#notthatcheerio

It’s the three year old who keeps things moving. While Puck watches Quinn watching Rachel sob into Hiram’s arms, he has no idea what to say or if he should say anything, at all. He just knows that it can’t be good for Quinn just to stand there, unable to do anything, so he’s trying hard to think of something they can do or somewhere they can go, but it’s almost as if his brain can’t make the connection, because everything just sucks so hard and it isn’t fair. So, it’s the three year old with a one-track mind who nudges them toward momentary distraction. “Q,” Beth says, pulling away from her Ohno and wrapping both of her tiny hands around the fingers of Quinn’s left hand. “We get to have Jell-O in the big kitchen!” By the time they exit the gymnasium, Beth’s leading the both of them, one on each side of her, as she grips their hands. She isn’t sure which way to go, at first, until Puck says, “To the big window, Bug,” and then she looks each way down the hall until she spies the McKinley trophy case. “This way!” Puck wishes he could be like his daughter, primarily unaware of what’s happened out in the world. It would be fucking awesome to have a life where the primary concern is Jell-O. He looks over at Quinn. There’s so much he wants to ask, but he knows to be careful about the words he uses, because of Beth. “You must have left right at the beginning to be here, by now.” She knows that he doesn’t mean to make her think of Charity -- how could he possibly guess that she’d bludgeoned Rachel’s best friend to death a few days ago? -- but it still makes Quinn close her eyes and force a normal breath. “We stole a Vespa and then a car,” is what she says out loud, hoping that it deters Puck from asking about the city. Their city. She wonders if they’ll ever see it again, because as much as Rachel thinks that the opening of her play might be delayed by a few weeks, Quinn knows that it’s over. Everything they once knew is over, and they’d better figure out how to move forward now, as things are, or they’ll never make it. Her last memory of Charity, twisted and broken on a New York City sidewalk, is replaced by her most recent of Rachel, her body convulsing with violent sobs as she holds onto the only family she has left. This time, the intake of breath is sudden, and Quinn fights not to cough. “Have you heard anything about what caused this?” She doesn’t really want to know, but she can’t think of anything else to say right now. “Grand theft auto, huh? There really isn’t anything you can’t do, is there?” Puck says and despite everything else, he can’t stop himself from smiling. Until she asks about the outbreak. “Uh, mostly rumors. Sam’s the one who knew about it first. He shot down to Kentucky last week to check on his family, told me to get my sh--,” his eyes shift down to the little girl who’s hanging onto his hand, “--uh... stuff... together and make sure Beth was okay.” They’re almost to the display case at the end of the hall and Beth’s taken it upon herself to swing from the arms of her parents, until she decides to break free and press her little hands to the glass. “Are those gold?” she asks, peering up at the trophies. “Yep,” is Puck’s response as he scoops her up so she can get a better look. “Pure Titan gold. And,” he leans in close to Beth and uses his best storytelling voice, “Q over there probably keeps this a secret now, but she’s the queen of all this gold.” Beth purses her lips together as she considers this, but her Ohno taps on the glass and, sure enough, there’s a picture of her Q, dressed in red and white and smiling the biggest smile Beth’s ever seen. “I see her!” She squirms in Puck’s arms to wave at Quinn. “I see you! You look so pretty.” It’s been a while since Quinn has thought about this part of her. The head Cheerio who lead two squads successfully through the woods during Survival Week, sure, especially in light of recent events. But the cheerleader part of herself... She can hear Charity in her ear, loud and clear, asking what it is that cheerleaders do, and she just... She’s going to keep them safe. Puck and Beth and Rachel and Hiram. They’re her family, goddamn it, and she’s going to be that girl again, whatever it takes. She gives Beth her biggest smile. “Want to know a secret? You’re prettier,” she tells her daughter, and the thing is, she really means it. There is nothing in this world more beautiful than her daughter. Beth giggles and leans into her Ohno’s neck, and Quinn promises herself again silently that she’ll keep them all safe and happy, even in the middle of hell on earth. “She’s right,” Puck says. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” He winks at Quinn and everything, for a moment, feels right. His focus shifts to the space just behind her, to a span of bulletin boards that used to house general announcements but now display photos of missing family members. It feels like a million years ago that he stood with Quinn in front of that spot and told her he wasn’t a deadbeat, that he wanted to help her with the baby she was carrying (the same one that’s currently clinging to him and making monkey noises in his ear), only to have her shoot him down because she didn’t seem to want the kid and she certainly didn’t think he’d amount to anything. He felt like shit that day, like he’d never be able to do anything that would make her look at him like anything other than a loser. Things change. They fucking change a lot. It’s almost like Quinn can see the shift in Puck’s eyes, and she knows this must have been difficult for him, too. She touches his arm and says, “You’re a good dad.” She’s going to add that she wouldn’t want anyone else caring for her daughter right now and that she couldn’t possibly ask for anyone better to be helping her and Rachel get through this right now, but she never was good at this type of thing. She knows that he knows, anyway. It’s one reason why they’re standing here now, together. They speak the same language. She half rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” she says, poking Beth in the side. “Jell-O?” Beth squeals and reaches out for Quinn. “Yes, yes.” “You want to lug this thing around for a while?” Puck asks, passing Beth off to Quinn before she can answer. He looks further up the hall, do the double doors that lead into the cafeteria. Unlike their days at McKinley, the doors are now padlocked shut. “Nobody’s allowed in until dinnertime. Cuts down on looting.” He digs in his pocket until he finds the paperclip he’s been carrying, then casually walks toward the locked door. “Most people tend to stick to the gym with their families. There or the bathrooms. Still... watch my back.” Quinn watches over Puck’s shoulder while he works the lock. Beth claps and squeals, and Quinn imagines herself someday teaching Beth how to properly pick a lock before she drops her eyes and wonders what kind of a mother she really is. Shelby would never encourage-- Well.   Quinn can’t take it anymore; she arches an eyebrow and murmurs to Beth, “You know, your Ohno is going to break off that paper clip in the lock if he keeps twisting it like that.” Puck’s tempted to glare at Quinn over his shoulder, but he's seen her jimmy open a fair share of locks, from the time Santana locked her keys in her dad's Audi to the time Finn managed to shut the back door at a backyard party and lock everyone out of the Puckerman house. She even managed to break into his footlocker of porn during their short period of cohabitation while she was pregnant, just to leave a note that said, "You're a pig," complete with a doodle of a mohawked swine. He still has it tucked away in a vintage 90's Hustler magazine, back at the Bropartment. "You think you can do better?" he asks, before offering the makeshift lockpick to her. He knows she can. It's one of the reasons why he can never entirely shake the 'what if' of their non-existent romance. Quinn just shifts Beth in her arms, rolls her eyes and pushes past Puck, taking the paper clip from him and squatting so the lock is on eye level. She thinks about asking him to take Beth, but after the hell she’s been through the past few days, she doesn’t want to let go. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She pushes the paper clip into the lock and feels the mechanism give a little. She’s done this a hundred times, and she fishes a little longer and pushes again, before looking up at Puck triumphantly. Quinn times it so that her eyebrow arches at the exact moment the lock clicks, and she knows that it’s overly dramatic and something that Rachel would appreciate. Or, she would, if she weren’t huddled in the gym with her one remaining parent, crying her eyes out. Quinn feels a pang of sadness and can’t tell whether it’s over Leroy or her own mother. “After you,” she says, standing up and shifting Beth back. She only worries for a second that she’s teaching her own daughter horrible habits because Puck is pushing open the door, and then they’re in. “Jey-Oh!” Beth shouts, but Puck quickly puts his finger to his lips and she copies gesture. “Whisper time, Bug.” “Jey-Oh!” Beth repeats, very softly. “We don’t want the dungeon masters to hear us,” Puck says, casually moving through the vacant cafeteria. “The coaches took over the school after everything and locked it down. Beiste is cool about most stuff, but you know how Sylvester can be. And Coach Roz, dude, she scares the shit out of me. She might cut off our hands for stealing.” He leans in closer. “If she does show up, let Beth do the talking. She likes the kid.” “Noted,” Quinn says, and she can’t help but smile at the mention of Coach Sylvester. There are plenty of times when she’s wished Coach would get poisoned from the fumes of her trophy polishing cream and drop over dead, but she knows now that she wouldn’t have gotten Rachel safely to her dads -- dad, she silently corrects herself, and there’s that pang again -- if it hadn’t been for her Cheerios training. The fact that Coach is alive... well. It means a lot to Quinn, especially now that she’s seen that anyone can fall and be gone just like that, in a matter of seconds. The kitchen is shinier than she remembers it being. All stainless steel and glass. It feels more like an operating room than a cafeteria. She’s surprised that it looks as spotless as it does with so many people living here, but then with Coach Sylvester in charge, you could probably eat off of the floor if you wanted to. The massive refrigerator looks the same way, spotless and perfectly organized, but it’s a bust. “Over here,” Puck whispers, and Quinn turns to see a second refrigerator, just next to the silver door that Quinn assumes leads to the freezer. When Puck turns around, he triumphantly holds up a cup of Jell-o and waggles his eyebrows. “Jackpot.” He rips the cover off the plastic cup and hands it to Beth, who grabs it with both hands. "You need a spoon, Bug," he says, turning to grab one out of the fully stocked rack of clean silverware behind him. Beth wraps her fingers around the spoon and jams it into the blue gelatin, happily babbling about her 'jey-oh' as she tries to scoop some out. "You still like cherry, right?" Puck asks, reaching for more dessert cups. "And, should we get grape for Rachel? I know that's at least her favorite slushie flavor." Quinn knows that Jell-o isn’t vegan. She’s made the mistake before of offering some to Rachel and then hearing a twenty-minute soliloquy about how gelatin is just ground-up animal product and that no amount of deliciousness could possibly make up for the animal lives that were sacrificed just to make something that doesn’t even have any nutritional value. It doesn’t matter. Her girlfriend is devastated, and Quinn doesn’t know how to begin to be there for her right now. The only thing she can possibly think of comes out around a spoonful of cherry gelatin. “Yeah, lets take her some.” She knows that it won’t fix a damn thing, but at least Rachel will know that Quinn is trying her best to take care of her. Puck grabs the purple cup and shuts the door to the fridge without taking any for himself. Instead, he guides Beth's spoon to his mouth and takes a bite of the blue stuff. When Beth squeals in protest he says, "Yours tastes better," before poking her in the side. He shifts his attention to Quinn and the mood shifts with it. "I'm glad you made it, Q. Really glad." It snaps her back to the here and now, with Puck in this moment. There’s a moment between them -- almost like old times. There’s a feeling that Quinn can’t really pinpoint, but she knows that it’s tied to how she and Puck relate to one another. How they’ve always been on the same wavelength. Her eyes burn, and then she rolls them. “Whatever. It’s not like I’d let something as lame as the end of the world stop me from getting to you guys.” Still, she has to brush the back of hand against her cheek. Puck has the good sense to shift his eyes and then when she’s together again, she takes a deep breath. “And-- Sam?” "Oh, that dude's been on top of this since before anyone else knew what was going on. He headed down to Kentucky about three days before anything even showed up on the news. Said I should pack up anything I'd need for a quick gateway and make sure Beth was safe..." That, for some reason, renders him momentarily silent. "Shelby was, uh... not okay." The words are quiet, as if he's trying to keep Beth from listening. Quinn holds Beth tighter, even though she’s relieved to hear about Sam. “She’s not... anything now.” She drops her eyes. “We went there first to try and find Beth. Rachel had to...” She shifts her eyes to Beth and then back to Puck. “It’s done.” He's only had one mouthful of Jell-O, but his stomach feels uneasy as he thinks about Rachel having to deal with Shelby like that. "Oh man, that... sucks. Especially with what happened to her dad." He rubs a hand over his face. "I'm lucky my mom and sister went out to visit my grandparents. They're on a ranch in Wyoming and they've always been the cowboy type with horses and growing corn or wheat or something. If anyone's getting through this thing, it's Pop and Granny Esther." He watches Quinn as she holds Beth. "Sam said something about a safe zone. That's why he went to Kentucky, to get his family, then take them up to Michigan. Everything's locked down pretty tight here, but our supplies won't last forever and... I think it might be a good idea to see if we can head up there. Or we can stay. But whatever we do, we need to stick together. You, me, the bug, Rachel, her dad... your mom, is she..." But he has a feeling Judy isn't. Puck asking about Judy changes things. Quinn had already decided she wasn’t going to tell him, but now that he’s asked... “Not coming,” is what she says, and she uses a tone that makes it clear that it’s all she’s going to say about it. “I’m glad your mom and sister are okay.” Beth scoops at her Jell-O again. “I’m okay with going north, but I need to talk to Rachel first and see how she feels about it. And I’ll need to go home and see if I can somehow get in touch with Frannie.” Her sister. She hopes to god she and Daniel are okay. Puck nods. “Yeah, of course. Let me know when you want to go by the house and I’ll get a couple people together. Mack’s always looking to get out and do something. And Karofsky’s a crack shot with that damn rifle. Should’ve known, the way that dude plays COD.” He knows Quinn and Rachel must have some kind of weapons with them if they’ve made it this far and he’s aware that Quinn is still probably the most fearsome of Sue Sylvester’s Cheerios, but he’s never seen her actually kill anything bigger than a spider. He’s actually never seen Rachel kill anything, other than an audience. “If you need to, uh, upgrade anything, you can use the workbench in the auto shop.” He and Sam played a lot of Dead Island and Fallout, back when zombies were just entertainment and not reality, so setting up a place to make badass weaponry was first on his list once he arrived at the high school. Quinn’s laugh is only because she doesn’t know how else to react. “God, Puck, this isn’t one of your video games. I’ve been carrying around a baseball bat, and I don’t have the first idea about how to upgrade anything. It’s just a bat, and I’ve had to use it to... Forget it. It’s just a bat, for god’s sake, and that’s it.” His jaw drops. “A bat? You’ve been fighting them off with a bat? Dude--” He stops himself, because he knows Quinn hates being called ‘dude’ and usually punches him in the arm for it. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “You need to come see the workshop, because you’re obviously a badass, but you need something more effective than a bat.” He’s already considering what would work best for her, given someone of her size and agility. Beth, meanwhile, has managed to cover the front of her shirt in blue smudges and is in the process of making more as she rubs her sticky fingers across her face. “Sure,” Quinn says, brushing her lips across Beth’s temple. “The idea of needing something more effective is really horrible, but I don’t think this situation is going to go away. I think Rachel might still be hoping that it’s all a bad dream, but it’s pretty obvious that this is how things are now. I’m going to protect her and Beth. And Hiram, if necessary. I’d offer to protect you, but I know that you’re way too much of an action hero to agree to letting a girl save you.” “Q,” he says, pushing himself away from the counter behind him. “If a zombie’s about to eat my face, I’m all about letting a girl save me.”

It’s about a four hour drive from Wheeling to Lima. The tank of the CRV wasn’t quite full when Quinn hot wired it, so she’d had to stop for gas just outside of Columbus. When Rachel’s card was denied at the pump and Quinn couldn’t find an attendant anywhere to pay, she’d resorted to manually overriding the pump from inside the station, to Rachel’s dismay. She filled the tank (as well as two spare cans she’d found inside-- just in case, she told Rachel), and then they were on their way again. Rachel’s taken over driving, and now Quinn is in the passenger seat, having just been woken up by a dream that is still floating through her. She’s getting more and more anxious by the second and trying to remain outwardly calm, and the fact that Charity was just inside her head is not helping. There’s no reason to set Rachel more on edge. They’re almost home. The drive is silent, because Rachel's putting off what seems like the inevitable. Putting on the radio either means mindless music or news neither of them wants to hear, so Rachel's holding on to the notion of being oblivious just a little longer. And, really, when they get to Lima to find everything just as they left it, it won't even matter. Rachel reaches for Quinn's hand, then laughs. "Remember when we had to do this under your sweatshirt on the road trip to the city?" It seems like so long ago. That version of them is a whole world away, and Quinn would give anything to be able to shake herself from this nightmare and be back in that place with Rachel. She knows that she can’t. Those days, that time, it won’t ever be the same again between them. Quinn decides in that moment that this can’t be all there is anymore. She will make Rachel happy, even as they stand at the gates of hell and watch as their world is overrun with whatever horror is advancing. She’ll make this bearable for both of them, if she has to do it with her dying breath. “I love you,” she says suddenly, and flashes Rachel her old Cheerios smile. And then she adds, because it’s the happiest thing she can think of right now, “I can’t wait to see your dads.” Despite everything else, both statements make Rachel smile. "I think you get the honor of telling Daddy we stole a car," she says. Of all that's happened, it's probably the least of their problems, but it makes her laugh, for some reason, picturing Quinn and Leroy engaged in a heated conversation about when grand theft auto is acceptable. “Oh my god,” Quinn groans. “There is no way I can tell him that. Either of them. Maybe they won’t ask.” “Baby, these are the same men who wanted details when you bought a new area rug for the apartment. They’re going to want to know how we got the car.” Rachel squeezes Quinn’s hand. “And they’re really going to inquire about how you even knew how to start it without a key.” Quinn quirks an eyebrow. “That is a good story, actually. Though, I’ll probably leave some of the more... compromising details about Mack out of it.” Rachel side-glances at Quinn, eyes slightly narrowed. “There aren’t too many of those kind of details, right?” Jealousy is just plain ridiculous at a time like this, but the pettiness of it actually makes her feel better. What she wouldn’t give for this to be the absolute worst of their problems. Quinn can’t help but feel a little elated that Rachel seems jealous over Mack. “Rachel Berry can’t possibly be jealous, can she? That was a lifetime ago.” “I’m not jealous,” Rachel says as she makes a big show of rolling her eyes. “I’m just making sure there aren’t that many sordid tales from your girl gang history that will later surface when I’m circulating my memoirs.” “My girl gang history?” Quinn laughs. “You make it sound like we were organized or something when really all we did was skip class under the bleachers and wear a lot of baggy clothes.” Even with the things they’ve seen the past few days, Quinn can’t help but look at Rachel and feel love all down through her. It’s something that she’ll hold onto-- no matter what happens in the next part of their lives. “I’m well aware that some moderately organized crime occurred during your run with the Skanks, so there’s no need to undersell your delinquencies to me.” Rachel squeezes Quinn’s hand. “And I love you, even with your criminal background.” She glances over just for a second, to give Quinn a smile, then refocuses on the road. They’re on the outskirts of the Lima city limits now and the road is wide open in front of her, which reminds her that, usually, when she’s been on this road in the past, there always seemed to be some kind of tractor going painfully slow. keeping everyone from reaching their destination in a timely manner. That’s not the case now, though. “I don’t have a criminal background,” Quinn says, but the lightness has gone out of her voice. Quinn’s thumb moves in circles over the back of Rachel’s hand as she absently looks out the window. The trees rush by in a blur, and even with the love she feels for Rachel, she can’t help but think about Beth. This is the way to Shelby’s house, and Quinn knows that Rachel is taking them there. They drive another quarter of a mile, and Quinn sees a car parked at an odd angle on the shoulder. As they get closer, she realizes that it’s half in the ditch and that the hood is crumpled against the trunk of a tree. It’s not until she recognizes it that she says, “Rachel,” in a low voice. There’s a sick feeling in her stomach, and by the time Rachel has the CRV parked, Quinn has the door open and is jumping down into the gravel on the shoulder. She sprints to the driver’s side door, hoping that the car is empty. Hoping that her mother swerved off the road and walked away. What she sees when she gets there forces her to double over and vomit against the door. Rachel barely has the emergency brake set when Quinn flings the door open and jumps out, but she’s out and around the CRV just in time to see Quinn’s reaction. As soon as Rachel takes in the sight of the scene in front of her, she immediately understands. The airbag’s been deployed and since deflated, but it doesn’t seem to have done much good, given Judy’s lifeless body still belted into the driver’s seat. There’s an open, half-empty bottle of Glenlivet on the passenger seat and Rachel’s positive it’s responsible for whatever happened here. “Quinn,” she says, cautiously reaching for her girlfriend, unsure as to what she’s supposed to do, right now. Quinn retches again and then stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t--” With all her years of survival training, this isn’t something she’s ever prepared herself to deal with. She has no idea what the proper response is right now. Is she supposed to cry? To be strong? To get her bat and vent her anger somehow? “She promised she would stop,” is the only thing she can say, and then she’s finding her way through her own tears back to the CRV. She feels awful for ignoring Rachel’s offer of comfort, but she really has no idea what she’s supposed to be doing right now. The one thing she can think is that she has to get to Beth. Rachel knows Judy’s been sober for months. More importantly, she knows Quinn knows that. But now isn’t the time for making corrections. Instead, Rachel gets back in the small suv and resumes the course to the Corcoran house. She has absolutely no idea what to say, so they ride in silence until she makes the last right onto Shelby’s street. It’s midday and there’s really no one out in the neighborhood, but that could be because it’s the suburbs and most people are at work. Then again, if life were continuing on as usual, wouldn’t someone have called 911 for a wrecked car on the side of the road? “We’ll go in and get Shelby and Beth, then head to my dads, okay?” If they at least have some kind of a plan to follow, Rachel feels like they’ll be fine. Quinn can only stare ahead. There are tears somewhere inside of her, but they’re buried so deeply that she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to cry them. She makes some sort of sound-- it’s the best she can do to let Rachel know that she heard her. By the time Rachel has the car parked outside Shelby’s apartment building, Quinn has gotten herself together a little. “Maybe your dads can help us with...” She gestures back in the direction of her mother’s car and tries to keep the sick feeling out of her stomach. “We can’t just leave her there.” "Of course. We'll figure out what to do and I know my dads will be willing to help take care of whatever you need." Rachel reaches across to squeeze Quinn's hand in hers. "I'm right here," she says. It sounds so obvious, but it feels incredibly necessary. Quinn stares at Rachel’s hand in hers and then leans forward enough to rest their foreheads together. With all the things that have happened in the past few days, Quinn is mostly happy that Rachel is still okay, still with her. “I know,” is really all she can say, but she hopes that Rachel can understand how much Quinn needs her. Rachel tips her chin upward, enough to brush the lightest of kisses against Quinn’s lips. There’s barely any contact, but Rachel feels it, feels their connection to each other, and hopes it’s enough to keep Quinn grounded, for the time being. “Should we try to call, first?” Rachel asks. She doesn’t even know if Shelby’s home and she has no idea if they’ll have any better luck with service, now that they’re in Lima. Quinn’s had the phones shut off since they made their break from Wheeling, in order to conserve battery power. “Or... I guess we’re already here.” She looks past Quinn, out the window, at the apartment building. It looks the same as it did when she was here with Quinn for Beth’s birthday party, a few months ago. It’s eerie, actually, how nothing really looks out of place, and yet so much of the world has changed around them over the last few days. But maybe it’s different here, maybe Lima’s worst threat to offer is still Lima Heights. Maybe the worst Rachel has to expect is clumsy small talk with Shelby. Quinn nods, but she doesn’t let go of Rachel’s hand. She’ll have to, in order to get out of the CRV, but all she can think about is how they found her mother on the side of the road and how much she desperately needs Beth to be okay, and she’s just not ready to let go. Beth is her daughter, her own child, and what if she’s-- She squeezes Rachel’s hand, once, and then forces herself to pull away. She can do this. “Ready to go get them?” Quinn asks. Her daughter is just up the stairs, waiting for her. She’s fine. She has to be. “We’re almost home, okay?” Rachel knows neither of them have considered Lima “home” in a while, but it feels right, especially now. It’s newly developed instinct to grab the gun belt and holster from the center console as she exits the vehicle and Rachel’s managed to secure it into place in under three seconds before she rounds the small SUV to the passenger side. Everything looks fine, but they can’t really take any chances, anymore. Especially not with Beth coming into the picture. She doesn’t like it, but Quinn leaves her bag in the truck. She wants to be able to use her bat if she needs to and there’s really no reason to bring the bag inside, since they’re just picking up Shelby and Beth. She doesn’t think that there’s any looting happening yet, but instincts are instincts. Coach would probably have something to say about it, anyway. As the two of them make their way up the walk toward Shelby’s building, Quinn takes in their surroundings, and she’s fairly confident that Rachel is doing the same. It seems quiet; nothing feels out of place. There certainly aren’t any shufflers anywhere, which makes her feel better. Maybe the outbreak was only in the city. If that’s the case, they won’t need the carseat, after all. They can just wait it out in Lima, and after she deals with her mother’s-- with what happened to her mother, she’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. Once they’re at the door, Rachel presses the buzzer for Shelby’s apartment, but then Quinn nudges her and points out that the door isn’t even latched. Rachel still feels the need to wait, just momentarily for a response, but there isn’t one and they’re quickly moving through the doorway and up the stairs to the second floor. Once they’re in front of apartment 2C, however, they aren’t so lucky as to stumble upon another unlocked door. Rachel knocks, then looks to Quinn as they wait. “Maybe they’re not here?” This is one of those things that you always hear about giving someone a bad feeling. Shelby’s building door is never unlatched, and Quinn knows that something is off. The worry she’s been suppressing for days over Beth rises to the surface so quickly that she’s instantly determined to knock Shelby’s door down, if she has to. She only hopes the door isn’t chained on the inside. Quinn is learning. When they got cut off from the Vespa at the motel, she lost enough time to make it far too close because she didn’t have a plan. Now, she has her multi-tool in her pocket, and she says a silent ‘thank you’ to anyone who can hear her that she doesn’t have to go back down to the CRV. She drops to her knees, mutters, “Please don’t tell your dads about this,” and slides the blade of the multi-tool between the door and the jamb. She fiddles for a second and moves her wrist just so and the handle clicks and releases. She glances up at Rachel as she turns the handle and silently opens the door. At first glance, the apartment looks the way Rachel remembers it, but as they step inside, it’s evident that something’s happened here. Beth’s high chair is knocked over and there are bits of cereal ground into the carpet. Papers and magazines are scattered across the floor and the half dozen Vocal Adrenaline trophies that used to line the shelf above the entertainment center are knocked over. “Shelby?” Rachel calls out, carefully peering around the corner into the kitchen. One hand rests on the gun, ready to draw if and when it’s necessary. There’s a soft noise coming from the hallway, and Rachel and Quinn exchange glances. It’s a muffled thumping sound, and Quinn thinks that maybe it’s coming from one of the bedrooms. She leads the way down the hallway and when she gets to Beth’s door, she pauses long enough to fill her lungs with air, bracing herself for whatever’s she’s about to see. “Baby girl?” Quinn calls as softly as she can. She pushes the door open and peers around it, hoping for some sign that her daughter is okay. The room is empty, and Quinn feels the panic tighten just a little more. She grits her teeth and says, “Shelby’s room.” Shelby’s room is just across the hall, and Quinn is sure to keep Rachel behind her. She tries the doorknob, but it doesn’t turn. She taps lightly on the door. “Shelby?” There’s a thump from inside, and Quinn tries again. “Shelby, can you open the door?” When Shelby doesn’t answer, Quinn twists the knob and pushes harder. Beth could be inside, hurt or... worse. “I’m breaking it down,” she tells Rachel, but it comes out as an afterthought because she’s already swinging her bat at the handle. The first blow doesn’t do much, but when she swings the second time, it bends the doorknob down enough that Quinn can see slightly through the hole in the door. She swings once more and the door loosens enough for her to ram her shoulder against it. The frame splinters and she stumbles into Shelby’s room with Beth’s name on her lips. “Quinn, wait--” Rachel’s warning is too late and Quinn’s already in the room before the words are even out of her mouth. Shelby’s there, in the corner, between the dresser and the small bookcase that’s now overturned, the books it once housed now dumped on the floor. Only this isn’t the woman who made Rachel’s life awkward during her sophomore year of high school. This isn’t the same Shelby Corcoran who could easily write letters of recommendation to one of the top performing arts schools in the country but still struggled in basic conversations with her biological daughter. That Shelby has been replaced with something else with glazed over eyes and pallid skin. Something that makes a terrible, guttural sound as its head raises to look at them. Rachel expects Quinn to lob the bat toward the figure in the corner or to shove Rachel back out into the hall and tell her to run, but Quinn has this lost look on her face, as if she has no idea what to do next. So, when there’s movement from the corner, when the shuffler that wears Shelby’s now-matted hair and wears Shelby’s favorite green blouse suddenly lunges at Quinn, Rachel doesn’t even think, she just reacts. There are two pops and then Rachel’s ears are ringing and when she speaks, when she calls out for Quinn and grabs her by the arm, she can’t even hear herself. By the time it’s over, Quinn is still half expecting to see Beth come toddling out from behind Shelby’s bed or start crying somewhere in a closet from the sound of Rachel’s gun. Her ears are ringing and she can still feel Shelby’s fingers digging into her arm. She’d been so close, and the only thing Quinn could think about the whole time was her daughter. She moves through Shelby’s apartment in a daze, checking everywhere, just in case. There’s no crying, no movement of any kind, but if Beth is here... Once she’s satisfied that the apartment is empty, she turns to Rachel. There’s nothing to say. She can’t even tell by Rachel’s expression how she’s dealing with what she just had to do. It’s not nearly good enough, but Quinn tries anyway. “I’m sorry.” Rachel shakes her head, because there’s no time to talk. “We need to find Beth,” she says, even though it’s the obvious priority. “Was it Puck’s weekend?” Is it even the weekend? She has no idea what day it even is. “Puck,” Quinn says. “She’s got to be at Puck’s.” She could kiss Rachel right now, if she weren’t already halfway out the door. Rachel has to move quickly to keep up with Quinn and she keeps her gun unholstered the entire walk back to the CRV, but there isn’t anyone else around. It’s bizarre how things are either absolutely silent or complete chaos. It makes her wonder where everyone’s gone. Puck and Sam’s ‘bropartment’ is only a few blocks from Shelby’s, so the drive is quick and silent. Rachel can tell by the way Quinn’s sitting forward in her seat that she just wants to get to their next destination and find Beth. Quinn has a key this time and doesn’t have to resort to picking locks or smashing door handles with her bat, but it doesn’t help her feel less panicked that the apartment is empty. She and Rachel check under the beds and in the closets, but there’s nothing there. Nothing in the kitchen that they can eat, either. The katanas that normally hang on the wall are even gone. Quinn doesn’t even bother checking for the ninja stars. For the first time in a long time, she has no idea where her daughter is or who she’s with or if she’s even okay, and her panic level is rising by the minute. She forces herself to think of Beth as she knows her-- soft, curly blonde hair, curious eyes, her ability to give the Fabray look even though she’s barely three-- and not as her mind is trying to see her, much more like her adoptive mother than she ever has. Quinn can feel the tears, and she turns to the one person she can rely on in this moment, when she’s utterly lost. “Rach,” she says, but she can’t bring herself to say any more. “We should try the phones.” Rachel needs to find a solution to this, because Quinn needs her, needs help finding her daughter. “Even if she’s not with them, maybe...” There’s no telling what the ‘maybe’ entails, because she isn’t even sure she’ll be able to reach Puck or Sam. The state of the apartment suggests they packed and planned an escape, even if there’s a single pornographic DVD sticking out from under the edge of the sofa that Puck probably dropped in the shuffle. But if he had time to pack dirty movies, he had time to consider the well-being of his daughter, right? She tries a new tactic, one that will hopefully keep Quinn’s mind occupied until they can come up with something. “We can regroup here. Get some rest. We’re on the second floor, the door locks, and it’s quiet.” So far. That doesn’t mean it will stay that way. Quinn doesn’t think that she could sleep right now, not even just to rest her eyes. “What about your dads?” “I want to get to them as soon as we can,” Rachel admits. “But it’s also all the way across town and we don’t know what’s out there.” As much as she’s itching to check on her fathers, they’re both grown adults who can fend for themselves. She doesn’t want to wait too long, though. “Maybe we can just rest for an hour? You should... you should lie down for a while. We can eat. Check this place again for a sign of where the boys headed? I think it’s our best option when it comes to locating Beth.” Quinn takes a little more convincing, but Rachel wins out in the end. Quinn agrees to try and rest, and she picks Sam’s bed because ‘god only knows what Puck does in his own bed, and there’s no way I’m sleeping in that grossness again.’ Rachel triple checks the lock, then pushes the couch in front of the door before joining Quinn in the bedroom. She places the gun belt on the nightstand and lies on her back for a few moments before turning to spoon Quinn, keeping one arm tightly around her girlfriend. Whatever rest they manage to get won’t be enough.

They make it another five miles before Rachel stops on the shoulder and turns to ask, "You didn't pack sunglasses, did you?" "No, Rach," Quinn says into her shoulder. It's hot and warm and, sitting with her arms wrapped around Rachel, she's incredibly relaxed. "I didn't think to. I could drive for a while, if you want?" “I’m okay. This i just the first time we’ve done this during the day and it’s bright out here.” Rachel leans back against Quinn. “Maybe we can stop at another gas station and get some.” She looks at the stretch of open road ahead. “Wherever one is.” “There’s got to be one soon,” Quinn says. “Maybe we can get some sunblock, too.” Rachel rubs her eyes. “Did you even remember to pack your regular glasses? Or the stuff for your contacts?” It’s such a simple, domestic question, and for a moment it feels like they’re just another couple on a road trip. “I have my glasses. I didn’t want to take up the room with my contact solution, so once these are done, they’re done.” Quinn rubs her fingers in tiny circles on Rachel’s stomach. “You’re sure you’re okay?” She means the driving, but she words it as generally as possible because her concern for what this is doing to her girlfriend gets bigger by the hour. Just because they can’t talk about it, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want to know. “Maybe... if you want to take over until the next stop.” Even though they just got back on the road, Rachel’s tired of driving and it might be nice to just hold on to Quinn for a while. Quinn hums her agreement and swings her leg over the moped so Rachel can scoot back. “Do you want my bat?” Rachel shakes her head. There isn’t much out here and they can see whatever’s coming at them from any direction. “Can we just strap it to the back with the bag for now?” If anyone gives them trouble, she’s much more comfortable using the Glock than bashing in heads with anything. But she’d rather not have to do anything at all. “Sure,” Quinn says softly and secures her bat so that it won’t shake loose while they’re moving. She gets back on the bike and waits for Rachel to get situated behind her. When she feels Rachel’s arms snake around her middle, she smiles. “Just-- let me know if you start to get antsy, okay?” she says and then they’re moving again, back on the road. It’s comforting, the way they’re pressed together, and the fact that Quinn’s never actually operated a Vespa isn’t really a huge concern of Rachel’s. Though, she does find it in her to add, “Try to keep us upright, Easy Rider.” Quinn smirks. “Of the two of us, I think you’ll agree that I’m not the one that’s easy.” Quinn is thinking of the afternoon they went paintballing primarily, but there have been plenty of other instances when she had a hand up Rachel’s skirt in record time since they’ve been together. “Quinn Fabray, you are lucky we are traveling at moderate speeds, right now.” Rachel grips a handful of Quinn’s sweatshirt and presses her face against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She just wants to get to Ohio. “I know, baby.” There doesn’t seem to be much else to say. The Vespa is already going as fast as it can, so all they can do is ride and wait. The afternoon passes much the same way, with Rachel’s arms wrapped around Quinn and Quinn driving them West. They stop every so often to check the backroads, since the freeway is out. They don’t speak much, but it’s a comfortable silence; the kind that comes when you’re with someone you know and trust implicitly. When Quinn sees a sign for Pittsburgh, she slows down considerably and they discuss their options. In the end, they both agree that driving around is better than cutting through, and Quinn finds an alternate route on her phone. They decide to head down to I-70, because that runs straight to Columbus and they both know how to get to Lima from there. By the time they approach the state line out of Pennsylvania, the sun is low in the sky. They’ve been topping off the tank when they can, so they have enough gas to make it to Columbus, but it’s not safe, not when they both slept only a few hours the night before. “We should stop somewhere.” Quinn agrees, and then they spend the next half hour watching for signs along the interstate. After they cross the state line into West Virginia, and Quinn sees it. A Super 8. “There,” she says dully. There’s no question-- she’s tired. She’s been trying to keep their spirits up, trying to keep them safe. Worrying about Rachel, worrying about Beth. She just wants to pull off the road and check in and bolt the door behind them so that she doesn’t have to think anymore. The parking lot has several cars in it, but the place is also buzzing with an energy Rachel hasn’t felt since just after they left the city. Wheeling looks to be a city similar to Lima and everyone here is going about their business, as if everything is fine. Maybe they’ve outrun whatever’s been happening. Maybe it was only temporary. They pull up to the front office and Rachel climbs off the back of the scooter, kisses Quinn’s cheek and says, “I’ll be right back.” She’s just happy to see something resembling civilization. Rachel is gone, through the glass door to the office before Quinn can even say anything. Everything looks fine here, but she’s not about to let her guard down for even a second. Not after what happened to Charity. She winches her bat from the back of the bike and lays it across her lap. At least she can see Rachel through the door. It takes less than five minutes to check in and then Rachel’s back outside, but she stops short when she sees the look on Quinn’s face. “What?” She looks over her shoulder, then back at Quinn. “Is everything okay?” “Everything is fine,” Quinn says in a tight voice. She knows that it’s not a big deal, but she doesn’t have to like it. She nods at the key. “What number?” “Twenty-six. I made sure we were at least on the second floor.” Rachel climbs back onto the seat and holds on to Quinn as they find a space near the stairs. Quinn parks and slings her bag over her shoulder. Rachel leads the way to the room, and then they check it together to make sure it’s empty. Once they’re both satisfied, Quinn locks the deadbolt and slides the chain. It’s like they have a routine, even though they’ve only done this a few times. Without a word, she fishes the dirty clothes out of her bag and takes them into the bathroom to rinse them out in the sink. Rachel shrugs the backpack off her shoulders and drops it on top of the dresser. Even though this is just a two star motel, it’s still a huge step up from the place they stayed on that first night. Everything in this room looks clean (though she still takes care to fold down the comforter) and television seems to not only work, but there’s also free HBO. The fact that Quinn hasn’t said a word to her since they’ve entered the room hasn’t gone unnoticed, so Rachel peeks into the bathroom and says, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Quinn doesn’t look up from the clothes she’s washing in the sink. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Are you going to hand me your clothes so I can wash them?” “I... yeah, sure.” Rachel pulls her sweatshirt over her head and tosses it onto the bed. That can be washed once then get to Lima, but she removes the v-neck and hands it to Quinn. She thinks about taking a shower, but decides to wait until the laundry’s done, because she’s going to want hot water. “Do you want help?” “There’s really not much to do. It’s almost done,” Quinn tells her, wringing out one of the t-shirts and tossing it over the shower curtain rod. She still doesn’t meet Rachel’s gaze in the mirror. It’s unwarranted, and maybe she’s being petulant, but at this point, she either can’t control it or she doesn’t really want to. When Quinn turns to hang up the shirt, Rachel slips up to the sink and uses the running water to wash her hands and face. She’s felt grungy all day and even with the cleaning up she’s doing now, all she can think about is that shower. “Can we maybe hang everything up somewhere else?” she says, eyeing the clothing that Quinn has just draped over the rod. “Where else would you suggest we hang them, Rachel?” Quinn’s using a tone with her that Rachel’s rarely heard, at least in the course of their relationship. She grabs the shirt and yanks it down with a little more force than necessary. “There’s a whole closet space full of hangers right here,” Rachel says, stepping outside the bathroom to where half a dozen wooden hangers rattle when she grabs one off the short metal rod and places the wet shirt onto it. Quinn doesn’t answer. She just washes the next shirt, standing at the sink in her bra, and locks eyes with Rachel as she flips it up over the shower curtain rod. “Are you serious?” Rachel snatches the second shirt and she’s about to find it a hanger, but she turns back to Quinn, instead. “Why are you being like this?” “Being like what, Rachel?” “Quinn, you’ve used my whole name twice in the last minute and a half. And I’m not particularly pleased with the tone that you’re using with it.” Quinn laughs. “Are you serious right now? I’m not even allowed to say your whole name anymore?” She wrings the last shirt out. “I mean, god, Rachel, you get to just wander off whenever you want and I can’t even be worried? Things are different now. There are new rules, in case you missed it.” She rolls her eyes. “Though I have no idea how you could have, considering how things have had to be the past few days.” “It’s not about my name it’s about the way-- When have I wandered off?” Rachel’s back is to the sink and Quinn’s standing in front of her, but not in an intrusive way. In fact, it’s more like she’s trying to avoid her while being in the same small space. “Are you really going to suggest that I’m not aware of how different things are? I shot two people, Quinn. I pushed my best friend out a window and you’re going to tell me that I’m clueless about what’s happening?” She throws the wet shirt back at Quinn. “Hang it up wherever the fuck you want,” and then she’s out of the bathroom and storming toward the bed, because there’s really nowhere she can go. The shirt catches Quinn in the chest with a soppy thunk, and Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. She takes her time with the other clothes, trying to give Rachel some space, and then she brings them out of the bathroom and silently hangs them up on hangers to drip-dry in the closet. When she lays down on the bed, it’s on her back, with her arms wrapped around her middle. “I didn’t mean-- I wasn’t talking about what happened,” she says quietly. “I meant that I haven’t touched you in a week.” In the time it takes Quinn to finish the laundry, Rachel forces herself to cool down. She’s angry about so much of this, about whatever it is happening, about the show she’s missing because she’s on the road, about the fact that Quinn’s apparently terrified to let her out of her sight. “I didn’t mean to curse at you,” is what she finally says, once Quinn’s by her side. At Quinn’s comment about not touching her, she replies, “And that’s ridiculous because you’ve been by my side this entire time.” Quinn just stares at her. “Sex, Rachel. We haven’t had sex in a week.” Rachel looks back at Quinn. “Oh. I...” There’s a slight laugh as she softly repeats, “Oh.” “It’s not-- it’s... whatever.” She has no idea what is okay to talk about right now. “I know that it’s not... in light of everything...” She sighs. “I just miss you,” she finishes helplessly. Rachel rolls onto her side, so she can face Quinn. “In light of whatever’s happening, you are still  one of the three most important people in my life.” “I know, Rach. I’m-- I didn’t mean to turn this into a big thing.” “You reserve every right to communicate about whatever’s bothering you, you know.” Rachel knows, even with the great strides that have been made over the past year, Quinn still keeps so much inside. “Even if it’s about sex. Baby, I always want to know what goes on in your head.” She traces her fingertips through Quinn’s hair. “And if you feel like we need to... be intimate, I’m certainly not going to argue with you on that point. Because... it’s definitely been several days.” “If I feel like we need to-- you know what?” Quinn rolls over so that Rachel can’t see her face. “Forget it. Goodnight.” “Quinn.” Rachel sighs. “I was just trying to be-- I wasn’t suggesting that you were alone in wanting to...” She’s using too many words and she knows it, but it’s like she can’t stop. “I need you just as much as you need me, you know. That includes the physical dynamic of our relationship.” This is not how Quinn wants things to be, but she can’t just turn her emotions on and off. It wasn’t that long ago that Rachel was cursing at her and slapping her in the face with her own wet clothes. “Okay,” Quinn says. Rachel lies back down and sighs. “I wish you’d just talk to me.” Quinn bites back the tears. “I can’t. Because if I do, that makes this real.” It’s absolutely true, what Quinn’s saying, and Rachel can’t even find it in herself to counter with anything. She wraps herself around Quinn, who’s still facing away from her, and rests her face against Quinn’s shoulder. It’s a lot like the way they spent their day on the Vespa, only they aren’t moving. They lay in silence for a while, until Quinn turns in Rachel’s arms so she can search Rachel’s eyes. “I feel so guilty for this, after everything that’s happened, but-- all I want right now is us.” She bites her lip and lets her eyes drop over Rachel’s body before asking in the smallest voice, “Let me have you?” It would be so easy for Rachel to go into some mini-informational lecture about how, in times of traumatic life experiences, it’s perfectly natural to want closeness and intimacy. It’s a human response and, especially given the inhuman things they’ve seen over the last couple of days, it makes total sense that Quinn would want to embrace her humanity. Rachel does, too. She doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, she nods and finds Quinn’s hand, gripping it in her own. “I want us, right now, too.” Quinn wants it to be slow and gentle. She wants to take her time and show Rachel how much she’s adored. She wants lingering touches and heated words of devotion in her ear. But when she kisses Rachel, something else takes over. It’s a hard kiss, full of passion and not entirely within her control. It’s not quite what Rachel was expecting after the quiet way they were just talking, but she’s accustomed to the fact that, more often that just sometimes, what Quinn presents on the surface isn’t necessarily what’s underneath. And this, this feels like something that’s been kept inside, that needs to be released. More than anything, it feels like Quinn’s actually letting herself react instead of trying to keep a balance. She’s quick to grab a handful of Quinn’s hair as she kisses back, fully aware that it will just encourage whatever’s happening. Rachel wants this, whatever it is. She wants Quinn to let go, because she knows she’s probably the only person in the world who gets to see these parts of her. Even though her mouth is hard, her hands are gentle. For such a tiny person, Rachel just has so much skin, and Quinn wastes no time in running her hand across Rachel’s stomach and up so that she can trace her fingers over the material of Rachel’s bra. “I’ll never get over how gorgeous you are,” Quinn says and then moves her mouth down so she can taste Rachel’s neck. She sucks, hard, while her hand is still ghosting lightly over Rachel’s chest, avoiding the most sensitive areas. The spot on her neck already stings, but Rachel just wants more. She tugs on the hair that’s wrapped up in her hand and arches up against Quinn. She hasn’t felt this much skin against her own in days and she can’t decide what she wants Quinn to actually do. Not that it matters, really, because Quinn’s working with her own agenda, without any specific direction. The tug on her hair forces a growl up Quinn’s throat, and she bites down on Rachel’s neck and squeezes with her hand, simultaneously. Before she can stop herself, she’s dragging her own body up so she can nudge her thigh in between Rachel’s legs. Rachel groans, because as much as she wasn’t the one to bring up the fact that they haven’t had sex in nearly a week, she needs this just as much as Quinn does. Her other hand glides up over Quinn’s stomach and makes direct contact with her breast, over the bra. This is about touching and connecting and there really isn’t room for anything precursory, in Rachel’s mind. Quinn doesn’t break contact with Rachel’s neck, but she slides her fingers down and pushes Rachel’s hand up under her bra. She’s not thinking anymore, only reacting. And the way they’re moving against each other is making her hazier by the minute. She rocks again, pushes her thigh harder into Rachel, and gasps into Rachel’s neck at how good it feels. Rachel's mouth falls open when Quinn rocks into her and she draws in a quick, deep breath. Her hand gropes Quinn through the bra, but it isn't enough so she reaches around and quickly releases the catch so she can slide her palm between the now loose undergarment and soft skin. Whatever Rachel is doing with her hand just makes Quinn rock harder into her. She sends one hand down Rachel’s body, where it cups the one part it naturally seeks out every time they’re together like this. She squeezes and pulls their bodies closer together, encouraging Rachel to grind up into Quinn’s thigh. “Quinn.” Rachel’s heart rate is already elevated but it feels like they’re moving slowly. Slow isn’t the right term. Deliberate is much more accurate. It really doesn’t matter what they’re doing, as long as they’re touching and sharing the same space, like this. Rachel just wants to get lost in Quinn, right now, to let her take control of everything, but at least then someone knows what the hell is going on, somewhere, and Rachel can relax. Of all the times they've been together, this time is different, for some reason at least for Quinn. It's not so much about the destination right now as it is the journey. Feeling Rachel, hearing her soft panting in Quinn's ear... It's more than enough right now. It's the first time in a week that Quinn's head hasn't been filled with nightmares. "Rach," she answers, and breathes her in as deeply as she can. Again, Rachel arches and flexes her body, putting pressure against Quinn’s thigh. She groans, her eyes fluttering shut. She’s still tugging at Quinn’s hair while her other hand roughly palms Quinn’s breast. Quinn is kissing and biting and running her hands all over Rachel’s body. There’s still a desperation, but it’s slower, deeper. Quinn has never just felt so much before. She pulls and rolls at the same time, so that Rachel’s full weight is pressing her down on the bed. She is completely surrounded Rachel and it’s the safest she’s ever felt. When they shift, Rachel drops one hand down against the mattress and grips the sheet below. She’s eager to find Quinn’s lips, again, to kiss her over and over, just to be close, just because they haven’t been able to be like this since before everything. She still moves against Quinn, her own thigh wedged between Quinn’s, though there’s no specific strategy, just reaction. Quinn arches and grasps at Rachel’s back. This right here? Being able to feel and hear, to have Rachel like this, it’s everything right now. “I love you,” she murmurs against Rachel’s skin. Rachel manages to pull her lips away from Quinn, just enough for, “I love you, too” and then she’s back to kissing. She can’t get enough. Lips, neck, shoulder, up to lips again. This is expression, this is everything, because it’s the only thing that hasn’t been turned upside-down and until they can get home to Lima, Quinn is the only stable reminder of anything, anymore. It’s like this all night, between them. The push and pull, the reaching out. They touch each other for hours and breathe words of love, whisper soft, in one another’s ears. They move together until one of them arches up or falls away or stretches beneath the other, and it always ends the same way-- with them wrapped up together, touching anywhere they can. They make love until the sun rises, and by then, neither one has slept much at all. Quinn stretches and pulls Rachel tighter to her body, hoping for another hour of sleep. As good as the sex is, sometimes all Quinn wants is to hold Rachel and let them both feel warm and safe. Rachel’s not at all rested, but when six-thirty rolls around, her internal alarm clock kicks into gear and she can’t seem to go back to sleep. She can hear the steady rhythm of Quinn’s breathing, accompanied by the rise and fall of Quinn’s chest, and despite the fact that she’s still terribly exhausted, everything feels peaceful. She must manage to drift off again, because when she opens her eyes back up, the digital clock reads eight-seventeen, though it doesn’t feel like she’s slept, at all. When she feels Rachel stir, Quinn hums and stretches. “Morning,” she mumbles. Her hands automatically drag through Rachel’s hair, and she moves her foot just enough to rub against where it’s resting on Rachel’s calf. There’s a sound that comes out of Rachel that sounds similar to an echoed response, but it’s unintelligible. She doesn’t want to get up. She wants to sleep in, to stay in bed, to have a lazy day. But they’re so close to Lima and she doesn’t want to even think about how worried her dads probably are. “D’you sleep okay?” she asks. “Sure, for the twenty minutes I slept,” Quinn says, nudging Rachel. “I suppose we should probably get up and get moving.” “Five more minutes,” Rachel says, shifting so she’s wrapped as tightly as possible around Quinn. Quinn bites her lip because as much as she wants to stay here with Rachel forever, they really do need to get moving. She can see Beth’s face so clearly in her mind, and there is suddenly an indescribable ache that is reaching up from someplace deep and gripping onto her heart. It actually physically hurts, the worry she feels over her daughter. She knows that Rachel must be feeling anxious too. She kisses Rachel and says gently, “Your dads.” Rachel closes her eyes and nods, savoring one last moment of being in bed with the woman she loves, then forces herself to sit up. “Do you want to shower first or should I--” There’s a crash outside, like a window’s been broken, then the sound of shouting. “What was that?” Quinn’s feet are on the floor and her bat in hand before Rachel’s even done talking. She would probably look a lot more menacing if she weren’t completely naked, but that’s beside the point. If something is happening outside, the smallest delay could put them at risk. “Maybe it’s nothing,” she says, but they both know that there’s no such thing as nothing anymore. “Quinn.” Rachel knows it’s highly unlikely that Quinn would run outside without any clothes on, but there’s a lot of adrenaline running, all of a sudden. “Let’s just get dressed and... get out of here.” Quinn goes to the window and looks out, but she can’t see anything from where she’s standing. “You first,” she tells Rachel. If someone-- or something-- tries to break in, one of them should be ready. “You can watch out for me once you’re dressed.” There’s no time to argue about the ridiculousness of Quinn just standing there, nude, with a bat. Rachel scrambles to find her clothes and pulls them on as quickly as possible. There’s no time to shower, there’s no time to even brush her teeth, and she doesn’t care. “Okay,” she says, zipping up her boots. “Go.” She has the gun in her hand as she peeks out the window. There’s still plenty of noise, including the shouting, but no clear view of what’s actually happening. “Maybe someone got into a fight,” she suggests. Maybe. The bat has to be forfeited for the time being, while Quinn pulls her jeans up and then tugs a white t-shirt over her head. She’s forgotten her bra, and it’s too late now. She’s not willing to take the time to put it on. Her attention is split between Rachel and the window the entire time she’s changing, and when she’s done, she grabs everything that’s scattered over the motel room as quickly as she can. She makes a mental note not to ever go to bed this disorganized again. How could she be so stupid? By the time she’s standing next to Rachel at the door, the sounds outside louder and more chaotic. Opening this door seems like the worst idea. When Rachel dated Finn, she watched him play a lot of video games, specifically the military ones, and right now, she feels like she’s in a live version of one of them. When she looks from Quinn to the door, it’s like she has tunnel vision. Or maybe it’s not “like” anything. Maybe this is actual tunnel vision. “Ready?” she asks, her eyes on Quinn’s hand, which is gripping the door handle. Quinn nods once, her mouth set in a grim line. “Whatever is going on outside, just get to the Vespa. Remember that you only have thirty bullets--” Rachel interrupts to correct her. “Twenty six,” Quinn agrees. “Let’s just get on and get going. You’re driving and I’ll hand onto my bag until we’re clear and can pull over.” She looks at Rachel. “It’s probably nothing,” she says, and it sounds completely empty, even to her, so she adds, “I love you,” and then she’s pulling open the door. Rachel’s right behind her, looking left and right across the walkway that runs along the side of the motel. There’s no one up here, but when she looks over the railing, she can see people down in the parking lot. Two housekeeping carts are knocked over, their contents scattered across the blacktop. A man in pajama pants is on his knees, leaning over one of the housekeeping staff. Rachel’s stomach turns when she realizes he’s not checking to see if the woman is okay. He’s gnawing on her shoulder. “Is the V--” but before she can ask, she sees it, the Vespa, right where they left it. But there are no less than six shufflers moving around the lot. Rachel’s afraid to speak, because she doesn’t want them to hear her. “How do we get to it?” she whispers. Quinn’s first instinct is to have Rachel shoot them, but the noise might attract more. “Come on,” she mutters, leading the way down the walkway. “Just go slow. Shoot if you have to. We’ll be okay.” They make it to the stairs without drawing any attention to themselves, but Quinn only makes it down a few steps before she realizes there’s another issue. The stairs are littered with debris from the motel rooms-- drawers, chairs, mattresses. She can even see the same brand of coffee pot that was on the bathroom vanity. They’re too high up to jump over the railing without risking injury and there’s too much stuff for them to just climb over it. They’ll have to move it. “Rach,” she says under her breath. “You’ll have to watch for me so I can move this crap out of the way.” She hands Rachel her bat and they share a look before Quinn turns back and silently starts working. It’s not hard; the stuff isn’t heavy. She’s just afraid that too much movement will attract unwanted attention. She flips a mattress over the railing and it lands with a dull thud on the grass below. She and Rachel both hold their breath and wait to see if they’ll be noticed. The good thing is, whatever has happened to these people, it seems to leave their senses a bit dulled and the thump isn’t enough to alert them. Quinn goes back to work, and in a few minutes has a makeshift pathway cleared down the stairs. “Be careful,” she tells Rachel again, taking the bat from her. She knows it’s not necessary; that Rachel is more than capable of taking care of herself, but Quinn will never not worry about her in this environment. She can’t help it. They’re halfway down the stairs when Rachel starts to understand what’s happened. There’s a charter bus haphazardly parked by the office entrance. The bus door is open, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s still inside. Someone must have been infected on board. Or more than one person. How would that even happen, though? There’s no time to really think about it, because she catches sight of more movement off to her right. In addition to the six she spotted before, there are at least that many working their way along the lower walkway of the motel. It’s almost like they’re moving in a pack. “You see that?” she breathes, hoping Quinn can hear her. Quinn nods silently. She sees it. Once they manage to navigate the wreckage on the stairs, Quinn takes Rachel by the hand and leads her in the opposite direction. Away from the shufflers, away from the Vespa. They need that bike, but it’s not worth the risk. There are just too many of them. At the far end of the parking lot, there’s an older Honda CRV. “There,” Quinn says. It’s far enough away that it might buy them some time. When they get there, Quinn drops Rachel’s hands and shoulders her bat in one fluid motion. Without even hesitating, she swings, hard, and the driver’s side window bows inward and splinters out from the bulge made with the end of the bat. Rachel’s already around to the other side, waiting for Quinn to break through the glass. Her hand instinctively grabs the door handle, just to be ready, and why she pulls, she doesn’t know. But it opens. It’s unlocked. She flings the passenger door open and throws the backpack behind the seats before pulling on the handle and popping the driver’s side door open. There’s a groan behind her, and Quinn turns to look. The noise from the window has drawn some attention. Three of the infected are shuffling towards them slowly, and she’s glad she picked this car because it’s far enough away that they’re still okay, assuming she can get it started. She throws her bag in and climbs in next to Rachel. She pulls the parking brake and shifts into neutral. “Can you get my multi-tool out of the bag?” she asks and then pops the hood. “I’ll be right back.” The shufflers are still moving closer, but their groans are louder, and there’s a rush of adrenaline that courses through her as she jogs around the front of the SUV. She finds the wires she needs and connects them to the battery. By the time she’s back in the car with the door closed and locked behind her, Rachel has her multi-tool. The steering column comes off easily enough and one touch from the multi-tool has them in business. Quinn checks to make sure Rachel’s seatbelt is buckled and peels out of the parking lot. She heads the opposite direction from the shufflers, and there’s no driveway, so she’s forced to drive up over the curb and through the median before pulling out onto the road. “You okay?” she asks Rachel, once she knows they’re safe. “Yeah,” Rachel mumbles, then clears her throat. “Yes. I’m fine. Where did you, um, learn that?” Quinn glances over at Rachel. “I assume you mean the car-starting thing, not the window-breaking thing.” She runs a shaky hand through her hair. “Mack, in both cases.” “As much as I previously questioned what kind of influence she may have had on you, I’m thankful that you picked up some less than respectable skills from your time together.” Rachel’s heart won’t slow down, but she’s trying to at least fake normalcy. “Do you know which way to go?” “Yeah. I think... we’re good.” The motel and Vespa pass by out Rachel’s window, things of the past. It seems like lately they’ve just been picking up lives and laying them down for new ones so fast that they don’t have any time to remember who they really are in between. “If you could check the phone in a little while, just to make sure we’re on track. We could charge it, too. That’s probably not a bad idea.” Rachel’s about to unzip her bag when she realizes, “My car charger’s in Lima. So is yours.” She checks the battery life and the phone still shows 73% charge left on it. “We’ll just save it for when we need it,” she says before powering it off. They’re on I-70 and the sign up ahead tells them Columbus is 121 miles away. “You’ve driven back from Columbus plenty of times, right?” “Yeah. We’ll be fine, ‘Licious,” she promises again. She still feels shaky and frazzled-- as many times as she’s practiced hotwiring cars with Mack, it’s never been under the gun like that-- but with Rachel still by her side and the shufflers far behind them, she know they’ll be okay. It won’t be long. They just have to make it to Lima. To Rachel’s dads and Quinn’s mother. Puck and Sam. Shelby and... Quinn closes her eyes for just a second and tries to shake the worry that’s never far off lately. If they can just get to Lima...

(Aside: this is like, ch.33 of a series of Faberry paras, but they're all worth it just to get to the part where Rachel has to try to explain Glee to someone who wasn't there to experience it.)

They’ve crossed the Pennsylvania state line and sun’s just starting to peek over the horizon. Rachel’s tired and, even though she’s confident in Quinn’s ability to figure out how to operate the Vespa, there’s no way for them to trade off to let the driver sleep. They’ve passed several hotels and motels along I-80 and finally Rachel gives in and pulls off at the next exit advertising accommodations. There are a handful of places to choose from, but she passes the Days Inn and the Econolodge to pull into the lot of a locally owned motel, because it has the fewest cars, which means there are less people. She hates that this is so backward, that a week ago, she would have chosen the most populated place to ensure their safety. “I can just put it on the credit card my dads gave me for emergencies,” Rachel says. She doesn’t want Quinn to worry about how much they’re spending, because it shouldn’t matter. “Okay, Rach,” Quinn mumbles sleepily. She helps Rachel off the scooter and shoulders her bag. She knows that it’s imperative that she keeps sharp until they’re safely inside, but she’s so tired. While Rachel slept earlier in the afternoon, Quinn held her and listened to her breathe. She just couldn’t close her eyes after everything, and now she feels dead on her feet. They pay for the room and take the key from a girl at the desk who looks like she’s never been interested in anything a day in her life. It’s one of those outside-entry motels, and Quinn lets Rachel lead the way, following with her bat drawn, just in case. They latch, bolt and chain the door safely behind them, and Quinn makes Rachel stand by the door while she checks the room. Once she’s satisfied that the room is empty, she drops to the bed-- a full size with a ratty comforter-- and throws an arm over her face. “Oh my god, I’ve never been so tired in-- wait. Cheerios conditioning. I have been this tired. I’ve just forgotten how much it sucks.” “Baby, don’t--” Rachel’s about to say they shouldn’t lie on the comforter because she’s watched Dateline and knows these motels are notorious for having terrible and unseemly things show up in blacklight inspections, but then whatever’s on this blanket can’t be any worse than what’s back in New York. “Don’t forget to take off your boots,” is what she finally says. She tugs the gunbelt free and places it on the nightstand before pulling off her own boots. It’s not until her stomach growls so loudly that it startles her that Rachel realizes she’s starving. “We should eat,” she says, unzipping Quinn’s bag to dig out the apples and peanut butter. “There’s a knife on my multi-tool,” Quinn says without moving. She hasn’t taken her boots off. She hasn’t even moved since she dropped onto the bed. But when she hears Rachel digging in her bag for the apples, she sits up halfway. “An apple each, since we skipped lunch. But then tomorrow, we’ll have to start rationing. I don’t know how long it will take us to get to Lima. Hopefully, we can find a place to gas up.” Rachel holds out an apple and the peanut butter, and Quinn shakes her head. “Just the apple. Thank you.” “Quinn, you need protein. Especially if we have to start rationing. If anything, I’m the one better conditioned to function on no animal by products. When was the last time you even ate anything?” “I’ll have the apple now and then some peanut butter a little later, okay? I need to spread it out so that I’m not eating everything we have all at once. Trust me. Eat small, eat often.” She bites into the apple and moans out loud at how good it is. “My girlfriend, the Eagle Scout.” Rachel raises her eyebrows at the sound Quinn makes. “Who is apparently having a love affair with fruit.” She finds Quinn’s knife and slices up her apple before eating it, then rummages around until she finds Quinn’s hairbrush in the bag. She tugs her hair out of the ponytail it’s been in and brushes through the tangles, making the decision to braid it before they get back on the scooter. She’s content just being here with Quinn, but she’s also curious about what’s going on in the rest of the world, so she looks around for the remote to the television. When she finds it, it doesn’t work. Closer inspection reveals there are no batteries and when she looks at the tv, it isn’t even plugged in. In fact, it’s not even near an outlet. She tosses the remote on the dresser and climbs back onto the bed next to Quinn, who’s still working on her apple. The clock radio on the nightstand is glowing the correct time and Rachel reaches over to see if it will pick up and stations offering information. It’s all static until she finds something on the AM dial, which is just old Golden Age radio shows, but it’s kind of nice to have something to listen to. “Is this okay?” she asks. “It’s fine, Rach,” Quinn murmurs as she scoots back on the bed and stretches out, pulling Rachel against her. It still amazes her, after all this time, how well they fit together. She takes the last bite of her apple and says, “Do you remember when we fell asleep in the deck chair? That was the first time we were... really close.” “I was so worried you were going to be mad at me because of the music.” Rachel tucks one arm around Quinn and rests her head on her shoulder. “I liked you so much but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She smiles as she remembers the rest of that afternoon. “Then I kissed you. And you kissed me. Then... you told me you liked guys, but that you liked kissing me.” Her body stretches out, then her leg wraps around one of Quinn’s. “And then you held me as we fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon.” She smoothes out the wrinkles in Quinn’s shirt. “Daddy saw us out there, you know. He mentioned it when we were back for Christmas, because you and I always go out on the deck, even when it’s freezing out there.” Quinn doesn’t know why she’s surprised that Leroy saw them. They spent hours outside that afternoon, sleeping in the same chair. It was such a small space that Rachel had nearly been lying on top of Quinn, and she’s sure that it looked anything but friendly. Her eyes are already closed, but she smirks and holds Rachel tighter. “I should probably tell you now,” she says as seriously as she can. “I still like guys. I’m just making an exception for you.” She combs her fingers through Rachel’s hair. It’s one of her favorite things to do when they’re lying in bed together. She kisses Rachel’s temple. “It’s quite an exception, though. If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d have your legs wrapped around me by now.” With them on their way home, and with Rachel pressed into her side like this, breathing evenly, she almost feels normal again. If it weren’t for the fact that they’re both still in their clothes in a fetid motel, she would almost feel like they’re on vacation. “Just as long as you like me best.” Rachel slips her hand under Quinn’s shirt and rests a palm there, her fingertips lightly stroking Quinn’s bare stomach. “And I think you and I work out well, because some of your more... specific skill sets would be completely wasted on any male suitors.” The radio program breaks from an episode of The Great Gildersleeve to play a rendition of Embraceable You and it’s the first music Rachel’s heard in over a day, so by the time the chorus comes around, she can’t resist the urge to sing along. The fingers against her stomach and Rachel’s voice in her ear make Quinn’s eyes drop and the very next thing she knows, she’s staring into wide, panic-stricken eyes. Charity is clawing at her arm, a gurgling sound deep in her throat, and Quinn knows that it’s clear to Charity what’s happening to her. Charity opens her mouth and an unintelligible sound comes out. In her dreaming mind, Quinn knows that it’s the word please and she can do absolutely nothing to stop this. She sets her jaw in a grim line, and now Charity knows, too. Quinn shuts her eyes and swings her bat. The impact jars her awake. Her boots are off and she knows that she fell asleep with them on. Rachel must have pulled them off of her while she slept. The light is out; the radio is silent. She wonders how long Rachel sang before she slept. She lays awake for a full minute before the intensity of her dream washes over her fully. And then she stares at the ceiling and cries as silently as she can. Rachel only just drifted off and the slight movement from Quinn is enough to shake her from sleep. She’s barely oriented enough to remember where she is, but she immediately notices that Quinn is crying. “Hey,” she says, softly. “Hey, I’m right here.” She pulls Quinn as close to her as she can. This is exactly the opposite of what usually happens in the event of a bad dream. As soon as it’s clear that she’s woken Rachel, Quinn buries her face into Rachel’s neck. The tears come a little harder, and soon she’s shaking while Rachel whispers words of love to her in the dark. “I’m so sorry.” It’s broken and raw, but it’s the best she can do. “You didn’t do anything,” is all Rachel can think to say. She lets Quinn lie there in her arms, because she knows Quinn needs this, a chance to let everything out before they pack up and leave this place for the next. Because, by then, Quinn will have put on her game face and won’t allow herself any of this. The next time Quinn opens her eyes, it’s getting dark again. She lifts her arm off of Rachel and stretches. She feels better than she did the night before, but the exhaustion is still overwhelming. She pulls herself away and slides down the bed. She promised Rachel she would eat some peanut butter, and she’s actually hungry for it. She’s sitting on the bed with the jar in her lap when she feels Rachel stir behind her. “Good morning,” Rachel mumbles. “Or... afternoon?” The clock says it’s just after six. “Evening,” she realizes. “I didn’t think we’d sleep that long.” She kisses Quinn’s shoulder before scooting off the bed. “I’m just going to clean up and then I guess we should get ready to go?” “I’ll need to shower too,” Quinn says. “Did you want some breakfast?” “Do you think we could split a Power Bar? If I’m going to drive all night, it would be a nice boost.” Rachel moves for the bathroom and realizes, that for all the stuff the room is missing, it does have a small coffee maker sitting on the corner of the counter next to the sink. “And maybe some coffee.” Quinn pulls on her boots. “I’ll make some while you clean up?” “You’re the best,” Rachel says. She turns on the water and starts pulling off her clothes while waits for it to warm up, assuming it does warm up. While Rachel’s in the shower, Quinn puts the coffee on and then unpacks her bag. She changes her shirt and repacks everything neatly, rolling her dirty shirt tightly and packing it deep in the side of the bag. She checks her phone, which is still fully charged, since it’s been off all day, and her laptop, which is getting a weak wifi signal from the motel. She’s surprised when her gmail comes up. There isn’t anything new that has to do with the recent turn of events, but she sends an email to Sam and Puck, and another to Shelby. Before it’s even sent, she’s bursting through the bathroom door. “Rach, gmail is up!” She knows how much Rachel has wanted to tell her dads that they’re coming. Rachel shrieks when the door opens and bangs against the towel rack. “Quinn! You scared me!” She squints because now there’s shampoo in her eyes, which she shouldn’t have even used in the first place, because she knows it’s cheap and not even close to vegan friendly and it’s going to be a pain to comb through her hair after she towels it dry. Once she flushes the soap out of her eyes, she realizes what Quinn’s just said. “Okay. I’ll get on in a minute.” “Sorry!” Quinn says. “Sorry. I’m just... excited. I sent an email to--” She catches herself just in time. “Shelby.” The water shuts off and Rachel peeks around the shower curtain. “Towel, please?” Quinn hands her the towel as requested and leans against the sink with her arms folded over her chest. “I love you.” Even now, surrounded by more horrible things than she thought possible, she can’t help saying it. The towel is scratchy and barely even wraps around Rachel’s already small frame, but she barely notices, because she’s looking at Quinn. “I know,” she says with a small smile as she steps onto the hand towel that’s currently serving as a bathmat. The bathroom is tiny, so the second she’s out of the shower, she’s practically on top of Quinn, but that’s fine because now she’s close enough to kiss her. “Hi,” Quinn says, smiling into Rachel mouth. “Have I told you how much I love this outfit on you?” Rachel laughs and shakes her head. “I’ll remember that for the next time you take me out.” She kisses Quinn again, then exits the bathroom so she can redress and email her dads. “Will you pour me some coffee?” “Yeah, ‘Lic,” Quinn breathes. She pours the coffee and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s watching Rachel dress. The fact that Quinn is watching her doesn’t go unnoticed and Rachel decides she can wait to put on a shirt if her girlfriend is enjoying the view so much. She sits on the bed in her bra and jeans and pulls up her gmail account before typing out a quick message to her parents, telling them that she and Quinn are both safe and should be in Lima within the next day or so. She then sets out to tackle the challenge of detangling her hair. While Rachel is brushing her hair, Quinn kneels on the bed behind her and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. Without a word, she takes the brush from Rachel and begins to braid her hair. When she’s done, she kisses Rachel again, this time on the back of her head. “Shirt,” she says, climbing off the bed and heading for the shower. It’ll have to be quick, but she needs to feel clean. After looking in her backpack, Rachel remembers she only packed a sweater, socks, and underwear, but no other shirts. Quinn, however, is a little more prepared, so Rachel swipes the other clean shirt that’s packed in the duffel bag, then slips her Wicked hoodie on over it. By the time Quinn’s out of the shower, she’s dressed with her boots on, holding the gunbelt in her lap. When Quinn comes out of the bathroom, Rachel is sitting on the bed, staring at the gun she’s holding. “Hey,” she says softly, dressing herself in the clothes she was just wearing. “What’s going through that head of yours?” Rachel shrugs. “I was thinking about how I’ve never shot this gun before and how it would be nice to know what the recoil is like. But I don’t really think we can afford the rounds.” “Well, with any luck, we won’t even need that. I’m sure that the worst is over,” Quinn tells her, pulling on her boots. Her hair is still wet and sticking up all over, but she feels better than she did yesterday. “Ready?” Quinn’s about to stand up, but Rachel pushes her back down and runs the brush a few times through her girlfriend’s hair before patting Quinn on the head. “Now we’re ready.” Before Rachel can back away, Quinn pulls her into a kiss. “I wish we could just stay here,” she says after a moment. “I know we can’t, and I’ll get us to Lima, but... I just want everything to be good again.” “Quinn,” Rachel says, then tucks Quinn’s hair back behind an ear. “No matter how romantic you make it sound, I’m not shacking up with you in a crappy motel.” She smirks and stands up, pulling Quinn with her. Quinn rolls her eyes, but she won’t deny that she’s relieved to hear Rachel joking like this. She suspects that her recent victory with gmail has something to do with it. “It’s not as glamorous as the back row of a movie theater, I’ll give you that.” It wasn’t that long ago, and the memory is still fresh enough to make Quinn’s cheeks burn a little. “Honey, I told you, if you want to go back and actually see Transformers 4, I’ll go with you.” Rachel secures the gunbelt around her waist, then double checks to make sure they’ve packed everything back up. Quinn levels her with a look. “Do you really think if we try to actually watch that movie, we won’t end up fucking in the back row? Again?” She swings her Cheerios bag over her shoulder and pulls open the door, giving one last look around the room to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything. If they have, there’s no coming back. “Language, Quinn. We don’t want the locals to think poorly of us.” Rachel isn’t sure where this is coming from and it almost feels as if she’s slipped into a character. It’s a nice departure from being worried about whatever’s next, so she embraces it for the time being. This time, it’s a raised eyebrow that Rachel gets. “Since when don’t you like hearing me talking about--” she lowers her voice, “fucking you?” “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Rachel cuts in front of Quinn and faces her and wraps her hand around the strap to the duffel bag. “But we don’t have time for what will happen if you don’t stop. Now kiss me so I can go drop off this key and we can get out of here.” “And here I thought you weren’t interested in shacking up with me in this crappy motel,” Quinn says, grinning. She pulls Rachel into a kiss and puts every ounce of desire she has into it. When Rachel pulls away, chest heaving, and turns to take the key to the front office, Quinn smacks her on the ass for good measure. “Right behind you,” she adds with all the innuendo she can muster. The sun is still out, but it’s dipping low on the horizon as Rachel opens the glass door to the office. There’s no one behind the desk, so she just slips the key in the drop box. Even though it’s well past time for the continental breakfast, there are still a few unopened packets of jam and jelly next to an empty bagel bag and Rachel grabs them because she’s feeling motivated by her life-on-the-road persona, even if it’s only temporary. “Here,” she makes Quinn turn around so she can stuff them in the front pocket of the backpack. “And I’m the klepto?” Quinn asks. “Were there any spoons? For the peanut butter?” “We paid for it with the price of the room.” Rachel spots a box of plastic spoons next to the coffee maker. It’s open and there are only a few left, so she grabs the whole thing and sticks it in the bag. The fact that they’re now looting, in a sense, makes her nervous so she pushes Quinn toward the door. “Let’s go.” The parking lot is nearly empty. There’s one other car at the far end, and a motorcycle two spaces over. Probably someone doing the same exact thing they are. In any case, it’s eerie, and for Quinn, the time for joking is over. If she wants to keep Rachel safe, she can’t have even one wrong step. She has to be completely aware of their surroundings at all times. She secures her bag to the bike. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.” They still have about a half a tank of gas, but the first gas station Quinn sees, she asks Rachel to pull over so they can fill up. “Eat small, eat often,” she reminds her. They’re in Pennsylvania now, so no one runs out to attend to them and there’s a credit card machine at the pump, so they don’t even bother going in. Rachel swipes the card while Quinn lifts the seat and unscrews the cap to the tank. A cat runs out from around the corner of the station and Rachel watches it as it loops around the pumps to the other side of the building. There’s another sound coming from where the cat originated and that’s when Rachel sees what she’s managed to avoid for so many hours. “Quinn...” There isn’t just one, there are two of them and they’re shuffling right toward the Vespa. “Just forget about the gas. Cap it off.” Her hand is already on the gun and it’s less than a second before the firearm is out in front of her. She doesn’t want to shoot unless she’s absolutely sure. “Hey!” she shouts at the pair of individuals, just to see if they respond. “Stop where you are! Please, just stop!” But there’s nothing, no recognition. Just like Charity up in their dorm room. There’s no one inside. She fires two rounds, one for each of the figures trudging toward them, but they don’t stop. “Rachel,” Quinn hisses. “Their heads. Hitting them in the chest isn’t going to stop them.” She fumbles with the gas cap and wishes that she had some kind of distance-based weapon. She’ll have to fix that as soon as she can. “Shit,” Rachel mutters. “Right.” She sucks in a breath and slowly lets it out, firing again, this time hitting each one in the forehead. The shuffling stops and there are two bodies crumpled on the pavement. The gun slides back into the holster and Rachel’s kicking the starter before Quinn even has the seat back down in place. Once the engine turns over, they’re back on the scooter and pulling onto the roadway. “Almost a full tank,” she shouts, as the needle nearly touches the F. Quinn grips her tightly from behind and holds on. As much as she loves watching Rachel shoot a gun, actually using one was never something Quinn wanted for her. The waves of pure sorrow that continue to roll through her are indescribable. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Twenty six, she counts silently. Out loud, she says, “They looked worse than the others.” Rachel nods, but doesn’t say anything. They’re approaching the on ramp for the interstate, but she slows down and pulls over before they reach it. Her stomach hurts. She just shot two people. In the head. In the chest. In the chest then in the head. The kickstand goes down, but she leaves the engine running, because this will only take a second. She’s up off the Vespa and before Quinn can ask what’s wrong, Rachel vomits on the broken asphalt. Quinn is off the Vespa and by Rachel’s side in a second. “Baby,” she says, running her hand down Rachel’s back. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do to protect us. It’s okay.” Rachel’s leaning over, her hands braced just above her knees, but she isn’t going to throw up again, so she slowly pulls herself upright. “I know I did. But...” She shakes her head. “Why is this happening?” It’s something she hasn’t let herself think about, but now she has to, because otherwise she has to face that fact that she’s shot someone. Two someones. Either she’s a killer or there’s something terrible happening and it’s not just exclusive to New York City. She doesn’t want to look at Quinn, not while she’s trying to decide which is worse, so she turns back to the scooter and digs through the bag for a bottle of water. There isn’t anything she can say, she knows, so she just offers Rachel a piece of her spearmint gum once she’s done rinsing with the water and then gets back on the Vespa to wait until Rachel’s ready. Quinn can feel her heart breaking, but there’s nothing she can do. This is Rachel’s battle, and if she can be here for her while she fights it, it’s enough.

They’ve been walking for an hour and they’re only just now passing the lower end of Central Park. Rachel’s been living minutes away from New Jersey the entire time she’s been in the city, but that’s only through the Lincoln or Holland Tunnels and if the idea of walking a mile underwater is enough to stress her out, she knows there’s no way Quinn’s going to even want to think about it. Which is why they’re headed for the George Washington Bridge. Just like the subway system, the buses aren’t running. There are plenty of cabs on the street, but they’re all occupied or the drivers won’t stop. So they’re walking. At least no one’s questioning them. One of the perks of New York life is that there’s always someone doing something weirder than you. Two young women walking through the city with bags on their backs aren’t that uncommon, anyway. However, Rachel’s wearing her sweatshirt around her waist to cover the holstered gun, because she really doesn’t want to get arrested or something while they’re trying to escape. Escape makes this all sound so dangerous when really, what they’re doing is just precautionary, isn’t it? It seems like there are more people on the streets now than there were the last time they were out here. Quinn can’t help but make eye contact with every single one of them, just to be sure that there’s life inside. Once she’s satisfied that there is, she moves on to the next one. She never once lets go of Rachel’s hand. They’ve seen a few people who seem infected, and every time, they’ve avoided, walked faster, kept their heads down. So far, they’ve been okay. “It will be good to be home for a while,” she says. She’s trying to distract them both, but it really only just makes the reality of what they have to do that much harder. Still, Quinn figures that most people won’t have the foresight or gumption to walk out of the city, and that may give them an advantage. She hopes. She adds, “I miss your dads, anyway.” She doesn’t say anything about Beth. She can’t. The idea that something like this is happening to the world, and she can’t get to her daughter is the most frightening thing she can imagine. It literally makes her feel sick and panicked, and she can’t afford to bring it up. Instead, she focuses on getting them out. Once there’s not so many people around, Quinn will feel much more in control of the situation. “They miss you, too. Daddy said they’re bringing your belated birthday present out with them when they come to see the show.” The show. The one Rachel’s in that’s supposed to open later this week, otherwise known as Rachel Berry’s New York stage debut. She thinks about calling Evan, her director, but then remembers she can’t because the phone are down. When they stop again, she’ll try to send a text. She hopes he understands why she’s about to miss several days of preview shows. "I wonder what it is," Quinn murmurs, tightening her grip on Rachel's hand. She's nervous about a man who's shuffling towards them. It's eerily like 4b's gait, and she instinctively moves in front of Rachel and wraps her free hand around the handle of her bat. It turns out, as he gets closer, that he's just drunk, but she still doesn't like the way he leers at them. “They didn’t tell me,” Rachel says, using their conversation to distract herself from thinking too hard about why they’re suddenly walking faster. “They know I’m too vulnerable to your charm, especially when you bribe me with vegan nachos.” She knows they aren’t even halfway to the bridge and her bag just feels like it’s getting heavier. Quinn’s bag probably weighs three times as much and she hasn’t even broken a sweat. But they have a long way to go, not just to get out of New York, but to get to Ohio. “I wish we had your car. Or even bikes or something.” Quinn feels a pang in her chest over her car. If they had it, everything would be so much easier. But they don't, and Quinn's never been one to let what she doesn't have stop her. "It would be nice to have a bike," she says. "Even if it's just one. You could ride on the handlebars." “I’ve never done that before,” Rachel realizes. “When I was younger, I didn’t really know anyone who would have... I didn’t really have many friends.” An image of Rachel suddenly flashes in Quinn’s mind, breathless and laughing, balanced on the handlebars of a bicycle. Her hair is shining in the sun, and she’s leaning back into Quinn as they fly down a hill. It makes her feel optimistic about the future-- their future, together. It’s an image worth holding on to. “Someday, we will,” Quinn tells her. They’re passing Lincoln Center and it’s much more desolate than Rachel’s ever seen it, before. That’s probably more due to the time of night than... well... it’s probably just the time of night. “I like that you do that.” She squeezes Quinn’s hand. “Like you want to make sure I... do things.” Quinn tries to make sure that she’s very solemn when she says, “Well, that particular experience is one that every girl should experience.” She leans just that much more into Rachel’s side. “You know, as much as I like taking care of you, I feel like... like it goes both ways. You take care of me, too.” She doesn’t add that she’s not sure what she’d do without Rachel right now. It’s one of those things that must go without saying. Something echoes from within the open space around the center’s fountain. The fountain itself is turned off, so it makes sense that any moderate noise would echo. But this sound getting louder, closer. It’s drawn out and low and it sounds a lot like what Rachel’s heard earlier today. “Quinn...” Rachel knows the last thing she should do is stop walking, but she needs to know at least where it’s coming from so they aren’t walking toward it. There, just on the other side of the same space where she and her friends once experienced their first taste of New York freedom, is not one, but at least four individuals, moving in that very specific, jerky manner. Rachel has a strong feeling they aren’t drunk. “Quinn,” she repeats, this time more desperate for an answer. Her hand is already reaching for the gun, but is there really a need to shoot? Wouldn’t it just be better to get away? Those people-- she wonders if they are still people-- they can’t run, can they? “I see them,” Quinn murmurs. And then, because she sees Rachel reaching for the gun, she adds, “You only have thirty bullets.” Her bat is out of the bag in a second, and she flexes her fingers around it and holds it low, with the tip pointing towards the sidewalk. Quinn would rather not fight, if she doesn’t have to. “Come on.” Rachel’s in the lead now, pulling Quinn behind her. She decides not to look back and just moves them away from the others, one step at a time. It’s bizarre that there are people out on the street who seem entirely unaware of the danger, but Rachel has no idea how to warn them without sounding insane. Is it completely selfish of her to just want to get away with Quinn and let everyone else fend for themselves? The police should be doing something, right? But that just reminds of how she got what she’s wearing around her waist. Juilliard is off to their left and Rachel realizes she’s never once set foot inside the building. Quinn is right behind her, eyes darting around frantically, trying to take in all of their surroundings at once. Rachel seems so sure, and Quinn is content to follow her. Until they know exactly what they’re dealing with, it’s wise to keep as far away as possible. It’s then that she sees it. A delivery Vespa parked on the other side of the street. It’s pink and somehow Quinn’s first thought isn’t “transportation; we’re saved!” but “pink; perfect for Rachel.” There’s a body sprawled on the ground next to it. There’s no movement whatsoever, and the rider’s face is obscured by a matching pink helmet. By the time they get there, it’s obvious that the rider is dead. Quinn rolls the body over with her foot and is relieved to see that it’s not that sickly pale color. The scooter itself has a wire platform built onto the back for deliveries, and Quinn swings her bag up on it and secures it with a bungee. She quirks an eyebrow at Rachel. “Feel like going for a ride?” she asks. When Rachel was in the first grade, Leroy thought it would be fun own a Vespa scooter. It proved to be a novelty for a year or so, but then it sat in the Berry garage for another decade until Hiram finally convinced him to sell it. Before he did, though, Leroy tuned it up and took his soon to be driving-age daughter out for a few lessons. The money from the eventual sale went into Rachel’s college fund, but she sometimes wished they’d just kept it because it was a cute and environmentally friendly method of transportation, regardless of how impractical it would be during the Lima winters. Rachel passes her backpack to Quinn. “Put this on. I’m driving.” The engine is still running and she doesn’t let herself linger on why that is. “You should be ready to swing at... stuff.” She climbs on to the scooter and takes a second to re-familiarize herself with the machine. Quinn just grins at Rachel. It feels like forever since Rachel’s shown interest in anything, even though it’s been less than a day since their world literally went to hell. Once she shoulders Rachel’s backpack and gets on behind her she can’t resist resting her cheek against Rachel’s shoulder. “If things were different and we had... more time, this would definitely be working for me,” she admits softly. She kisses lightly without lifting her head. “Do you know how much I love it that you can drive this thing? It means I get to do this.” She slides the bat across her lap and wraps one arm tightly around Rachel’s waist. Things might turn out okay, if she can only hold Rachel all the way to Ohio. The fact that they’re technically stealing a Vespa registers for a split second, and she shoves it back down. The driver won’t be riding it again, and they need this or they’re dead in the city. Once they get out, Quinn will breathe much more easily, but for now she needs to do whatever it takes to make sure Rachel is safe. “Ready when you are, baby,” she tells Rachel and kisses her again. “Motorcycle safety dictates that we really should wear helmets, but I’m willing to overlook that in the interest of time.” Rachel’s especially glad she switched to her boots if she’s going to be driving this for a while. The gas gage reads at half full, so she knows it’s at least enough to get them to New Jersey. “The tank only holds a couple gallons, so we should try to top it off after we cross the bridge,” she tells Quinn, then adds, “Hold on!” even though her girlfriend already has an arm securely tucked around her. It only takes a few minutes for them to pass Columbia University, which means they’ve cleared the top of Central Park, and even though their vehicle is stolen, Rachel’s glad they have it. It would have taken them close to an hour to walk that far with everything they’re carrying. The streets have been fairly open since they left the apartment, but as they get closer to the bridge, there are more cars, all heading the same direction. At first it’s easy to maneuver around them, but soon everything is gridlocked. While it’s clear that everyone driving is trying to get out of the city, as well, there’s a sense of uneasiness she feels knowing there are so many people around and any one of them could be infected. “Should we try a different street? Or... you think we’ll get stopped if we take the sidewalk?” With her arm around Rachel and the wind in her hair, it’s easy to imagine that they’re on their way out of town for a romantic getaway. Maybe Quinn’s Cheerios bag is full of picnic supplies. Maybe they’re just going to have a nice time together. Maybe make out in the grass of some park a little and come home. But the reality is cold and hard in the form of a blue metallic bat balanced on her knees and Rachel’s white-knuckled grip on the handlebars. They’re running for their lives. “Sidewalk,” Quinn says, and then adds, “No one is going to stop us.” At the next intersection, Rachel steers the scooter toward the slope in the concrete and drives them up onto the sidewalk. It’s not like in the movies where people shake their fists and someone throws their groceries as they dive out of the way, because there aren’t that many people out. Though, someone does shout, “Hey asshole!” in their direction. They’re getting closer to the bridge, but they definitely aren’t the only people wanting to get out of the city limits. Broadway is totally jammed and even the sidewalk isn’t a clear route anymore, so Rachel turns the wrong way down 176th Street. And steers them right into what looks like a riot. She slows the Vespa to a stop and isn’t sure what to do. There are three MTA workers pushing an empty taxi toward the 175th Street subway station entrance. About a half dozen more are swinging things like sledge hammers and wrenches at a group of... them. There have to be at least twenty and there look to be more trying to make their way up the steps of the underground station. “Get out of here!” one of the workers shouts at Rachel and Quinn. Another one runs up to them. He looks tired, but it doesn’t seem like he’s giving up on this fight, just yet. “Listen, ladies,” he says, his eyes traveling to the bag strapped to the rack, then back to the two women. “This way’s no good.” He looks back in the direction of Broadway. “I know it’s cramped and I’m bettin’ the GWB ain’t movin’ much.” There’s a glance up at the One Way sign that’s clearly pointing the opposite direction than the way the Vespa is faced. “You like going the wrong way, take the lower level. If you can get up Pinehurst to 178th, keep goin’ against the arrows. Should be easy, because ain’t nobody comin’ into the city right now.” Quinn rests her chin on Rachel’s shoulder. “Let’s try that,” she whispers. “Thank you,” Rachel says to the man, who just nods and waves them through. It’s only a few more blocks until they’re at the entrance of the lower level, which is vacant of cars, because there are concrete highway barricades across the lanes. There are several gaps wide enough to fit the Vespa through, though, and Rachel wastes no time moving through one of them. “Pretty sure this is some kind of violation,” she says to Quinn, over her shoulder, before gunning the engine and then they’re heading, full-throttle, across the bridge. Quinn smirks. “Going the wrong way down a one-way street? Yeah, probably.” She’s never loved Rachel more than she does in this moment. It’s almost peaceful as they drive the near-mile it takes to reach New Jersey. When they emerge, the opposite end is eerily quiet, at least immediately near the toll plaza that serves at the entrance to the lower level. There’s no toll to cross from New York into New Jersey, and they’re going the wrong way, anyway so Rachel steers them through one of the open toll gates. Something about the toll makes Quinn nervous. She’s looking hard, all around, and she’s got the bat low and resting against her calf, ready to swing if necessary. Her grip on the handle is nearly painful. Just as they clear the booth, she hears the sound that she’s already associated with her blood running cold-- a low, monotonous groan. She looks right just in time to see a festering arm clawing through the air and grasping as Rachel’s arm. Rachel shrieks. The Vespa wobbles. Quinn has no time to think; she just reacts. The bat is coming up, hard, and connecting with the grayish flesh. There’s a sickening rip, and the arm seems to hover in the air right alongside them for a split second before dropping in what seems like slow motion. The Vespa’s back tire catches it just so and the Vespa fishtails before Rachel can straighten it out. Quinn turns and looks behind her, her mouth agape. It was a toll worker. Its shirt is tattered and smeared, but even with one arm missing, Quinn can make out the uniform. The thing’s face is the worst Quinn has seen yet. It’s not even human, and she’s glad that Rachel was too busy driving to see it. The last thing she sees before she turns back to press her face between Rachel’s shoulder blades is a torn, twisted arm, tumbling across the asphalt. They merge onto I-80 and head west, but after five miles, Rachel exits the interstate and pulls into a well-lit gas station. Even though they’re only a few miles from the city, this area has a sense of normalcy she hasn’t felt all day. She jumps when the door to the mini-mart opens, but it’s just a young attendant. “Might as well gas gas while we’re here,” she says, relaxing against Quinn. “Regular unleaded?” the attendant asks. “Oh, we can...” Rachel sits back up and is about to say they can do it themselves, but then remembers that’s not how it works in New Jersey. “Yes, please.” She nudges Quinn. “We’re kind of sitting on where he needs to work.” Quinn climbs off the scooter and unlashes her bag from the back. She casts Rachel a look that says “I’m not taking any chances with our stuff” and slings it over her shoulder. “Bathroom?” she asks. Rachel digs into the pocket of her jeans, taking care to keep the sweatshirt covering the gun that’s hanging on her hip, and produces a five dollar bill, which is more than enough to pay for the gallon it’s going to take to fill up the remainder of the two gallon tank. “Here, just... keep whatever’s left.” She isn’t even sure if she’s supposed to tip, but it seems like the right thing. The attendant nods as he unscrews the cap. “Bathroom’s inside, past the soda fountain.” Except for the attendant, the gas station is empty, which is not surprising. Quinn still makes Rachel wait outside the bathroom door while she pushes it open and checks inside to make sure it’s clear. It’s just a single person bathroom and neither of them want the other out of their sight. Which is a problem, because as much as Rachel loves Quinn, she’s not really thrilled about using the toilet in front of her. Or vice versa. It all seems so silly, in light of the rest of their evening and the fact that Rachel really does have to pee is impacting her judgement. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “And please turn on the water. And hum something.” It’s kind of endearing, despite their situation, and Quinn dutifully turns her back and smiles to herself while she runs the water. Once they’re both finished, she leads them out of the bathroom and pulls two bottled waters from the cooler. The attendant is finished pumping the gas and is at the counter. Quinn buys the water and a pack of spearmint gum, and then they head back out and get situated on the Vespa once more. “Okay, ‘Licious. Are you ready for a roadtrip?” “With you? I’m ready for anything.” Rachel revs the engine and they pull out of the gas station. Only to pull into the supermarket parking lot less than a quarter of a mile up the road. Rachel drops the kickstand after she parks the scooter. “Um, I have no idea which way we’re supposed to go.” Quinn dots a quick kiss to the patch of skin behind Rachel’s ear. “Hold on,” she says, and half twists so that she can get into her bag. She pulls out Rachel’s map from the box under her bed and decides that now is a good time to use her iPhone. She turns it on and checks their location against google maps. “Here, there should be an exit for 280 if we keep going this way. And then we need to get on 80 and head west.” Rachel’s compass is tucked under her t-shirt but she’s glad they don’t have to use it. If google maps are still working, then maybe everything is fine, outside of New York. Maybe everything they saw was the worst of it and it’s already under control. Maybe they just need to get to Lima. The Vespa isn’t as fast as a car, but maybe once they get far enough away from the city, they can buy a bus ticket and be back in Lima within the next day or so. She follows Quinn’s instructions and soon they’re back on the interstate and headed for Ohio.

That's what they're calling you. I like it. ;)

It’s not as hot anymore. Not in Lima and not in New York City, Quinn can’t help but compare. Her former home vs. her new home. It’s autumn-- Quinn’s favorite time of year-- and she’s already met with Gabriel, her mentor. He’s given her the contact information for the board that’s in charge of her program, and she’s now on the way to her new apartment with the directions they’d given and her keys. Her apartment. In New York City. She’s only been here a handful of times before, and two of those times were centered around competition. She has no idea where she’s going, and she wonders if everyone who moves to this city feels this lost when they get here. She’s brought virtually nothing with her-- her clothes, laptop, cameras. Everything she owns in a rolling suitcase and the leather bag she got in France. Whatever wouldn’t fit stayed in Lima. She walks until her feet are sore, choosing to see the city where she lives instead of taking a cab the entire way here. This neighborhood, though... it doesn’t seem to Quinn like a place where people live. She comes to a stop in front of a shady-looking Chinese place. She double checks the address and then tilts her head at the neon sign that’s shorting out. Lieu’s Chinese Take-Out. Her apartment must be above Lieu’s Chinese Take-Out. Fantastic. "It has character," are Rachel's first words upon entering the space. There's no denying the fact that it's an incredibly small space, even with the limited belongings Quinn's brought with her. Rachel wanted to meet Quinn at the airport, but she had a test to take, so they'd agreed to meet here. It also gave Quinn a chance to navigate the city alone, a need Rachel fully understands. "It's inspiring," she says. "You're an artist and this is wh--" She freezes at the sound of rustling. "What was that?" It happens a second time and she's all but climbing up Quinn's body. The rustling turns into a light clicking noise, and then a flash of gray blurring along the floorboards catches Quinn’s eye. “Oh my god,” she says and tries to squint in the darkened space, but whatever it is, it’s fast. “I think it’s...” It can’t be. A rat. Though, she supposes it could be a possum or something else, with how big it is. Technically, this entire space is one room (notwithstanding a tiny alcove in the corner that Quinn assumes is some type of bathroom), and the blur of gray was on the kitchen side. Quinn thinks that it would take maybe ten seconds for it to be on the other side of the apartment, which is where she’s probably expected to sleep. She squares her shoulders. Fine. If this is her new place, then she’ll make it work. She’s never backed down from a challenge before, and a fucking New York rat isn’t going to make her start now. She crinkles her nose. “It smells like...” She can’t put her finger on exactly what it smells like, but it’s definitely not pleasant. "I would suggest opening the window, but I think it's coming from downstairs. Maybe we can buy you one of those incense oil burner from that table out on the stre--" There's another unidentified sound and now Rachel's hiding behind Quinn. "Baby, I'm so glad you're finally here, but I'm scared," she mumbles against the back of Quinn's shoulder. “Yes to the incense,” Quinn says. “And whatever that noise is, it’s inside the walls, I think. I need to find a place that sells rat traps, too. I’m not waking up in the middle of the night with that in my bed,” Quinn nods at the large rodent as it scurries along the opposite wall. Definitely a rat. She realizes in that moment, as Rachel shrieks and claws at her shoulders, trying to get her feet off the ground, that if she ever wants to spend the night with Rachel here in the city, she’ll be getting a cab to NYADA. There’s no way Rachel Berry is sleeping here. She runs a hand through her hair. She’s not one to complain, but she also can’t stop the words, “this is a shithole,” from coming out of her mouth, either. As much as Rachel doesn't want to experience whatever creature it is that's moving through the walls, she's even more upset by the thought of Quinn killing anything. She chooses not to think about it and decides to dwell on the positive. "At least you're here. And we can... have a lot of picnics while the weather's still decent." Quinn notices Rachel’s wince and wraps her arms around her. “Baby, I promise you I won’t kill anything in front of you. And I’ll be as humane as possible, I swear. But I can’t just let rats and god knows what else crawl all over me at night.” She nuzzles Rachel, trying to distract her, and it works until someone starts shouting drunkenly just outside of Quinn’s door. It’s loud, and Rachel shrinks into her. Quinn rubs her hand along Rachel’s back. “It’s okay. There’s a deadbolt and a chain, and I’ll take self-defense classes or something.” She kisses Rachel’s hair. “We can have picnics all the time, and I’ll come see you at school. I’ll be out a lot anyway, working. I’m only just sleeping here, really.” She’s not sure which one of them she’s trying to convince. After a visit from the exterminator, the rodent problem won’t be the absolute worst. Rachel will still refuse to stay the night, but she’ll at least more comfortable without the sound of tiny claws clicking against the floors.  The next point of order is Quinn’s general safety. “You should get a weapon,” Rachel suggests, the next afternoon, while they’re out getting general supplies for the apartment. “I don’t like the idea of you being unarmed. I mean, I don’t want you to have to hurt anyone. But...” Her grip on Quinn’s hand tightens. The anxiety in Rachel’s voice and her tightening grip do not go unnoticed. Still, Quinn laughs. “I’m not getting a weapon, Rach. The apartment is...” She wants to say ‘fine,’ but she knows how thin that will sound. “I’ll be okay. I’ll take that self-defense class that I found at the library, and I’ll be fine.” “Quinn,” it’s not quite a whine, but it’s close. “You don’t have to carry it around. Just... something to keep under your bed, in case of an emergency.” Rachel doesn’t want to point out just how shady Quinn’s neighborhood is, but then this is an important issue. “It just seems like there’s a lot that happens around your building. And you have an iPhone. People steal those all the time. They might try to follow you home.” Quinn leans into Rachel’s side. “You know, for someone who is so against me killing the rats, you sure are intent on me being able to destroy anyone who wants to swipe my iPhone.” She’s not annoyed. She actually loves it that Rachel cares so much about her safety. “Something sturdy enough to protect me without being super expensive or inherently dangerous to have around...” Quinn wonders what would even fit those criteria, and it’s not until they’re wandering through the Kmart off 8th and Broadway that she has her answer. There’s a whole aisle of baseball bats, different sizes, metal, wood. She looks through them all (because if she’s theoretically supposed to be able to bludgeon someone with it, it needs to be the right one, she figures). Once she finds the perfect bludgeoning instrument-- a dark blue metal bat, heavy and sleek-- and Rachel approves, she’s in business. “Perfect,” Rachel says, holding out her hand so she can feel the weight of it. “Do you know how to use one of these?” Quinn smirks. “I’m pretty sure you just swing it, baby.” - Quinn isn’t the only one invested in self defense, although Rachel’s shooting lessons are really more of an investment in the special skills section of her resume than anything else. She doesn’t plan to carry a gun or even ever shoot at anyone, but after learning she was rather skilled markswoman that day on the paintball range, it’s been in the back of her mind that it’s just another area of expertise to perfect. When she tells Quinn she’s signed up for the lessons, she isn’t sure how her girlfriend is going to react, so her approach is to casually mention it over lunch in the park and wait for Quinn’s reply. Quinn finishes chewing her pasta salad and swallows before taking a drink. The entire time, she’s imagining Rachel at a shooting range wearing safety glasses and those big headphone ear protectors. Quinn squints at the sky and then back at her girlfriend. “You’re taking shooting lessons,” she says carefully. It isn’t a question. She’s processing. The way Rachel shoots a paintball gun is nothing short of, well, hot, and if she’s going to learn how to shoot a real gun... Quinn wipes a suddenly sweaty hand on her thigh and then lifts another forkful of pasta to her mouth. “Okay,” she says. Rachel smiles, relieved. Not that she was really that concerned about Quinn having an aversion to the news, but then they’ve never really had a conversation about guns or anything, and it kind of falls into the area of politics, which is also a topic they haven’t seriously debated with each other. “Do you want to come watch my first time?” Quinn nearly chokes on her pasta salad. The image in her mind fleshes out. Safety glasses, ear protectors. Maybe a ribbed white tank top... Quinn wets her lips and then says, “Is that allowed?” It’s a dumb thing to say, but she’s so taken with the idea of this gun-toting Rachel that she has in her head... “Of course it is, you just have to remain behind the--” Rachel catches a very familiar glimmer in Quinn’s eye. “You are so turned on, right now.” She’s fascinated, because this certainly isn’t the reaction she expected. “Shut up,” Quinn mumbles. “I can’t help it.” “Baby.” Rachel scoots closer to her on the blanket. It’s still warm enough out for their picnic lunches, but there’s a slight breeze and even if there weren’t she just likes to be close to Quinn. “I just need to know... if you come with me... am I going to need to clear my schedule for a couple hours afterward?” Quinn flashes a look at her. “Stop it,” she warns. “We’re in public, Rachel, and you can’t use that tone of voice with me right now.” She takes another sip of water. “That should answer your question.” Rachel leans over and kisses Quinn’s cheek. “Saturday at eleven-thirty. You can take me to breakfast, first.” “It’s a date, ‘Licious,” Quinn says. “Breakfast, the shooting range, and one fully cleared schedule after.” “I have a little time in my schedule now, too,” Rachel says as she slips her arm through Quinn’s. She knows this ‘honeymoon phase’ isn’t supposed to last forever, but she’s quite all right with putting her youthful sex drive to use as much as possible, for now. “Rachel Berry, are you soliciting me in a public park?” Her fingers naturally seek out smooth, tan skin, which happens to be on Rachel’s arm. She’ll never get tired of touching Rachel, she thinks. “There’s less wildlife here than at your apartment.” “True,” Quinn murmurs, and pulls Rachel in for a kiss. - It’s Quinn’s favorite holiday, and she and Rachel are in Lima to celebrate it. Leroy invited her to come over early and help him prepare Thanksgiving dinner, and of course Quinn said yes. And then Hiram had called into the phone for her to bring her mother and-- that was a more delayed yes, and only after Rachel mandated it. So now the two of them, Quinn’s mother, and Rachel’s dads are gathered around the table for Thanksgiving dinner, and Quinn can’t help but reach over and take Rachel’s hand in her own. Rachel smiles as Quinn takes her hand. It's under the table, but she know it's not because Quinn's trying to hide anything. She's thankful for that and so many other things, this year. Judy's across the table from them, which is a huge step. She still refers to Rachel as Quinn's 'friend' but she's drinking iced tea instead of wine with dinner, even after bringing a bottle to the Berry home as a gift. Hiram and Leroy are also foregoing alcohol for the evening, out of respect for Judy (it may have been part of an itemized list emailed to them from Rachel), but that doesn't keep Leroy from making a toast, "to family, friends, and the future of our daughters." A year ago, Quinn wouldn’t have believed that she’d be sitting here now, holding Rachel’s hand, and being welcomed as part of the Berry family. With her own mother here, the only thing that’s missing is Beth, and she knows that she and Rachel are stopping by Shelby’s later, so she’s really the happiest she’s been in a long time. Dinner is delicious, and after she and Rachel clean up, they steal a few minutes alone on the Berry’s deck, where they once got locked out for the afternoon and Quinn sang Let’s Get It On to Rachel for the first time. It's November, so it isn't exactly warm out, which is why Rachel is wrapped in the throw blanket from the living room sofa. She opens her arms up to Quinn. "Get in here, it's freezing." Quinn steps in and feels the blanket fold around her. It’s only officially been a few months since they started dating, but she’s still amazed at how perfectly they fit together. They’re hugging, and then they’re swaying, and then Quinn is humming in Rachel’s ear. And then she’s singing. “I’ve been really trying, baby, trying to hold back this feeling for so long,” Quinn sings softly, smirking against Rachel’s hair. “And if you feel like I feel, baby...” Before she knows it, they’re dancing, wrapped in a blanket on the Berry’s deck. Quinn sings the whole song, with Rachel joining in on the chorus, and they keep swaying gently together after it’s over. Finally Quinn kisses her and whispers, “This is the best Thanksgiving I can remember.” “Me, too,” Rachel whispers back. “Though, I kind of hope they just get even better from here.” She pulls them even more tightly together. They should go back inside soon, before her dads try to rope Judy into a game of Broadway Charades. But for now, for the moment, she’s perfectly content standing outside, on the deck, in a blanket, with Quinn. - It’s Rachel’s first Hanukkah without her dads. It’s Quinn’s first Hanukkah, ever. The Berry family has never been fundamentally religious, but they do observe both the Jewish and Christian major holidays. It’s usually Rachel who insists they follow the standard formalities, because she’s always one to enjoy anything that involves ritual and any form of pageantry. Perhaps the email detailing The History of Chanukah and the handwritten flashcards she made for her girlfriend weren’t necessary, but if Quinn’s at all put off by Rachel’s zealousness when it comes to teaching her about the holiday, she isn’t showing it. It might have something to do with the eight days of gift giving. By the final night, Quinn’s a pro at lighting the menorah and Rachel’s itching to give Quinn her present. It being the last night means it’s the biggest gift she has to give, all the others were simple things like Quinn’s favorite Jolly Ranchers or that IKEA nightlight shaped kind of like a Pokemon. They’re in Quinn’s apartment, because it’s been rat-free for a while and Rachel’s feeling better about occupying the space as long as Quinn and Fluffy (the baseball bat) are with her. She picks up the large Duane Reade bag that’s been sitting in the corner ever since she arrived and reaches inside to pull out a simply wrapped gift box. Well, simply wrapped with a lightly bedazzled ribbon wrapped around it. She sets the box on Quinn’s lap. “Happy Hanukkah,” she says and fidgets as she waits for Quinn to open it. Quinn trails her fingers along the ribbon. “You bedazzled this,” she murmurs. There are things that Rachel says and does that make her fall a little more in love every day. She slides the ribbon off and opens the box. Inside is a sturdy brown leather case, and Quinn pulls it out and crooks an eyebrow. “What...” She’s going to ask what’s in it, but then she has it open and she can see for herself that Rachel has filled it with 35mm film. There’s also-- “Is this a lens for my camera?” It’s in a canvas drawstring cover, and Quinn pulls it out. It’s a zoom lens, and Quinn is honestly shocked, considering Rachel doesn’t know anything about cameras. “How did you even know which one to get?” “I took a picture of your Pentax and went to a place so I could ask them.” Rachel leans against Quinn’s shoulder. “Is it the right one?” “Rach... it’s perfect. Thank you.” Quinn pulls Rachel close and kisses her softly before reaching down beside the bed and lifting up a small gift bag. She grins. “Happy Hanukkah, ‘Lic.” Rachel happily accepts the bag, evaluating its weight as she hold it in her hands. “I don’t think this is the puppy I asked for,” she says, grinning at Quinn as she sets the bag on her lap and carefully opens it. Inside is an ornate wooden box with a brass latch. Her first thought is jewelry, but then she isn’t sure, because it could be anything. She isn’t really expecting anything too extravagant, because her birthday is in two days and then Christmas isn’t too far behind. The latch slides open and Rachel lifts the lid to find what looks almost like a pocket watch, but the chain is too long. She opens the cover and realizes it’s an antique compass. It’s something of a joke between them that Rachel has a habit of getting... not lost... but turned around when she’s walking around the city. Sure, she can tell you which subway train to take without even consulting a map, but maybe it’s the ever present head-in-the-clouds dreamer in her that prevents her from getting a grounded grasp on which direction she’s going when she’s walking around. As she lifts the compass out of the box, she flips it over to see an inscription on the back that reads, ‘So you can always find your way home. Love, Quinn.’ In that moment, it stops being a novelty and suddenly becomes one of the sweetest gifts she’s ever received. “I was going to yell at you for making fun of me, but...” Rachel gently places the compass back in the box and presses a kiss to Quinn’s lips. “I love you for watching out for me like this.” “I will always watch out for you,” Quinn promises and then kisses her again in a way that makes her wish they weren’t in Quinn’s apartment. When she pulls away, she nuzzles into Rachel’s neck and murmurs, “I know you don’t like sleeping here, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d make an exception tonight?” “Do you solemnly swear to protect me from anything that creeps or crawls?” Rachel asks. “And to take me out to breakfast tomorrow?” She was already planning to staying the night, anyway, but there’s no harm in gaining an advantage. Though, she feels like she should probably fess up. “I brought clothes for tomorrow in my backpack. I might have forgotten my pajamas, though.” Quinn sees an opening and takes it by kissing open-mouthed up Rachel’s neck. “Maybe I don’t want you in pajamas.” - For Rachel’s birthday, Quinn gives her a box full of sheet music. No one wears pajamas on that night, either. - Christmas is in spent in Lima, but before they left New York, Rachel made it a point to see all the major holiday sights like the tree in Rockefeller center and the Macy’s window displays. She’s glad to see the familiar sight of her neighborhood decorated in holiday lights, though. As much as she loves her new life in the city, there’s something calming about being back in the slow, quiet pace of Lima. Maybe it’s because she knows she’s only visiting. They’re in Quinn’s car, about three blocks from the Fabray house, because Rachel insisted on seeing what the houses looked like, decorated for the holidays. She finds herself looking up at the sky more than the homes themselves. Even with all the light from the street, she can see a lot more stars than she ever does in New York. After squinting at them for a moment, she turns to Quinn. “Which one do you think is the North Star?” Quinn squeezes Rachel’s hand. “Do you have your compass, ‘Licious?” "It's in my bag, back at the house." Rachel wrinkles up her nose as she reaches for the hot cocoa that sits in the cup holder. "I guess that kind of defeats the purpose of having it, huh?" “Well, when you’re with me, you don’t really need it,” Quinn says. "You do have a freakishly accurate sense of direction. If I want to impress you, though, I should probably be more diligent." Quinn gives her a look. “Do you really not know that you impress me every single day? The way you sing, how happy you are when you’re working, your ability to make friends...” She bites her lip. “I probably don’t say this enough, but... I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, being with you.” “Yeah, but I can’t find my way out of Central Park without a Google Map,” Rachel replies. She looks down at her cocoa, then back up at Quinn. “You’ve gotten pretty good about being clear on your feelings for me. Still like hearing it, though.” It’s quiet for a few moments, save for the low volume of the Lima Top 40 station’s Christmas hits playing on the car stereo. Rachel loves the energy of the city this time of year, but she also loves this, too. It may have something to do with the company she keeps. - On New Year’s Eve, they have their first actual fight since they’ve been dating. Rachel’s wearing the dress she bought on a trip with Kurt, just for tonight. There’s a party up on the Flynn rooftop and Rachel’s on the planning committee. Actually, she is the planning committee. It’s just after seven and everyone’s supposed to arrive at eight, which means they’ll probably show up by nine. Still, she’s ready with a cooler full of sodas and spread of finger foods. Quinn’s on the phone and Rachel isn’t exactly sure who she’s talking to, but the way Quinn keeps glancing at her is making her nervous. By the time Quinn hangs up with Gabriel, she knows that Rachel is watching her. She slides her iPhone into her bag and wraps her arms around Rachel from behind, resting her chin on Rachel’s shoulder. “That was Gabriel,” she says. “He wants to do a shoot tonight in Times Square.” She buries her face in Rachel’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Rach.” Rachel can't believe what she's hearing. She leans back to actually look at her girlfriend. "Quinn, that's insane. There's no way for you to even get close enough to anything, by now. People have been camping out to hold their spots. He can't just expect you to drop everything." “Rachel, he’s my boss. I can’t just not go. This opportunity-- I wouldn’t even be here.” "Did you even say anything about already having plans?” Quinn stares at her. “Are you seriously accusing me of trying to get out of being here tonight? Rachel, it’s New Year’s Eve.” "I'm not accusing you of anything," Rachel says, frowning as she takes a step back. Quinn folds her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to go be in Times Square without you tonight. It’s our first New Year’s Eve together.” This is really unbelievable. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters. "I'm well aware that it's our first New Year's Eve together. I'm hosting a party because I wanted to make sure everything went right." Rachel shakes her head. It shouldn’t be a big deal, really, because Quinn’s right, he is her boss and this is why she’s even here. But it’s a last minute demand on a holiday and Rachel’s firmly convinced it all could have been avoided. "You could have just not answered when he called." Quinn laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Rachel, seriously? You want me to start screening my mentor’s calls? It’s not like I work a nine to five job. If there’s a shoot somewhere, I have to be there.” She doesn’t think about the next thing she says, but she should because it’s, “It’s not like this is even about you.” “It’s one night, Quinn.” Rachel pulls her coat more tightly around herself, because it’s cold up on the roof, but also because she suddenly feels very alone. “If you wanted to stay, you would have thought of something to tell him. You’re not exactly the kind of person who lets herself get talked into things she doesn’t want to do. But you’re right, it’s even not about me.” “Oh my god. You are accusing me of trying to get out of being here tonight.” This conversation started out with Quinn feeling bad that she was bailing on Rachel, but now she’s just pissed. “You’re saying that you want me to lie to Gabriel?” She looks up at the sky, and her breath comes out in a puff of steam. “That can’t honestly be what you’re suggesting. Even you’re not that selfish.” Rachel’s upset, but she’s too angry to cry. “I didn’t say that.” Her arms are crossed in front of her and her mouth is pressed into a firm line. “Excuse me, I have to finish putting out the crudites.” The noise that comes up Quinn’s throat is somewhere between anger and frustration. “You know what? Fuck your crudites.” Quinn spins on her heel and stalks to the stairs, her eyes blurring with tears. There’s no response that Rachel can muster up in time, so she just watches Quinn disappear down the stairwell and, in a moment of surged anger, she violently flings a carrot stick in the direction of the stairs. Or, she tries, but it veers to the right and sails over the edge of the rooftop. It’s a good thing no one actually showed up help with the set-up, because she needs a few minutes alone to cry. She only gives herself five, though, then forces herself to carry on with the party prep. She’s Rachel Berry and this is her first New York New Year’s Eve, with or without Quinn by her side. She’ll be fine if no one asks too many questions. Quinn spends her first New Year’s Eve in the city in Times Square taking shots of the crowd, and she’s miserable the entire time. All she wanted was to kiss her girlfriend at midnight, and now she’s missed it. By the time she gets back, she’s frozen and grouchy and not at all looking forward to the mood that Rachel is sure to be in. She can only hope that the party was a success and that Rachel has had a good evening, at least. She climbs the stairs and pushes the door open. Rachel is sitting, alone, wrapped in her comforter, with her back to the door. “Hey,” Quinn says softly. “Where is everyone?” “They all left before ten-thirty,” Rachel replies, not bothering to look up. “Better parties to get to, I guess. Even Kurt went some all-night dance thing with some of his other friends.” “Oh, Rach,” Quinn says, and then she’s sitting next to her on the bench. It doesn’t escape Quinn that the crudites are untouched. She wraps her arms around Rachel and pulls her close. “I’m so sorry.” All of the anger Rachel’s been harboring since their fight dissolves into Quinn’s embrace. She’s been sitting up here most of the night (except for the time she spent changing into her flannel polar bear pajamas), feeling sorry for herself, thinking of all the things she was going to say when Quinn finally returned. But now she’s too tired and cried out to be angry. “I just wanted you to be here,” Rachel says, quietly. “I know, Rach. I wanted to be. Is it... too late to get a New Year’s kiss?” Rachel’s fingers graze Quinn’s cheek. “You’re freezing,” she mutters, shifting her position so she can wrap Quinn in the blanket with her. “You can kiss me, if you promise that next year, we’ll do it right.” She lets Rachel wrap her up. “I wanted to do it right this year. It was miserable being in that crowd without you.” When they finally kiss, it warms Quinn all the way down. - Rachel’s standing outside of Quinn’s apartment, wishing she’d thought to change after she got there instead of walking over dressed in the outfit she’s picked out, especially for today. Even with her coat wrapped around her, the headband and knee socks are clearly visible and she’s certain she hasn’t been leered at in the whole time she’s been in New York as much as she has been in the last twenty minutes. When Quinn opens the door, Rachel looks like she’s about to fold in on herself. The guy from 4b (who always smells like pot) is lounging in the hallway like usual, leering at her. Quinn rolls her eyes and pulls her inside. “Hi,” she says. “Sorry about my ‘neighbors.’ Are you okay?” “Uh huh,” Rachel nods. She’s staring at Quinn, because she’s looking at a version of her she hasn’t seen in a long time. The only thing missing is the perfect Cheerios ponytail, because Quinn’s hair is still much shorter than it ever was during her time on the squad. But other than that, Rachel’s presented with the sight Head Cheerio Quinn, and she can’t seem to get her mouth to form full and complete words. Quinn sees Rachel’s reaction and smirks. “So, we’re really doing this? How, um, how real do you want this to be?” When the suggestion originally came up, Rachel wasn’t really thinking beyond the what it would be like to feel up Quinn in her old uniform. But then there was an incredibly specific email about Rachel’s knee socks, and it’s become a revisited fantasy discussion to combine the two together. There is, however, with that, a particular role-play aspect that comes along with it, even if they would just be portraying themselves. She sheds her coat and places it on one of the hooks next to the door, giving Quinn a full view of her yellow and black plaid skirt along with her coordinating giraffe sweater. “This is really more of an aesthetic fantasy than anything. But... do you think we need a safe word?” Other than an eyebrow lifting, Quinn doesn’t react to Rachel’s question until she thinks about it. She finally says, “I’m not into hurting you. If you want me to... be harsh like I used to be, I can try, but...” When it’s all said and done, she really doesn’t want to rehash that part of their relationship. If it’s something that Rachel wants, then she’ll find a way to give it to her, but she’s drawing the line at physically hurting her. “If you think we need one, it’s up to you.” She gives herself permission to finally take in what Rachel’s wearing and she has to close her eyes for a second. “I just want you,” she finally says. “I...” Rachel places her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, “just want to know what you wear under that skirt.” She certainly doesn’t want Quinn to be uncomfortable and Rachel isn’t sure she has any interest in being berated, but there’s something about Quinn’s cheer captain confidence that certainly appeals to her. “Ferris wheel. If it’s too much for either of us, okay?” Rachel has absolutely zero experience with any type of sexual roleplay, but she’s read about it and knows that being communicative up front if the best approach. “You don’t have to be mean, just... I like it when you tell me what to do. Or... not to do.” Quinn hums her approval and looks into Rachel’s eyes for what must be a full minute. The love and trust she sees reflected there nearly breaks her on the spot, and she thinks again that she must be the luckiest girl alive for Rachel to look at her like that. Rachel has always been so open and optimistic, always choosing to see the good in people. Quinn is walking proof of that. She looks into those eyes long enough to see exactly what she needs to see, and then there’s an almost imperceptible straightening of her spine and a coolness that falls naturally over her face. She’s worked very hard the past few months to keep her shields down, but now she reaches back into her mind, all the way back to the person she was before she was pregnant and she pulls her forward to the surface. It’s almost too easy for Quinn’s comfort to look down at Rachel with that hardness on her face. “You want to be told what to do, Rachel?” She says in a calculated, almost detached tone. “You can start by taking your hands off of me.” She leans forward, so they’re almost nose to nose. They’re almost the same height, but when Quinn is like this, she feels like she’s towering over her girlfriend. “Look at me. Do I look like the type of girl you can just touch whenever you want? I’m not. And you--” She takes a step forward, forcing Rachel to step back. “You don’t get to lay a finger on me tonight unless I tell you to.” She lifts an eyebrow and resists the urge to inspect her fingernails. She figures there’s such a thing as too much. “Am I making myself perfectly clear?” “P-perfectly, yes.” Rachel’s hands grip the sides of her skirt, because she doesn’t know what else to do with them. This is definitely what she wanted, but it’s also a sudden shift and even with the arguments they may have had while they’ve been together, Quinn hasn’t spoken to her like this in years. The fact that it’s already making her aroused is probably cause for some later reflection, given the nature of their interaction, back when this was the Quinn she encountered on a daily basis. But like she just said, it’s not cruelty that attracts her, it’s the control. “What...” she adjusts her headband, because Quinn’s glare is making her feel like she’s on display, “would you like to do?” Quinn tries to remember how she used to laugh, back when she was miserable all of the time. "Is this what you want, Rachel?" Quinn asks in a low voice in Rachel's ear. "For me to tell you what to do and then tell you what a good girl you are for doing it? That isn't the way this works." Quinn takes another step forward. She's backing Rachel toward the wall one step at a time, and she would be lying if she said that the way Rachel is stammering and gripping her skirt wasn't working for her, just a little bit. Another step. She feels like she's stalking Rachel, at this point. One more step, and Rachel's against the wall. Quinn's grin is predatory. "You have to earn it tonight." Rachel presses her palms against the wall behind her, because she isn’t supposed to touch. They just started and it’s already incredibly tempting just to reach up and grip the front of Quinn’s uniform. But she’s supposed to listen and follow direction, something she prides herself on, professionally. This is harder than any role she’s taken on, though, even if she’s playing Rachel Berry, circa 2009. “Okay.” Rachel's subservience affects Quinn far more than she thought it would and she buries her face in Rachel's neck. "Do you have any idea what it's doing to me to see you like this?" She presses her body against Rachel's so she can feel her everywhere, and then those legs are in Quinn's mind, and suddenly she's desperate to feel them around her. "Take your underwear off. Right now." Quinn has her pinned against the wall so all Rachel can really do is reach under her own skirt and push her panties down. They end still around one ankle, but she would have to move to shake them free and she has a feeling that's not allowed, right now. She hasn't been told to keep quiet, though. "I think that if you have any specific plans for what you'd like to do with me, it's at least common courtesy to keep me informed." “That’s your problem, Rachel.” Quinn runs a hand down Rachel’s side, bunches her skirt up,  and digs her nails into her thigh. “You always have to have something to say. You want to be informed?” She drops her voice even lower. “I’m going to lay down, and I want...” Quinn bites Rachel’s neck. “To feel your thighs around my head. Go get on the bed. On your knees.” The knees in question begin to buckle at the suggestion and Rachel instinctively grabs Quinn's arm for support. As soon as Rachel realizes she's touching Quinn without permission, she lets go and mumbles, "Sorry," before quickly moving to the bed. Quinn is no stranger to control. She led an entire cheerleading squad out of the woods during Survival Week and then to a national title. Twice. She called the shots in every relationship before Rachel, and now, with Rachel kneeling on Quinn’s bed in a very specifically designed outfit, she’s calling them again. And she’s never felt as lost as she does right now. She’s not sure whether to lock herself in the bathroom and wait it out or to forge ahead with the scenario or just to call it off altogether. Rachel looks amazing, and she loves that they’re attempting to give this to each other, but what if... Maybe they’re just not that couple. But then again... Quinn settles on the bed beside Rachel and then lays back, keeping her eyes locked on Rachel’s face. Without another word, she reaches for Rachel’s hip and tugs, indicating for Rachel to straddle Quinn’s stomach. She runs her hands over the short, plaid skirt and bites a lip. “Is this... okay with you?” she almost-whispers. The break in 'character' has Rachel leaning down with her hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Quinn's head. "I'm absolutely fine, baby," she says, just as quietly. Quinn looks concerned, like she's afraid she'll say the wrong thing, which is ironic, given the dynamic that was in play only seconds ago. "But we can just do this without... any assigned roles if it's making you uncomfortable." “No,” Quinn says, slipping back into her old self again. “Kiss me.” It's a direct order and Rachel is quick to follow it. Her hands remain pushed into the comforter (the one she helped Quinn pick out) because otherwise, they'll wander and now that Quinn's back in the game, touching her isn't allowed. The kiss, however, is fair game and Rachel can't help but assert herself by being aggressive with it. Quinn gets caught up in the kiss and lets Rachel kiss her until they’re both breathless. She finally pushes Rachel back and tug upwards, urging her forward. This is a new position for them and up until a few minutes ago, Rachel had no idea it was something Quinn wanted to try. It’s definitely not that Quinn is shy about mentioning things she wants, but giving her this kind of control seems to make her even communicate even more clearly. Rachel grips the metal frame at the head of the bed, again, trying to follow the established protocol as best she can. With the way Rachel is sitting, Quinn can’t speak, and her communication has been relegated to moaning and twisting Rachel’s skirt into her fists. Her thighs are exactly where Quinn wants them, and the rest of her... well. Quinn urges her on and keeps her eyes open, watching everything she can. The skirt is heavy and scratchy, and it’s covering most of Quinn’s face in the best way. The sight above her is exactly everything she’s wanted since she and Rachel have started talking about this. “Please,” is all Rachel says. She assumes it’s an acceptable thing to say and given the way Quinn’s pulling on her skirt, she must be correct. Quinn’s hands are working against Rachel’s hips, trying to get her to move against Quinn’s mouth. She remembers the noise that Rachel makes when Quinn uses her tongue a certain way, and she does her best to draw it out. It’s a good thing Rachel already has her grasp on the bed frame, because she needs it to keep herself steady. She’s wondering why they never tried this before. “Quinn,” she whimpers, doing her best to stay still since Quinn’s, well, underneath her. Quinn groans and digs her fingers in harder. She wants to say Rachel’s name. She wants so many things right now. She’s nearly overwhelmed with what she’s feeling. She tries something new-- something to do with pressure or rhythm or movement, but she’s not even sure what it is. “Oh,” Rachel’s head falls forward and she’s looking down at Quinn. She can’t help the way her hips are now moving in reaction to the pace Quinn has set with her tongue. “Oh, god.” They didn’t really set any major ground rules for this, so she has no idea if she’s just allowed to let herself go or if she’s supposed to wait for permission and she can’t really find the words to ask any of the questions that are coming to mind, even though anything coherent is few and far between because whatever’s happening under her skirt is making her eyes roll back. Quinn doubles her efforts, pushes against Rachel as much as she can and focuses everything she has on the task at hand. Whether or not she’s supposed to get off this quickly, Rachel can tell she’s about to and there isn’t even a chance for her to say anything before her legs are shaking. She shifts her body weight, trying not to collapse onto Quinn, and instead knocks the headboard against the wall. Quinn holds Rachel to her for as long as she can and takes whatever Rachel is willing to give until she just can’t anymore. Everything about this-- how Rachel wanted her in control, how she moved against Quinn’s mouth, how she couldn’t not come from what was happening between them... She’s an athlete. She’s thrown girls her own size into the air during Cheerios routines. She supports Rachel’s weight until she’s able to focus again. Rachel doesn’t care if she’s given permission, she moves sideways and slumps next to Quinn, her arm draped over her eyes. Her chest still heaves as she tries to catch her breath after such a sudden and intense climax. Something has been ignited deep within Quinn, and she’s over Rachel in a flash, smirking and pinning her down. She can’t get the image of what just happened out of her mind. The skirt, the way Rachel moved... the way she looked. Quinn is still in charge and she needs it now more than ever. She pulls Rachel’s’ arm away. “If you think you’re done, after that...” She lifts an eyebrow and then adds. “Kiss me.” It comes out in a growl. Despite the fact that she’s still feeling the residual effects of her orgasm, there’s a tug of arousal low in Rachel’s gut when Quinn speaks. She pushes herself onto her elbow so she can kiss Quinn and she can taste herself all over Quinn’s mouth. It’s instinct for her to grip the front of Quinn’s top and she’s doing it before she has a chance to stop herself. It's one of the hardest things she's ever done, pulling away from Rachel, but this is part of the fantasy. She pushes Rachel gently back against the bed, but her eyes are flashing. "I gave you one instruction, and you couldn't follow it." She has Rachel's arms pinned above her head. "Are we going to have a problem?" She knows that she won't actually hurt Rachel, but there's no harm in lacing her voice with the implied threat. "I expect an answer," she adds, just to make sure she's being clear. “No. There’s no problem,” Rachel says. Her body doesn’t seem to be paying attention, though, because she arches up against Quinn. She isn’t used to not being able to touch her girlfriend and Quinn’s bare thighs against her own are just making her want to even more. Quinn fights to keep her eyes open. Closing them now would look weak and she's just starting to get into her role. If she weren't painfully turned on, it would be funny to her how far she's come-- she's basically playing her younger self and struggling with authenticity. She shifts so she can grind against Rachel's bare thigh. Rachel's hands are still pinned, and the way she's breathing is driving Quinn crazy. "You want me so much that you can't even fucking lie still," she breathes into Rachel's ear, grinding down. "That makes you..." Quinn bites, maybe harder than she should. It's far too easy to get carried away. "Bad." Rachel cries out at the sharp feeling of Quinn’s teeth, because it’s unexpected. There’s a second of pain, but Rachel knows Quinn didn’t do it to hurt her. But it also drives her to be a little less cooperative. “I’m not,” she rocks upward again, letting her leg slip between Quinn’s and she can feel the split pleats of the cheerleading skirt brush against her thigh, “bad.” The feeling does make Quinn’s eyes drift shut this time. She pushes up and crawls over Rachel’s body, straddling her stomach. She sits up straight and stares down, reaching for Rachel’s hands. “If you’re not bad,” she tells her, placing Rachel’s hands on her stomach over her Cheerios uniform, “then you won’t have any trouble keeping your hands where they belong.” She leans down and closes her mouth over Rachel’s neck once again. “Maybe,” Rachel groans, “you need to be more explicit in your instructions,” though she keeps her hands where Quinn has put them. Quinn sucks on Rachel’s skin and says, “I thought that was incredibly explicit.” She’s still so turned on and she can’t help but move her hips in the smallest circle against Rachel’s stomach. “I just wonder how long you can be good when I’m doing this,” she mumbles. Rachel’s sweater has been hiked up, leaving her midriff bare in all the movement, and the more Quinn moves against her, the more she can tell Quinn’s beyond turned on, even through the spanks she’s wearing. “Do you want me to be good?” Quinn bites again. “Maybe I’m just setting you up for failure.” Well, now Rachel’s just curious, so she lets one hand slide upward and roughly grasps Quinn’s breast over the WMHS logo. Quinn reaches down and swats Rachel on the upper thigh. Not enough to bruise, but enough to sting, certainly. It’s enough to make Rachel grunt in response, but she was expecting some kind of reaction from Quinn, so it doesn’t surprise her the same way that first bite did. “I’m not quite sure how you can expect me to be ‘good’ if you don’t define what that is, Quinn,” she says, cocking her head slightly as she looks up at her. If Quinn’s tone has been direct and demanding, Rachel’s is defiant. “Well,” Quinn says, “I’ve already told you to keep your hands off me, and here you are, feeling me up.” She grinds down again. “Doesn’t sound like you’re being a very good girl to me.” She nuzzles into Rachel’s ear. “Tell me what you want.” “You put my hands on you!” Rachel can’t help but squeal in response. It’s completely out of character and she squirms under Quinn as she refocuses. “When I got here, I told you I wanted to know what was under your skirt.” Quinn pulls back and levels her with a look. “How many times have we fucked, Rachel? A hundred? And you’re still wondering what’s under my skirt?” It’s the specific use of the profanity that has Rachel stammering, again. “I-I meant this one, specifically. I’ve never... we haven’t...” This is what Quinn is looking for, right here. This level of need within Rachel. “Specifically. Say it.” Rachel isn’t sure which thing she’s supposed to specify, but there’s something at the forefront of her mind. “I’ve never fucked you in your uniform before,” she finally says, as firmly as she can, though it’s difficult with the way her voice wants to give out. Quinn breathes into her ear, a long, hot exhale. “Do you want to? Do you want to fuck a cheerleader, Rachel?” She can’t keep her mouth off of Rachel’s neck. Her voice is deeper than it’s ever been when she finally says, “Can you handle it?” Rachel nods her way through all three of Quinn’s questions. “God, yes.” Quinn’s voice is actually making her tremble because Rachel’s never heard it quite like this, before. “Let me?” she finally asks. “Please?” “Mmm, I like that. You begging. You have no idea how hot that is.” It’s taking everything she has not to just grind herself down. “Tell me, Rach. Did you ever see me in this uniform at school and just...” She lets her voice trail off as she lifts an eyebrow. “Did you ever think about us, then?” She doesn’t know how not to add, “I didn’t even know then how much I wanted you...” “I’ve always been open to the idea of being attracted to a woman, but I had no idea...” Rachel shakes her head, though that seems counterproductive to what they’re doing. “I did, however, once have a very confusing erotic dream about you.” Quinn groans. “I think you should tell me about that.” “You really expect me to remember a dream I had three years ago?” It’s enough to snap Quinn out of her stupor. She looks at Rachel blankly for a minute. “You had a black sweater with a white dog on it. A black and gold plaid skirt. A bright blue sweater with a matching headband.” It feels to Quinn like her old self is gone, at least in this moment. Her voice is quiet when she continues, “You had these little pink picture frames in your locker and... a binder covered in flowers. I remember.” Rachel pushes herself up so she’s resting on her elbows. “I picked that skirt out as part of my core wardrobe for that semester.” She has no trouble recalling the dream, because it’s still sitting on her bedroom shelf in Lima, written in the pages of her 2010 dream journal. “It was after you weren’t on the squad, anymore. But in my dream, you were still captain. You wanted me to give up my solos in exchange for a new mascot uniform and a popcorn machine.” At Quinn’s raised eyebrow, Rachel shrugs. “I have no idea. But that somehow led to us making out in the home ec room and you... you asked me if I knew how to... well, give myself an orgasm.” She wouldn’t have thought it were possible, but Quinn feels herself get even wetter. “And... what did you say?” “I didn’t say anything.” Rachel casually slides her fingers along the edges of the cheerleading skirt. “I just showed you.” “Oh my god.” She can’t help it-- she’s grinding again. “Rach... I need you.” Their game, for the moment, seems like it’s over, because Rachel’s gripping Quinn’s hips and flipping them over. Her hands are pulling at anything and everything that’s underneath the Cheerio skirt and then she’s throwing the undergarments over her shoulder. It’s her turn to lean down over her girlfriend and latch her mouth onto an open span of skin, sucking until she leaves a red mark on Quinn’s neck. She no longer has any coherent thoughts. She can feel Rachel above her, and all she wants is more. She’s moving like it’s all up to her, what happens next, instead of her being completely at Rachel’s mercy. When Rachel latches onto her skin, she grips at the back of Rachel’s head and gasps. “I dreamed about you once, too,” she confesses in a hushed voice. “I was making out with Sam and then he just wasn’t there anymore. It was-- it was you, touching me, kissing me, and then... I woke up.” She grips tighter to Rachel’s body. “I’d never come so hard before in my life.” “How come you never mentioned that before?” Rachel’s hand disappears between the red and white strips of fabric and she’s then dragging her fingers through the incredibly apparent evidence of Quinn’s arousal. “It never came up,” Quinn says and then Rachel’s fingers are just... “Oh my god.” “Is this okay?” Rachel asks, “I wouldn’t want to be bad.” “Fuck, yes. Just... don’t stop.” Now that Rachel’s on top, literally, she decides it’s a good time to have a little fun. “Tell me you like my sweater.” Quinn’s eyes roll back. “Jesus, Rachel. You look... oh god... you look so fucking sexy.” “Tell me how much you want this,” Rachel says, stilling her fingers. As much as she likes Quinn being in control, she also likes hearing that slight whine in Quinn’s voice when she’s desperate. Quinn grits her teeth and glares up at Rachel. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She twists her fingers in Rachel’s sweater and pulls. “Fuck me. Now.” Not quite the same tone as she intended to evoke, but Rachel likes this just as much, maybe even more. She’s quick to give Quinn what she wants, setting a direct and steady pace, her breath against Quinn’s ear when she leans down to ask, “How’s this?” Quinn’s response is to half-whine, half-growl the word “Harder.” Her hips rise up to meet Rachel’s hand and she adds, “You-- you wanted to fuck a cheerleader... fuck... don’t be-- god, Rachel, don’t be gentle. This is your chance to-- give it to me.” Her breath is coming out in pants, and she has to focus intensely to get the words out. When she finally does, she also manages to wrap a leg around Rachel’s hip so she can start meeting Rachel’s thrusts with squeezes of her own. Rachel can tell her headband is crooked and she’s starting to get way too warm in her sweater, but none of that is going to distract her from meeting Quinn’s movement’s, stroke for stroke. As great as Quinn looks in it, the uniform is irrelevant at this point, because what’s working for Rachel are things like the way Quinn keeps forcing her eyes open or the way she pants every time Rachel pushes into her. This isn’t one of those candlelight and soft music kind of nights (it’s not even night) where they take hours to pay attention to each other. This is raw and base and they’re hardly even undressed at all. It’s need and want and Rachel loves seeing Quinn like this, reduced to something primal and barely able to communicate with anything but her body. They both spend so much time talking and choosing their words, which is great for their communication level, but sometimes they both need to let go and just be together. Like now. When Quinn finally comes, she feels like something inside of her is splitting her up the middle and escaping in the most frantic cry. She closes her eyes and the next thing she knows, Rachel is lying against her, stroking her hair and nuzzling into her. She tries to speak, to tell Rachel that she's fine, but what comes out is little more than a groan. Rachel’s been in love with Quinn for a while, and seeing her so disheveled and sated while wearing this uniform makes her realize that their timing was just right. There was no way this would have worked if they’d tried this when they were younger. It have have only been a couple years ago, but so much changed for both of them over that time. As Quinn seems to regain her bearings, Rachel kisses her cheek and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” - Their first St. Patrick’s Day in the New York leaves them passed out on Rachel’s twin bed after too much Guinness (four and a half for Quinn, two and a half for Rachel) and both of them spend the next day hungover together. Rachel swears she’s never drinking, again, and Quinn makes ramen noodles in the dorm room microwave. By the time they make their way through seven episodes of 30 Rock on Netflix, they’ve both managed to shake their headaches and decide to get dressed so they can get smoothies. Rachel insists they need a vitamin recharge. Quinn’s just happy to get out of the room for a while. - Passover is a big deal. Not only is it Quinn’s first, but Beth and Shelby are also joining them. Rachel hadn’t been sure how to break the suggestion to her fathers, but in the end the Berry men are always willing to host new and old friends for holiday events. It’s Rachel who has to deal with the personal issues she has with her biological parent, not anyone else. As much as she’s come to terms with everything, she’s still a little on edge as she sets the table for dinner. Quinn’s already there and she’s been supportive through all of this, but that’s also an added pressure, because Rachel really doesn’t want to say anything rude or inappropriate while Beth is present. She’s talked to Shelby a few times, once when she went over with Quinn around Christmas and finally met Beth, face to face. Puck was there, too, so there was enough conversation happening to serve as a distraction. It was the same with Beth’s birthday party, a few weeks ago. Then there was the phone call, when Rachel invited her over for this very event. It was pleasant, as her conversations with Shelby have always been. That’s what makes this weird, really. Shelby’s never been outright cruel to her, she’s never been mean, she’s just been somewhat indifferent. But then, Rachel isn’t even sure if her anger comes from that or from the way she kept Quinn from Beth for so long. But now, she’s trying. Quinn is family to her, which means Beth is family, and Shelby is part of Beth’s life. Rachel can do this. She hopes. It’s a quiet enough evening, and Quinn keeps an eye on the Shelby/Rachel dynamic while she plays with her daughter. The camera is out all night, and she takes as many shots as she can because she never wants to forget a single moment, with everyone together like this. There’s one of Rachel and her dads that Quinn is particularly proud of. She’s lucky-- she’s gotten to share a lot of firsts with Beth this past year, including a lot of holidays and, finally, Beth’s birthday. She turned three, and Quinn got to help her pull the paper off her gifts. She filled her memory card that evening, too. She can tell, even with her focus on her daughter, that Shelby’s focus is on Rachel. Quinn doesn’t know whether to be proud or protective, so she decides to wait and watch and spend time with Beth. It’s sometime after dinner that Shelby finally corners Rachel and tells her, “I just wanted to thank you for inviting us tonight, Rachel. You and your dads have been wonderful, and I know this means a lot to Quinn. So, thank you.” It isn’t as familiar as it should be, but it’s not uncomfortable, either. It’s just... Shelby making an effort. “I appreciate that you accepted the invitation.” Rachel’s spent a lot of the evening wondering what it would have been like to have Shelby present at previous Passovers, if she’d grown up with Shelby in her life the way Quinn is in Beth’s. She can’t really picture it. “Given that Beth is half-Jewish, I think it’s important for her to have exposure to these holidays.” Rachel realizes she really has no say in what is and isn’t important for someone else’s daughter, so she adds. “I mean, that’s just personally how I feel given my experience.” Shelby smiles at her, and it’s almost a shock that it feels as natural as it does, given their past. “Obviously I feel the same way or we wouldn’t be here tonight.” She adds, even though she’s sure it’s not necessary, “We all want what’s best for her and that makes her a very lucky little girl.” “She is.” Rachel hesitates before saying the next thing, because it hits very close to home, not just for her but for the both of them. “I know Quinn really appreciates the opportunity to spend time with her. She just wants to be--” A good mom. “--involved.” Shelby glances at them. They’re on the couch, Beth in Quinn’s lap, and Quinn is letting her touch the camera. “Beth has really taken to her. And Quinn...” Shelby says. “They’re good for each other.” “Of course she’s taken to her, she’s--” Rachel stops herself and resigns to just agreeing with Shelby. “Yes, they are.” This is about as much as she can handle, right now. “I should see if my parents need any help with dessert.” Shelby lets her go and goes to sit with Quinn and Beth. Rachel watches as they interact. She doesn’t even understand why she’s still so sensitive about Shelby. Her parents are the greatest and Rachel certainly doesn’t feel as if she’s missed out on anything, growing up. She’s had support and guidance and love from the moment she was born. It isn’t really even about Shelby’s relationship with Rachel. It’s about the way she’s treated Quinn. It’s about the fact that Shelby wanted a baby and not the teenager who was reaching out to her. It’s about how Quinn had to work her ass off to even get a second chance, when she was the one who endured so much over Beth’s existence in the first place. Things are better now and Rachel wants it all to be in the past, but she can’t help that she still feels the way she does. She’s trying, though. She’s trying the best she can. - “No peeking,” Rachel says, double checking the scarf that’s covering Quinn’s eyes. They’ve just gotten back from the Eataly cooking class that was Quinn’s birthday present from Rachel and her dads, but there’s still one more thing on Rachel’s list for the evening. Quinn’s sitting at the tiny table next to the kitchenette in her the studio apartment. There’s a large plate in front of her, full of Rachel’s signature sugar cookies, decorated so they spell out ‘Happy Birthday, Quinn!’ Once Rachel is satisfied that the placement is perfect, she says, “Okay. Now you can look.” Quinn has had one of the best birthdays of her life. She and Rachel have gotten relatively adept at exploring the city together, and the cooking class Rachel signed them up for was perfect. She tugs the blindfold down and the first thing she sees is an enormous plate of Rachel's cookies. She's usually taken with her girlfriend's ability to make her feel like the only girl in the world, but tonight especially... "Rach..." she says, "how are you so perfect?" “Don’t question it, baby,” Rachel says, nudging Quinn until she pushes the chair out enough so Rachel can sit on her lap. “Just accept my perfection and eat my cookies.” She drapes her arms over Quinn’s shoulders. “I thought about making a cake, but... these are my best and only recipe.” No one has ever made a big deal out of Quinn's birthday like this, and Rachel has taken her role so seriously. "I accept your perfection, you narcissist," Quinn says and kisses her. She wonders if Rachel can see how thoroughly Quinn adores her. “Good, because I plan on being perfect for a long time.” Rachel nudges her nose against Quinn’s before kissing her again. “So, I’ll need you around to remind me.” "How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not going anywhere?" “I know you aren’t, I just like hearing you say it.” Rachel leans back enough to look at Quinn. “And... in honor of your birthday and my absolute perfection, I have some news for you. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but it’s my news and it’s your birthday, so I didn’t want to steal your thunder.” Quinn is suddenly nervous. "What's wrong? What happened?" “Remember the callback I had last weekend? For the summer production of Bye Bye Birdie?” The words are spilling out so quickly, Rachel hopes Quinn can follow her. “I got it. I’m ensemble and it’s Off-Off-Broadway, but I did it, Quinn! I’m in a professional New York show!” “You...” It seems to Quinn like Rachel is speaking too slowly. Her words aren’t exactly slurred, but they’re either much slower or much faster than Quinn’s thoughts because Quinn is having a difficult time processing them. She stares at her girlfriend until it registers. “You made it? Oh my god!” She has no idea who moves first, but her arms are around Rachel and she’s holding her tightly. “You made it. God, Rach, I just-- I knew you would. I’m so fucking proud of you.” Her girlfriend is in a show in New York. It’s still unbelievable, on one hand, but on the other, it’s something she always knew would happen, ever since the very first time she set eyes on Rachel Berry. She’s crying, not for the first time this year, and so far every single time has been happy tears. It’s almost too much for a person to ask for.