fly me to the moon

Bea is happy.

And honestly, Fran is so relieved her knees feel a little weak, like they may just give up and let her fall on her ass any second now. She didn’t fully process just how scared she was until now. Because for someone as sensible and smart as she is, this was a bit of a wild move, wasn’t it? Uprooting herself and her company and moving to an entirely different country, for… well, for love. What if Bea had been scared?

Lord, what if she’d asked for a break?

But she hasn’t. She’s here, hugging and kissing her, and Fran wraps her arms around her girlfriend and holds on tight because it’s all going to be all right. With some bumps along the road, but Bea’s met every step Fran’s taken so far (except that rather large one regarding children, but they’ve agreed to discuss it again later on). And with every step, Fran is more and more sure this is right. They’re going to be just fine. Forever.

“I did!” She bought a building in London. How extra, as the youths are saying these days. She could’ve rented a flat or something, but no. Not her. She bought a building in London. But Bea is so happy, she figures it was just the perfect amount of extra for her, wasn’t it?

“I’m so glad you like it.” The building. The keys. What they mean. The idea of living in the same city, because frankly, the distance between London and Cardiff doesn’t even register for her. “You’re happy, right?” She can see she’s happy right now, she’s not an idiot, but she means… something deeper. She kisses Bea as well as she can between smiles. “You feel ready?” For being together without that distance between them that Fran hates, but that also protects them, in a way. The longest they’ve been together was a month. No time to get on each other’s nerves. But now… 

Bea’s never had a proper house (not that this is her house, of course, it’s Fran’s -- she’s just a visitor) -- she went from home to college dorm rooms, to a tiny flat with too many actor friends, to Cardiff and Olive’s - so she’s not exactly an expert on these things, but her many hours bringing house hunters lead her to believe this is a pretty good flat. It’s got two floors, after all. And a gorgeous view of London.

And it houses Frannie, which makes it automatically in her books.

Bea smirks to herself because Frannie's not wrong. She is pleased by the size of the windows in the bedroom. She’s not playing coy here, they both know one of her favourite things about visiting LA -- apart from seeing Fran and Fritz, of course -- is being fucked against her bedroom window -- the waves crashing against the beach as her hips crash against Fran’s lips.

It won't occur to her to ask about the LA home until later, she’s too busy trying to take it all in. The bedroom. The bathroom -- double vanity and that tub! The terrace.

She’s still smirking when she finds Fran again, arms snaking around a lithe waist. “I still can't believe you bought a whole building without consulting me.”

Bea is very easily distracted. And Fran smiles, charmed and amused and just - happy, even. Because this is a date, and it’s going well. She likes Bea. For more than one date, she thinks, even if it’s early still. And Bea likes her back. And that’s really something, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t be happy about something like that?

“I’ll do my very best.” She’s lying, and they both know it. If anything, Fran will help Bea get even more distracted. But she has a feeling Bea won’t mind too much. In fact, if her choice of seats is any indication, she may be hoping for exactly that. So she just smirks and follows Bea’s lead to their seats in the darkest, most remote area of the theater. And that, Fran thinks, suits them just fine.

“It’s quiet here, too.” She takes off her blazer and loosens her tie just so. It may not be strictly polite, but she’s been wearing for long enough that she thinks she deserves a little break while they watch the movie. And when she sits down, maybe she makes sure to do so as close to Bea as possible. Maybe. “That should help with your concentration.” And because luck is definitely on her side today, the lights go out almost as soon as they sit down. “Nothing to distract you back here, right?”

Frannie’s making words. Bea knows this because she can see her mouth moving and hear the faintest hum of her voice in the distance. Something about quiet maybe? About not being distracted? Which is ironic, as it turns out, because Fran pulls off her blazer and loosens her tie, and Bea finds she is in fact very distracted. And if Bea were any more coherent she’d think that was probably Fran’s point. 

But she’s not. Becuase it’s been so long since she’s been on a date since she’s sat so close to somebody she might actually fancy she can actually feel the heat radiating off of her or smell the subtle hint of her perfume. Since she’s looked at someone’s lips and thought they looked like... home. 

Bea is happy.

And honestly, Fran is so relieved her knees feel a little weak, like they may just give up and let her fall on her ass any second now. She didn’t fully process just how scared she was until now. Because for someone as sensible and smart as she is, this was a bit of a wild move, wasn’t it? Uprooting herself and her company and moving to an entirely different country, for… well, for love. What if Bea had been scared?

Lord, what if she’d asked for a break?

But she hasn’t. She’s here, hugging and kissing her, and Fran wraps her arms around her girlfriend and holds on tight because it’s all going to be all right. With some bumps along the road, but Bea’s met every step Fran’s taken so far (except that rather large one regarding children, but they’ve agreed to discuss it again later on). And with every step, Fran is more and more sure this is right. They’re going to be just fine. Forever.

“I did!” She bought a building in London. How extra, as the youths are saying these days. She could’ve rented a flat or something, but no. Not her. She bought a building in London. But Bea is so happy, she figures it was just the perfect amount of extra for her, wasn’t it?

“I’m so glad you like it.” The building. The keys. What they mean. The idea of living in the same city, because frankly, the distance between London and Cardiff doesn’t even register for her. “You’re happy, right?” She can see she’s happy right now, she’s not an idiot, but she means… something deeper. She kisses Bea as well as she can between smiles. “You feel ready?” For being together without that distance between them that Fran hates, but that also protects them, in a way. The longest they’ve been together was a month. No time to get on each other’s nerves. But now… 

Olive told her a thing once -- about cows, and anxiety, and hug machines. She doesn’t know about all that -- she’s basically just proud she’s managed to figure out what each of Junior’s sounds means -- but she thinks there might be something to that. Because the tighter Frannie holds her the better she feels. Safer. More like she’s home. 

And yes, it helps that one year is the anniversary of relocating. Of getting to spend more time together without feeling constantly jet lagged and not having to schedule phone dates. Of not missing each other quite so much or so often. It’s still a fairly big step, she supposes. But considering it’s the norm for dating couples to live in the same basic area of each other, she thinks it’s probably about time. 

Cupping Fan’s cheeks gently, Bea looks at her girlfriend for a long moment -- eyes serious and her smile sincere, it’s important she hears her. Frannie may be the driving their relationship, making steps and waiting for her to follow along, but Bea knows her. Knows that doesn’t mean she isn’t vulnerable or just as scared. And so it’s her job to reassure. 

“Yes, baby -- I’m very ready,” she says, her look pointed. I am ready for this step. Ready for what it means. It’s a bit scary, sure. They’re bound to squabble more now that their time together isn’t so limited. But she’s excited. “And I am so happy.” Her best mate in the whole world is here. With her. Forever. How could she not be?

Using her hold on Fran’s face she pulls her face towards her until their lips touch -- a kiss that’s slow, and pointed, that speaks to all the feelings she’s not quite sure not to express. Thank you. I love you. I love this. 

Bea is… nervous? Anxious? Fran isn’t sure if her own nerves are rubbing off on her girlfriend or if there’s some other reason for the slight change in Bea, but she hopes it’s not her reaction to figuring out her surprise. Maybe Bea isn’t ready to live in the same continent yet. Maybe she’ll think moving here is too much, or too soon. Maybe…

But Bea likes the view, and she doesn’t seem to hate the apartment. She calls it lovely, even, and she thinks she knows her well enough to notice when she’s lying. So that’s a good start, right? Bea likes the view (loves, it, even, from the look on her face) and the apartment itself. And she’s asking how long Fran’s got it, so she can’t have figured out she’s moved here. Whatever’s making her anxious can’t be that, and that’s… well, that makes Fran breathe a little easier, if she’s being honest.

“Forever.” Fran says it as casually as possible, but she’s excited and it shows. “It’s mine.” She’s still not fully convinced Bea will find this surprise as wonderful as Fran thought she would, but that’s… a risk she’s going to have to take, isn’t it? Can’t really take it back now.

“I’ve moved here. Officially. I didn’t want to… be half a world away anymore.” She shrugs just so, maybe trying to make it seem like less of a big deal. Because the anniversary didn’t spook Bea, but maybe this will. “And this is for you.” She pulls two keys from the pocket on her blazer, both hanging from the ring on a bee-shaped golden keychain. It’s cute, she thinks. Not scary at all, right? A bee for her Bea. “In case you want to come over when I’m flying.”

Forever. There’s that word again. But this time it’s out loud. It’s real. 

Forever. 

And she finds she’s not spooked at all. In fact, she feels her anxiety dissipating -- nervous energy turning into something else. Excitement, she thinks. An overwhelming joy, because -- 

“Babe!” She exclaims -- eyes as wide as her smile, and head shaking. “You bought a building -- like -- a whole, proper building.” A beat. “In London.” A respectable two-hour train ride from Cardiff and work. Still basically a country between them nine months out of the year, but it’s not the whole of the Atlantic, is it? 

She’s here. Forever. She’s moved her entire life from LA to plant her roots in the UK. And god -- that’s a hell of a lot better than a proposal. 

Oh. And there are keys! Keys on a little bee shaped key ring. If that’s not the most damn adorable thing anybody’s ever done for her. Her heart feels so full she thinks it might burst.  

Still, she bypasses the very thoughtful (and dare she admit, life changing) set of keys in favour of wrapping her girlfriend's neck in an enthusiastic hug and claims her lips with an equally enthusiastic kiss.

Bea has the best view right here, and Frannie chuckles, amused, as she leads her to the elevator (having an elevator inside her house seems a bit much even for her, but she wasn’t willing to compromise her privacy or her need for gorgeous views, so here she is - with an elevator inside her house) that will take them to the fifth floor. She doesn’t think she’s a better view than the city of London from her window, but she knows what Bea means. She knows she’d rather look at Bea, too. And it’s nice to have that sentiment reciprocated, isn’t it?

“Well, I hope it’ll live up to your expectations.” And she’s not kidding, even if she’s still smiling as she presses the fifth floor button and waits for the elevator to do its job. She wants to keep it casual and hear what Bea really thinks about it. But that doesn’t mean she won’t be a bit crushed if her girlfriend hates her new home. Especially because… well. She thinks it’ll be theirs, in time. 

“Welcome, Miss Smith.” She may be even more nervous than she was when she first showed Bea her LA home. Maybe because that one was only a reflection of herself, and this one means… so much more, really. Because she thought of Bea when she bought it and when she furnished and decorated it. She made sure there were two offices and not just one, even if she knows actresses don’t exactly need office space. She has two sinks in her bathroom and a few bookcases waiting to be filled, and two guest rooms she hopes will turn into different kinds of rooms with time. It’s always about time with them, isn’t it? So, yes. It matters what Bea thinks. 

“Here’s the living room - well, sitting room, on this side of the pond, yes?” She winks, letting Bea take in the room and its views at her leisure. “The kitchen is over there - I’ve been cooking, so it could be cleaner.” She knows the fact that she cooked is remarkable, but she’s a bit too focused on the tour to dwell on that. “You can look around. Do some exploring.” She doesn’t know if Bea will figure things out on her own when she spots some of Fran’s (and Fritz’s!) things on the shelves and counters, or if she’ll have to break the news herself. Either way, she has a feeling it’ll be a surprise.

She’s sure she will. Like it, she means. Frannie’s got excellent taste (she’s case and point if she does say so herself), so if she likes it, Bea’s certain she will too. But there’s this nervous sort of energy about her girlfriend as they take a quiet ride up the lift. 

And with most people, Bea wouldn’t really think twice about it -- but Fran’s always been (well, for the most part) very even tempered. So even the slightest bit of anxiety from Fran is enough to get her attention. 

One year isn’t the proposal anniversary, is it?

Becuase she’s in love, she’s even comfortable with the idea of forever (mostly privately, but still comfortable) but she’s not quite ready for words like engaged and marriage. It’s a process, she thinks. So it’s alright if they take their time. Like she said, they have forever. 

The lift stops, doors opening onto a penthouse, and honestly, she’s sort of pleased to have the distraction. Sort of. 

Because Fran’s also been cooking, hasn’t she? There’s cooking, and vagueness, and nerves -- and so while Bea might generally consider herself to be an observant person, she misses things. Personal touches on walls. Personal items not just scattered around the flat but purposely placed. Because her own anxiety seems to quickly be building.

Just not enough to distract her from that -- “Blimey, you were kidding about that view.” It really is exquisite. Then again she’s always been a bit bias, London is her city. Further inspection gives her more detail (she’s not quite ready to ask why exactly Fran’s been cooking, so she’s taking her time) -- the sitting room’s a nice size, kitchen is well. It’s funny, actually. The place is very much styled to Fran’s taste.

Bea is smiling and kissing her, wishing her a happy first year and teasing her about those first couple of dates. And while some may think that’s what’s expected in a situation like this one, Frannie doesn’t take it for granted. They don’t fight much, and on the surface their relationship may have been smooth sailing. But Fran knows that’s not exactly true. Bea isn’t (wasn’t) the relationship sort. Not the monogamous relationship sort, at any rate. And Frannie doesn’t mind being the one taking steps (she didn’t become a pilot because she’s scared of uncharted territory, after all), but she’d be lying if she said she’s never scared Bea will get spooked and refuse to follow.

So no, she doesn’t take this for granted. That Bea doesn’t find anniversaries scary, that they’re still together and in love (out loud). It makes her less nervous about the news she needs to share. Bea won’t find Fran having bought this building scary. She won’t be spooked by the thought of seeing each other practically every day. Will she?

“Ah, yes.” Frannie goes along with the tease, because it’s easier than giving in to her nerves. Her arms wrap around Bea’s waist, and she pulls her close to kiss her again. A quick one, this time. Just because that little tug on her tie felt like Bea was asking for something sweet. “I never would’ve taken you to that wedding if I’d already… had you.” She nips at Bea’s bottom lip, something light and playful and maybe a little teasing, because that’s their word, isn’t it? “What do they say about buying cows and getting milk for free?”

It’s ridiculous, so she chuckles against Bea’s lips, because she knows Bea is perfectly aware of how little all of those first dates had to do with wanting sex. It was… something else. She’s still not sure what to call it, but she felt it then and she feels it now, between them. It’s not just love, it’s something else. It’s the kind of something else that makes an otherwise very reasonable woman like herself pack up her entire life and her company and move to a different country. Which brings her to…

“Do you want to take a look around?” She may be a bit biased, but “It’s a gorgeous house”. Even if she’s sure Bea is far from impressed with the mostly bare entryway where they’re standing right now. In her defense, she’s only furnished the top two floors where she plans to live. The rest is… well, she’s not sure yet. “Beautiful views, too.”

Okay, so maybe she’d started the teasing. But that doesn’t stop her from rolling her eyes, only chuckling when Fran nips at her lip. Because they both it’s more than that. It has always been more than that. Though Bea can’t help but wonder if it might have taken them longer to get here -- to one years, and fancy suits, and having her had that first night gone differently. 

So even though they’re teasing each other -- she’s quite pleased Frannie snogged her like a randy teenager, whispering confessions between kisses and wandering hands. And she rather thinks her girlfriend feels the same. 

Why buy the cow when you’re getting the milk for free, indeed.

She’s sure she could come up with a witty retort -- something flirty and clever. But Fran’s offering a tour. And while she’s pretty sure it’s going to be a very short tour (the view from the bedroom of whatever place this is Frannie’s secured for the night), who is she to deny her girlfriend anything?

Oh, good Lord. That ass. Fran even lets out a quiet chuckle, amused at herself and her lack of self-control where her girlfriend is involved. Shouldn’t she be over it, after a year? Maybe she should. But she isn’t. And honestly, that’s how she knows this is real. That Bea is it for her. 

“I am wearing a suit.” It’s Fran’s turn to feel a little bit smug now, because she’s certainly not the only one having a great deal of feelings about her girlfriend’s attire. Bea likes her suit. Very much, from the looks of it. She finds her charming, and handsome. Just like she did all those months ago. “You called me handsome the last time, too. Before the wedding.” It made her feel ten feet tall and bulletproof then, and it does now, too. Maybe Bea can tell. This time, she definitely won’t mind if she does.

But honestly, Bea asked for a kiss a while ago now, and Fran figures it’s about time she makes that very reasonable wish come true. So she shuts the door behind Bea (because her new neighbors don’t need a show) and hooks one finger under Bea’s chin to tilt her head up. The gesture makes her smile. She’s embraced her inner cliché-loving romantic, obviously.

And then Fran finally leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to Bea’s lips. Slow and soft, deep and unhurried because they have all the time in the world. They have forever, if you ask her. Especially now that they live in the same continent. “Happy first year.” She traces Bea’s jawline with the pad of her thumb. “I’m very happy I decided to go watch that movie with you.”

There’s been a switch, she thinks. Usually, it’s her knocking Fran off balance. Leaving her adorably smitten and without words. But now it’s Bea whose mind seems blank. Who can’t seem to come up with the flirty banter or the saucy look. And while she thought she’d be annoyed if ever she found herself in this situation, she instead finds she’s proud?

How can she not be? Look at her girlfriend. Handsome as hell, and ten feet tall. She’s helpless to do anything but swoon. 

“Did, didn’t I?” She whispers, breathless as Frannie hooks her fingers under her chin. And she was as right then as she is now. Maybe even more now, if she’s honest. Frannie smiles more now than she did a year ago, and that smile is -- by Bea’s standards -- everything. Especially when she’s the one that’s put it there. 

The kiss is slow and purposeful, she’s saying something. But the message isn’t near long enough for Bea’s liking. They’ve got time, yeah -- all the time in the world. And Bea doesn’t want to waste any of it. And isn’t it nice to find that thought brings her comfort now, rather than anxiety? 

She’s officially living in London now. All her paperwork is in order, she has a visa, she’s registered her new address with both the British and American governments. She’s officially uprooted her entire life and moved halfway across the world, because she’s in love with her girlfriend and she can’t bear to see her only a week or two a month.

She’s either the world’s biggest idiot, or the greatest romantic. She hopes Bea will think she’s the latter.

And as it turns out, the day she dotted her last i and crossed the last t happened to be their anniversary. One year ago, she was walking into the Los Angeles 6D venue to watch a movie about some kind of singing barber, and hopefully get a nice night of sex out of it. There was no sex. There was… the start of everything. She thinks she knew, even then. She just wasn’t ready to see. 

And now, here she is. Wearing a suit, because she knows how much Bea enjoyed it when she wore one to Nina’s wedding. There’s an edible (she’s taste-tested) meal waiting for them, that she cooked herself. She’s out, she’s living here, and she’s in love. Everything’s changed in a year. But honestly, she thinks her life is so much better right now, looking back at herself before Bea makes her feel a bit sad for the Fran in the past. 

But there’s no time to dwell on that, because she hears the knock on the door (staying downstairs to hear Bea was a good choice) and she has no intention to make her wait or pretend she wasn’t counting the seconds until she got here. 

“Eveni- well.” She was going to try and play the cool suit-wearing James Bond type, but she can’t. She knows there are hearts in her eyes. That dress. Those legs. The ass she can’t see but can definitely imagine. The pearls and - oh, Lord help her - the red lip. It seems unfair, even, and Frannie smirks, amused, because of course she’s not winning tonight. She never does. She probably never will. 

“Oh, you beautiful girl.” Fran holds her hand out for Bea. She knows she asked for a kiss, but that can wait just a few seconds longer, can’t it? She just… needs to stare and enjoy the view for a little while longer. And she frankly doesn’t think she can survive without seeing what the dress looks like from the back, so she lifts their joined hands just so, hoping Bea will take the hint and turn. “Let me see that dress, baby.”

Beautiful girl. Yep, that still does the trick too. 

Though if she’s being honest, it’s a lot more than the pet name that’s got her feeling a bit mush (particularly her brain) at the moment. Because Frannie’s wearing a suit. And she rather likes her Frannie in a suit. Well, she rather likes Frannie in her uniform too, but this is a real treat. 

Oh yeah, she’s got something planned all, alright.

There’s a saucy remark somewhere in the back of her mind, but she’s much too distracted -- and let’s face it, stunned -- to make it. For the first time in her 28 years, she’s been rendered speechless (who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?). So instead she obliges, dumbly turning around in a slow circle to give her lady a better look. And why not? She didn’t buy this dress for its comfort. This dress is meant to be seen and appreciated. 

And there is no one (in Bea’s oh so humble opinion) who shows their appreciation quite like Fran Fabray. 

Rachel

Rachel isn’t the most patient person, but somehow she’s never really found herself bothered by Fee’s slower moments. Probably because she’s found her girlfriend’s ability to string thoughts together quickly is inversely proportional to how flirty Rachel is being, and that’s the sort of compliment Rachel lives for. She makes her otherwise competent girlfriend practically non-verbal. And that’s beautiful.

“We haven’t chosen the exact location yet.” But it’ll be warm and sunny and it’ll look like one of those island paradises Hollywood stars escape to when they need a break. Bali or Seychelles or Maldives. Somewhere with white sand beaches and turquoise water and just peace and quiet and all the time in the world to get used to being Fiona’s wife instead of just her girlfriend. “We’ll keep you posted.” And then, because she’s not blind, she nudges Fee’s side so she’ll pay attention to what’s happening right in front of them, too. “As our baby’s co-parents, you’ll need to be informed.”

Sammy

They’ll co-parent. I mean she knows Q doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still does a thing to her heart. Not her… actual heart, tho. That one is waaay over Q. She means the little heart that’s left over from Teen!Sammy. The one with the inappropriate crush on her straight best friend. That one. Q calling them co-parents does things to that one.

“I say we stay at the Hudsons’.” Is that too much? She doesn’t think so. I mean Pupfasa needs his house, right? His toys, his bed. His environment. Surely them staying there would be better for him than dragging him from Sammy’s to Q’s and then back again every day. “Week-long Fabrevans sleepover.” And then, after a quiet gasp, because this is a total lightbulb moment, “Star Wars marathon!”

Fran

She should protest, she knows. She should stop this and refuse to accept that she’s good at it - at kissing a girl. But she doesn’t. Stop, she means. She lets Bea grab her ass and feels her body warm up and respond to that simple touch in a way that has her frankly a little concerned. Surely that can’t be normal. It’s… certainly not normal for her. Sex has always been something she could take or leave. Not awful, by any means, but not the best use of her time either. She can’t remember ever actively wanting it, let alone initiating it. But now…

“That’s not good.” That she’s good at this. That’s not good at all. But her voice comes out low and breathless, and she doesn’t stop or step back or let go of Bea. It’s not good, but it feels a lot like all she has right now - like this is her one moment to feel all these things before she goes back to a life of… not feeling. “You’re-” there are teeth at her neck, and Fran’s words get cut off by a sound that’s somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Good lord. “Excuse me.” She’s blushing, she can feel it. She’s just not embarrassed enough to let go.

“You’re very good, too.” She feels good and tastes good, and Fran has a feeling she won’t be able to draw anyone else in a very long time. But this is wrong, isn’t it? She should stop. But she doesn’t. She kisses Bea again, a little more confident this time, because Bea seems to like it. And then, when she needs to stop and breathe, she ducks her head to press a kiss to Bea’s neck (she’s fairly sure she could paint the way she smells), and then another, and then a whisper in her ear - low and quiet because it’s a secret, “I don’t want to stop.”

Fee

Rachel speaks and Fee kind of just points to her -- what she said. Cuz really, there’s no point in her repeating it. They haven’t picked a place yet. If Fee’s being perfectly honest, she doesn’t really care where they go, as long as they get to be married. But she does have some preferences -- warm, secluded... her list of demands is pretty short. It doesn’t take much to make her happy. 

And since the poke in her side indicates her attention is needed, Fiona puts thoughts of honeymoons and bare skin to the back of her mind and focuses instead on her friends. The idiots, who even after dubbing themselves ‘co-parents’ seem oblivious to how right they are for each other. 

Fee gives Rachel a knowing look. Amateurs. “Yeah, you should totally stay,” she says, encouraging the idiocy -- she’s a romantic at heart. “We’ll stock the fridge and everything, give you the full family experience.”

Quinn

Quinn’s not stupid. She knows they’re being trolled. But still... it doesn’t sound all bad. (With the exception of the marathon...) Family -- her, Sammy, and a dog. Not exactly what she pictured for herself growing up, but it would do. 

For the week, of course. 

Because this is pretend. Make believe. She knows this. She played house all the time when she was little, this is no different. Except that it totally is. Or rather -- it feels like it is. It just shouldn’t. 

Quinn shakes her head. “I’m down for the sleepover,” friends do it all the time, and anyway it’ll be better for Pupfasa, she thinks. “But you’re going to have to come up with some other form of entertainment.”

Bea

Bea grins. She’s good at this too. Poor Frannie doesn’t know how dangerous it is to feed her ego yet. Yet? That feels bold, even in her head. Like this is likely to be more than a one-time thing, which... as lovely as she’s starting to think that would be, seems unlikely. If not simply for the fact that it really is, as Fran put it -- not good. And Bea like’s to think she’s a good person. But God does it feel good to be bad. 

“I know,” she knows she’s good at this, but the husk in her voice keeps her humble, she thinks. I know I’m good at this, but together we’re... exceptional. Fran’s lips are on her neck, and now it’s Bea’s turn to moan. She is not going to fuck her. Bea has to remind herself of this because Fran is seriously testing her good person stance. She is not going to fuck Quinn Fabray’s sister in Rachel’s guest room. 

But she is going to think about it later -- when she’s alone and she can still feel Fran’s words whispered on her neck. 

Rachel

She’s really not as vain as she may sometimes look. She likes being pampered. She likes having the spotlight on her, whether it’s a literal one or the figurative one that’s the attention of anyone in the room, or - in this case - the spotlight that is Fee’s adoring look and sweet kisses. She likes feeling spoiled and adored and important. But she gives as much as she takes, which is what many people don’t get, she thinks. 

So when Fee kisses her, Rachel happily returns the gesture. She brings one hand up to cup Fee’s cheek, thumb brushing against her skin just so. A silent ‘I love you’, because she does. And she steals a quick peck after Fiona pulls away, just to let her know how much she likes kissing her. It’s not just you, baby - that’s what she wants Fee to know - I’m stupid in love, too.

“You know, as the first of our friend group to tie the knot, we have a responsibility.” She’s sure that’s a rule somewhere. They’re getting married first, just like they met their soulmate first, so that makes them some kind of… elders of love. The elite. “We have to set a good example for the rest of you. We must be, hashtag, Relationship Goals.”

Sammy

“I hate to agree with y’all when you’re being this disgusting.” Sammy scrunches up her nose, hand still on Quinn’s for some reason. I mean they’re friends, right? Nothing weird about friends being a lil bit touchy feely. “But yeah. You kinda are relationship goals. Kinda. I mean my relationship goals include way more guitar serenading, but you know. Pretty close.”

And she’s not even half kidding. She’s a country girl inside, and she has a lot of feelings to set to music for her eventual lady (which may very well be Bea, wherever she is, if she decides she wants to be girlfriends some day). I mean there’s a pretty dang huge notebook full of lyrics from her angsty, confused teenage years. Just imagine what’s gonna happen songwriting-wise when she finally finds someone to love her back.

“And anyway. On to important things. Where are you honeymooning?” She grins, finally letting go of Q’s hand, but only to rest her own hand on Q’s shoulder instead. “And which one of us gets to puppysit?”

Fran

She’s kissing Bea. She’s not sure why. Because she wants to, she figures, which is both exhilarating and horrifying in its simplicity. She doesn’t often do things because she wants to do them. But there’s a part of her that wonders if she shouldn’t have chosen a different thing to assert her right to do what makes her heart sing. Like… taking an art class. Instead of kissing a woman she’s just met.

But here she is. Gasping quietly into the kiss when Bea takes the lead and she feels her tongue slide past her lips. And God, her head is swimming. Her heart is… still beating, she hopes. Her knees feel weak. She should stop, but she thinks if she does she won’t have the guts to do it again. Not that she should. She just… doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, her hands move. She’s not sure if she’s the one controlling them or if they’re moving on their own, but they move. One to Bea’s hip, gripping, pulling her closer, pressing her flush against her. The other finally leaves Bea’s hand, long fingers sliding into soft brown hair, fingernails gently scratching at her scalp. Please, keep going. Don’t stop.

Fee

She’s  rocking the dopey smile. It’s been a pretty permanent fixture on her face since the whole engagement thing, but like -- she’s really rocking then. becase she gets it, you know? She gets what this is. She knows what it feels to love and be loved in equal measure. Not that the course of their relationship has been all gross and adorable, but the fact that they still stand here today united and stupid in love -- she gets the depth of that. 

So let their friends make faces. It’s a coping thing. When they get it, they’ll totally eat their words. 

Or like, maybe they’ll still tease her, but so long as she keeps Rachel smiling like she is now, it’llbe totally worth it. 

“Uh...” Honeymoon. Have they talked honeymond yet? She feels like Rachel mentioned one. Maybe with a beach? She definitely remembers picturing by an infinity pool in various states of undress. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to have one of those...”

Quinn

Try as she might (okay, she might not have really tried super hard), Quinn  can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. She loves Fiona, really she does. She’s grown on her... much like a ripe cheese. But sometimes the girl is clueless. 

But she provides a nice distraction from the slight disappointment she feels when Sam pulls her hand away, so maybe she should be thanking her. She won’t. But maybe she should. 

She does, however, follow up her eyeroll with a friendly chuckle -- and honesetly she thinks that’s just as good. 

“We’ll co-parent,” Quinn decides, that’s a thing right? “It’s what Pupfasa would want.” Not what she wants though. No, of course not. She’s thinking of Pupfasa, not making up excuses to spend more time with Sam. They’re friends! They don’t need an excuse. 

Bea

It’s not good, this. Don’t get her wrong, it feels good. Like really really good -- especially the weight of her hand on her hip as she pulls her closer still. Her kiss is like the scotch she drinks -- bold and intoxicating, always leaving her wanting more. But in terms of decision making, it’s a bit shit ( okay really shit, but shhh!). Surely a rationaly person would step back, thank her for the kiss, and then go find herself a drink and her Sam. 

But Bea’s never been particularly rational when it comes to blondes. Especially not one’s that kiss like this. So instead, she smiles into it, her now empty hand sliding around Fran’s waist to give herself some purchase. Fran may not have much experience kissing girls -- but she’s thought about it quite a lot. bea can tell by the way she holds her, like she’s afraid if she lets go she’ll open her eyes to find it’s not real. 

Rachel

“Excuse you.” Rachel’s finger shoots up, and she points it at her best friend. She loves Quinn to little pieces, but there are lines that cannot be crossed. “It’s love and grossness.” She cocks her eyebrow - it may not be as impressive as a fabrow, but she tries her best - because she’s still honestly mostly kidding. “Even when we’re being gross, we’re in love.”

And because this time she’s doing it on purpose, she gives Fiona her sweetest, most lovesick look, just to gross her friends out and make them jealous. And also, if she’s being perfectly honest, because she knows even if the look is teasing, Fee won’t be able to resist it without kissing her. Win/win. “Right, baby?”

Sam

“Ugh. Make it stop!” But she’s chuckling, because it’s cute and funny. And she’s taking Quinn’s hand again (they’re friends!) but this time it’s to tug on it, almost like she’s trying to get Quinn to stand in front of her and save her from the gross couple. Which is like, ridiculous, because if there was a real danger moment she’d totally be the one to step between danger and Q to keep her safe. Because that’s what abulous friends do, not because she like, wants to play knight for her or anything. 

Hasn’t Bea been gone for a while now? She’s… probably fine. Yeah.

Fran

She shakes her head. That’s all. She doesn’t really say anything, because she’s a bit scared if she opens her mouth to speak she’ll kiss Bea instead. Which is frankly ridiculous, isn’t it? She’s never kissed anyone. She’s been kissed. By her husband, and two other boys in high school. By her best friend, once, to train for real kissing with boys. But that doesn’t count, she thinks, because it was… training. Yes. But this? If she kissed Bea now? That’d count.

If she’s being perfectly honest, the way they’re holding hands counts, too.

“I shouldn’t…” kiss you. But Fran moves closer, because Bea is tugging on her hand and she finds herself unable to say no to this girl. Something is clearly wrong with her. Shouldn’t she be more scandalized? Run away, maybe? And yet, here she is. Taking a step forward until she can feel Bea’s body against her own and her own breath catching in her throat. “I don’t know…” how to do this. Her free hand moves almost without her consent, but she stops just milimeters away from it actually touching Bea’s hair. 

“I’ve never…” done this before. Kissed someone. Wanted someone like this. Cheated (lord, this does count, doesn’t it?) on her husband. “I…” and because she’s had enough of half-voiced thoughts and trepidation, she leans in and presses her lips to Bea’s in a soft (and slightly trembling) kiss.

Fee

Don’t get her her wrong, Fee doesn’t always agree with Rachel. Like, most of the time she does because Rach is pretty smart, and honestly Fee’s pretty agreeable -- why fight about something small, you know? But when it matters, she speaks her truth. 

But like... right now? She’s too distracted by the face Rachel’s making know if she really does agree or not. Her fiancee’s cute -- don’t hate! And when your girl is asking for a kiss, she cannot be denied. 

So Fee nods her head. “Totally.” Then she leans forward and presses a kiss to her lady’s lips -- nothing obscenely gross, but like just sweet enough to make your teeth hurt. 

Quinn

“Okay, okay -- you’re right.” Quinn laughs, sort of standing between Sam and the happy couple. Quinn’s not really sure if she is or not, but when Sam’s holding her hand it’s sort of hard not to take action. 

She’s weak. Weak, and not gay.

“I’m sorry. Gross and in love.” Quinn amends, even as her face scrunches up in disgust. They’re doing it on purpose she knows, she’s just not sure they deserve this kind of torture. “Though right now you’re leaning more towards the former.”

Bea

It feels a bit like the air’s been sucked out of the room. Or out of the space between them. She’s not sure which would be better. Honestly, she doesn’t really care. Not about the amount of air in the room, or the people on the other side of the door, or her husband at home, or Sam -- who despite agreeing to a relationship without strings would be hurt about what she thinks is about to happen. 

What she hopes is happening. 

No, the only thing she has the energy to care about is Fran. The way she can’t quite seem to finish a thought. She wants to take control. To ease some of the panic she sees in Fran’s eyes, but she needs her to make the first move. It’s a moral thing. 

Rachel

“Rach is always right.” She grins, pleased both with herself and with her fiancee’s willingness to agree with her. She doesn’t know whether Fee is just generally agreeable or she’s just grown to realize Rachel is basically always right, but it doesn’t matter, does it? It keeps their fights to a minimum, even if that minimum tends to be explosive thanks to Rachel’s flair for melodrama. But that’s why they make such a good team, isn’t it? And Rachel finds herself snuggling in a little closer into Fee’s side, her hand finding her girlfriend’s to give it a little squeeze. Fee grounds her. She keeps her enormous emotions manageable without dismissing them. She just loves her, that’s all.

“And I guess the Yale girl here has a point, too. I am feeling particularly bulletproof since I put on my ring.” And she shows it off again, for good measure, so her friends can admire it and Fiona’s impeccable taste. For someone with so many converse sneakers, she’s done a remarkable job with it. “I suppose you may pretend you’re disgusted by our love, as long as we get to keep enjoying it.”

Sam

“Ok. I mean I guess I am kinda jelly. Maybe.” Not, like, super jelly. Because she has a Bea, you know, which isn’t nothing. Bea is super cool and super hot. She knows sex stuff Sammy didn’t even know existed outside porn. You know? And she’s like, funny in her own way, even if she doesn’t always get Sammy’s jokes. Sure, she’s not, like, super loving. She doesn’t really… you know. She sees Fee and Rach and how Rach keeps cuddling up and they keep touching and kissing and just looking at each other like that, you know? And she kinda wishes she had that, is all.

But like. Only a little jelly.

“Y’all still gross, though.” She points at Fee and then at Rach, and then she looks at Q for validation (and also because Q has the kind of face you just enjoy looking at, you know?). “Right? I mean there’s love and then there’s grossness. Bet you studied that in Yale.”

Fran

She doesn’t… know. Anything, really, at this point. She doesn’t even know how to breathe, if she’s being perfectly honest. She feels like every nerve ending in her body has moved and relocated to her hand. To the very spot Bea’s fingertips are gracing. Right there. Like electricity. 

“I don’t really…” her voice sounds strange. Different from its usual sound. It’s quieter and softer. A little airy. She wants to kiss Bea. Or, more accurately, she wants Bea to kiss her, because she’s not sure she knows how to kiss a woman. She’s not sure she knows how to kiss someone she wants - needs - to kiss. Has she always been this dramatic? She really doesn’t think so. She has a reputation for being cold and collected and exquisitely polite. 

Kissing a woman she’s just met is not quite polite, is it? Not in general. And especially not for a married woman.

“I don’t really show my work.” She turns her hand so Bea’s fingertips are now touching Fran’s palm, and the electricity seems to get a little stronger - strong enough to run down her spine. “Ever.” And then it’s Fran’s turn to take a step (metaphorically) and wrap her fingers around Bea’s. She shouldn’t, really. But she does anyway. 

Fee

“Totally.” She totally feels bulletproof. Like... ever since she slid that ring onto Rachel’s finger she’s been the man of steel. Or woman. Or...whatever. Totally bulletproof. Which felt... it felt a lot. 

Truth be told, Fee’s not really like the most successful person, or whatever. Like, she’s not tragic about it or anything -- she’s pretty cool with being average -- extraordinary has always been Rachel’s thing, but being Rachel’s fiancee has given her a taste of being super, and she is not complaining.

“Dude, whatever -- you can like use your book smarts to explain away your jealousy, but I still see you.” 

Quinn

“No, Sam’s right -- totally studied it.” Quinn nodded, her face taking on a more serious look -- Fabrow arched, lips pursed, shoulders squared -- even if serious was not at all how she felt. “Love or Grossness 101.”

A super fake name for a super fake course, that’s the point, isn’t it? She’s trolling them. Even Fabrays can crack a joke every once in a while. It’s frowned upon, but Quinn’s sort of the family rebel. She thinks. Of a certain age, unmarried, a career woman rather than a housewife -- she’s basically Gloria Steinem ripping apart the Fabray patriarchy. 

“It’s been a few years, but I think the professor might have actually used you two as examples.”

Bea

Well... that’s unexpected. Not that Fran doesn’t share her art -- Bea gets the impression there are a lot of things Fran doesn’t share with just anyone. But that she doesn’t pull away. No, in fact, Fran turns her hand towards her own. Not just turns but wraps her fingers around Bea’s and that’s... a rather nice sensation, isn’t it? Warm, but not in a comforting way. Not, this is more like electricity -- pins and needles shooting through Fran’s fingers into her own. 

Bea’s held a lot of hands, but there are few that made her feel like this. Certainly not without some kind of foreplay. 

Wetting her lips, Bea laces their fingers together, tugging their joined hands just so -- a silent come closer, as though there’s more than just a breath of space between them. She hasn’t had enough to drink yet to excuse herself from making bad decisions, but that’s never stopped her before has it?

Rachel 

“Oh, please.” Rachel knows they’re kidding. She knows Fiona is right, and they’re just jealous. They both wish they were engaged to their best friend, too. And they could be, if only they’d stop being stubborn and admitted what’s been obvious since the eighth grade: Sammy loves Quinn, not Bea, and Quinn loves Sammy, not boys. And that is the simple truth.

“You know, one day it will be your engagement party,” she points between them, because even if most people would assume she means a party for each of them, she absolutely means their engagement party, when they get engaged to each other, “and you’ll be the ones showing off your happiness and love. Just give it time.”

Sammy

“Jealous, right.” She chuckles, and pretends she’s totally not kind of hoping Rachel’s psychic abilities are real right now so she’ll have an engagement party one day. With Quinn.

Wait, no! No, Quinn is straight. With… someone else. With Bea, maybe, probably, if she ever lets her call her her girlfriend.

Yeah.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. At my party, the herbs-de-whatevers are gonna be way healthier.” She holds up one of the bite-sized hamburgers. It may be vegan-friendly, but it’s still real greasy. And delicious. “Ab-friendly snacks only, my bro. And sis-in-law.” She winks at Rachel, grinning, because every time she references the fact that they’re getting married and becoming a family, she kinda gets stupid happy inside. 

Fran

She can tell something’s changed in the small room. It happened when Bea moved a little closer. The air itself seems different - warmer, maybe. She feels… she feels. She’s not sure what’s happening, but there’s a part of her that tells her she should absolutely leave this room as soon as possible. And there’s a part of her that tells her to stay put. See what happens. Let things happen. 

“I paint… flowers.” Fran shakes her head, eyes closed for a moment, and lets out a sigh. How typical. How boringly housewife-ish. Flowers. She wishes she had the words to explain it’s not typical or housewife-ish. Her flowers say things, she thinks. Every line and every curve. Sometimes she goes up to the attic to look at her paintings, and she decides to keep them there, because it’s all so clear to her when she looks at them. She’s sure everyone else could see it, too, if they looked. “I sketch portraits, too. Well… not portraits.” A shrug. “Hands, or eyes, or mouths. Noses, sometimes.” Breasts. The curve of a hip. Necks. “Whatever inspires me. Doodling, as I said.”

Fee

“Rach is right,” Fee chimes in. And like, even if she’s still a bit too distracted by her finacee’s dress to totally involve herself in the conversation, she’s pretty sure she is. She learned a long time ago to always defer to Rachel’s opinion. Unless it’s about sports or video games. Then Fee’s your go to girl. 

But like... when it comes to Sam and Q, they’re pretty much of the same opinion. They belong together. It’s only a matter of time. 

And to be honest, Fee’s sort of hoping it will happen sooner rather than later so she wins the bet. Er... not that that make bets about their friends or anything...

Quinn

“Yeah, and when it’s my,” our, “Engagement party, I will totally accept all complaints of grossness and mush because I know none of it will rain on my parade.” She pokes Rachel’s side pointedly, her smile bright and teasing. Because this is nice, isn’t it? Just the four of them. Teasing each other. Like old times. Well... sort of.

“Just like I know it won’t rain on yours,” she says, nodding sagely, “Because newly engaged privileged is too strong. I should know. I went to Yale.”

But the truth is she really hopes she’s right. The marriages she’s seen in her life haven’t been the happiest. She thinks she’ll be lucky if she gets even a glimpse at what the Hudson’s to be have.

Bea

Oh, it’s sweet, this. She’s flustered, Bea thinks. Not for any reason she’d like (because, what she’d like is to kiss that flush onto her cheeks -- but that’s not her fault, Bea has a think for beautiful blondes and Fran is....stunning), but it’s interesting. Telling, really. Bea’s an actor. She knows it’s not always what a person says, but what they don’t say that’s the most meaningful. Subtext. 

And Fran’s subtext tells her that Fran’s art means a lot more to her than she’s let on. 

“Doesn’t sound like doodles to me.” She takes another step, moving closer still. “Doodles are for the corners of notebooks,” she insists, nudging Fran’s hand with the back of her own. It’s meant to be teasing, and it is, she thinks. But if she’s being perfectly honest, it’s also an excuse to touch her -- fingertips still just barely grazing her own. Pushing the envelope. Seeing what she can get away with because she really can’t help herself. 

And if she encourages Fran, all the better. 

Rachel

“Yeah… and you know I love Bea. I just don’t think she’s who Sammy needs.” Sammy needs Quinn. She’s known that since high school, when she assumed they’d have a double wedding. And even if she’s more than happy for that particular fantasy to not come true (she’ll keep the spotlight to herself, thank you very much), she still wants them together. And happy. “I always thought we’d be couple friends. We’d have married game nights at our house one weekend and theirs the next, and our kids would be best friends with theirs.” She shrugs. She knows it’s silly, She just wishes it wasn’t.

“Shall we go interrupt them?” She winks at Fiona and takes her hand, leading her there. “I know meddling is forbidden,” there are rules about it, apparently, even if Rachel disagrees, “but we can still go see what’s up.”

Sammy

“It’s a deal, then.” Sammy grins and takes Quinn’s hand, giving it a firm shake. She doesn’t let go right away. “If we’re not married by thirty five, we’ll marry each other and have gorgeous babies with your face, my abs, and your brains.” And she’s still holding Quinn’s hand. It’s warm, don’t judge her. She only lets it go when-

“Hey, The Hudsons!” She grins, calling the happy couple over. “We were just talking about how gross you two are. Congrats.”

Fran

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Scotch girl.” Which is funny, because Fran is one, so it’s not like she has any trouble picturing a woman drinking Scotch. But Bea looks… softer, somehow. Martini, she can see. She can picture her like the women in Martini ads - red lip and little black dress, sipping her drink seductively - without any trouble. It’s the Scotch that trips her up. But it’s okay, isn’t it? Bea would’ve forgiven her, and that’s enough.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t-” Fran shakes her head “I wouldn’t call it art. Or myself an artist.” Bea is being nice, she can tell, and she appreciates it. But there’s no need for her to pretend she’s interested, or for Frannie to pretend she believes her. “Glorified doodling, really.” She clears her throat and smiles, the kind of smile she likes to think says ‘everything is fine, nothing to see here’. “Why don’t we go get that non-fruity drink, huh?”

Fee

Yeah. If Fee’s being honest she always kind of hoped they’d be couple friends too. Dinner dates, couples vacations, neighbouring beach houses in the Hamptons -- their kids growing up together and forming their own little group someday. And yeah, she thinks Bea’s cool too, but when she pictures that future, she doesn’t see Bea in it. 

But it’s not up to them. Even if their status after all these years should totally make them experts, Sam’s got to make her own mistakes. 

Doesn’t mean they can’t try and poke the idiots in the right direction. 

“Yo!” Fee shakes her head, feigning disappointment. “Jealousy does not look cute on you, bro.”

Quinn

They shake hands for much longer than is strictly necessary. Longer than a straight girl and her off the market friend should hold hands to solidify a hypothetical future wedding proposal. But it’s not weird, Quinn decides. They’ve always had an affectionate sort of friendship. 

But if that’s all it is, why does Sam drop her hand so quickly when Rachel and Fiona appear beside them (have they been practicing their magic act)?

And why does Quinn feel disappointed?

“Seriously, we’re happy for you, but we’d also like to be able to keep some of these hor d'oeuvres down.”

Bea

Okay, so maybe she doesn’t go out of her way to drink scotch. But she wouldn’t wrinkle her nose if she was offered a glass either. And anyway, Fran drinks scotch, and she could drink in Fran all night -- wasn’t that the point she’d been making? Subtly, of course. As one does when flirting with a married woman. Whose sister just so happens to be the best friend of the girl you're kind of seeing. 

Bea’s never claimed to make good decisions. 

Rachel

What the kids don’t know… Yes, she knows all about that. She’s been helping write and stage the fourth grade holiday recitals for years, and so far none of the kids have caught on to the very special friendship between Miss Hudson and Miss Rachel. It’s cute, watching Fiona try to keep her poker face on while Rachel tries to distract her. Their very own holiday tradition.

“How long do you think we need to entertain them for them to get us that castle-shaped house for Pupfasa?” She’s kidding, too. Not about the castle - she wants that in her living room immediately - but about it being a reward for talking to their friends. She loves them. Even if they aren’t always the brightest. Case in point… “Do you think Sammy and Quinn will ever figure out their respective crushes are very much reciprocated?”

Sammy

Somewhere at the back of her head, she knows she shouldn’t be making pacts about marrying her best friend when her non-girlfriend is standing right there. Well, kind of right there. She’s leaving to get drinks, actually. And as much as she wishes she didn’t, Sammy kinda knows Bea won’t mind. She doesn’t think Bea wants to marry her. She doesn’t think their relationship is the marriage sort. Not everyone can be The Hudsons.

“Thirty five?” She knows Quinn’s joking, because she’s straight. So she jokes right back, even if she isn’t really. “I mean forty’s a bit old for kids, right? Gotta pass down these genes.” She lifts her shirt just enough to show off her abs, and she’s definitely joking this time. Imagine a newborn with rock hard abs. She giggles just at the image in her head. “Abulous babies. Hella smart, too, like their other Mama.” She points at Quinn. “I mean, we’d be doing humanity a favor, right?”

Fran

Bea follows her. And Fran would be annoyed, but she’s mostly embarrassed, and not just for being the epitome of everything young feminists these days despise, but also for hiding. And for Bea figuring out that’s what she was doing. She’s thirty five, for crying out loud. Not twelve.

“Sorry. That’s right.” She wasn’t crying - she’s not that pathetic - but she still looks a bit like a deer in headlights. Caught hiding is about as awful as caught crying, as far as humiliating party moments go. “I assumed you’d like something fruity, would I have been wrong?” Maybe if they just talk about drinks, they can forget about everything else.

Fee

Oh yeah. The castle. Fee had forgotten about that. Maybe a little purposely. Pupfasa is a hardcore dude. He should be getting like...a death star or something. But Rachel wants a castle, and Fee knows deep down Pupfasa’s not going to care either way. And like... there were castles in Lord of the Rings, right? So it’s still a little hardcore. 

Somewhere in their living room, she can hear Puck laughing, and though she knows it’s impossible, Fee swears she’s laughing at her. Mocking. It’s a bro thing. 

“I don’t know, babe,” she says, turning her attention to the idiots in question as she slides an arm around Rachel’s waist. “Yeah, I mean, I guess I’d like to think so. They deserve it, you know?” It’s the hopeless romantic in her that roots for them. The part of her that knew she’d met her future wife in the ninth grade. She’s living the dream, and she thinks everyone else should jump right on that train. “But they are kind of slow.”

Yeah, even Fee can see the irony (is it ironical?) of the statement. But even this lower lit bulb can see what’s right in front of her nose. 

Quinn

It’s a joke. They’re joking. And she knows this because Sammy’s giggling and talking about abulous infants. But there’s a part of her that things it wouldn’t be so bad. Like... if she’s got to procreate, and her Fabray training is very clear about that, Sam wouldn’t be the worst person to do it with. Not because of the... abs (though objectively she can admit, her friends are something to be marvelled), but because they make a good team. She can only assume that would translate into parenting. 

Hypothetically. 

“Totally,” she nods, and it’s true isn’t it -- look at them. “We owe it to the future of mankind.”

Bea

She smiles, something soft and warm, but not sympathetic. She thinks sympathy is the exact opposite of what Fran wants right now. But warm, Bea thinks, she could use. 

“You would have been,” she says, stepping into the room, “But I’d have forgiven you.” The polite thing probably would have been to wait for an invitation, but -- she thinks as she closes the door behind her -- privacy totally outranks niceties. “Fruity drinks always lead to headaches and hangovers -- I much prefer something stronger. Vodka Soda, Gin Martini,” a beat as she leans back against the closed door, “Scotch.”

She eyes her carefully for a moment, letting the silence hang comfortably between them, as she internally debates her next question before finally deciding to just go for it. What has she got to lose? Quinn already hates her, what’s another Fabray?

Rachel

She’s been Fiona’s girlfriend for well over a decade, even if she doesn’t count that first year of college when they were apart. So it’s safe to say there are honestly few surprises left in the bedroom department at this point. She knows every inch of Fee’s body by heart, and she knows the same is true for her body and Fiona, and honestly, she wouldn’t exchange that safety and intimacy and trust for all the wild adventurous sex in the world. And the very best part is, she still feels a tingle down her spine when Fiona promises to take her dress off later. Even if she’s taken off hundreds of Rachel’s clothes before. 

“Miss Hudson.” She has to channel her acting skills to say it in a stern, judgmental tone. If she was wearing pearls, she’d clutch them for effect. “A respectable teacher like yourself, taking off an Off-Broadway star’s dress?” She may not technically be a star yet, but she will be. As soon as her show opens and the world realizes what they’ve been missing all these years by ignoring her talent. The (theater) world will never be the same. And she knows Fee thinks of her as a star already, anyway. “How scandalous.”

Sammy

“C’mon, Q, we’re not old!” I mean, she does feel old sometimes. Like, all the time, when someone mentions marriage or children, because she’s always kind of wanted the whole package thing, you know? A wife and a home filled with kids and maybe a dog or five. And in her wildest dreams, her house always looks like a gorgeous ranch down South (you can take the girl out of small town Tennessee, but you can’t take small town Tennessee out of the girl) and her wife always looks like…

Nope. Not going down that road.

“I mean sure, I always kinda assumed we’d be married by now.” Her eyes widen just so, and she’s like, stupid grateful everyone assumes she’s kinda dim because that means she can usually recover from foot-in-mouth situations without much trouble. Oh, you know Sammy. Kind of an airhead. “I mean. Not to each other. Obviously.” Because Quinn is straight. Obviously! “But like. You know what I mean. But we’re young in Manhattan, Q! The world is our oyster… I think. Is that the right saying? I never really got the oyster thing, to be honest.”

Fran

Fran chuckles, half because Bea’s exaggerated accent is amusing, and half because she’s on her second drink and everything’s a little funnier with a little help from good scotch. But then Bea turns the question on her, and Fran doesn’t find that quite so amusing, even if her smile remains. Because she’s a Fabray. And Fabrays don’t ever let their face show anything below ‘neutral’ on the mood scale.

“I don’t work.” She’s thirty five years old. She’s been married for seventeen years now, which is exactly how long she’s been a stay at home wife. And it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Less so when she’s among the other trophy wives in her usual circle, but exponentially more when she’s surrounded by Quinn’s friends and their exciting lives, jobs, and relationships. “But I like to paint.” And normally she’d be at least a bit proud of that fact - many of Felicity’s friends’ mothers don’t have hobbies beyond shopping - but right now it feels a little like she’s desperate for validation. I’m not completely hollow inside. I have a life. I fucking paint.

“And I like scotch, too.” She jokes, kind of, showing Bea her empty glass. “I’ll go get a refill and bring back something for you.” She’s still smiling, so she hopes nothing will look particularly off as she makes her way to Fiona and Rachel’s guest room, hoping for a break from people to just forget about her own life and stop comparing it to the lives of everyone else out in the living room.

Fee

Well, now Fee’s just laughing. Rachel has that effect on her too. Like, she’s pretty sure that there are people (some of which might even be at this party) who find the more dramatic parts of Rachel’s personality a bit much, and that’s cool, in high school, she might have agreed -- but now she gets it. Rachel’s just a big dork too. A different brand than her, maybe -- but like, dork attracts dork, it’s science. 

She thinks. It’s a good thing she teaches the fourth grade. 

“Hey -- what the kids don’t know...” she wiggles her brows suggestively -- one dorky gesture always demanded another in return, like Einstein said. Or something. “Come on, fiancee, we should probably say hi to our friends so they get us good wedding presents,” she jokes... well, she’s mostly joking, so she thinks that makes it funny and not selfish - she just really wants that Darth Vadar waffle maker. 

Quinn

Sam always assumed they’d be married by now. And yeah, she’s sure she did mean individually married. To other people. But she’s blushing. Playing up the air head act she thinks she can pull off -- and maybe she can, with other people, but Quinn’s not other people, is she? 

And so she smiles, something warm and just a little sympathetic. She hasn’t pictured the two of them married (recently... gals being pals, it’s ALL NORMAL), but Sam has. Or at least the insinuation that she has is enough to make her friend flustered. And it feels good. Bea’s will come and go, but they’re still at the top of each other’s lists. 

“I get it, Sammy, honest,” she chuckles, only vaguely aware that Fran is leaving without her. “You’re right, we’re young, we’re in New York, there’s no rush -- still, maybe we should make one of those pacts. If we’re not married by forty or whatever. You know, just in case.” That was a normal thing to say, right? Not gay, certainly. Who wouldn’t rather marry their best friend than some overweight dude with hair plugs who is probably cheating on you with his secretary anyway?

Bea

She doesn’t know Fran -- but she is really good at reading people. So when Fran can’t seem to refresh her drink fast enough, Bea knows she’s hit a raw nerve. And as unintentional as it may be, she still feels terrible. But she gets it, she thinks. She’s been stuck in a life with choices she didn’t want to be making anymore -- unable to look in her Gran’s eyes to explain the reason she doesn’t look herself is that she’s been spending her nights drinking shit beer and getting high in the hopes of feeling something. She gets shame. 

She just doesn’t think Fran has anything to be ashamed of. (Funny thing, shame. It only ever makes sense to the person who's experiencing it.)

So she places a hand on Sam’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze to get her attention. “I’m going to get us some drinks,” she says quietly, giving her Sam’s cheek a quick peck before turning to follow Fran’s retreating form.