XXXI

.

Rachel feels it, the moment her fathers file their countersue. It ripples through her in a way that has her constantly on alert, searching the faces of her classmates for anyone who possibly knows there's a war brewing. It's coming, and she doesn't think any of them is truly ready for it or what it could mean for their little town.

As a result, she steers completely clear of Quinn. It's really easy to do, because Quinn seems to be doing the same thing with her. They barely look at each other for one full week, and they don't text at all. If Rachel thought Quinn was paranoid before, this is on an entirely new level. But, if this is the last, final piece of understanding Quinn needs from her; she's going to give it. She's been counting down the days until her graduation, anyway, and Quinn has her believing that's going to be the final play in her illustrious plan.

Now, she's this close to getting everything she wants: out of Lima and Quinn. And Kurt, she supposes, but telling him that would go straight to his head, and he's already insufferable enough without the ego boost. In just a few days, she hopes everything is going to be clearer, because she really doesn't know what she's supposed to do if it doesn't all miraculously work itself out.

Maybe she's putting too much faith into this plan. It seems Quinn is, too, but she's the one who even knows what's really happening, so Rachel is determined to follow her lead. Quinn doesn't seem like the type to make empty promises, but Rachel is trying not to hope too much. She won't survive the disappointment, and there are things she knows to do to keep herself protected.

But, God, she misses Quinn.

When she was younger, she legitimately believed in soulmates; that there was one person out there who was meant for her, and she wouldn't truly be complete until she met them. Sometimes, she still believes in the notion, but it goes beyond meeting them now. She won't be complete unless she's with them, and she feels as if she's being continually confronted with that truth the more time she's forced to be without Quinn.

Well.

.

"So."

Rachel looks up from the textbook in her lap. She's hunkered away in the library, avoiding everyone she possibly can, and revising for her last ever Final as a high school student in the afternoon. It's bittersweet and entirely too amazing and, if she passes - face it, she's going to pass - she's going to be a secondary school graduate by the end of Saturday.

Technically.

She's also hoping she'll have an open relationship - er, the public kind of open, she means, not the other type - as well, but she's too cautious to hope when so many things are still out of her control.

It's been a tiring few days, trying to escape from unwanted conversations about the countersue, so the last thing she's expecting is to have Santana Lopez standing over her, looking slightly uncomfortable.

What comes out of her mouth is less of a surprise, though, and Rachel is almost relieved by the sudden familiarity of it. "You look like shit."

Rachel feels like it, too, but she doesn't say that. She says absolutely nothing, and Santana uses it as invitation to take the seat in the armchair beside her, groaning quietly.

"It's weird," Santana says. "Now that cheerleading is, like, done for the rest of my miserable life; it's as if my muscles are complaining about the inactivity. How fucked up is that?"

Rachel just stares at her for a long moment before she finds her voice. "You know, we really don't need to do this."

"Do what?"

"Whatever this is," Rachel says, gesturing between them. "You don't want to be here any more than I want you to, so..." she trails off. "I mean, I suspect you're here for a reason. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Santana's jaw clenches, but she manages to relax a moment later. "You know, the three of us had a plan," she says, clearly referring to herself, Brittany and Quinn. "Ever since we were freshmen, we talked about getting out of this place and heading as far away as possible, which was always going to be to California." She shakes her head. "I guess it was a little naïve to think our plans would never change, right? But I honestly didn't think we would end up here, like this."

Rachel listens, but it's really as if Santana is talking to herself; as if she's working through something.

"Before this year, I never even had to wonder about what it would be like not to have Quinn around," she says. "She's been my best friend for so long, and I always thought we would be together in some capacity. She, Britt and me, just taking on the world; conquering the West Coast the way we always dreamed we would." She sighs, going in a different direction. "Contrary to what you might believe, Berry, I've never actually hated you. I'm just a shit person, in general." She turns her head away. "But, today, I hate you a little bit."

Rachel frowns, because she's pretty sure she's done absolutely nothing to warrant it. Ever.

Like, ever.

Particularly not today.

Not that she can recall, anyway.

"Quinn told me about New York," Santana says, and Rachel suddenly just gets it. Quinn is coming with her to New York, instead of following through on her goodness-knows-how-many-year-old plans she made with her best friends. "I guess I always suspected something like this would happen. She talked about her family's expectations of Harvard, and I couldn't quite stop myself from thinking she deserved Ivy League. She'd fit in so well, stretching that ridiculous brain of hers and schooling all those academic types with her intellect." She hums softly. "And, now, I suppose it's happening in ways none of us ever thought."

"Because of me?"

Santana looks at her again. "I didn't quite get it at first," she says, her voice low. "Or second or third, because, like I said, I'm a shit person, but she loves you, and you manage to bring out this side of her she's never shown anyone else." She frowns. "I didn't even know that side existed, to be honest. It's kind of sobering when you learn you don't actually know your best friend as well as you thought you did."

Rachel swallows, feeling a little sorry for Santana and hating herself for it. "It's not because - " she starts.

"Save it," Santana cuts her off, but not unkindly. "We all know it's because of me." She sighs. "She didn't feel as if she could tell me. About you, or about her plans for her future. She wasn't sure how I would take it, and I - " she stops. "I guess she was right to be wary, because I honestly don't know how I would have handled it before... any of this."

"This?"

Santana waves a hand between them, and then gestures all around them. "This."

Rachel shifts slightly. "Is this your apology?" she asks.

Santana's face pinches slightly. "It is," she says, without meeting Rachel's gaze. "Well, it's trying to be. I don't do this often, so I'll probably mess it up somehow." Her fists clench for a moment, and Rachel waits, patient as ever. "I'm sorry," she says. "I am sorry, Rachel." She presses her lips together. "Not that you ever trusted me, but I should never have betrayed it."

"Because of Quinn?"

"Because of you," she says. "Because of me. Because I should know better. Because being a gay girl of a certain colour in this ridiculous town is hard, and I'm sorry." Her breath catches. "I am so sorry."

Rachel moves to rest her fingers on Santana's forearm. "I - "

"Those next words better not be 'I forgive you,' because we both know you don't," she says. "And, I've barely even earned it. I don't deserve it."

Rachel blinks. "All things that are true, yes, but I was actually going to say that I think, as far as apologies go, you did all right."

"Oh."

Rachel smiles softly. "I'm kind of hoping some good can still come out of this entire mess."

"Like what?"

"I mean, I got an apology out of you, so that's something."

"Good?"

"Why not?" Rachel asks, shrugging slightly. "Or, would you rather I refer to it as a miracle?"

Santana scowls at her. "I really have no idea what Quinn sees in you," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel takes it as a joke, and not an insult, because it hits a little too close to her insecurities. "I make her happy," she says, and it's the one truth she's been able to hold onto through all this drama.

Santana glances at her. "Yeah," she says; "you do."

.

Brittany: Today, we're soldiers. (Well, really, tomorrow we're soldiers, but you get my meaning). Here we are, Rachel Berry. The time has come. I have high hopes for what tomorrow's going to bring. This message, my dear, is to tell you to make sure you locate where my parents are going to be sitting at the ceremony from the very beginning, okay? Trust me, you're going to want a good view. I love you.

.

.

.

XXXII

.

Rachel, predictably, is riddled with nerves on the day she's supposed to be graduating from high school. It's not really the feeling she was expecting, but she can't help it. Today is going to be a very important day in her life for reasons other than just receiving her academic diploma, and she can't seem to sit still because of it.

Thankfully, her fathers just read it as some kind of mixture of nervousness and excitement. She'll take it.

Owing to her surname, she's sitting in the first of the rows of seniors, and she can see Quinn, who's up on the stage - of course she is - and Kurt is in the row behind her, casually kicking her chair every few minutes. Sometimes, she really thinks he needs a sibling - who isn't Finn and likely to squish him in retaliation - to annoy, because he seems to have latched onto her, for whatever reason. She lets him, of course, because her life would truly suck without him, and it's even worse that he knows it.

As instructed, Rachel spends a few moments first locating her own parents in the crowd and then waving like the awkward little kid she sometimes is, mainly because she really doesn't care about what anyone thinks about her at this point. In a couple of days, she's going to be on her way to New York (hopefully with Quinn in tow), and this town will be some kind of distant memory (that she still doesn't know if she'll ever return to).

But, that's a thought for another day, and a conversation she's not sure she's going to want to have with her parents.

After she locates them, she searches the faces again for the ones she knows belong to Russell and Judy Fabray. It's really unfortunate that she actually knows what they look like, and it still amazes her that those two terrible, awful human beings managed to produce the absolute perfection that is Quinn Fabray.

Rachel zeroes in on them, Judy looking slightly uncomfortable in her sear and Russell sitting up straight, tall and proud, as if there's even a cell in him worthy of it. Her jaw clenches, and she hates them. She absolutely hates them.

Kurt kicks at her chair again, and she manages to refocus.

She's okay.

Everything is going to be okay.

She settles once more, facing forward just in time for the ceremony to start. Principal Figgins speaks for entirely too long about absolutely nothing before he hands over to their keynote speaker, a William McKinley alum from too many years ago, who seems to have found success in real estate. His speech is even worse, and Rachel just keeps her eyes on Quinn, who is doing her level best not to look bored out of her mind. Rachel's also pretty sure she can hear someone snoring somewhere behind her.

By the time it's Quinn's turn to speak, Rachel has to do a physical shake of her body to make sure she pays attention. She's not the only one, apparently, and the auditorium seems to come alive as Quinn steps up to the podium and smiles the kind of disarming smile that has Rachel wanting to reach out and touch her.

"Good morning, everyone," Quinn starts. "Distinguished guests, teachers, parents, and the cClass of 2012." She pauses when the other students greet her right back, which makes her smile widen. "Now, I've given a handful of speeches in my time at William McKinley, but obviously none have been like this," she continues, her voice calm and steady, echoing slightly around the room. "It seems like a lot of responsibility, even if I'm quite certain none of us are even going to remember a word I say ten years from now - particularly me." There's a murmur of amusement, and Quinn seems to feed off it. "I'll admit that, when I finally sat down to put pen to paper - or, in this day and age, fingertips to laptop keys - I was at a loss as to what to say, because, face it, I wasn't ever one of those children who used to stand in front of her mirror and practice this kind of thing."

Rachel flushes despite herself, because she's convinced Quinn dropped that in there just because of Little Star's admittance to rehearsing her acceptance speeches. The little shit.

Quinn smiles knowingly, as if she can hear Rachel's thoughts beaming straight at her. "So, I didn't even know what's supposed to go into Valedictory speeches, which is where I put my millennial status to good use. Honestly, parents, I have absolutely no idea how you survived teenage life without Google. It pains me even to think about it." She pauses again for the murmur of laughter to pass. "So, as any good student would, I did my research. I found all these templates for the best way to go about it. I even watched a few YouTube videos and, I admit, I got a bit teary at some of them. This is probably the scariest time of our lives, leaving this place, and you've somehow entrusted me to send you on your way, and I take my job very seriously.

"In my research, I learned that anecdotes and famous quotations are very important. Not only do they show intelligence, but they also eat up time and words without you having to come up with something intelligent to say on your own." There's another ripple of amusement, and Rachel finds herself smiling. "I'm supposed to say something motivational, deeply profound. I'm also supposed to mention a few good memories from the past four years, and not sound remotely bittersweet that high school is finally over."

Quinn's posture relaxes slightly, softens. "I think I can speak for a lot of people here when I say high school probably hasn't been the most enjoyable four years of my life," she says, and she sounds so, so sad. "We've all had our struggles, I know, and it's been more difficult for others than we'll ever know. We've had fights, break-ups and make-ups. We've had wins and losses and breakdowns. We've had countless all-nighters, insane deadlines, unbelievable teachers and way too much homework. We've had it all, and I'm sure there are a lot of people in this place who literally can't wait to get out of here."

She raises a hand, as if she's one of them.

"Still, I feel oddly attached to this place. It has my blood, sweat and tears in its walls, and I didn't think I would be able to leave it without doing something to commemorate my time here in some way. I've read that some graduating classes leave some kind of gift behind to acknowledge they've come and gone. As in, somehow, leaving our mark, as it were. I'm sure Puckerman would recommend vandalising some school property in order to make sure our names forever remained."

Predictably, there's a loud whoop heard from said boy, followed by more laughter.

"Don't worry, Principal Figgins, even I know that won't be a good idea." She grins saucily, and then winks at the crowd. "I considered, maybe, putting up some kind of plaque, or maybe donating a bench or something, but that all felt so... inadequate." She tilts her head slightly, and blows out a breath. "And, plus, that was really all before I realised we had no money, and the school's code of conduct prohibits students from donating any kind of mural without going through several forms and several signatures. By then, it was too late, and I was a little preoccupied with Nationals and Finals, so it made sense to give up on that idea.

"But, then, I started to think about the idea of leaving your mark on your place or on a person even more," she says. "Thinking back on these past four years, there are certain people - teachers and students alike - who stand out for both good and bad reasons. I think I've left my mark on people, and they've done the same for me, and I found myself nostalgic for a way to remember that for forever. So, I thought... if we couldn't leave a mark on this school... then what if we left a mark on ourselves?"

Quinn gets this little mischievous smile that absolutely delights the crowd. "Which really brings us to the only thing I could come up with, which is what I'm going to lead with, because I'm pretty sure I was borderline sleep-deprived when I came up with this idea, and now it's just too late. I know it's probably, definitely, bound to get a very visceral reaction from many, many parents, but here goes nothing: get a tattoo." She pauses, letting it sink in, and there's the sound of expected murmuring. "Now, I know what you're all thinking: First, you're crazy because, come on, Quinn, but we can't, and I say, but we can. I did the research for us." She's still smiling so innocently that the entire room has no choice but to follow along on this journey on which she seems to be taking them. "Just, work with me here. I'll make believers out of you, I can assure you. Now, from my research, I learned that three things are very important to consider when getting a tattoo: where is goes, what it is and who does it for you." Here, Quinn waits for the longest time, her eyes sweeping across the room to settle on her father, and Rachel just knows this is the moment.

This is the moment.

She doesn't know how or why, but Rachel turns her head to look at Russell Fabray, and he looks the least composed Rachel's ever seen him.

Quinn continues on, as if nothing is amiss. "I decided to work in reverse order, because finding a skilled tattoo artist seemed to be the easiest thing to consider on the list and, several Yelp reviews later, I was taking a drive to Toledo. I wasn't sure what to expect, honestly, but tattoo parlours have always been these foreign things to me, and it was so difficult to imagine myself, this blonde, cookie-cutter, Christian girl walking into one of those dark stores and actually getting a tattoo. But, I walked right in, and I received the surprise of my life. Just as an aside, it's not as dark in there as they like you to think." She's on her own tangent at this point and, even though Rachel realises all this fanfare is really for her father, it doesn't feel particularly out of place in this room.

"There was a young woman behind the counter," Quinn says, her eyes focused on her father. "Probably a couple of years out of graduation herself, and she picked up on the fact I was a newbie with one look, but she waved me in asked the other two important questions. What was I looking for and where would I want to put it? Even during the drive, I didn't manage to figure it out. Would it be the school name, its logo, my best friends' names? What was so important to me about this school and its people that I would be willing to wear it on my body for the rest of my life?" She seems to ponder it, this dramatic flare about her that makes Rachel wonder if writing is really the way to go for her. "Apparently, it's sometimes not okay to ask about other people's tattoos, but I managed to ask about hers and I'm still standing here, so, yay." She shrugs unapologetically, and Rachel is so, so in love.

"There was one particular one that caught my eye. It was a Chinese symbol on her bicep, which looked quite recent, and the translation beneath it, in brackets was Control plus Z, also known as the Undo function on a keyboard for those non-millennials. I found it amusing at first, but, when she spoke of it, it was with tone of deep, deep regret. It was heavy in her eyes, and it suddenly struck me that that is the kind of emotion that deserves a tattoo. Oddly curious, I asked if I could share the story she told me, and she agreed." Quinn seems to steel herself, as if this is going to be the part that either clinches it or she's failed completely, and Rachel unconsciously holds her breath. "She told me she met this man, rich and older, who liked to buy her things. Student loans add up, she said, and the attention was nice. Sometimes, girls, even ones with tattoos, like to be pampered. She said they would always meet in secret, and she naively thought it was because he was ashamed of the age difference." Quinn shakes her head, merely adding to the drama.

"But, then, she learned the truth, and she's carried this deep sense of regret and guilt ever since. I'm sure many of you can guess the man actually turned out to be married, with a family: a wife and two kids," Quinn says. "She said, when she found out, the confrontation was explosive because her conscience wouldn't allow him just to get away with it. She wanted, so badly, to tell his family the truth, but she also couldn't bear to break the hearts. Their father and husband was supposed to be a good, kind, religious man, an apparent pillar of the community, and the truth of his affair would ruin his life and his image in some of the worst ways, and she wondered who she was actually protecting by remaining silent."

Rachel holds her breath, because this is dangerous.

It's so, so dangerous.

The entire thing could be part of an entirely different speech, but Quinn already has them all spellbound. She could be talking about witches and vampires for all the audience would know; they're following along without a second thought.

Rachel chances a look at Russell again, and he's up on his feet, fists clenched. There's a defiant look in his eyes, almost daring Quinn to continue with this bluff.

Quinn just stares back, as unaffected and impassive as ever. "She asked me my thoughts on it," she continues, as if she's not having some kind of standoff with her father. "She wanted to know if I would have come clean with the wife about what kind of man she's married to, and I honestly had no idea. I still don't. And, I suppose that's the thing about regret. It can follow you for lifetimes and, when we step out into the world tomorrow as the adults we've spent our entire lives becoming, we're going to have to remember there's no Undo button in life.

"It's a sobering thought, but one I think we'll all have to learn ourselves. We're all going to make mistakes, whether we know it or not. Did she know what she was getting herself into when she got involved with him? Maybe. Would she have done something different if she'd known? Probably. And, I guess that's where the regret lies. Still, I asked her, knowing what she knows now, would she have made the same choices in the beginning, and she said yes. I misunderstood her, apparently. Her regret is not that she's had this experience and grown as a person from it. Her regret is that she doesn't think she's grown nearly enough.

"Which, I really don't want for myself," she says; "Or for any of you. And, that's really my message today. Life is about experiences, and I think we have a lot of them from attending McKinley. We have to grow from them; become better because of them, regrets or not." She stops and takes a deep, fortifying breath. "That really is it," she says. "I went into a tattoo parlour to get a tattoo and I walked out with a life lesson from a girl who's experienced more life than I have. She learned, and I did, and now so have you. Go out there, experience all you can and try to live a life where you can truthfully say you have no regrets.

"I'm not sure if any of you will be relieved to know, but I didn't end up getting a tattoo," she says, and then chuckles when she gets a prolonged 'boo' out of the crowd. "Not this time, but maybe in the future. Who knows what's going to happen? I might even end up with something worth wearing on my body for the rest of my life." Her eyes seem to search for Rachel and linger for a beat too long. "But, until then, I guess you'll all have to imagine where I'll put it." There's another wink, and then Quinn is very carefully bringing the speech to an end. She's done what she set out to do, apparently, and it remains to be seen if it'll actually work. "I wish you all lives without regret," she says. "But, if you do end up with some, I hope it's not enough to leave a mark. Instead, I wish you all those other things: joy and happiness and success and love that you'll want left all over your body."

Her grin is naughty now, and, yeah, of course this girl is just some blonde, cookie-cutter, Christian girl.

Rachel almost groans at what any of that could potentially mean for the future her.

"Come to think of it," Quinn says; "I definitely shouldn't even have considered high school for that, huh?" She rolls her eyes, and then lifts her fist. "To the Class of 2012!" she shouts, and gets a loud cheer in response. "Here's to a life with no regrets!"

Rachel can feel Quinn's eyes on her, and it's as if the words are directed straight at her.

Well.

Maybe they are.

.

.

.

XXXIII

.

Quinn isn't in school on Monday.

Or Tuesday.

As much as Rachel wants to worry and tear into the Fabray mansion, she trusts Quinn. It's a struggle and her heart aches because of it, but Quinn threw out into the Universe her bargaining chip, and Rachel is waiting to hear if Russell was willing to deal.

On Wednesday, the senior class of William McKinley says goodbye to their classrooms and teachers and classmates for the last time, and Rachel can't help feeling a little nostalgic for the four years that have been both the worst and best of her life.

Quinn shows up on Thursday.

But, first, during Rachel's shift at Juniper's, she receives a call from her father that surprises and worries her simultaneously. It's unlike him to call when he knows she's working a shift, and she immediately knows it has to be bad news.

God.

What if he's calling about Quinn?

Her heart thunders in her chest when she answers. "Hello."

"Sweetheart?"

Rachel glances over her shoulder to make sure the café really is empty, and then sighs, trying to prepare herself. He doesn't sound particularly panicked, so she's at least relieved by that. "What's up, Dad?" she asks, trying and failing to keep the utter despondency out of her voice. She would probably take any news right about now, anyway. "I won't be home for a couple of hours, still."

"I know," he says, seemingly distracted by something. "I just, um, well, I called to find out if you knew why Russell Fabray suddenly just dropped all legal proceedings against your father?"

Rachel's breath catches in her throat. "What?"

Hiram mumbles something to someone else, and then returns to her. "Uh, well, you know, the lawsuit is suddenly just gone, and we're trying to figure out what happened."

Rachel pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at it for a long, long moment. When she returns to the conversation, she says, "Can you please repeat that?"

"The lawsuit is gone, Rachel," Hiram says. "Disappeared. Poof. Right into thin air. It's like it never even existed."

Rachel isn't sure how it happens, but she starts to laugh. Loudly and unabashedly, humourlessly and disbelieving.

"Rachel?" Hiram asks, sounding concerned. "Sweetheart, do you know something?"

It takes another forty seconds to compose herself enough to get words out. "It worked," she says, her tone laced with wonder. "It actually worked."

"What worked?"

Rachel is about to answer him when the door opens, the little bell signifying the arrival of a patron, and Rachel turns around to come face-to-face with none other than Quinn Fabray. Rachel almost can't even believe her eyes. Quinn is standing right there, smiling this cute, little, sheepish smile, and Rachel must be dreaming.

"Rachel?" Hiram questions in her ear. "What are you talking about? What worked? Rachel?"

Another eleven seconds path, the two girls just staring at each other.

"Are you still there? Rachel, Sweetheart, is everything okay?"

"Dad," she suddenly says. "I'm going to have to call you back." She hangs up before he can respond, and her hand drops to her side, suddenly limp.

Quinn head tilts to the side. "Hi," she says.

"Hi."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "So."

"So."

She bites her bottom lip. "It worked."

"It worked."

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say?"

"Probably," she says, finally able to breathe. "What did you do?"

"I made a deal with the devil."

Rachel tries to ignore her flash of fear. "What exactly does that mean?"

Quinn shifts her weight from her one foot to the other, suddenly looking nervous. "Well, it really depends on you."

"What do you mean?"

She clears her throat. "It means that I'm me," she says and then frowns at herself. "Just me, Rachel. He - he's more interested in protecting his image than having a disowned daughter. So, he doesn't want me and, as long as I keep his secrets and protect his affair, he'll never want me for anything ever again. I'm me, and you're you and we're free. This is what it was all about. This freedom. This me. It's all I really have." She looks away. "But, it's all yours, if you want it. I'm all yours. If you want me, I mean. Which is why it depends on you. So."

And, wow, okay, is Quinn blushing?

Rachel can't keep her eyes off her. "So," she says.

"There you go repeating everything I say again," Quinn says, nervously smoothing a hand over her hair and resting her palm against the back of her neck.

"You're free?"

Quinn nods. "I - I moved out," she says. "I'm staying with Brittany for the moment, but, I mean, I kind of have all these plans with this amazing girl, and I would really like to put those into effect as soon as possible." She licks her lips. "I think I've kept us both waiting long enough."

For a terrifying second, Rachel wonders if she's actually ready for all of this, but then Quinn looks at her with his anxious, ridiculously hazel eyes, and -

Yes.

Yes, she is.

"You've been waiting a while, huh?" Rachel finds herself asking.

"Feels like my entire life."

Rachel takes a breath. "Think you can manage to wait a little longer?"

Quinn falters slightly, but she remains steadfastly in position. "I'll wait for forever," she says, the quiet declaration sending Rachel's heart into overdrive.

Rachel clears her throat. "And, um, can I maybe get you something while you wait?" she asks, her voice all too innocent.

Quinn's eyes meet hers, hazel claiming brown as realisation of what Rachel is doing finally kicks in. "I don't know," she says, forcing herself not to smile. "What would you recommend?"

With shaking hands, Rachel retrieves a menu from behind the high counter and sets it on the counter in front of Quinn. She opens it to the first page, the words facing Quinn. "It depends," she murmurs. "What do you feel like? Something to drink? Eat? Both?"

Quinn hums in thought, her head tilting slightly to the side. "Probably something to drink," she finally says. "I'm a little parched. Dry mouth and all that."

Audibly swallowing, Rachel turns the pages of the menu until she gets to the list of drinks. "Okay… hot or cold?"

Quinn doesn't even look down at the menu. She just keeps her gaze on Rachel's face, intense and all-knowing. "Hot."

Right.

Okay.

Rachel shifts her attention to a redacted list of drinks. "Is there a particular flavour you're fond of?" she asks. "Chocolate? Fruit? Coffee? Caramel?"

Quinn bites at her bottom lip and, if that isn't blatant flirting, Rachel isn't sure what is. "Probably something with berries," she says, practically purring.

Rachel swallows against the lump suddenly lodged in her throat. "Oh?"

"Surprise me," Quinn says slowly, purposefully.

All Rachel can think is, finally.

Holding back the smile that's threatening to claim her face, she walks around the counter and comes to a stop right in front of Quinn. They haven't broken eye contact the entire time and, as soon as Rachel grows still, Quinn slides off her stool and plants her feet firmly on the ground in front of Rachel. They're both suddenly nervous, but it helps that Juniper's is empty of customers.

"Hi," Quinn says, a trembling hand reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear.

"Hi," Rachel breathes back, her heart thumping in her chest. Then: "I'm thinking you might like a mulled raspberry tea."

There's a beat of surprise before Quinn smiles in acknowledgement. "It sounds nice," she says conversationally; "but I was kind of leaning towards tasting something else... Do you, perhaps, a different flavour of berry?"

At the sound of that, Rachel abandons all pretence and surges forward to press her lips against Quinn's, both of them taking and accepting the kiss they've promised each other from the very beginning.

Finally.

Just, finally.

.

Quinn: Rachel Berry, there's something very important I need to tell you. Are you listening? It's vital you're paying attention.

Rachel: I'm listening.

Quinn: I'm so glad it's you. I wanted it to be you.

Rachel: I love you, Pretty Girl.

Quinn: I love you, too, Little Star.

.

Quinn: Go online.

Rachel: But it isn't time yet.

Quinn: Rachel, sweetheart, just go online. I want to talk to you.

Rachel: You're messing with tradition.

Quinn: You know, in just no time at all, we won't even have to rely on this 'tradition' anymore.

Rachel: Because you'll be with me?

Quinn: I've always been with you.

Rachel: You know what I mean.

Quinn: Was it worth the wait?

Rachel: What?

Quinn: Everything.

Rachel: Ask me again tomorrow, and the next day, and every single day after that.

Quinn: Promise you'll tell me.

Rachel: Of course, Quinn.

Quinn: I guess it's my turn to be patient, huh?

Rachel: I won't keep you waiting too long. I have a feeling I'm going to end up telling you everything you've always wanted to know.

Quinn: Am I allowed to ask when?

Rachel: Just know it's definitely going to be one of these days.

Fin

AN: I'll be the first to admit the writers' block hit me hard with this one. I had the idea, but I wasn't sure I could execute it as well as I wanted to. (I was and am still a little worried it hasn't lived up to expectations, but I'm sure you'll let me know.) Anyway, thanks for reading, favouriting and reviewing. It's the first 'actual' Multi-Chapter to be completed - yay - so this must bode well for the rest (it's going to happen, people). Hope you're all having a good weekend.