They sit in Quinn's car with their fingers entwined until the CD loops from the last track back to the first and the windows are fogged from the heat of their breath against the cool of the glass. Rachel's fingers are cold, but she doesn't ask Quinn to turn the engine back on because she doesn't want Quinn to consider leaving. She worries that if the car is running, Quinn will follow suit and this new dawn will disappear with the sunrise.

"I'm still sorry I was so awful about you telling your dads about us," Quinn says, finally breaking the silence. "How was it?"

Rachel shrugs her shoulders. "They were more shocked than I thought they would be, considering who they are. There were a lot of tears."

Quinn's eyes soften and her grip on Rachel's hand tightens. "Why were they so upset?"

"I think they were more upset with themselves than anything else. They felt badly that I didn't feel like I could tell them earlier and that I felt like I needed to hide it."

"Why did you feel like you needed to hide that you're gay?"

Rachel stares out the window, carefully piecing together her reply. "I mean, just because my dads are gay doesn't mean that it's an easy thing to admit out loud, even to myself. I've grown up with gay influences all my life and I've watched their struggles and their pain. I've see the way people look at my dads when they hold hands or hug in public. I remember being so embarrassed during Parents' Night at school when everyone else had a mom and a dad, and everyone asked where my mom was, and how my dads had to explain every single time that they're both my dads." Her fingers fly to her cuticles and she starts picking at a hangnail. "And I wasn't sure, either. I mean, after Finn and Jesse and all of that, I wasn't sure if I was even allowed to call myself gay. I didn't know if I was bisexual or if I was just confused...I don't know."

"I know what you mean," Quinn says sympathetically, leaning her head back against the headrest. "I've had sex with a boy. I had a baby. I have a boyfriend. How can I be gay?"

"I don't know," Rachel replies. She really doesn't. "All I know is that I realized I was gay when I realized that I liked you more than I ever liked Jesse or Finn or any other guy."

She thinks she sees a satisfied smile cross Quinn's face.

"I guess...I guess I didn't tell my dads because I didn't want to be gay. I'm already unpopular and socially awkward and generally mocked and disliked. I don't really need anything else to set me apart. I'm at the bottom of the social ladder already."

"Have I ever apologized for the part I played in that?" Quinn interrupts. Now she's the one staring at her hands and avoiding eye contact.

"Not really," Rachel answers honestly. "You don't have to. I get it."

"No, I do," Quinn asserts. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. Look, I know that doesn't make up for any of it, and I still don't really understand why I'm like this, but I'm sorry for every time I've hurt you and embarrassed you and made you feel worthless. You're not."

She doesn't know how to respond, so for what could quite possibly be the first time ever, Rachel Berry remains silent.

"I'm trying to be more open and honest, especially with you. I guess that's why I drove over here in the first place. I guess once I realized how I really feel, I felt like you should know right away."

It's all very touching, but Rachel can't shut off the nagging in the back of her head that takes that one word, honest, and stretches out all of its letters looking to make sense of it. In the last month Rachel has never felt less honest and she can't imagine how honesty could possibly into Quinn's relationship with Finn, but she's smart enough not to ask.

The sun starts its slow ascent and the soft morning light starts to filter through the windows. Rachel sees just how red and swollen Quinn's eyes are, and notices that her own finger has been bleeding where she's since torn away her cuticle. This night hit them harder than she had thought.

"Do you want to come inside?" Rachel asks. Her eyelids are heavy and the thought of slipping between the sheets in her warm bed grows more and more tempting as she notices just how cold the car is.

Quinn shakes her head. "I mean, I do, but it's Sunday. I have to go to church with my mom and if I'm not home soon, she'll know I was out. I should probably go."

"Oh, okay." Rachel eases open the car door and Quinn's hand tightens around her wrist.

"I love you, Rachel," she says. It's not a hushed whisper, or a mumbled confession. Quinn announces it with something like confidence. Rachel can't control the grin that spreads across her face as she slides back into the car. She drapes her arms around Quinn's shoulders and steals a kiss. Quinn's lips seem to tighten before yielding and letting Rachel press just a little harder against them.

"I love you, too," Rachel says, with her lips still resting on Quinn's. She opens the car door and lets herself out and waves as Quinn slowly backs out of the driveway and disappears down the street.

Rachel trudges up the stairs with the feel of Quinn's lips and the warmth of her "I love you" inside her as she snuggles back under the covers.

She sleeps until two on Sunday and has barely opened her eyes before remembering the mountain of homework neglected the day before. She stumbles out of bed and opens her laptop to finish a history paper, but takes a cursory glance at her email first. There's a message from Mr. Shue about a dance rehearsal tomorrow afternoon and how he wants them all to be prepared to "shake their booties at Booty Camp!". She smiles at his well-intentioned joke and makes a mental note to remind him that if he doesn't want to get fired, he probably shouldn't call it "Booty Camp". She has a couple of comment replies from Broadway World forums and a slew of sales flyers, but in the middle of it all is an email from Quinn.

Hi Rachel,

Thanks for everything last night. I just wanted to let you know that I meant everything I said.

Love,

Quinn.

She leaves the message open and peeks at it while she writes her paper, mentally tracing the words Love, Quinn over and over.

It's another late night. After all of her homework is finally finished she lays in bed unable to sleep. Her hands close around her phone and she squints against its bright screen as she flips it open.

Can't sleep, she texts. I blame you.

Her phone buzzes in her hand a minute later. Why is it my fault? (ps: I'm glad you texted. I can't sleep either).

Because you interrupted my carefully planned sleep schedule last night. My body functions the way that it does thanks to a strict diet and exercise routine along with well-regulated circadian rhythms. (ps: I'm sorry you can't sleep. And thanks for your email).

Sorry, Your Majesty. (ps: it's okay. I'm doing homework, so at least I'm being productive.)

Rachel rolls her eyes. The royal court will consider your apology. (ps: do we have to keep talking in parenthesis?)

Not if Her Royal Highness finds it tedious. ;)

Maybe it's the joke or maybe it's the emoticon but Rachel longs to hold Quinn in her arms and kiss her because this whole conversation is so cute and this playful Quinn is one she feels privileged to know.

I love you, Quinn.

She swears that her heart beats in triple time until her phone buzzes again.

I love you, too, Rachel.

She buries her face in her pillow with the overwhelming loveliness of it all and tries to remember another time she was this happy.

What are you working on? She eventually replies.

AP Chemistry lab report. It's horrible, but I'm almost done.

Sometimes she forgets that Quinn is brilliant and that she takes all advanced placement classes. Rachel knows that she herself is smart, but Quinn is in the top ten percent of their class.

Maybe you should read it to me. I'm sure I'd go right to sleep, she teases.

If I were there, I'm sure I could help you find other ways of tiring you out.

Rachel audibly gasps. Quinn Fabray, that was dirty!

What can I say? My fatigue has lowered my inhibitions.

Rachel sends her a smiley face and thinks about Quinn's hypothetical "offer". Just the thought of Quinn's hands on her body sends a shiver of excitement down her spine.

What would you do if you were here? She types one-handed. The other hand is drifting down her chest and stroking her own ribcage.

It's a few minutes before she gets a reply. I would kiss you, first on your lips, then on your neck, then right against your collarbone because every time I kiss you there, you sigh and it's extremely hot.

She inhales sharply and lets one hand cup her own breast as she types, Ohhh.

Quinn doesn't reply right away, but Rachel rereads her text over and over as her hands scale the length of her body while she waits.

Can I call you?

Rachel immediately punches out her reply. YES!

"I've never done anything like this before," Quinn says in a whisper.

"Me either," Rachel admits, "but I really want to try if you're okay with it."

"Okay." Quinn sounds skeptical, but Rachel reminds herself that this was Quinn's idea.

"So...how do we start?"

"Um...I could ask what you're wearing?"

Rachel looks down. "Black pajama shorts with little gold stars. And that's it." She hears Quinn's breath catch on the other side of the phone.

"No top?" She asks.

"No top," Rachel replies coyly.

"Oh," Quinn sighs.

"What are you wearing?"

"Nothing exciting. Cheerios sweatpants, a tee shirt from a church retreat, socks, and my glasses."

"You wear glasses?"

Quinn fumbles for a moment. "Yes, well, no because I usually wear contacts but today I was tired and I had a lot of work to do, so, yes. But don't tell anyone."

"I won't," Rachel promises. "Besides, I think it's sexy."

Quinn laughs nervously and Rachel sighs.

"What?" Quinn asks.

"Nothing. I just like you so much." She imagines Quinn with her hair in a messy bun, thick rimmed glasses sitting slightly askew on her face, and faded sweatpants and thinks that no one could be more beautiful.

"I like you so much, too," Quinn murmurs back. "Especially in what you're wearing."

"I think you mean, what I'm not wearing," Rachel teases.

"Actually, that's exactly what I mean," she purrs. Rachel feels a deep, insistent throbbing between her legs.

"God, Quinn. Your voice."

"I wish I could see you all spread out on your bed without your shirt on. I would just kiss every inch of skin I saw."

This is all so new. They've come so far. She can't quite wrap her mind around the fact that Quinn is sitting with her phone in her hand telling her that she wants to see her naked. She decides to merely accept the implausibility of it all and take it as truth.

"Take off your shirt," Rachel commands gently.

"Oh, okay. Hold on." Rachel hears rustling and then Quinn is back on the line, presumably without her shirt. "Okay. There we go."

"So I can just say whatever I want?" Rachel confirms. "Even if it's dirty? You're okay with that?"

"Mm-hm," Quinn hums.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay. I'm imagining you on your bed and I'm next to you and I take your breasts in my hands and roll your nipple between my fingers until it gets hard. Then when it does, I draw it into my mouth and touch the other one while I suck on the first."

She has her own nipple between her fingers and imagines it's Quinn's.

"Mmmm, that would be amazing," Quinn sighs. "I really like when we're, you know, together, and mine rub against yours..." she trails off.

The thought of her nipples against Quinn's makes her instantly aware of the growing wetness between her legs. She looks at the carpet, remembering the first time she held Quinn's perfect breasts in her hands and breathes a soft ohhh as her hands find her inner thigh.

Quinn releases a quiet, strangled groan, "Oh Rach...I just...I just want to listen to the noises you make. It's-" her breath hitches "it's so sexy."

"Are you touching yourself already?" Rachel asks.

"Maybe." From the way the word catches in her throat, it's clear enough.

"Tell me where your hands are," Rachel asks. She unties her drawstring and shrugs her shorts down.

"I have my phone between my ear and my shoulder. I have one hand on my...my chest, and the other hand is...it's between my legs."

Rachel could swear she can hear Quinn blushing. Maybe she can make her blush just a little bit harder.

"I wish that was my hand, Quinn. I love the feeling of your smooth lips, and the wetness against my fingers when I run my fingers between them."

"God, Rach..." she moans. "I want you to touch yourself, too. I want to imagine you with your hand between your legs, rubbing yourself in circles."

Now Rachel's the one flushing, but she follows Quinn's orders and parts herself and settles her finger against her clit. Slowly she traces even circles as she resists the urge to furiously grind against her hand. She moans, maybe a little too loudly, and tucks her phone against her shoulder.

"I'm making the circles you asked me to, but I'm using my other hand now, too. I'm going to use it inside."

"Yes, Rachel," Quinn hisses. "I wish I could see you with your fingers buried inside yourself."

"Maybe I'll show you sometime," she teases. She eases two fingers inside and draws them back out, creating a steady, but insistent rhythm. She gasps, and she hears Quinn groan as a result.

"Tell me what you're doing," Rachel begs breathlessly. "I want to know exactly what you're doing." Her hips rise off the bed and she can feel herself tightening. She knows she's close.

"I have my pants around my ankles," Quinn gasps, "and my whole hand rubbing against my, well, you know-"

"Say it, Quinn," she begs. "I want to hear you say it."

"Against my clit," she whispers. "I've never said that out loud. God, Rachel, I'm so wet."

"I know," she groans. "So am I. Are you close?"

"Yes." Quinn's breath is coming in ragged bursts. "Oh fuck," she growls. "Oh fuck." It's a sure sign she's right on the edge and Rachel is right there. She can feel herself spiraling inward, clenching and releasing, as her moans get higher and higher until they're just staccato eighth notes in G.

"Now, Quinn! Now!" She commands as her own orgasm overwhelms her. One hand flies from its position between her legs to her mouth and she bites down hard to keep herself from waking her fathers. Quinn comes with a long, low, groan that becomes a soft sigh and the sound of it makes Rachel want to do it all again.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Yeah," Quinn says, laughing nervously. "How was that? Do you think you can fall asleep now?"

Rachel yawns, wanting more than anything to curl up in Quinn's arms and drift off to sleep in her embrace. "I think so. That was incredible."

"I'm glad. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," she sighs contentedly. "Get some sleep."

"I will. Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight, my love."

No song is upbeat enough three hours later when Rachel's alarm goes off to force her onto the elliptical. She snoozes her way through her work out and her morning sun salutation in favor of one extra hour, but even then she's barely alive.

School is a blur. Somehow she gets from class to class and turns in all of her assignments and even manages to participate in a dialogue in French class, but she only barely remembers. The only thing that really sticks out is that Quinn smiles at her in the hallway between classes instead of ignoring her like she usual does. She slips a small note in Quinn's locker after lunch.

Q,

Still exhausted. You tired me out too much, but it was definitely worth it.

Yours,

R

PS: I still want to see those glasses.

The first Booty Camp rehearsal is scheduled for that afternoon and she has no idea how she's going to make it through almost three straight hours of choreography. Shue lines them up in the order he wants them for Nationals and she's squarely between Santana and Brittany. She's in a window between Finn and Quinn. Right before the music starts, Finn touches Quinn's shoulder and kisses her cheek. Then the piano starts and Rachel is swinging her body in time to the music while trying to remind herself that she was the one having phone sex with Quinn last night, not Finn, and that Quinn loves her and-

She hears the sickening crack before she falls to the floor and her head explodes with a searing pain. Her eyes instantly fill with tears and her hands fly to her nose.

"I'm bleeding," she says shakily, not sure she can get up on her own.

"Oh my god, Rach, I'm so sorry," Finn says, crouching down with Mr, Shuester to help her onto her feet.

"Let's get you to a doctor," says Shue, and just like that they're helping her down the hallway and Finn is carrying her purse as Mr. Shuester helps settle her in Finn's truck.

She sits with her head bent forward and an endless supply of tissues pressed against her nostrils as Finn grovels for forgiveness with a stream of apologies and promises.

"It's okay, Finn," she assures thickly. "It was an accident."

"I just feel so bad!" He says. "How could I be so damn...I dunno, bad at dancing that I actually hurt someone?"

"You didn't do it on purpose. These things happen. I'm right at swinging hand height, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't really paying attention. I should have moved out of the way quicker."

"Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Of course I'm not mad," she says gently. "You didn't hurt me on purpose."

Maybe this is karma, she thinks to herself. Maybe this is what she gets.

Finn leads her into the ER like she's on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces.

"We're pretty sure her nose is broken," Finn tells the triage nurse, who looks him up and down disapprovingly.

"Honey, do you need me to call the police?" She asks Rachel pointedly.

Finn finally catches on. "Oh! I didn't do this to her. Well, I mean, I kind of did because we were at dance practice and I'm a really bad dancer and-"

Rachel cuts him off, "I'm fine. It was an accident."

The receptionist takes one look at her and her bloody hands and hands the clipboard of forms to Finn.

"Let your boyfriend fill these out for you," she says. "It'll be about an hour until we can see you."

"He's not my-" she starts to correct, but the nurse is already on the phone with someone else. She sighs and heads to the waiting area with Finn.

"Okay, this shouldn't be hard to fill out. Name, address, phone number. got it."

"My dads will fill most of this out when they get here, Finn. It's all right. You can go back to practice."

"No way! I did this. I'm staying here with you."

"Okay," she sighs. Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

Oh my god, Rachel, are you okay? Do you want me to come over there?

Rachel texts back slowly, trying not to get any blood on the keys. That's okay. Your boyfriend is taking really great care of me. Stay and learn the choreo so you can teach it to us later.

She half wishes that Quinn would have been the one to rush to her aid, but she understands why that would have been impossible. It would have looked bizarre to the rest of the club if Quinn had suddenly taken an interest in Rachel's well being. She sighs again, closes her eyes, and tries to focus on something that isn't the throbbing pain between her eyes.

I know I promised you guys a bunch of consecutive updates last time and I'm sorry I didn't follow through. My computer ate the document and I was so frustrated that I just had to back away from it for a while. I hope this update was worth the wait (and the following update is ready to go and saved in multiple places).

As always, my three favorite words are "I liked this" (but my favorite sentence is "we'd like to award you a generous scholarship", but that's neither here nor there). Thank you!