Author's Note: Took a three month break of no writing, and this is me trying to get some words on a page again. Short and not high quality.

Set after A Feline Casanova - so back in the earlier part of the timeline.

I Wanna Be Foolish With You

They say that fools rush in
But I wanna be foolish with you
~Foolish, Meghan Trainor

Rachel Berry is a cat person. This is not a fact that she had known about herself prior to stumbling over the adorable little ball of fluffy attitude who is currently somersaulting over the back of the sofa in pursuit of a ladybug that had somehow found its way into the apartment to escape the early spring chill. Laughing at his antics, Rachel almost doesn't want to intervene, but ladybugs are supposed to be good luck, which makes them the one insect that Rachel doesn't freak out over and demand Quinn remove from her sight. (It's a good thing too, since Quinn is still at work.)

"I'm sorry, Oliver," Rachel informs him as she scoops him up from the sofa, "but you are not permitted to eat our little buggy friend."

Oliver squirms in her arms, chirping out a few unhappy mewls as he attempts to twist around and escape her grip, but he keeps his claws sheathed and his teeth to himself, so Rachel counts it as a win.

"And I doubt you'd appreciate the taste as much as you think you will."

He doesn't seem convinced, but the distraction allows enough time for the ladybug to flitter off to some other corner of their apartment where Oliver can't immediately see it. Rachel briefly nuzzles his fuzzy little head before setting him back on the floor. His paws barely land there before he's bouncing back onto the sofa in search of his prey. He crosses from one end to the other, poking his nose into every crevice and overturning the throw pillows, but when he comes up empty, his wide eyes turn to Rachel in confused betrayal.

Laughing, Rachel scratches between his ears. "You're lucky Quinn isn't here to see the mess you just made of our sofa."

It's an empty threat. All the noises Quinn had once made about messes and cat hair and finding another home for Oliver had fallen silent mere days after his arrival. She's apparently as much of a cat person now as Rachel. Even so, Rachel tidies up the throw pillows and picks up the more noticeable clumps of hair that had flown loose with Oliver's exuberance.

She's due to leave for the theater in about thirty minutes, so she makes her way to the bedroom to change her clothes—the thin yoga pants she's been wearing around the apartment aren't really suitable for public consumption—but she doesn't bother overmuch with her appearance since she'll be changing into her costume and stage makeup once she gets there. She keeps an eye out for their friendly little ladybug, hoping to spot it so she can safely shepherd it out of the apartment. She's not sure how late Quinn might be staying at the office today, and she doesn't quite trust Oliver not to tear the place to shreds if he catches sight of the bug again.

It's a worry she needn't have had, as it turns out, because the apartment door unexpectedly opens not long after she's changed and padding towards the kitchen with the intention of feeding Oliver before she leaves. She startles in surprise, pressing a hand over her suddenly racing heart as she whips around to see her girlfriend trudging inside.

"Quinn!" she exclaims, a little breathless. "You're home early."

Frowning, Quinn glances at the watch she still insists on wearing. "More like I'm home on time for a change." She shrugs. "Which I guess is a little unusual for a Monday."

For every day, really.

"Well, I'm not complaining," Rachel says with a smile. Quinn doesn't fully return it, her mouth only quirking up crookedly at one corner as she drops her briefcase and shrugs out of her coat, but it doesn't stop Rachel from drifting into her space. She slips her arms around her girlfriend's waist and rocks up on her toes to press a soft kiss to that crooked smile of hers. "I love getting to see you before I leave for my show."

"Me, too," Quinn breathes out, her smile forming a little more fully, though there's something almost sad about it. With a sigh, she extricates herself from Rachel's arms and bends to retrieve her briefcase from the floor. Unsurprisingly, Oliver is right there, weaving insistently between her legs. "And you too," Quinn murmurs quietly, curling two fingers under his chin to give him a scritch before she straightens with another audible sigh.

Rachel's brows furrow slightly as she studies her girlfriend. "That's a lot of sighing. Did something happen at work? Is that why you're home early?"

"On time," Quinn reiterates before shaking her head. "And no, work is fine. I just finished the manuscript I was working on sooner than expected and decided not to start anything new until tomorrow." She paces over to the sofa, briefcase still in hand, and after setting it on the coffee table, she all but throws herself down on the cushions, sprawling against the back in clear exhaustion.

Oliver immediately jumps onto her lap with the intention of curling up there. Rachel expects Quinn to gently remove him since she's wearing a black pantsuit today, but she only pulls him closer and begins to pet him with a weird, wistful expression.

"Okay, something is clearly bothering you." Rachel sits next to Quinn with a concerned frown. "You look like someone kicked your puppy," she observes, glancing guiltily at their cat. "No offense, Oliver."

Quinn sighs again, and that is really beginning to annoy Rachel. "You're not far off," she admits and begins to chew on her lower lip in a nervous habit that's become endearingly familiar over the years. Careful not to jostle Oliver, Quinn leans forward and opens her briefcase, reaching inside to pull out a single piece of paper from the top that she then hands to Rachel with a grave expression. "I found this posted outside Grand Central today."

Rachel looks at the paper she's been handed, slightly wrinkled and weathered and torn at the top edges where it looks to have been taped. It's a homemade poster for a lost cat—well, kitten—that looks younger than Oliver. Rachel's heart sinks as she takes in the very specific (and worryingly familiar) pattern of black patches over a white face and pink nose. She begins to realize that she's not looking at a kitten younger than Oliver but a kitten that looks like a younger Oliver—exactly like a younger Oliver—but without the little piece missing from his left ear.

The text above the photo promises a one hundred dollar reward for the safe return of Fuzz WhiteEars.

"No," Rachel answers succinctly, handing the paper back to Quinn. "You're mistaken. That's not Oliver."

Quinn sighs yet again—god damn it! "Rachel. I really think it might be. Those are exactly the same markings and that's pretty much how he looked when you found him…except, you know, cleaner."

Rachel crosses her arms petulantly. "That kitten's ear is different," she insists, grasping at the flimsiest straw she can.

Quinn runs a careful finger over the ear in questions with a wistful smile. "Probably because it didn't get torn until after he spent God knows how long living in a dumpster."

"Under the dumpster," Rachel corrects heatedly. "And I don't care if he was Fuzz WhiteEars," she growls around a grimace. "Who even gives their cat such a horribly punny name?" she demands, arms flailing wildly as her agitation rises. Her outburst is enough to disturb Oliver and send him scampering back onto the floor. Rachel watches him skitter away with mournful eyes before scowling at Quinn. "We are not calling that number. Oliver is ours now," she insists, gesturing back and forth between them.

"Well, I obviously don't want to give him up either," Quinn reasons, brushing mindlessly at the white cat hairs that cling to her pants but only succeeding in spreading them more generously across the fabric. "But I also don't want to deprive little Tommy of his beloved pet."

Rachel doesn't share the sentiment. "Tommy should have taken better care of him." Her frown deepens. "Who even is Tommy anyway?"

"Did you not actually read the poster?" Quinn asks, waving the paper at her again.

"I saw enough," Rachel scoffs, turning up her nose. "We don't need the hundred dollar reward, and Oliver is much better off without that god-awful name."

Quinn's mouth curves slightly. "So you don't care at all about Tommy or his family, out there plastering dozens of these up all over the city?" She holds the poster up between both hands, photo facing Rachel in a way she can't avoid seeing.

"No. I don't," she insists testily, ripping the paper back out of Quinn's grip. "If they'd wanted their cat back so badly, they should have gone looking sooner." She glares down at the poster again. "Little Tommy can just go…" Her rant sputters out as she finally notices the contact information underneath the picture in teeny, tiny font—Tom Foolery, First of April Way.

"Quinn," Rachel snaps, thrusting the paper back at her suddenly grinning girlfriend. "What is this…this…tomfoolery?"

With that, Quinn erupts with laughter, leaning forward over her knees as she wraps an arm around her belly. "Tomfoolery," she gasps out between a few hearty guffaws before she manages to calm herself down to intermittent sniggers, finally answering with the very unhelpful, "You really should learn to read the fineprint."

Rachel purses her lips, scowling at her ridiculous girlfriend before she looks over the poster again. First of April Way? First of April. "Did you…are you pranking me again?" she asks incredulously, recalling Quinn's attempt last year to trick her into believing that she intended to take another vow of celibacy.

"Yep," Quinn confirms, wiping away tears of merriment.

Unbelievable.

"Where did you even get this photo?" Rachel wants to know, studying it again with a curious frown.

Quinn has mostly managed to rein in her amusement by now, but it does nothing to diminish the smirk on her face. "I'm surprised you don't recognize it. I took it right after we decided to keep him."

It does look familiar now that Quinn points it out, but the background isn't immediately recognizable, and, "How did you fix his ear?"

Quinn giggles again. "I work at a publishing house, Rach. You think the art department can't manage to retouch a photo?"

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "You roped your coworkers into this?"

She shrugs. "It only took Gary a few minutes. A little repair around the ear and brightening up the colors, and Ollie looked like a brand new kitten."

"I hate you," Rachel grumbles, tossing the fake poster onto the coffee table.

"You love me," Quinn argues, tugging Rachel into her arms and pressing a big, sloppy kiss to her cheek. "April Fool, sweetheart."

Rachel huffs irritably, refusing on principle to merely melt into Quinn's arms. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you didn't decide to ship Oliver off with Santana while I was out and trick me into believing he'd run away."

"Damn. That would have been better," Quinn muses lightly, laughter still in her voice. "But I'd never trust Santana with him after their disastrous first meeting." Her grin turns sly. "Besides, I couldn't be sure you'd make it home before midnight with how much you love greeting your fans at the stage door. It's no fun if I don't get to trick you on the right day."

"I don't understand how this is fun for you at all," Rachel exclaims, still trying to wrap her mind around a Quinn Fabray who plays April Fools pranks on people.

Well—on Rachel specifically.

"Really?" Quinn challenges, eyebrow inching up. "You don't understand why doing something to get you all worked up with flushed cheeks, fire in your eyes, and a heaving chest," and her gaze dips meaningfully to the area in question, "would be appealing to me?" Her grin turns teasing. "It was one of repressed teenage me's favorite things back in high school."

Dozens of memories from said teenage years flood back in a rush. "Did you antagonize me on purpose because it turned you on?"

Quinn laughs again. "I didn't know that's what I was doing at the time. But yeah, probably," she admits unabashedly, shrugging again. "We've already established that I was a closted lesbian disaster back then, and I obviously didn't handle my attraction to you in a healthy way at all."

Rachel narrows her eyes on her girlfriend. They have established that fact, yes, and they have mostly moved beyond arguing as a form of foreplay. "Pranking me now is also not healthy, Quinn."

"No, but it is pretty fun." Quinn doesn't look the least bit repentant about her clandestine hobby. "You're sexy when you're indignant, and unlike teenage me, now I get to follow my teasing with pleasing." She demonstrates this by deliberately capturing Rachel's lower lip between her own and lingering there in a very pleasing way. Rachel has to resist the urge to chase her mouth when she finally pulls away. "It's an all around good time," Quinn murmurs, breath hot and sweet against Rachel's lips.

Quinn's logic is shaky at best, but Rachel gives her credit for a creative argument. Her lips twitch, but she resists the urge to resume their kiss, putting a little more distance between them instead. "I see no pleasing in my immediate future. I have a show to do tonight, and I'm already ten minutes late thanks to your ill-timed tomfoolery."

The chastisement does nothing to impede Quinn's playful flirtiness. "I guess you'll just have to hurry home so you can punish me for my impertinence."

The image that evokes is not-at-all unpleasant—except for the part where Rachel will have to wait hours and hours to make it a reality. "No fair using your bedroom voice," she accuses with a pout.

Her girlfriend's grin turns positively feral. "Oh, sweetie. I will never not use that to get my way with you."

Rachel doesn't like to think she's that easy, but current evidence would suggest otherwise. "If only teenage you had known to do that, we'd have had a much different high school experience."

"I wasn't ready for you then," Quinn reminds her huskily. She doesn't point out that Rachel was nowhere near ready for her either. "But I so will be when you get home later."

Well, that settles that. No stage door autographs for Rachel tonight. "That better not be another prank, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn kisses her again, quick and decisive. "Only one per year, I promise."

Rachel's relieved smile only lasts a moment. "Wait." Her eyes narrow in suspicion at Quinn's amused smile. "That doesn't mean you'll be doing this every year, does it?" They've been together for two years, and this is already the second time Quinn has fooled her. It's starting to feel like it might become a habit.

The answering smirk does exactly nothing to ease her concerns. "Guess you'll find out."

Finding out implies that Quinn believes they'll be together for an infinite number of years to come, and since Rachel rather hopes that will be the case, she finds that she's not overly inclined to object to the playful taunt. "I suppose I will," she concedes, sinking her fingers into short blonde hair and urging Quinn closer for one more kiss before she absolutely does need to leave for the theater.

Perhaps it's foolish optimism to hope that this pranking thing won't become a yearly occurrence, but there's no one else that Rachel would rather be foolish with than Quinn.