Author's Note: Ficlet set between Hungry For the Meeting and My Finest Hour.

We Could Fool the Datelines

We could fool the datelines
We could jump the state lines
I don't wanna always play nice
But I wanna feel your heartlines
~Heartlines, Broods

Rachel has a serious case of spring fever. There had been a few days when the sun had been shining and the birds had been chirping and the temperature had gotten all the way up to seventy degrees, but then winter had decided to crash back over the east coast right when spring was supposed to be springing, and she's barely seen a day above forty degrees since then. March is certainly going out like a lion.

She's not certain if the crappy weather is made better or worse by the fact that she's currently riding out another between-show limbo. She's happy enough to spend her weekends inside cuddling with Quinn, but her weekdays are starting to feel a little redundant. She's been passing the time by cleaning the apartment (yuck!), pounding the pavement for every audition she can squeeze in, and booking the occasional recording session for whatever voiceover work Evelyn can find for her.

That's what she's been doing on this less than lovely Wednesday—reciting the most ridiculous lines over and over with a dozen different inflections for five and half hours (with breaks) until her director finally decided that he had what he needed. Rachel has no idea what this particular session is for. Voice actors rarely do unless they're attached to a recurring character on some animated show, but she's sometimes able to guess from whatever script they toss at her in the morning.

The commercials are the easiest, especially the ones with the jingles. She always knows what she's reading (or singing) for and the recording sessions are much, much shorter. But the audiobook she'd done last month had been torturous—two very long eight hour days of reading and rereading the same boring novel in her most pleasant voice—and she doesn't think that even her immeasurable talent can save whomever purchases it from falling asleep after the first chapter. She only hopes no one decides to listen to it while they're driving.

She'd rather not accept another audiobook unless she's recording Quinn's yet-to-be published (incredibly interesting and undoubtedly best-selling) novel.

A smile touches Rachel's lips as she thinks of her girlfriend. It's been almost three years, and she's still finding something new to fall in love with every single day. She's hoping that their anniversary this year might even bring her something sparkly and perfectly sized for the third finger of her left hand to fall in love with.

Those dreamy thoughts carry her into their apartment with a softly hummed melody, and she has to do a little shimmy to avoid tripping over Oliver when he rushes to greet her at the door. Laughing, she nudges him gently with the toe of her boot as she slips off her coat. "Yes, I know…I'm home…but you'll just have to wait a little longer for dinner."

Ever since she finished her run in Crazy For You, she's been trying to wean Oliver off his midnight snack by giving him a later dinner, but he's still convinced that he needs to be fed every time Rachel comes through the door.

"You'll have to wait too," Quinn informs her from the sofa, and Rachel startles, pressing a hand over her chest in mild surprise. Not that Quinn's presence is unexpected—Rachel's session had taken up most of the afternoon so it's nearly six o'clock—but Quinn tends to head straight for the bedroom as soon as she comes home to change into more comfortable clothes, and then she can usually be found either huddled over her laptop or puttering around in the kitchen to start dinner. It's a little unusual to find her sitting ramrod straight on the sofa, still in her business suit, and holding a cellphone in her hand.

Rachel takes in her girlfriend's stony expression and feels apprehension bloom in her belly. "Quinn, baby," she greets, padding the rest of the way into the living room. "You look a bit…tense." An understatement if Rachel has ever uttered one. Quinn looks more rigid right now than the head cheerio and the chastity club president combined. "Did something happen?"

Quinn sighs heavily, her doleful gaze meeting Rachel's curious eyes head on. "It's more that something…didn't," she hedges before patting the cushion beside her. "Sit down, Rachel."

There's something in the tone of Quinn's voice that makes Rachel's heart sink. "I don't think I want to."

"Rachel, please," Quinn practically begs, knuckles turning white as she clenches her phone. "We need to talk."

Dread claws at Rachel's insides at those words uttered in that tone, and she sinks heavily onto the sofa, mostly because she suddenly doesn't know if her legs will continue to hold her weight. "Are…are you breaking up with me?" she asks unsteadily.

Quinn's eyes widen, and a rushed, "No," bursts out before her face softens and she reaches over to rest a reassuring hand on Rachel's knee. "No, of course not, sweetheart."

The dread instantly dissipates, and Rachel exhales in relief. "Okay." She smiles then at her own ridiculousness. Of course Quinn isn't breaking up with her. They're blissfully happy together. "We can talk," she allows graciously before another thought strikes her. "Wait. Did someone die?" she asks, horrified all over again.

"No one died," Quinn assures her.

Rachel nods. "Good….good. You may proceed," she instructs, gesturing for Quinn to say whatever it is she needs to say.

Quinn takes a deep breath. "Evelyn called. About an audition," she adds after a pause.

"She called you?" Rachel questions in mild confusion.

"She knew you had your voiceover session today, and she didn't want to interrupt," Quinn explains.

Rachel scoffs at that. "She could have left me a message. She has before." The only time Evelyn has ever called Quinn directly was when she was trying to convince her girlfriend not to ruin Rachel's career by—well, by being her girlfriend. A deep frown settles on Rachel's lips. "She wasn't trying to talk you into closeting our relationship for some role again, was she?" she asks suspiciously. "Because I might just have to fire her for real this time."

A tiny smile pulls at Quinn's lips before she answers. "No. It wasn't about that." The smile disappears and she drags her teeth over lower lip, looking suddenly pensive. "She just seemed to think you might take this better coming from me."

"Take what?" Rachel questions, trying to think of any other reason that Evelyn would be calling Quinn about an audition. Only one comes to mind. "Did I not get the callback for Farscape: the Musical? Because, honestly, Quinn, as much as I'd love to do an original show, I really don't think that one's the right fit for me." It might be different if the casting director had let her audition for Aeryn Sun, but apparently, the narrow-minded idiot didn't feel she was convincingly badass enough for the role, so he'd had her audition for Zhaan instead. "All that blue makeup," she envisions with a shudder. "Santana would have a field day calling me Smurf, and I just got her to stop."

Quinn flattens her lips, obviously trying to contain her amusement at Rachel's comment, but she composes herself quickly. "It's not about that. It's," she pauses, trailing off to take an even breath while she carefully entwines her hand—the one not still holding onto her phone—with Rachel's. "You know that Funny Girl revival that's been in the works…?"

Rachel instantly explodes with excited energy, squeezing Quinn's hand. "Oh my God! It's happening, isn't it? Evelyn got me the audition. Did she get me the audition?" She expects Quinn to be nodding excitedly along with her, screaming yes at the top of her lungs, but Rachel notices that she most certainly is not doing that. In fact, she looks a little—well, constipated. "Quinn? You have to tell me she got me an audition," she presses as she studies her girlfriend's pained expression. "It's my dream role. The one I want more anything else."

"I'm so sorry, Rach," Quinn tells her remorsefully, shaking her head. "Evelyn said the producers have decided to go with a known name."

"Rachel Berry is a known name," Rachel defends, clinging to hope even as her stomach turns over sickly. "People know my name, Quinn! I was nominated for a Tony. I have two Drama Desks!" she exclaims heatedly.

"I know, sweetie," Quinn coos sympathetically, "but they want someone…mainstream."

"Who?" she demands sharply, untangling her hand from her girlfriend's comforting grasp. Rachel doesn't want to be comforted. She wants answers, so when Quinn averts her gaze to the floor, looking almost guilty, Rachel frantically repeats her question. "Who, Quinn?"

"Scarlett Johansson," Quinn mumbles uncomfortably.

"What!?" Rachel shrieks, flying up off the sofa. "That's… She's… She can't even sing!" she stutters out, pacing agitatedly in front of Quinn. "No," she decides firmly, coming to a stop in front of Quinn's wide eyes. "No! This isn't happening. I'm calling Evelyn," she announces, snatching Quinn's phone right out of her hand because it's closer than her own. "And the Broadway League . And…and Barbra Streisand!" she screeches, fumbling with the phone. What the hell is Quinn's password again?

Quinn is suddenly right there, having stood from the sofa, gently extricating the cell phone from her hands. "Okay, you need to calm down, Rach."

"I can't," she whines, curling her hands into the lapels of Quinn's jacket as she clings to her girlfriend.

Quinn smiles at her. "You can," she urges pleasantly, "because you're right. It isn't happening."

"You're damn right it isn't," Rachel agrees, still lost in her own angry disbelief that anyone in their right mind would cast Scarlett Johansson as Fanny Brice! Hasn't she appropriated enough roles! And why the hell is Quinn smiling like that over this grievous mistake?

"Because it's April Fool's Day."

"What does that…?" Rachel begins before what just happened—and exactly what today's date is—fully registers in her mind, and she angrily shoves Quinn away from her, making her stumble slightly. "Lucy Quinn Fabray! How…how could you?" she demands, pointing an accusatory finger at her laughing tormentor. "That was just…it's just cruel!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Quinn apologizes, trying for contrite but wholly unable to wipe the grin from her lips. "I couldn't resist."

"You should have tried harder," Rachel informs her huffily, crossing her arms and turning her back on Quinn. She'll never understand why her girlfriend is so attached to these little pranks of hers on this stupid day.

"Rachel," Quinn purrs close to her ear, placing a hand on her shoulder that Rachel immediately shrugs off.

"No. I'm not speaking to you for the rest of the night." She turns around to glare reproachfully at Quinn. "Maybe the rest of the week. Or the year!"

Quinn sighs. "It was a joke."

"A mean one."

Quinn finally manages to look legitimately remorseful. "I'm sorry," she says again, sounding more sincere this time. "But you have to admit, the idea of Scarlett playing Fanny Brice is kind of funny."

Rachel refuses to allow her lips to twitch into anything resembling a smile, because—damn it!—it is a little bit funny, but she'll be damned if she gives Quinn any kind of validation. "It's ridiculous," she acknowledges. "But I'm still mad at you."

Quinn nods in understanding. "Can I make it up to you?"

Rachel purposely averts her gaze. "I don't think you can."

"Can I try?" Quinn coaxes with a hopeful smile, trailing her fingers over Rachel's wrist where her arms are still crossed beneath her breasts.

Rachel clenches her jaw and turns her head to meet expectant hazel eyes again. "Funny Girl is sacred, Quinn."

"I know."

Rachel inhales deeply, calling up every last ounce of her strength to hold Quinn's gaze. "I don't believe you do. I…I'm not entirely certain we can even continue our relationship after this betrayal."

An uncertain laugh slips out of Quinn. "You don't mean that."

Rachel's lips tremble, and she drags in a quick little breath, biting back her emotions before it all becomes too much to bear. She doesn't quite manage and finds that she has to escape to their bedroom before she loses her composure entirely.

"Rachel, you don't mean that?" Quinn repeats, worry creeping into her voice as she hurries to follow.

Rachel opens the closet door just as Quinn flies into the room, stopping with a gasp as she watches Rachel reach for a few of her sweaters. "I can stay with Kurt for a few days," Rachel informs her quietly, unable to meet her eyes, "until I can find a new place."

"Rachel," Quinn repeats breathlessly. "You…you can't be serious."

There's a trace of anxiety etched into her heartbreakingly beautiful face, though Rachel can tell that Quinn doesn't quite believe she's really intending to move out over this.

"I could be," Rachel stresses firmly before she tosses her sweaters onto the bed and lets her lips to curve into the smile that she's been fighting for the last two minutes. "But it is April's Fools Day, and payback is a bitch."

Quinn visibly relaxes, exhaling on a laugh as she reaches for Rachel. "You're such a brat." But she's smiling widely when she says it.

Rachel allows Quinn to embrace her, sliding her hands over the sleeves of her girlfriend's suit jacket. "I am a very talented actress," she corrects, tugging on those sleeves in emphasis, "who will be auditioning for Funny Girl come hell or high water."

"And you'll get it," Quinn promises dutifully.

"You're damn right I will." She narrows her eyes at Quinn, lifting a hand to poke her shoulder. "And if you ever prank me like that again, Quinn Fabray, you will find your name missing from my Tony acceptance speech."

A smirk blooms over Quinn's lips. "I think I'll take the risk."

"Quinn! That is not the correct answer," Rachel admonishes in exasperation, though it's lacking any real bite now that she's had a chance to calm down a little. She hates to admit it, but Quinn really had her going there.

"You're just too easy, sweetheart," Quinn teases. "I can't make any promises."

Rachel scowls at her but makes no attempt to leave her arms. "I hate you."

"You don't," Quinn counters knowingly, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek.

"I don't," Rachel concedes with a pout. "But you suck."

"I do," Quinn agrees easily, her grin turning downright wicked. "In fact, there might be some sucking involved in my plan to make amends for my naughty...naughty," she repeats huskily, brushing her thumb over Rachel's lower lip, "little," she tips Rachel's chin up as she dips her own head, breathing out, "trick," right before there's some very pleasant suckling happening right over the pulse-point on Rachel's neck.

"I…mmm…might…be able to get on board with that," Rachel decides, already envisioning all the interesting forms of penance she can impose upon her very naughty girlfriend.

Oh, yes—Rachel is confident that she can get a lot of mileage out of Quinn's little prank this year. In fact, she'd be a fool not to take advantage of such a golden opportunity, and Rachel Berry is no fool.