XIV

Rachel goes straight to Santana's bedroom when she gets back to their shared apartment, but the Latina is nowhere to be found. Still, she crawls into the bed, curls into a tiny ball and cries.

It's how Santana finds her forty minutes later.

"Fuck," she says, and Rachel just cries that much harder. "Fuckity fuck fuck fuck." She removes her coat, dropping it on the end of the bed, and kicks off her shoes before she moves to lie in front of Rachel, almost mirroring her position.

Rachel just stares at her for a beat, and then takes in her outfit: a sinfully short cocktail dress. "Were you out?" she asks, stuttering through her sobs.

Santana nods.

"Why are you home, then?" she asks, but she has a feeling she already knows the answer.

"Quinn texted," she says. "Said something about how I needed to get home because something happened and you would probably need me and that she was okay but she would probably only see me after Thanksgiving." She sighs. "What the fuck happened?"

Rachel buries her face in one of Santana's pillows, her heart aching in ways she never imagined it could. "I don't even know," she mumbles.

Santana waits, drawing on patience she didn't know she had.

"We went on a double date with Frankie and Jasmine," she starts. "I just - I just wanted to spend some time with her, but - "

"But?" Santana prompts.

"But, there was something... heavy about everything," she says. "We were looking at each other too long, and holding on a little too tightly. Like she could sense it was all coming to an end. Like she was going to end it herself, and she was just going to get through one more night of pretend, and then it would be over."

Santana grits her teeth to stop herself from saying or revealing anything. Seriously. Lesbians and their fucking drama. Was she ever this bad?

"We kissed, San," she says, quiet and almost in disbelief. "Like, kiss kissed." She shifts slightly, feeling her cheeks heat up at the memory. "It's - it's never felt like that with anyone before. I didn't - I never wanted to stop, and I - I don't know if it was because - " she stops, sighs, and then closes her eyes. "Is it because she's Quinn, or is it because she's a she?"

Santana puffs out a breath. "What happened, Rachel?"

"We said we were going to talk about it," Rachel says. "Frankie and Jasmine were there, so we had to wait, but we were going to talk about it. I wanted to discuss it properly, and work out just how I felt about the entire thing."

"But...?"

Rachel flushes. "Well, we didn't really do much talking once we got back to her place."

"Gross."

"Nothing like that," Rachel says, frowning to herself. "We just - we were kissing, and it was - God, Santana, it was amazing."

"Uh huh," Santana drawls. "I'm aware she's a good kisser."

"You are?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "What happened next?"

Rachel does her best to ignore what the idea of Quinn and Santana having kissed before makes her feel, because she's already got enough to deal with.

"I know we should have talked about it," Rachel says, suddenly irritated with herself. "But, it escalated so fast, and I was so lost, and it was a lot and not enough, but then - then she said 'God, I've wanted this for so long,' and - and what does that even mean, Santana?"

Rachel looks so helpless, all of a sudden, and Santana doesn't know what to say.

"I - I panicked," Rachel continues. "I couldn't just - so, I panicked, and then I left. I just left her there, San."

Santana looks away, her heart hurting in a way that's foreign to her. Even though she knew this was all going to end in disaster, the reality of it is more devastating than she imagined.

"What does that mean, San?" Rachel asks again, desperate for an answer that isn't the most obvious thing.

Santana sighs. "Seriously, Rachel," she says. "There's no way you're actually this naïve. How can you not know exactly what that means?"

Rachel blinks once, twice, and then says, "It sounds as if she's - as if she's wanted to kiss me for - for a while."

Santana raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh."

Santana still says nothing, needing Rachel to figure it out for herself.

She eventually does, and it hits her like some kind of slow wave, unstoppable and all-consuming. Knocking her right off her proverbial feet.

Her voice is tiny when she asks, "It was all real, wasn't it?"

Santana nods slowly, sombrely. "Every second."

"Oh."

Rachel spends all of Sunday trying to figure out what her next step is supposed to be. She doesn't know. She doesn't know how she's supposed to fix any of this, and Santana very clearly told her she was going to have to figure it out for herself.

I've wasted so much breath on you two, and I'm fucking exhausted.

So, she calls Kurt, but she gets his voicemail. Something about being out of commission, because he's spending the weekend off the grid with his boyfriend.

Well.

If Quinn hasn't talked to Santana about any of this and if Kurt isn't reachable; then who is she talking to? Has Rachel just monopolised their friends?

Rachel checks her phone for any calls or texts, but it's silent of all communication, and she doesn't know if Quinn would even take her calls if she tried. She doesn't even know what she would say if Quinn were to answer the phone. 'I'm sorry' just seems so insignificant, and she doesn't think it would mean anything when not in person.

She knows she needs to talk to Quinn face-to-face, but what is she even going to say? What does it mean for her that it was all real? On Quinn's side, at least?

Because.

What about her?

Rachel gets very little sleep on Sunday night, and she's a right mess on Monday morning. Santana takes one look at her, hands her the fresh cup of coffee currently in her hand, and then pours another for herself.

"You look like shit," Santana says, unapologetic.

"I feel like shit," she admits, which is probably an understatement.

Santana just hums softly as she adds some sugar to her coffee. It's less than what Rachel usually has, which is why it's odd that her fellow brunette hasn't complained about the level of sweetness. Okay, probably not that odd, given she probably has a lot more on her mind.

Rachel clears her throat as she sets said cup on the counter and takes a tiny step forward. She twists her lips for a moment, and Santana can tell she's trying to talk herself into asking the question she desperately wants to.

Santana waits, absently reaching for her phone to check her emails. She has a rather busy Monday ahead, her lecturers trying to fit as much in before the upcoming holiday weekend. For a moment, she actually forgets Rachel is even in the room, right until the moment she speaks.

"H-have you spoken to her?" Rachel asks quietly, her heart constantly aching.

Santana doesn't look up from her phone when she says, "Before all this went down, I told her not to come to me when it all fell to pieces." Her eyes finally lift up, meeting Rachel's. "It seems she's taken it to heart."

"Oh."

"I feel like a right ass about it," Santana grumbles, looking back down at her phone's screen. "She won't answer any of my calls or texts. Has she replied to any of yours?"

Rachel looks away, frowning. "I - I haven't tried to contact her," she admits softly.

Santana looks up quite suddenly. "What? Why not?"

"Well, I'm more than a hundred percent sure she won't reply to me, either," she says. "Also, don't you think she needs some space?"

"Perhaps," Santana says; "but, God, at least text to tell her you want to talk, and you're, I don't know, sorry for ducking out on her, right when you two were on the cusp of finally figuring out your shit."

"Shouldn't I be doing that in person?"

Santana sighs. "And then what?"

"What?"

"What happens after you apologise?" she asks. "Do you tell her you want to stay friends? You're not interested? You want to be with her? You don't know what you want? You need time to figure it out?"

Rachel just stares blankly at her.

Santana sighs again. "Just send a text, Rachel," she says. "God knows what kind of mess you're going to create if you actually talk to her before you even know what you're going to say."

It isn't that Rachel ignores Santana's advice. Not exactly. She does compose several different messages to send to Quinn, but none of them feels right. Too short, too long, not enough emotion, too much emotion. Just, not right.

Which is why she decides the best thing to do is visit Quinn in her office, give her little choice but to talk to her and somehow fix all of this without making it worse. It doesn't help that she's a distracted disaster for the morning's rehearsals, and Elliot looks just as confused as the rest of them.

The only person brave enough to ask her about it is Jasmine, and, even then, Rachel doesn't have any answers for her. Elliot must be able to read the room, because he suggests they run through scenes that Rachel isn't actually in - which is really only a handful - and she's able to sit in the wings and actually stew about how badly she's managed to screw up the most important relationship in her life.

When Elliot calls for their lunch break, Rachel shoots to her feet and practically bolts from the theatre. She knows the only way to get her mind settled and her heart slowed is if she can lay eyes on Quinn, just to make sure she's okay.

Well.

As okay as one can possibly be in this situation.

It's Rachel's single mission, really, and she's barely given any thought to what she's going to say to Quinn when she sees her by the time she's knocking on the office's open door and sticking her head inside… only to find Quinn nowhere in sight.

It's just Jason sitting at his desk, with the other three empty of people. Rachel knows there's another girl, Jessica, who sits opposite Quinn, but she's never really seen anyone occupy the fourth desk. It's all unimportant, anyway, because Quinn isn't where she's supposed to be.

Jason looks up at the sound of her knock, and something very distinct happens to his face. It hardens in a way it's never before, and Rachel can't help but wonder if she's been reading him wrong all along.

"Quinn isn't here," he says, neither of them bothering with a greeting. "She came in earlier, but - " he pauses, shifting in his seat. "Well, it seems she wasn't feeling so well, so she left."

There's something there, in his voice, and Rachel wonders if Quinn told him the possible reason for why she wouldn't have been feeling well.

It's her.

She's the reason.

"Oh."

Jason regards her carefully. "She didn't tell me anything, if that's what you're worried about," he says. "She doesn't tell me anything, but I don't need to be a genius to figure it out."

She clenches her jaw against the assumption.

"She'll be out of the office until at least next week," he adds a beat later, and she frowns. "It's Thanksgiving. She's going home."

Rachel flinches at the reminder, caught off guard that she managed to forget. Of course. Quinn is going home to Lima for the holiday, and she's supposed to be leaving on Tuesday. That's tomorrow.

Rachel doesn't even know why she deflates at remembering that piece of information, but something happens to her heart that she can't quite explain.

It's either she's anxious about the thought of Quinn leaving, or she's relieved to have some time apart, so she can figure out what she's supposed to do.

No.

What she wants to do.

"She loves you, you know?" Jason says, and it looks as if it pains him to speak the words. "The way she talks about you, it's - it's not even real, sometimes."

Rachel does her best not to wince at the sound of that word. Who even knows what's real or not? She clearly doesn't.

"I think you've figured out how I feel about her," he says. "Liz, too. I'm sure half her students are a little bit in love with her, but none of that even matters, because it's always been you." He frowns down at his desk, and Rachel just wants to disappear, because how could everyone have seen what she so obviously missed? "Always," he repeats. "But, I don't know why I get the feeling you don't even know."

And, the thing is that she didn't. She doesn't. "She's - she's never told me," she whispers, more to herself.

Jason scoffs with a shake of his head. "She's never needed to," he says, and the finality in his voice is enough for her to know he has nothing more to say on this topic.

She almost asks him why. She wants to know what he's seen that she's missed, but she's starting wonder if she's seen it all as well, and just not known what it all meant.

What it means.

With a sigh, she says, "Happy Thanksgiving, Jason," and then turns to leave. She's admittedly distracted, which is why she doesn't see Liz until she's almost knocked her over.

"Oh, sorry," Rachel says, blinking repeatedly.

Liz starts to apologise as well, and then freezes in place, realising who is standing right in front of her.

Rachel sighs. Well. Who else is she going to run into on her tour of Quinn's groupies? "Quinn isn't here," she says.

"I wasn't - " she starts, and then stops, abandoning the excuse they both know is pointless. Liz was coming to the office to see Quinn, and there's just no use in either of them lying about it.

Rachel steps back, unable to grasp whatever she's feeling. It's odd. She's feeling possessive in a way, but also calm. As if she knows she's never had to worry about Liz, in any way.

Because, apparently, Quinn loves her.

Which is just wild.

So, so wild.

Unbelievable and crazy, and can it possibly be true?

Maybe, maybe not.

"Well, she's not here," Rachel says again, merely a reminder to herself, because she came here looking for Quinn, as well. They've both ended up disappointed.

Just, Quinn will probably talk to Liz before she talks to Rachel, given the way they left things, and that makes Rachel deeply uncomfortable.

"Should I stay?"

Rachel knows Santana asks the question only as a courtesy, because there's no way she's altering her plans for the holiday weekend. She's going home, to see her family, and to see Brittany.

Rachel wouldn't dream of taking that away from her. Someone should get to be happy.

"No, of course not," Rachel says, just about managing a smile. She's handling herself a little better today than the past few days, but the difference is that she hasn't really been left alone.

With Santana leaving, who knows what could happen?

"Are you sure?" Santana asks, already on her way out of the apartment.

"I'm sure," Rachel assures her, getting to her feet to see her off properly. She's not dressed to go outside, but she can definitely walk her roommate to the front door.

Santana lingers a while, looking at her critically, as if she could figure out if she's actually supposed to stay or not, just based on Rachel's demeanour. Whatever she sees makes the decision for her, and she tugs Rachel into a hug.

"Be good," she murmurs, quickly releasing her again. "And, like, don't do anything I wouldn't do or anything."

"Does that list even exist?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Seriously, can you just, you know, not be a loser or whatever?"

Rachel frowns.

"Do something tomorrow, okay," she says. "Don't just sit around and mope. Quinn'll text you back eventually, and then you'll talk when she gets back, and life will go back to the way it was."

They both know that won't happen. Everything has been irreparably changed, and it's just something Rachel is going to have to live with. Somehow.

"Promise me," Santana says.

Rachel puffs out a breath. "I promise," she forces herself to say, even though they both know she has no plans beyond catching up on sleep and wallowing about the fact it's Wednesday and she hasn't seen or heard from Quinn since their disastrous Saturday night.

Not for a lack of trying, of course. After failing to get a hold of Quinn on Monday, she took it as a sign and thought it best not to engage until she's sorted out her head. So, she took Santana's reluctant advice and texted Quinn. It was short, to the point, and she sent a similar one on Tuesday and another today.

Still no response.

Rachel is desperate, but she's determined not to show it. She's a lot heartbroken as well, but she's managed to pull it together enough at rehearsals not to draw attention to the fact her fake relationship imploded because she freaked out about wanting it to be real.

Which it was.

God.

"That promise means nothing, doesn't it?" Santana muses, and Rachel ducks her head, blushing.

"Get out of here," Rachel says, almost shoving her out of the now open door.

Santana doesn't move. "Look, I don't know if I'm going to see Quinn while I'm home," she says. "Chances are, she won't want to meet up, but I'll probably be able to check up on her in some way, okay? I'll make sure she's okay."

They both know Quinn's definitely not okay, but Rachel appreciates the sentiment, regardless. Maybe if she pretends hard enough, she'll be able to get through the next few days relatively unscathed. Maybe.

It's a good plan, at least, but it fails rather miserably. Because she's miserable. So, so miserable. She's tempted to switch off her phone, but she needs to have it nearby in case Quinn decides to reply.

She's definitely not holding her breath for such a thing, but she's not ready to give up all hope. She knows their friendship is too important to the both of them for this to be the end of it. They're going to have to talk about it at some point, and she vows to be ready when they do.

There are any number of things Rachel could be doing to celebrate Thanksgiving, but she does none of them. Several of her cast mates are still in the city, having little dinners together, and, despite the various invitations she receives, Rachel just stays locked away in her apartment with cold vegan pizza and too much wine as she binges on all the shows she hasn't been able to watch.

It's sad, but she doesn't care.

She needs this, and she's unwilling to explain exactly why to anyone brave enough to ask. Her fathers must sense something is amiss, because they don't ask too many probing questions, and Santana's simple text of happy thanksgiving, bitch! Lima hasn't burnt to the ground, so I think we're okay does very little to help.

Rachel won't even get started on Kurt, who she's decided to ignore, past her initial need to contact him. In a sense, she's embarrassed, but she also wants to leave a friend for Quinn to confide in, seeing as she's already claimed a truly unhelpful Santana.

So, Rachel spends Thanksgiving alone in her apartment, and it's mostly okay.

Until it just isn't.

There's about an hour left before Thanksgiving is officially over, and Rachel is busy shoving apple chips down her throat to battle her own heartache while she watches trashy television when her phone buzzes against her hip.

She's too distracted, which is why she doesn't bother checking the name lighting up the screen, just puts it to her ear, and hears Mercedes Jones say, "What the fuck did you do to her?"

Rachel nearly drops her phone, but just about manages to hold onto it. "Oh, uh, hi - " she starts, but Mercedes has no time for pleasantries.

"Look," she bites out; "I don't care what stupid excuse you're going to come up with. I don't even want to hear it. Quinn is refusing to tell me the complete truth, anyway, and that's fine, whatever, I don't need to know the details, but I've never - " Mercedes' voice suddenly goes sharp with emotions such as anger and confusion and something else entirely. "I've never seen her like this before, and I know it's because of you."

Rachel swallows hard. "Mercedes…"

"No," Mercedes snaps. "I said I don't want to hear it. All I need from you is not to fuck it up any more than you already have. Because, believe it or not, I care about you. Both of you - even though you've done God knows what to make her act this way - "

Rachel, somehow, feels defensive enough to say, "I know, all right! I know I screwed it up. You don't need to tell me that I - "

"Yes, I do," Mercedes snaps again. "I do, because she hasn't been sleeping and her mood has been shit because of it, and I don't know what you're putting her through, but you could have known better. You could have known because she's always been so damn obvious about it. You were just selfish and refused to see it for what it is."

The protest catches in Rachel's throat.

She bites down hard on her bottom lip; bites back the tears.

"Yeah," Mercedes says after a moment of silence. "Fucking think about it."

Rachel's hands are shaking, and she glances at her half empty bag of chips. "I need to go," she mumbles.

Mercedes scoffs. "Of course. Whatever. Just don't make - " She's interrupted by the sound of a door falling shut on Mercedes' side of the connection, and her sharp intake of breath tells Rachel all she needs to know.

Rachel holds her own breath, closes her eyes, and can picture the way Quinn has to be standing in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants and one of her favourite Harry Potter hoodies, the way she must look with her hair down, sleepy and -

"Who are you talking to?" Quinn asks in the background.

Rachel hangs up before she can hear Mercedes' answer, needing to protect herself somehow. She's breathless and aching, and she just wishes it would stop.

Just for a moment.

She needs it all to stop.

So she makes it.

The hangover is inevitable, but Rachel is determined to believe it was worth it.

It stopped.

Just for a moment.

The problem, she finds, as she's getting ready to make her way to the theatre in the morning, is that she hasn't managed to forget. Not even a little bit. Quinn is such a part of her life that she barely knows what to do with herself without Quinn's presence on the daily.

Well.

If Rachel wasn't sure just how important Quinn was before this, then she is now. Very, very aware. She misses her like crazy, and she's just cognisant enough not to send that a hundred times in a text. It's something she wants Quinn to know, obviously, but Rachel is trying not to be selfish about it. She's done enough of that, she thinks.

The show is coming together really well, and they're on their way to Previews on schedule. There are a few chinks that need to be worked out, but Elliot claims to be feeling good about it as a whole, so they're on the right track. Rachel chooses to bask in the way her professional life is holding itself together, even if it's at the cost of her personal one.

It's what she thinks about when Jasmine casually asks her if she's prepared Quinn to watch her kiss another woman on stage. It's a simple question, really, but it catches Rachel off guard, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

Jasmine lets out a little laugh. "You should probably warn her," she says with a smile. "Kira's kind of nice to have around, you know, and Quinn seems like the type who wouldn't like anyone encroaching on her woman."

Rachel manages a smile, barely, and she glances over her shoulder at Kira, who she has yet to kiss on stage, even though they've carefully blocked the scene. Rachel also has to kiss Brendan, in another scene, though it's brief. The show deals with Rachel's character's confused sexuality, yes, but it's third to the main theme of her confused parentage and confused career.

It's telling that Jasmine hasn't asked if Rachel has prepared Quinn for her kiss with Brendan. Because that shouldn't matter, right? Because Rachel is supposed to be gay. She's supposed to be happy in a relationship with a woman.

And, until a few days ago, she was.

Real or not, she was happy, and that means something.

Rachel clears her throat. "I should probably do that, shouldn't I?" she asks, mostly of herself. It wasn't something she even thought about, but it seems like it would be a good idea.

Though, right now, she's sure Quinn won't even answer her calls, and she's also unsure if Quinn will even be watching the show when it opens. The unknown and uncertainty is crippling in a way, but she knows she's going to have to do something about it.

That something almost comes out of nowhere, but she doesn't turn away from it. Which is why, when she does reach for her phone to dial a particular number, she ends up calling Nicole Doucet, instead.

Rachel knows nerves. She's dealt with them on and off for the duration of her performing career, but even this is a little paralysing. She's just spent the last hour rambling through the situation in its entirety, and now Nicole is just staring at her rather blankly.

Rachel fidgets in her seat, her fingers curled around her cup of coffee, just waiting for Nicole to say something.

Anything.

"Wow."

Rachel puffs out a breath, because she expected something else; something more.

"Wow," Nicole says again, her eyes a little wide. "I definitely didn't see that coming." She puffs out a breath. "If it wasn't your telling me; I'm pretty sure I wouldn't believe it."

"Why?"

"You were very convincing," she says. "Though, I'm starting to see it was because neither of you was actually pretending, even if you thought you were."

Rachel sighs heavily. "I don't know what to do."

"Sure you do."

"I do?"

Nicole leans forward, her gaze drifting to the side. "I think you know exactly what you want to do, and you're just scared of what it might mean for you."

Rachel audibly swallows. "I don't - " she starts, because she doesn't even know what she's going to say. She's never had to deal with something like this, and she hates - hates - not being in control of the situation.

Her situation.

This isn't part of the plan. None of this is part of the plan.

"What has you so bothered?" Nicole asks, and she sounds genuinely curious. "What are you so worried about?"

Rachel nibbles on her bottom lip, contemplating her next words. "What - what if I'm not?"

"Not what?"

She can't even bring herself to say it.

"Interested in girls?" Nicole ventures a guess.

She sighs, forcing herself to nod. "What if it's just Quinn?"

"What if it is just Quinn?" Nicole throws back, looking perplexed. "Why would that matter?"

"I don't want to hurt her."

Nicole gives her a very significant look.

"More than I already have, I mean."

Nicole seems to ponder her words. "Well, I mean, do you know why you ran?"

"Excuse me?"

"When you were supposed to be talking the first time around," she starts, and then gives it some thought. "Or the third, perhaps fourth time… why didn't you stick around and talk about it? What about the words Quinn said scared you so much?"

"I don't want to hurt her," she says again.

"What would you have said?"

"It's really complicated."

"That feels like an excuse," Nicole presses. "Though, I also get the feeling you honestly believe it."

Rachel sighs, because she was almost hoping not to do a deep-dive into her intense past with Quinn. She knows it'll help, given it's all part of her misgivings on the entire thing. She does have this entire past with Quinn, so why is this the moment everything is deciding to implode?

Rachel clears her throat. "Did you know that we weren't even really friends when we were in high school?"

"Oh."

"She was actually one of my bullies."

Nicole's eyes widen. "Ohh."

"It took us a while to become friends, and then best friends, and I'm not ready to hear just when everything changed for her," she says. "When we were graduating, honest-to-God, the one thing I was most proud of was that we left as actual friends."

Nicole leans back, looking a little bewildered.

"Yip," she says. "It's a complicated mess, Nicole. It's never going to be some conversation we can just walk into. Not when - "

"Not when what?"

"Not when I still don't know," she says. "I don't want to lose her. I can't."

Nicole presses her lips together, her eyes a little sad. "Do you know that Ed spent Thanksgiving with his children, and I spent it here?" she asks, sounding just a little too casual about the truth she's just revealed.

Rachel feels her chest twist rather painfully, and it must show on her face.

"I'm not trying to get your pity," Nicole says; "or sympathy."

"I'm still sorry," she says.

Nicole clears her throat. "What I'm trying to say is, well, I mean, you called me for a reason," she says. "There are still things you're obviously still confused about when it comes to women in general, and you care about Quinn too much to use her as an experiment."

Rachel winces at the mere idea. It would crush her to put Quinn through something like that: giving in to whatever this is and then figuring out she can't. She can't even think about what it would do Quinn. Which is why she really needs to be sure.

"I'm not really sure what you're saying," Rachel says, a little nervous, because she's sure Nicole is about to suggest something she's definitely not willing to try.

"I think you need to go out," Nicole says. "Get some experience. Figure out if it truly is just Quinn."

Rachel just stares at her, because she's definitely not saying what Rachel thinks she's saying. "You want me to what?"

"Flirt with a girl," Nicole says. "Dance with one. Just try to figure out if the attraction is beyond Quinn."

"What if it isn't?"

"Then, at least you'll actually have something to tell her," Nicole says. "Even if it goes the other way, I think it's better for both of you if you knew for sure."

"She's wanted this for so long," Rachel whispers. "I - I can't take a chance with her."

Nicole opens her mouth to respond, but, then, the last thing she ever imagined happening, happens.

Rachel isn't really paying attention to her phone when it starts ringing. She thinks she should have learned from her experience with Mercedes, but she hasn't, which is why she's far too calm when she moves the phone to her ear and says, "Hello."

"Hi, Rachel."

She almost falls out of her chair, which would be comical if her heart wasn't pounding in her chest.

Holy shit.

Quinn.

Quinn is calling her.

Nicole looks at her in alarm, and Rachel mouths the word Quinn, which gets her another look that she doesn't quite understand.

"Rachel?" Quinn asks, sounding hesitant. "Are you there?"

"Oh, hi," she squeaks. "Hey, Quinn."

Quinn breathes out slowly. "I'm sorry to call so late," she says. "I just wanted to, uh, wish you a Happy Thanksgiving, as well as apologise for Mercedes." She pauses, and Rachel closes her eyes, just basking in the sound of Quinn's voice. "She thinks she meant well, but she had no right to call you like that, so I'm sorry for whatever she said."

"It - it's okay," Rachel automatically says.

"No, it's not," Quinn says, indicating the end of whatever argument could have started. "Look," she starts; "I, uh, I'm sorry I haven't replied to any of your texts. I'm not - I have - this is - "

If the entire situation weren't so horrible and sad, Rachel thinks she might find it a bit amusing that Quinn, who is a soon-to-be published author, can't seem to find the words.

Quinn clears her throat. "I think we need to talk," she finally says. "I haven't been ready or willing since - " she stops suddenly, and Rachel feels the anguish deep in her chest. "But, I think I'm ready now. I'm still embarrassed - I don't think that'll go away easily - but I think it's important you know I never meant for any of this to happen. The last thing I ever wanted was to make you uncomfortable, or possibly force y - "

"Quinn, no, you di - " Rachel interrupts, only for Quinn to interrupt her right back.

"I get back to New York early Sunday afternoon," she says, her tone a little rushed, as if she's reaching the threshold of how much she can currently handle when it comes to Rachel. "Would you be willing to meet somewhere to... talk?"

Rachel doesn't even have to think twice about it. "Yes."

"Okay," Quinn says. "I - I should get in at around three, so I'll text you once I'm in New York, and we can figure out where to meet."

If Rachel feels anything about the fact Quinn won't suggest meeting at either one of their apartments, she says nothing about it. It's probably the best way to go, but she can't help thinking about why Quinn wouldn't want to be alone with her.

"Okay," Rachel says, always knowing she was going to answer in the affirmative. She's never going to say no to this opportunity.

"Okay," Quinn echoes, and then promptly hangs up.

Rachel can't even feel aggrieved Quinn didn't say goodbye, because Quinn called.

Quinn actually called.

She looks at Nicole in a bit of disbelief. "She called," she whispers. "She actually called."

Nicole smiles so widely that Rachel wonders if her face might crack. "See," she says; "and you were so worried."

Rachel rests her phone in her lap. "I am still worried," she says, because she is. "She wants to talk, and I still have no idea what I'm going to say."

Nicole gives her an expectant look, and they both already know what's going to happen.

"Okay," Rachel says, breathing out slowly. "We'll go out. I - I need to know for sure."

Nicole grins knowingly. "Oh, this is going to be lots of fun."

It all seems like a good idea right until the moment Rachel and Nicole arrive at the one gay club Nicole insists is the best for whatever adventure they seem to be on. It helps that Rachel has actually been inside before, but that's usually with her gay squad of best friends.

Now, though, she has Nicole, who looks as straight as they come, and Rachel doesn't think her getup offers anything different, either.

"This is a terrible idea," Rachel says, so tempted to turn right around and forget the ridiculousness of Nicole's suggestion. She can still go home, put on her pyjamas and watch reality television until she passes out. That seems like a much better idea, actually.

But, now, Nicole is pressing a hand to her back and guiding her forward.

"You can do this," Nicole says, gently encouraging. "It'll be worth it, you'll see."

Rachel glances over her shoulder at her, slightly aghast. "This could very well end in disaster."

"But, then, at least you'll know," Nicole says, and she sounds entirely convincing.

Still, Rachel doesn't quite believe it, but she tells herself she's going to try. It would be a disservice to both herself and Quinn if she didn't take this time apart at least to figure out some things. The last thing she wants is to go into her conversation with Quinn and have nothing to offer. If she can just figure out that she can like girls, then the fact Quinn is a girl becomes a non-issue.

Then, well, the problem is just Rachel.

Nicole stays somewhat close, offering silent support whenever Rachel manages to have any kind of conversation with a woman at the bar.

Rachel doesn't drift too far away from the counter, not willing to dive into the thick of it when she doesn't have to and finding comfort in the presence of the solid wood behind her back. Just in the short amount of time she's been standing there, she's entertained enough women that it's obvious she's looking.

At some point, Nicole even encourages her to go out onto the dance floor, but Rachel isn't that brave.

Which is why she ends up having to come to Rachel.

It happens just minutes after Petra approaches her at the bar, drink in hand and smile more of a smirk. The realisation Rachel has been waiting for. It helps that Petra is tall, dirty blonde and beautiful, with a certain intelligence behind her eyes. She would remind Rachel of Quinn, but the spark isn't quite there. Rachel's not excited or nervous or truly interested.

But she is attracted, and, the second she recognises it for what it is, she beams so widely that Petra actually startles.

"Everything okay?" Petra asks, eyes wide.

Rachel nods, elated, because there's no mistaking this feeling. There is an extremely beautiful woman standing right in front of her, essentially making eyes at her, and the only person Rachel wants to see in this moment is Quinn Fabray. She wants to be talking to her, and flirting with her, touching her, possibly even kissing her.

Quinn.

"Everything is great," Rachel says, and maybe it isn't really yet, but it's going to be. "Everything is just perfect."

"What's going on here?" she asks, looking bemused as she indicates between the two of them with her forefinger.

Rachel nods again. "I just figured something out."

"Oh?"

"It's not just Quinn," Rachel says, more to herself than anything.

"Excuse me?"

Rachel lets out a happy little laugh. "Thank you," she says. "Truly, just, thank you."

Now, Petra just looks bewildered, which only gets worse when Rachel surges forward and hugs her tightly. She squeaks in surprise, and Rachel immediately releases her, blushing in a way she hasn't before.

"Sorry," she says. "I normally ask before I do that, but I'm just so happy."

"Okay…?"

"And I'm in love."

"Whoa," Petra says, stepping back. "We just met."

Rachel shakes her head, sobering slightly. "What, no, not you," she says, laughing unexpectedly. "Someone else."

"Oh?"

Rachel smiles again. "And, you've just helped me figure it out."

"Oh," Petra says, blinking repeatedly. "Well, uh, you're welcome, I guess."

Rachel nods once more, and then points her thumb over her shoulder. "I should - I've got to go."

"Right, uh, okay."

"It was very nice to meet you," Rachel says, resting a hand on Petra's forearm. "You're really very pretty, and I hope you have a wonderful night."

"Oh, uh, thanks," she says, shaking her head in what looks like amusement. "Good luck with, uh, your whole being in love thing. It - it's not worth it, if you ask me."

Rachel's smile widens that bit more. "That's where you're wrong," Rachel says, already backing away to go in search of Nicole, so they can get the hell out of here. "She definitely is."