tender skin, she's extremely pleased with what she sees.

"It's wonderful," she gushes, lightly tracing a fingertip over the fresh ink. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Dee responds, pulling off her rubber gloves and disposing of them. "Now it's time for the really fun part." She lifts up a package and grins. "Putting on the SecondSkin and going over all your aftercare instructions. There will be a quiz at the end."

"Is one of the answers moisturize?" Kurt checks, clearly recalling Dee's previous customer.

Still grinning, Dee puts a finger on her nose before pointing at Kurt. "Gold star for you."

She then pulls off a strip of the clear plastic adhesive and proceeds to carefully apply it to Rachel's left side over the fresh tattoo. "This is a medical bandage meant to speed up the healing process. You might notice the ink or some plasma oozing out a little. That's normal," she assures Rachel. "Leave this on for twenty-four hours and then remove it under warm running water."

Dee proceeds to explain exactly how to care for her new tattoo but also gives her a written pamphlet with detailed instructions of the aftercare as well, covering all the bases. Sure enough, applying a moisturizing lotion after every cleaning is typed in bold capital letters.

Rachel had been given very similar instructions after her first tattoo, but doesn't remember them being nearly so thorough. She's very impressed by the whole thing and would absolutely recommend Dee and this parlor to anyone, and she isn't shy about letting Dee know it.

"I'll never say no to a celebrity endorsement," Dee tells her as she walks them out to the waiting area. Another young woman is paging through magazines in the waiting area and barely spares Rachel or Kurt a second glance. "And you're more than welcome to ask for me when you get a hankering for another one."

Rachel balks. "I think that might be quite awhile." The sting in her side is nowhere near subsiding, and she suspects that she's going to be sleeping on her right side for far longer than the two weeks that Dee had recommended.

Dee smiles knowingly. "We'll see." She offers her hand again. "It was very nice tattooing you, Rachel."

Rachel happily shakes her hand. "I'm afraid I can't say it was nice being tattooed, but I'm very pleased with the final result. So thank you again, Dee."

"Thank me by saying the mantra one more time," she directs with a big smile as she lets go of Rachel's hand.

Rachel dutifully recites it in tandem with Kurt. "Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize."

"And I've been telling her that for years," Kurt can't resist adding, wrapping a supportive arm around Rachel's shoulder. "I'll be sure to keep reminding her."

"Good man," Dee praises, giving them a final wave before turning her attention to her next customer.

Rachel takes the stairs back down to the street far more tentatively than she had on the way in, plucking at the fabric of her shirt in an attempt to keep it away from the sensitive skin beneath. The SecondSkin helps, as does the loose shirt she'd been wise enough to wear, but the less friction against the bandage the better for her poor abused flesh. Kurt keeps a concerned eye on her and offers her a sympathetic grimace when they finally step back outside. "I am honestly impressed that you made it all the way through that ordeal without crying."

"It was…not easy," Rachel admits, still attempting to keep her shirt away from her skin. In fact, she doubts very much that Kurt had failed to notice at least one of the several tears that very much did trickle over her cheek during that ordeal. "But I'm sure the experience will only benefit any future roles I may take on." She's certain to have the whole stoic bravery in the face of unimaginable pain nailed after that excruciating exercise.

"Undoubtedly." Grinning slyly, Kurt opens his arms and takes a step forward. "Do you want a congratulatory hug?"

Rachel jumps away with a shriek, sending an unfortunate lance of pain through her side. "Don't you dare touch me, Kurt Hummel!"

He positively cackles. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall when you tell your dear, loving wife that she can't touch you for weeks."

Rachel frowns at him, eyes narrowing. "There are other places she can touch, Kurt."

His face instantly blanches, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "Please don't say another word."

She pokes him gently with her right hand since she's still favoring her left side. "That's what you get for teasing me in my delicate condition."

"Careful, honey," he warns with a smirk. "Some passerby might overhear you, see the way you keep playing with your shirt," his gaze drops to her hand where it's tugging the fabric away from her body, "and start a rumor that you're pregnant."

Giggling, Rachel stops fussing with her shirt and slips her right arm into the crook of his elbow. "Well, Quinn is good but she's not quite that good."

"Oh, come on," he whines, expression stricken. "I cleared my entire schedule for you today. I don't deserve more lesbian sex talk."

She laughs at that, smiling up at him as she leans heavily into his side. "I'm sorry, Kurt. You know that I'm incredibly grateful to you for coming with me. I don't think I could have handled this nearly as well without you."

He hums in agreement and reaches across his body to pat her hand. "That's what platonic soulmates are for. Now let's find a taxi and get you home to your non-platonic soulmate so she can pamper you in the way you deserve."

"Yes, please," Rachel agrees with a grin, eager to show her wife the permanent tribute to their love and equally as eager to get her shirt off and lie down on her right side with nothing touching her tender flesh for the rest of the day. Tomorrow's performance with all of her costume changes is going to be hell. She probably should have thought this through better, but what's done is done.

Kurt expertly flags down a taxi and gives the driver the address; Rachel's apartment first, of course, along with the gallant offer to pay the fare for both of them. She can't help thinking again about what he'd said before her appointment—how he feels that she's somehow replaced him with Quinn—and she vows to spend more time with him, just the two of them, doing things that Kurt loves. Film festivals and antiquing and critiquing the models in his fashion magazines. And maybe she can even set him up with one of the men in her cast to get him out there and dating again after Rodger. Her recent attempts to do the same with Santana have proven to be something of a challenge, but Kurt isn't nearly as recalcitrant. It's really too bad that Steven is so firmly committed to staying in the closet. She'd always thought that he and Kurt would make a lovely couple—well, once she'd forgiven Steven for using her as a beard for months without her realizing it.

Really, she just wants her best friend to be as happy with someone as she is with Quinn.

Upon arriving in front of her building in Murray Hill, she bids Kurt adieu with a kiss to his cheek and steps out of the car, breathing deeply on her way inside as she sends up a silent prayer that their ancient elevator is actually working this afternoon. It had been this morning, but there'd been enough creaks and groans to make her worry. She really doesn't want to face the stairs right now. Luckily, the hunk of junk is still functional, so she arrives at their apartment with minimum effort.

Olver greets her at the door with the typical chirps and mewls meant to convince Rachel that he's in need of an extra meal, even though it's the middle of the afternoon. "Hello, Oliver," she coos, wishing that she could bend down to scratch between his ears but doubting she could successfully pull off that simple act right now without her prickled skin pulling unpleasantly.

"Hey, you're home," Quinn calls from the hallway. She appears in the living room with a warm smile at the same time Rachel does, looking lovely and relaxed in her comfortable clothes. "How was brunch with Kurt?"

Brunch was the official reason that she'd given Quinn for disappearing on her today, and Rachel had, in fact, treated Kurt to brunch prior to her appointment. She supposes that it speaks to how little time she's actually spent with her best friend since the wedding that Quinn had barely fussed at all over not being invited along, easily accepting that Rachel wanted some time alone with Kurt.

"It was good." And it had been; a lovely meal and some long-postponed conversation prior to her self-inflicted torture session. It's a testament to how carried away Rachel and Kurt can tend to get by their conversations that Quinn doesn't even pause to question the lengthy duration of this particular outing.

"I'm glad." Quinn's sweet smile doesn't falter as she steps closer. "Even though I missed you." Her eyes glitter with happiness, and Rachel blames her habit of getting lost in them for not recognizing her wife's intent a second earlier.

It's normal—almost a habit by now—for Quinn to curl her palms around Rachel's waist as she leans in for a kiss. Normally, it would be all warmth and pleasant tingles, but today, right now, after more than an hour of needles piercing her flesh, the move pulls the fabric of Rachel's blouse tight and presses Quinn's thumb against the very bottom of her bandaged skin. Rachel can't really be expected to bite back her squawk of pain or keep from flinching away from Quinn's kiss.

Quinn draws back on instinct, brows furrowed and beautiful face awash with bewilderment. "What happened? What's wrong?" Anxious hazel eyes quickly zero in on Rachel's slightly hunched posture and the way her hand now cradles her side protectively. "What happened?" she demands a second time, her own hand still hovering above Rachel's, afraid to touch but refusing to retreat entirely. "Are you hurt?"

Rachel has learned, through years of loving Quinn Fabray, that her anxiety often presents in a way that could easily be mistaken for anger or accusation if not for the slight tremor in her voice and telling wet sheen to her eyes. There's an echo of that in her tone now, an almost dangerous edge underneath her worry, and Rachel has no doubt that she'd rip Kurt to shreds if she thinks he'd allowed Rachel to be hurt on his watch.

"No," she quickly denies. This certainly isn't the way she'd wanted to spring this surprise on her wife. "Well, yes, but also no," she amends hastily when she takes note of Quinn's unwaveringly tense expression. She clearly doesn't believe Rachel. "It was entirely premeditated and self-inflicted."

Tension bleeds into confusion. "Rachel, sweetheart, this is not the time to practice sparsity in your vocabulary."

The perfectly tailored reprimand brings a smile back to Rachel's lips. "Actually, I think I can forgo a verbal explanation entirely." And she begins to work the buttons of her blouse free.

One tawny eyebrow inches up as Quinn regards her, obviously still concerned but mildly less so with Rachel attempting to strip in front of her. "Is getting naked supposed to be the explanation? Or are you just trying to distract me from whatever injury made you recoil from my touch?"

"Not an injury, per se," Rachel clarifies, shrugging off her blouse. She watches Quinn's eyebrows furrow again upon seeing the edge of the bandage, and she turns enough to give her wife a clearer view. It takes a moment, a few excited heartbeats, before Quinn's eyes widen with surprised comprehension.

"You got a tattoo!" she exclaims incredulously, but she's already reaching for Rachel's arm and gently pushing it further out of the way to examine the ink more closely.

Rachel cranes her neck down to assess its condition. The ink hasn't bled much since Dee had bandaged it, but the skin around it is still bright pink and a bit swollen. Rachel hopes it's readable enough through the clear film of the SecondSkin for Quinn to understand exactly what it says. She can still recall in perfect detail her own reaction when Quinn had first shown her that little star on her hip; how such a tiny thing had rendered her utterly thunderstruck and nearly speechless. She wants to elicit the same response from her wife.

She knows that she's come close when she hears a soft gasp and watches as Quinn presses trembling fingers over her lips, her eyes already glistening with moisture as they trace over the words again and again.

"You…you got this for me."

It isn't a question.

There could never be any question.

Rachel knows exactly what her wife is seeing; flowing black script spelling out the musical promise that she'd made Quinn at their wedding reception:

As long as stars are above you.

It's the answer to how long Rachel will love Quinn Fabray—and that's until the end of the very universe itself.

"I told you I would," she reminds Quinn tenderly.

Bright eyes fasten onto hers, and Quinn drops her hand from her lips. "I didn't think you'd actually do it," she whispers around a trembling smile.

Rachel reaches up to cup Quinn's cheek with her palm, ignoring the brief twinge to her ribs. "Rachel Berry Fabray does not break her promises, even when they're very painful to keep."

Quinn chuckles a little wetly. "I love you." A timid hand flutters against Rachel's right hip. "So much. And I really want to kiss you now."

"Please do," Rachel encourages, fully prepared for the contact this time. Quinn doesn't hesitate, leaning in to capture her lips with tender reverence while being careful not to touch her left side this time. It's the best kind of medicine and nearly enough to make Rachel entirely forget the lingering sting of the tattoo.

"I'm so in love with you," Quinn murmurs when she finally allows their kiss to end, looking a little dazed. "I can't believe you actually got a tattoo for me." Her gaze is drawn there again, and Rachel almost can see her inner struggle not to touch. She has a feeling that Quinn will be showering a lot of attention on it once it's fully healed.

She lets her hand slide down to her wife's shoulder and leans away to put just enough space between them to clearly show off her new ink once again. "Do you like it?" Because Quinn hasn't actually voiced an opinion yet, even if her expression makes it clear that she's exceedingly touched by the gesture.

"I love it. It's perfect." Then she laughs and shakes her head in disbelief. "I figured if you ever actually worked up the nerve to do this, it'd be something small and easy like a heart."

Rachel scoffs. "As if I would ever choose something so mundane as a representation of my love for you."

In fact, there could never be a truly adequate representation since her love is infinite (and actual infinity signs are also incredibly cliché) even if Rachel had very briefly entertained the idea.

Quinn's smile unexpectedly dims. "I chose a star."

Small, easy.

Rachel backpedals quickly. "That's not mundane. Stars are kind of my thing," she reminds her wife with a playful grin, gesturing to the permanent reference to those same stars that now lives on her ribs. "It's perfectly on theme for us." And that little star on Quinn's hip is so incredibly sexy. Rachel has traced it with her fingers and tongue hundreds of times already. She's very much looking forward to the day (not today but soon) when Quinn will do the same.

"I suppose it is." Quinn mindlessly draws warm patterns across the bare skin on Rachel's lower back with one hand while the other rests low and careful on her left hip. "Of course, you had to go and one up me with an entire song lyric."

"And you're worth every single one of those thousand needles, baby."

It's meant, of course, to convey how very precious Quinn is to her—and in no way to guilt her into pampering Rachel with tender loving care.

(Maybe just hinting around it and trusting her brilliant wife to draw her own conclusions.)

A familiar smirk appears on Quinn's face. "I'd reward you for your brave ordeal, but I'm guessing you won't feel up to that for at least another week."

Rachel frowns. "Well, I admit I don't feel up to it right now," which is a downright travesty when she has an entire evening with nowhere to be and nothing to do except her unbelievably gorgeous wife, "but I have the utmost faith that we can work out some form of mutually beneficial arrangement to allow you to properly demonstrate your appreciation for my grand romantic gesture. Did I mention there were needles?"

(So maybe she's more than hinting.)

Quinn's husky chuckle sends a pleasant reverberation down Rachel's spine. "Why don't we start with me cooking you a nice dinner to express my eternal love and gratitude and then see where we end up when you try lying down tonight?"

That sounds like a lovely plan for the most part. "Can there be kisses and cuddles in between?"

Hazel eyes twinkle knowingly above that devilish smirk. "As many as you can stand."

With a sigh, Rachel silently concedes that her cuddle tolerance might be severely lacking at the moment, but that doesn't stop her from ducking her head and carefully snuggling into her wife's strong body. "Just cuddle on my right side."

Humming in amused agreement, Quinn holds her as gently as she would a delicate butterfly, dutifully avoiding her newly tattooed skin. "Whatever you need, sweetheart."

Warm and content, Rachel all but melts into her arms, so grateful that she gets to call this amazing woman her wife and determined to live up to the vow that she'd tattooed across her skin. She lifts her head to place a kiss just above Quinn's collarbone. "You. I only need you."

And maybe a Grammy, an Emmy, an Oscar, and another Tony; fame, fortune, and eternal happiness; but always and above all else, Quinn Fabray, loving her, for as long as the stars shine above them.

And longer by far.