Author's Note: Very (very) short ficlet to answer a Tumblr anon that asked about the night before Rachel left for the Les Mis tour. Set after You Can Touch Me With Slow Hands and before Wash Away What's Past.

Come the White Wine Bitter Sunlight

And I don't know where I'm going
But I know it's gonna be a long time
'Cause I'll be leaving in the morning
Come the white wine, bitter sunlight.
~Beating Heart, Ellie Goulding

There are two packed suitcases standing in the corner of their bedroom. Rachel loathes seeing them there. She resents that she had to pack them. She'd whined and complained the entire time, but Quinn had been insistent despite the stark red tinge to her eyes that belied her firm resolve.

"I don't wanna go," Rachel mumbles dejectedly, arms crossed and glaring at the bags from her seat on the edge of their bed. "You can't make me."

Quinn sighs sadly, jostling the mattress as she sinks down onto it beside Rachel. "I'm not exactly happy about this either, Rachel, but you need to go." Hearing those words fall so easily from Quinn's lips feels like a knife in her chest. "You signed a contract."

Rachel whips her head to the side to glare at her girlfriend. "You made me do it!"

Quinn arches an eyebrow, only mildly amused with Rachel's melodramatic antics. "We've talked about this." Though some of the talking had sounded suspiciously similar to arguing. "You have wanted to play Eponine since you were eight years old. It's your number four role after Fanny Brice, Evita, and Laurey from Oklahoma."

"On Broadway, Quinn," Rachel reminds her petulantly. She wants to play those roles on a Broadway stage. "I'm going to Kentucky, which in case you've forgotten, is nowhere near Broadway." She tosses her hands up in frustration. "It's practically back to Lima!"

Quinn sighs again, really more of a huff this time, and she looks far less amused if still generally miserable for all the same reasons as Rachel—the six month separation that's looming over them as the clock silently ticks down to Rachel's flight tomorrow morning. "It's a Broadway tour," she reminds Rachel gently, reaching for her flailing hand and catching it to hold on tight. "You can't pass up this opportunity, sweetheart, no matter how much we both wish you were staying here."

Rachel bites her lip in an attempt to stave off the tears that want to escape. "I know," she practically whispers, finally surrendering to the inevitable.

When West Side Story had closed, Rachel had naively believed that she would easily step into another role within weeks. After all, she'd been nominated for a Tony—even if she'd been robbed of the win by Kristin Chenoweth in the twentieth freaking revival of Hello Dolly! But, sadly, Rachel had been right back to square one, auditioning for anything and everything she could find with nothing to show for it other than a few voice over jobs that barely kept her bank account from dipping into the red. She'd been on the verge of desperation when Evelyn had pointed her at an opening in the touring company for Les Miserables. Rachel had been so dejected after four months of repeated disappointments, certain that this audition would result in yet another rejection, that she'd all but ignored the touring part until she was actually being offered the role.

Her first instinct had been to turn it down because leaving New York (and being away from Quinn for so long) was not a viable option. But Quinn had insisted that she should do it, that it was an amazing opportunity, that it was only a six month contract, and Quinn would never forgive herself if Rachel gave up one of her dream roles for some misplaced sense of obligation to her.

That had caused a few arguments. (Quinn claims they were merely impassioned discussions but Rachel knows better.)

Her commitment to Quinn and their relationship is in no way misplaced, so the reduction of her own valid objections to such a lengthy separation hadn't sat right with her. And maybe she'd been—still is—a bit worried that six months apart could fray the edges of their still settling foundation. (Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.) Their romantic relationship isn't exactly a new or fragile thing at this point. They've been together in that way for a year. They share a home. They trust each other, of course they do, but they both still have their moments of insecurity, and being hundreds, maybe even thousands, of miles apart when one of those moments strikes is going to suck so much.

Quinn pulls Rachel's hand into her lap and cradles it with her own, staring down at their tenuous connection. "We'll talk every day, and we can have Skype dates whenever we're able," she recites softly, a noticeable tremor in her voice that betrays her own sorrow over their necessary separation. "And I'll come see you as much as I can."

That last part sounds wonderful, but, "You have a job, Quinn." She's a very busy assistant editor at a major publishing company. She can't just go on the road as a Broadway groupie, no matter how much Rachel wishes she could.

Quinn shrugs, finally lifting her glistening eyes to meet Rachel's gaze. "You'll have a few weekend shows in cities close enough for a quick trip. I can make it work. I already have a ticket for Philadelphia next month."

Well, there's really no way to stop those tears now. Rachel feels them spill out, blurring her vision, and she smiles through them, fresh adoration blooming in her heart for this woman. "I love you so much."

A stray tear appears on Quinn's eyelashes before delicately dancing down her cheek. "I love you too, and I'll miss you every minute." She lets go of Rachel's hand so she can shuffle closer on the mattress, pressing a comforting arm around Rachel's waist as she leans into her side. "But we'll get through the next few months, and then you'll be back home, winning all of your dream roles and playing to packed houses right here where you belong."

Rachel loves the way that sounds; loves that Quinn's belief in her is forever constant and unshakeable. She gently cups Quinn's cheek, brushing her thumb across the lingering trail of moisture there. "And coming home to you every night," she murmurs, heart aching from the knowledge that she won't be able to snuggle into Quinn's arms after a long day and fall asleep to the sound of her heart for the next six months. "That's the most important part."

"It is," Quinn agrees, leaning closer. "And tonight I'm going to make sure you remember exactly what you'll be coming home to."

Rachel inhales quickly, enthralled by the sudden intent in those hazel eyes. "As if I could ever forget." Every moment spent in Quinn Fabray's presence, every word and touch and expression, is practically woven into the very fabric of Rachel's being at this point.

"Better to make sure, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh huh," is Rachel's very elegant response right before Quinn's lips render any further verbal responses entirely impossible.

It's slow, this kiss, languid and unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world when that's never been further from the truth. They have a single night together, mere hours, before they'll call a taxi to the airport where Quinn will kiss Rachel one last time before they bid farewell for half a year. The thought of that brings fresh tears to Rachel's eyes despite the heat blossoming low in her belly, and Quinn notices them immediately.

"No. No tears tonight, Rachel," she commands, though her own voice quivers with emotion.

"I can't help it." She hugs Quinn to her as tightly as she can in their awkward position. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"Miss me tomorrow." Quinn kisses away the tears on one cheek and then the other. "Be here with me now."

It's a simple, heartfelt request that Rachel can't deny, not when she can see every emotion that she's feeling right now reflected back to her in Quinn's beseeching gaze. So she pushes away all those sad, intrusive thoughts about tomorrow and focuses on Quinn—only Quinn. The firm softness of her lips, the sure touch of her hands, and the radiant warmth of her body where it presses against Rachel, urging her down into the mattress. Rachel gladly follows her silent directions, surrendering to the familiar seduction. She lets Quinn strip away her clothes, piece-by-piece, and then does the same to Quinn, eyes drinking in every inch of naked skin as it's revealed to her.

They have only hours, but they spend them remapping every curve and dip and blemish of one another's bodies. Rachel paints a memory with her fingertips, conducts a symphony of sighs and moans and whispers to replay in lonely hotel rooms in the months to come. And when exhaustion finally forces them into a sated sleep, sweat-soaked skin molded together in a tangle of limbs, she sinks into dreams of hazel eyes and husky promises of love that will carry her home.