AN: Happy Faberry Week! Greatest week of mankind. This is where I'm going to keep all of my one-shots for the week, and they're all related/set place in the same universe. The story will be AU after the Thanksgiving episode. Most of these were written in a rush, so please excuse all the errors (and there will probably be a lot). I also want to pay someone to write all smut scenes for me.

Summary: Reunion. Rachel just wants everyone to have fun, but Quinn is ruining her mojo. If that's not all, she has five other people to worry about and babysit. She contemplates her life and wonders why nothing ever goes her way.

"Ok, on the count of three I say we should just chug it."

"Are you sure this is safe, Noah? I've seen stories where college students have died from drinking these, and you know those Facebook chain letters rarely lie."

"Yeah, that's why I'm now dead for not forwarding all those spam," said Mercedes, bumping Rachel on the shoulder. She held up her can of Four Loko and tapped it against Puck's. "But FYI, if I do chug this whole thing and end up with alcohol poisoning, I'm coming after your pasty ass."

Puck's grin moved from Mercedes to Rachel. "You in?"

"I'm only doing it if we all do it," Mercedes said.

Rachel's face twisted in displeasure. "Fine."

"Hell yeah!" Puck popped another can for her. "Ok, on the count of three. Here's to a bombing night! One…two…three!"

The two of them, Mercedes and Puck, tilted their heads back and bottomed up their drinks. The cold tin of the can touched Rachel's lips before she chickened out and pretended to be distracted by Mike and Kurt, both of whom flew out from behind the curtains separating Kurt's bedroom. Kurt was finishing up his tie, but Mike appeared distraught and confused.

"I can't find my stunna shades!" He eyed everyone suspiciously before patting down Puck's pockets while Puck was still chugging.

Rachel rubbed her temples. "Michael, it's 9 pm, you don't need to wear sunglasses in doors and at night. Guys, we're going to be late if we keep stalling."

Halfway through her can, Mercedes stopped, sputtering and coughing. "Rachel! You totally bailed on us and didn't even touch your disgusting drink."

"Why thank you, Mercedes. Now that I know it's disgusting, I don't need to drink it."

"Wait, hold up," said Kurt. "Why are we leaving now? It's way too early, and who goes to a club at 9?"

"Responsible, punctual people!"

"Fine. Just let me help Mike find his 2-dollar glasses that I bought for him. You don't want to know what I had to do to get something so cheap off that shady street vendor."

Actually, Rachel did kind of want to know, but Kurt had already gone after Mike who was searching in the dishwasher of all places. She turned back to an annoyed looking Mercedes and tried to placate the girl with a smile that didn't work. When that became awkward, Rachel turned to Puck who was struggling to finish his drink with great difficulty. Slightly alarmed that there were no puke buckets lying around, she glanced away from Puck and did a run through of her Bushwick apartment for one, but noticed that something…or some people...were still missing.

"Where are Santana and Quinn?"

"Still in the bathroom," Kurt told her from behind the refrigerator door.

Rachel really didn't want to deal with them, but if she didn't then no one else will. She liked to think they were all friends now, but it's hard to gauge the friendship meter for people you haven't seen in months. In Quinn's case, half a year, because despite the Metro passes and sparse email exchanges, there's never been any free time or even reason for them to visit each other until now. As soon as summer began, Rachel had booked herself a workshop in New York and Quinn had disappeared to her sister's place in Florida.

If she hadn't mass emailed everyone to visit New York before New Years Eve, then she doubt she would have seen Quinn any time in 2012.

She hesitated at the halfway opened door, but then remembered that this was her home so there was no need for her to ask permission to come in. Her two former classmates stood in front of the mirror, dressed in skintight, knee-length dresses and matching pumps. Quinn was applying her eyeliner while Santana retouched her lipstick, a sight that hit Rachel with a sense of nostalgia.

They paid her no attention, but Rachel was anything but deterred. "Ladies, as much as I cherish a thorough makeup routine, it's time for us to head out."

Quinn capped her liner and did a quick scan of Rachel's outfit. "You're going out like that?"

"What's wro - no, never mind. I quite like my outfit, thank you very much. Kurt - a Vogue intern may I remind you - picked it out himself, and although his taste may sometimes be too eccentric for the common person, I trust him."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, and a smirk. "Who are you trying to convince?"

"Don't listen to her," Santana told Rachel. "I think you looking smokin' hot, Berry. Sort of like a tiny, Jewish mini-me doused in whore makeup."

Heat rose to Rachel's cheeks as she pressed her lips together and turned away on her heels. They were just teasing her, she told herself; they were all friends now, and friends did that sort of thing. Santana complimenting her - albeit rudely - was already a step up from high school. And Quinn, well, Rachel knew Quinn well enough to know Quinn always said one thing, meant another, and then did something else while coming up with a 4th option. Quinn was pretty much bipolar, so Rachel wasn't going to take her words to heart.

It's a lot of teeth, sloppy, and wet, and it's enough to shake Rachel inside out. A tongue twirls inside of her mouth and Rachel just about falls over on legs made of jello. She twists her hand into Quinn's hair and yanks harshly at the blonde strains. Quinn hisses into her mouth, but doesn't fight it. She yanks again until they disconnect and they're left clinging for air inside an empty hotel hallway.

Quinn's eyes are completely dark and searching hers. Rachel notes the way Quinn has a tight hold on her hips, their pelvises thrust intimately together, how perfect they fit. She notes the gulp that claims Quinn's throat, the buzz that's inside her own ears, the thump of someone's heartbeat.

She leans her forehead against Quinn's and opens her mouth. Nothing comes out, because she doesn't have words for what she's feeling or thinking. An hour ago she was just trying to get Quinn to like her, but now it seems like she's trying to get Quinn to fuck her.

What is even going on?

"Ok, so where are we headed?" asked Kurt, excitedly clinging to Rachel's arms.

"To Stix," said Puck. "So get your fake IDs out, ladies and gents and Hummel."

"I hope this work. You guys might past with your four o' clock shadows and makeup, but with my baby doll face and Rachel's affinity for Mary Janes and headbands, we both don't look a day over 18."

Rachel pouted, protectively touching her headband, but they all continued on. Puck, Mike, and Mercedes walked ahead of her and Kurt, with Santana and Quinn bringing up the rear. Rachel wasn't thrilled having to be in front of the latter two, because every time she turned around they would stop whispering to stare back at her with mirth. When she faced forward, they resumed whatever it was they were whispering, most likely gossiping about her beautiful headbands. She pushed them out of her concerns when they reached the club, which had a line wrapped around the entire building.

"See, aren't you glad that I suggested we head out early?" she boasted.

Everyone groaned. No one cared for Rachel's suggestion. Rachel still smiled and squeezed at Kurt's arms. She turned back around again and caught Quinn's eyes, but this time there was none of the I'm-secretly-making-fun-of-you look. Quinn just watched her with eyes shining darkly from under a poor light, until an infamous eyebrow rose and shook Rachel from her gaze.

Rachel turned back around and felt her neck and cheek heat up. She could feel Quinn still staring at the back of her head, but she wasn't going to give Quinn the satisfaction of responding. Tonight, for some odd reason, it felt like Quinn had set out to antagonize her just like the good ol' high school days. Right after everyone left the apartment, Quinn had made another comment on her new New York inspired outfit, and how all the black was suitable for the after party of a funeral. Rachel merely huffed and paid her no mind, because honestly, that was a lazy jab even for Quinn Fabray.

In the club, they all managed to stick together and found a booth next to the bar. Puck and Mike offered to buy everyone the first round, while Santana and Kurt were quick to slither to the dance floor. That left Rachel, Mercedes, and Quinn to themselves, and the air was thick with tension because Mercedes spotted someone with a dress exactly like hers and that was never a good thing.

"Look at that skinny bitch," Mercedes seethed. "See, this was a problem when I was in LA. I'm surrounded by skinny girls who have half my talent, brains and charisma, but since they look better in a skirt, idiots don't hesitate to push me off a cliff just to flock to them."

Rachel nodded. "I completely understand." That earned a curious look from both Mercedes and Quinn, so she explained, "What I meant was that, I completely understand your problem with superficiality. We all know my voice and talent is one of a kind, but of course casting directors would want someone with a smaller nose, or a less ethnic appearance, or even blonde. Like Quinn, for instance."

"Thanks," Quinn said, dryly.

"I didn't mean –"

"Doesn't Puck have a girlfriend?" Quinn asked, directing her question at Mercedes.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because he's looking awfully crummy with that bartender."

"Oh my god, really? I've actually met his girlfriend, and she's really sweet and nice too. Why do guys alway ruin a good thing?"

Rachel sunk back in her seat, picking at her purse and silently listening in as Mercedes and Quinn bounce the conversation back and forth. She didn't want to sit there like a mute while they ignore her, but she didn't want to go off and dance by herself since Kurt and Santana had disappeared. At least those two were having fun, because she knew Kurt was still trying his hardest to get over Blaine and Santana with Brittany.

Rachel wanted that too – to have fun – but it's hard to do that when she kept getting shoved aside by a certain blonde.

Quinn pushes her into the hotel room and kicks the door shut. A mouth immediately finds her neck, and Quinn doesn't waste time sucking, licking, biting, and bruising the sensitive flesh there. Rachel gasps into the air, gripping onto the back of Quinn's dress for support. There's no excuse for how badly she just wants Quinn closer, to burrow deep inside of her.

Her breath hitches when Quinn pushes her up against the wall, a hand on her clothed breast, and knocks them into a table in the process. The pain is pushed aside because all she can feel is the pressure of Quinn's lips on her neck, then her collarbone, then along her jaw before it reaches her mouth. There's no teasing or playing around when their tongues brush against teach other hurriedly.

Rachel pushes her hips forward at the same time as Quinn thrusts into her, but their stupid dresses prevent any real friction to happen. Her nipple aches deliciously under Quinn's palm and she wishes they were nude already. She feels Quinn's fingers gripping the outside of her thigh before they move to ride the bottom of her skirt up.

It's still not enough.

"Take it off." Quinn's voice is husky, seeping with sex, unheard of to Rachel and she just about explodes again.

There were a lot more people than they had anticipated, and Rachel was glad she never had any inclination to go out to clubs like most people her age. She couldn't imagine doing this every weekend when she could be snuggled in with her zebra printed Snuggie, a cup of hot chocolate, and a play script instead. The taste of alcohol was revolting, so she was still nourishing her first glass while most of her friends were finishing their second.

Puck, who had promised that he was only flirting with the bartender for free drinks, volunteered to be her dancing partner but a horrible one at it. He's never had any rhythm, and his pelvis thrusts were only entertaining for the first two or three times. The person Rachel really wanted to dance with, the one who could help her shine and stand out from the inebriated crowd, was stolen away from her by none another than Quinn. What a bi – witch, Rachel thought, watching enviously as Mike got down with Quinn a few bodies away.

The pair had eyes on them; some people were jealous, some fascinated, others aroused, and Rachel found herself in a confusing state of being all three. Mike was an extraordinary great dancer, and Quinn wasn't so bad herself, but it wasn't Mike who had captured Rachel's attention. It wasn't Mike with the flustered face, wild hair, and heaving, sweaty chest that Rachel's eyes were stuck too.

"I'll be right back," Rachel mumbled, pulling away from Puck's stiffed form. He should really go see a masseuse.

She bumped into Mercedes and Santana on her way to the booth to cool off, and both girls looked just as annoyed as she felt. "What happened?" she asked them.

"Straight people," Santana sneered, walking past her.

Mercedes' scowl turned into a smile. "What she meant was, that guy over there…" she pointed to the bar, where a bulky man in a tight muscle shirt and way too much hair gel raised a glass their way, "…Ugh, that jerk, wearing a wedding ring, had the gulls to offer me a drink and his hotel room."

"He propositioned you?" Rachel squealed.

"I know, right? Out of all the hot available men here, it just had to be some married sleazebag. He even threw in a, 'I'm a producer,' line, as if that made him any better."

"How rude!"

"Ok, so Santana has no game," said Kurt, stepping in between them. "She's been dancing around this hot redhead the entire night, and every time I tell her to go for it, she keeps drinking more instead of you know, actually doing something about it."

Rachel glanced back to the dance floor, surprised to see Quinn no longer with Mike but with Santana, the two of them in a heated conversation with a lot of hand gestures. Santana looked more annoyed with everything coming out of Quinn's mouth, and Rachel wondered if they're going to be dealing with a weepy, angry drunk Santana tonight. She sighed, because Santana swore she was going to have fun and not wallow in self-pity.

She was about to turn back to Mercedes and Kurt's conversation when Quinn's eyes suddenly shifted and connected with hers. Even under the club's poor lighting and with countless bodies moving between them, Rachel knew they were staring at each other. Again.

Rachel throat suddenly felt dry. She continued to meet Quinn's unyielding gaze, testing the waters to see how long they can keep up this contest without breaking. She wasn't going to look away first – no – whatever game Quinn was playing at, it's hers to lose. That didn't mean Rachel wasn't reacting to it inwardly because she was suddenly as hot as a furnace and like, did somebody sucked out all the air in here?

It felt like centuries, but Quinn's locked gaze never wavered, despite Santana mouthing off near her ear. The heat from Rachel's chest began to burn lower and lower, until it hit a part of her that she in no way had ever associated with Quinn Fabray. Feeling dizzy, Rachel forced herself to look away.

Quinn wins, again.

God, why is Rachel Berry always a sucker for evil people with pretty faces?

It's too fast and urgent, but Rachel's too swept up in the sensation to complain. Quinn doesn't hesitate to carelessly tug and jerk and pull Rachel's expensive dress off her and then turn around and do the same to herself.

Rachel pouts slightly when her headband is manhandled next.

Then it hits Rachel that they're making out in the dark. She can barely see Quinn and that just won't do. While Quinn's kicking her heels off, Rachel goes for the lights with shaky hands. During the time it takes for her to reach the lamp and flip it on, the situation fully dawns on her. She's naked. She's about to have sex – from the looks of it, mind-numbingly good sex – with her high school rival and archenemy.

And tentative friend?

A rush of nervous excitement shoots through her. She suddenly feels drunk, but it's definitely not on alcohol. Her head feels light, there's shortness of breath, her heart rate is off the charts, and if she dies from this her obituary better mention her last moments were during the throes of passion. She's shaken away from her thoughts when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her middle, and Quinn's devious mouth is back on the nape of her neck.

Rachel allows herself to drown in all her emotions.

"You're thinking very loudly," Quinn mumbles, biting down on her skin. "Don't think too much. This doesn't mean anything."

It's another crash of emotion. A burn this time, but Rachel gulps it down. "I wasn't expecting anything," she shoots back.

Rough hands cup her breasts then fingers tweak at her nipples. She can feel Quinn smiling against her skin, or is it a sneer? Slowly, they walk backwards with Quinn assaulting her neck and breasts until Rachel feels gravity shift and she's suddenly thrown on the bed. She yelps and twists her head to glare at Quinn, but any anger she has over being thrown around like a rag doll gets shut down as soon as Quinn descends on her.

"What exactly is in a – excuse my French – Adios Motherfucker?"

The bartender, a pretty tatted-up woman with a nose piercing, gave her a once over before asking, "Are you sure you're old enough to be in here, darling? How about some ID."

"Honestly." Rachel scoffed, but still handed over her fake ID anyways. Barbra Liza Idina Brice, age 21 as of two months ago. Rachel beamed with a dazzling smile when the bartender looked back and forth between her and the ID.

"You have four first names?" the bartender asked, reluctantly handing over the ID. A costumer is a costumer, her boss would say.

"My fathers couldn't decide," said Rachel. "Going back to the drink, can I please have the Adios, but hold the Motherfucker? I don't plan to be overly inebriated tonight. It's my friends first night in the city and I'm playing host."

"Fascinating."

"Make that two Adios Motherfucker," came a strange voice besides Rachel's ear. "On me."

Rachel jumped from her stool, ready to use her 2 years of Krav Maga training and the lethal drink in her hand to decimate the rough body invading her personal space. Her eyes widened as a sweaty looking man shamelessly scanned her body up and down. His arm hung on the back of her stool and he was very close to her face, killing her with his foul breath.

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of buying my own drinks," Rachel told him.

"No, no, it's on me," he said, flashing a smile. "That's what guys are supposed to do here, right? Offer pretty girls drinks?"

To take advantage and go home with, Rachel finished in her head, but hey, she wasn't going to completely turn down a free drink. It's not like she gets offered them every day. "Well, I guess I'll take the free drink then! Thank you so very much, kind sir."

"No problem." He made no move to drop his hand from the back of her seat, nor any move to scoot in closer. He seemed nice and polite enough, at least, and well, it's not everyday Rachel Berry got hit on by older men at clubs, but then it's not everyday Rachel Berry goes out to a club to get hit on by older men.

"I'm David," he told her, and held out a hand.

Rachel shook it, albeit reluctantly. "Ra – Barbra. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." He took his sweet time with the handshake before whispering close to her ear. "I saw you with your friends earlier, so don't think I'm trying to sneak you out or take advantage of you. I'm not like that. I just thought – you know you're so beautiful, there are a lot of guys eying you right now, and I thought that I could help you out so some creep don't think you're alone and for the taking."

The bartender, who had been hovering by with their drinks, snickered. She placed the drinks in front of them, and Rachel was the first to take a sip. She nearly spat the liquid out when it burned down her throat, because holy hell, the lady did not heed her plea about less alcohol! Could she sue for this?

"Thank you, again," Rachel said, face twisted in a grimace. She moved to stand up (or slide down in her case, since her toes couldn't reach the floor) from her seat, but David still had his arm around her chair, trapping her between it and the counter. "I really should head back to my friends."

"Are you sure?" he asked, dipping his head closer "How about a little dance? I did buy you that drink after all and well, it'll send a message to those creeps to leave you alone for the rest of the night."

Rachel stood still, her grip on the glass tightened. She knew she should head back to her booth, but she didn't want to create a ruckus with this man. This was supposed to be her night of fun, and starting an argument over a stupid dance was…

"I…I guess," Rachel said quietly. She stole a glance at the bartender who was watching the exchange with a blank face.

David reached for her hand, but then abruptly jerked forward in his seat instead. "What the hell –"

"Hey dude," said Puck, leaning against the counter on David's other side. "You're looking good in those jeans. How about I get you a drink?"

Rachel fought a smile, because what? "Hello, Noah."

Puck tipped his head at her in hello, but turned his eyes back on David. "So how about it hot stuff, want a little somethin' somethin' in your mouth?"

"How about no," David said, annoyed by the sudden intrusion of Puck being in his face.

"Aw why not? I saw you from across the room. We made eye-contact so that must mean you want to fuck."

"Dude, what the fuck."

"How about two drinks and a free dance with the Puckinator? You wanna know why they call me a Puckinator?" He obscenely grabbed his crotch and began to pelvis thrust.

"Get off, man!"

"We can do that later, babe." Puck winked before his face suddenly turned serious. "Yeah, not so fun when you're the one getting hit on by a dick, right?"

"You know what, forget this," David shot Puck and Rachel a dirty look before he stormed off.

Rachel grabbed Puck into a big hug. "Oh, my god, thank you so much!"

"No problem, babe. Quinn thought you looked really uncomfortable talking to him, so she told me to deal with it."

She froze in his arms. "Wait – what? Quinn told you to save me?"

"And save her you did," the bartender leaned across the counter and gave Puck a look that screamed lecherous. "That guy was a total creep, but since he didn't physically touch her I'm not really allowed to do anything. Thank god you came when you did."

Rachel knew the infamous Puck smirk when she saw it. She also knew Puck was in his most stable relationship ever, and quite possibly his longest, and he'll be a fool to ruin it. "Noah, lets go back to our friends." She pulled on his shirt, but he didn't budge.

"Yeah, you go first," he told her, eyes on the bartender. "I just uh – let me just talk to this lady for a bit. About a drink mix."

"About a drink mix."

"About a drink mix."

Rachel didn't believe him for a second. Unfortunately, she was also too occupied with thoughts about Quinn sending in white knights to be too concerned about Puck's adulterous ways. She couldn't figure out why Quinn kept flipping back and forth between ignoring her, insulting her, staring at her, and now protecting her. She thought they were friends, or at least reached some sort of truce by the end of senior year. She just wanted Quinn to acknowledge her.

She stabbed a thumb at Puck's chest, getting him to finally look at her. "I'm going to go. I'll leave you alone, but…" She didn't need to finish the sentence. All it took was a one glance over at the bartender for Puck to get it. He nodded curtly and rolled his eyes as if she was being an idiot.

There are a lot of hands in places that Rachel would not have condoned on a sober day. She doesn't fight it – the fingernails dragging down her inner thighs, the way deceivingly soft hands rake across her skin, the fingertips that dip in between her teeth for her to bite on. Debauchery is the first word she thinks of. Soaked is the next, because she's so wet and swollen she feels ready to burst every time her clit is lucky enough to touch something.

"Quinn," she pleads, thrashing against the mouth that clasps round her nipple. She arches into Quinn's touch, trying to rub her lower half against Quinn's stomach, but the blonde does not let up. Her legs get shoved aside and spread wide open whenever she tries to wrap them around Quinn's waist. Her attempt at maneuvering Quinn to where she wants her is feeble at best and wasted at worst. Quinn seems to be in her own world, on her own term.

"I need –" Rachel stumbles, crying out when Quinn not so nicely bits down the bruised, brown peak. "– God! I need you to – mmmm – go lower, please."

Quinn lets go of her nipple with a wet pop, and hands that were pushing down her legs disappear. Rachel feels nothing but coldness all around her, and the only thing she can do is whine. She blinks up at a peach-faced Quinn with her blonde hair strewn in every direction and her small chest heaving deliciously with exertion. The sight sends a shiver down Rachel's spine, and God if she wasn't already soaking…

Rachel grips the bed sheets to stop herself from latching onto Quinn and coming off as too desperate. "What –"

"Don't tell me what to do." Quinn's buttery sweet voice is matched with a fake smile. She cups Rachel's neck and presses down gently, not enough to throw up red flags and scare Rachel away, but enough to scream authority. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it my way, understand?"

Rachel wants to nod but she doesn't want to move the hand at her throat. She hums instead, tilting her lower body upward for Quinn to do as she pleases.

Rachel somehow managed to finish through rest of her Adios Motherfucker, grimacing every time she tasted the liquor. The affect was stronger than she bargained for, making her feel light-headed and jittery all at once. She wanted to go out and dance and throw her hands in the air, but she was stuck in the booth listening to the worst pick-up ever. She side-eyed Santana who was in the middle of telling a not so flattering story to some supermodel-worthy blonde woman beside her.

"She told me, 'We either see Beiber in concert or you're sleeping on the floor tonight.' I told her, 'Wow, what a Sophie's Choice,' all sarcastically and shit, you know? But then she was like, 'In your case, it'll be more like Single Ladies,' and I was like, 'Damn, ok, Beiber it is.'"

The supermodel-worthy woman must have thought the same as Rachel, because she began to awkwardly slide out of her seat. "Thank you for the drinks, Samantha."

"Santana!"

"Sorry, Santana, but um…I think I should go…thank you again and good luck with you know, everything."

Santana planked her forehead on the table as soon as the blonde left. Rachel was torn between laughing at her or offering a supporting pat on the back. She went with the pat because she remembered they were all sleeping under the same roof and the chances of getting smothered with a pillow were very high.

"I know I don't have much experience in the dating scene, but I'm not sure sharing stories about your ex is a great way to break the ice," Rachel commented, hesitantly rubbing Santana's shoulder.

Santana shrugged her hand off and stood up in her seat. "You're right, you don't have much experience. I'm going to get another drink."

Santana stumbled and knocked a chair – or two, or three – over, leaving Rachel alone momentarily before Kurt scooted in and took over the vacant spot. "Ugh, not one gay guy in this club!" he said, throwing his hands up. "You'd think seeing all these well dressed men with perfectly groomed facial hair meant that someone was bound to be on my team, but apparently it's just a New York thing."

"That's unfortunate for you," Rachel lulled, wrapping an arm around Kurt. Then under her breath she added derisively, "but fortunate for Quinn."

"Huh?"

"Would you like another drink?"

"No, god no! I just want to dance and meet a guy who thinks I'm cute and just – Christ, Rachel, why is it so hard?"

"Didn't you have fun dancing with Mike?"

"Yeah, I did, and he's a fabulous dancer but it's not like I can back my thing up if you know what I mean."

"Speaking of backing things up," Puck slipped in, taking a seat on Rachel's other side. "Did you guys see Mercedes with that creepy producer guy? I was going to step in to save Chocolate Mama, but she gave me an evil look and shooed me away."

Rachel frowned. "I thought she didn't want anything to do with him."

"She has been complaining about getting attention," Kurt said. "Maybe she gave up and just grabbed onto the first thing that gave it to her?"

Puck wiggled his brows, and Rachel already knew what he was going to say. "I would have given it to her if I wasn't already a one woman man with morals. Anyways, I'm not here to gossip like little, old grandmas. Hey Jewbabe, care to give me a twenty?"

"Uh, why?"

"Because I'm out of cash and I think it's unfair for me to buy so many drinks and not tip the bartender."

"Puck…"

"What? People working in public services deserve gratitude too, you know!"

Kurt gasped. "How do you even know what gratitude means?"

"Shut up. Just because I almost failed high school doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Look guys, I'm just being friendly! I'm not going to do anything stupid and risk my relationship. I love my future baby mama without the drama."

"Aw, that's adorable in a very twisted and questionable way." Turning to Rachel, Kurt frowned. "See, I want some douchebag to almost cheat on his partner with me. Why is everyone willing to cheat on everyone but with me?"

Not knowing what to say to that, Rachel just shrugged. At the mention of cheaters, Rachel's thoughts swam over to Quinn. Quinn Fabray – whom she hadn't seen in a while except for a few glances here and there. Quinn Fabray – who's been the center of many attention ever since she arrived at the club, even Rachel's. Quinn Fabray – who ordered Puck to help Rachel even though she had no reason to.

Like a beautiful blonde knight in shining armor.

Rachel reached over and snatched up whatever was in Puck's hand and gulped it down. She nearly choked and spat some of it back out. "Oh my god, Puck, what is this?"

"A manly drink," Puck said, sighing at Rachel's lack of cool factor. "Which you totally just backwashed. How about handing over that 20 bucks to make it up to me?"

Whatever, Rachel could afford to lose 20 bucks. With enough alcohol in her system, she decided to go and find Quinn. To do what - Rachel hadn't exactly formed any concrete idea yet but she will once she sees the blonde face to face!

It took a while, after she stopped to pull a drunk Santana away from a woman who was clearly not interested, and another stop she made to spy on Mercedes with the married so-called record producer, and one more stop to threaten Puck's bartender with her eyes, but she did finally managed to find Quinn.

She snuck up behind Quinn and tapped her on the shoulder. At Quinn's eyebrow raise, she happily shouted above the music. "Thank you for saving me."

Quinn looked at Rachel as if trying to remember who she was before turning back to her dance partner. Rachel, thinking Quinn was misreading her, walked around and squeezed herself in between Quinn and said dance partner.

"Did you hear what I said?" Rachel shouted. "Thank! You! For! Saving! Me!"

"I didn't do anything," Quinn shouted back. "I'm in the middle of something here, Rachel. Can you please leave? God, you're annoying."

Rachel blanched, but quickly saved herself with a forced smile. "How about we dance together? We can – um – what do they say? Break it down? I haven't seen much of you today and we're supposed to be spending time together, remember?"

"Really, Rachel? Now's not the time."

"Come on, just one dance. You've dance with everyone but me!"

Quinn's current partner, a short brunette man way below Quinn's league, coughed uncomfortably. "I'll be over there if you want to have a good time."

He walked away despite Quinn's protest. It took 3 seconds max, but Rachel could see the sudden transformation from stoic Quinn to Ice Queen McKinley Quinn Fabray. "Look what you did. Do you have to ruin everything that I enjoy? Why didn't you just call up your Ken doll man friend if you're so desperate for attention?"

Rachel couldn't muster a response when Quinn moved to presumably chase after the guy who couldn't be any shorter than even Rachel or uglier than even...than even Jacob Ben Isreal if he tried. Even as everyone pushed and slithered around her, she stayed glued to her spot, processing everything that just happened. She felt like she'd just been dismissed with a metaphorically slap in the face.

She only came back to herself when someone had the audacity to do the sprinkler dance move in front of her before going into the robot. She quickly moved away because she didn't want anyone to think she associated with that.

Rachel's not going to ask where Quinn learned how to fuck women. She's not at all – nope – not at all. She's just going to cherish it like she does any solo and embrace it like her God given rights.

"Fuck, Quinn, fuck, fuck," she curses, albeit quietly to herself because she's still not comfortable being so vulgar out-loud.

Rachel's hanging by the edge of the bed, gripping tightly onto Quinn's hair and holding her in place. Every time she looks down between her legs, she sees Quinn's tongue twirling around her clit while two slender fingers piston in and out of her pussy. It had started out with Rachel using the bed sheets at anchors, because all Quinn did was tease every inch of her except that one spot. Then when Quinn ran the flat of her tongue through Rachel's entire heat before latching onto her clit, the bed sheets became her own breasts. Eventually, that wasn't enough because Quinn started eating her out with vigor and that only build Rachel's need to shove herself into Quinn's mouth. So now her hands were glued to Quinn's messy blonde hair otherwise she might float off the face of this bed.

She knows holding Quinn's head and forcing her wouldn't be a good idea. Quinn seems to be on a power trip to have things her way, and Rachel keeps pushing the limit every time she grinds herself upward while pushing Quinn's head down. But to hell with it. Rachel wants her orgasm and in the words of – god, she can't believe she's saying this – Santana Lopez, she wants it now.

With all the pain and suffering Quinn had her go through tonight, she thinks she deserves it.

Except, she doesn't get it.

She blinks blearily into the ceiling, not able to fully comprehend what just happened. Her orgasm had been building and churning just below her stomach until it was suddenly snatched away. Again.

"Quinn!" she whines, and almost throws a tantrum on the bed in protest as the blonde gets up to her knees and wipes at her glistening mouth.

With an uncharacteristic giggle, Quinn begins to nudge Rachel's leg and roll her onto her stomach. "Stop complaining and get on your hands and knees."

"Oh."

"Have any of you seen Quinn?" Rachel asked the tiny group now crowded at the booth. Santana, Mercedes, and Kurt were nursing their drinks, with Santana also furiously stabbing at her phone while Mercedes looked bored with the world. Kurt appeared solemn and tiny beside them, staring off into the distance.

"No," Kurt said with a sigh.

"Her big butt is probably off getting attention from all the guys," Mercedes added.

Santana gave a short laugh. "Don't think she'll be interested unless they were a man twice her age going through a midlife crisis and enjoys porking a MILF with daddy issues."

Kurt sighed again. "And you wonder why you don't get any action here."

"Shut up, twinkle toes. Maybe if you'd smiled more, you'd get attention from guys who thinks it'll be amazing to get a blowjob from a boy who doesn't have any teeth. Have I told you lately that you look like you don't have any teeth every time you smile? It's revolting."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "How original and insulting," he said sarcastically.

"Guys," Rachel cut in before Santana could toss a drink in Kurt's face. "Why are you all sitting here and fighting each other? I thought we were supposed to be out there having a good time!"

"Is that what you're doing?" Santana looked at her questionably. "Who the hell asks for Quinn when they want to have a good time?"

"Why are you acting so prissy?" Mercedes asked. "Put your cellphone down, your drink down, stop phone-tagging Brittany, and maybe you'll have a good time, Santana."

"Yeah, because I'm totally going to take advice from a girl who's only action so far was due to me – a lesbian – turning down a perv. Did you have fun with my sloppy seconds?"

"You know what, I think I'm going to just start rubbing on everyone and see who sticks around," said Kurt, sliding away from Santana and Mercedes heated stare down. "Otherwise, I might end up so depressed I'll break my rule and call Blaine."

"Oh, no Kurt, you were doing so well," Rachel said. "Please don't break your rule because of tonight. I think everyone just needs to calm down. I'll get you another drink and we can just dance the night away. Yes, yes, that's what we'll do. We'll dance."

Mercedes shook her head, turning away from Santana. "That's exactly what we need, more alcohol for that crazy girl over there."

Santana flipped Mercedes the middle finger, but flashed Rachel a normal smile. "Get me two Tequila shots, shorty, and I'll pretend to have a good time."

"Don't bother with me," Mercedes said, moving out of her seat. "I'm going back to the 'perv' because at least he appreciates me for who I am and I don't feel like shoving a barrel through my mouth every time he opens his mouth."

"He's also married ya moron!" Santana shouted after her.

Rachel quickly backed away, because she did not want to spend another minute at that table. She squeezed between two bodies hyperventilating against each other and was near the bar when a flash of a familiar red dress and blonde hair caught her attention. She changed course and figured Santana can wait for her drinks because Rachel Berry does not cater to anyone.

She followed Quinn into a brightly lit restroom with two other occupants and a little old bathroom lady dispensing soap and handing out paper towels. The place wasn't ideal for the type of talk Rachel wanted to have, but at least it's a lot quieter in here and they did have a history with restrooms.

Rachel thank god for liquid courage.

"I wish to talk to you," she started, tapping Quinn on the shoulder as the girl waited in line for a stall.

Quinn abruptly spun around. Her features were sharp, eyebrows pressed together, but her cheeks were bright pink and her hair frizzy in a cute way, the looks so contrasting that Rachel couldn't help but find her…cute. Enduringly cute.

"Jesus, Rachel, you startled me."

"I apologize for that. In any case, we still need to talk."

"And you want to do that here?" Quinn turned back around. "Save it."

No! Quinn Fabray did not get to turn her back on Rachel Berry!

Rachel nudged her shoulder back around. "Yes, we're going to have a talk and we're going to have a talk here. We need to start by my asking why you've been incredibly rude to me all this evening."

Quinn glanced at the shoulder that Rachel had nudged before steeling her eyes and staring Rachel down. "Wow, am I the one trying to have a heart to heart with a person who just wants to pee? Can't this wait until later?"

"You can't act like we're not friends, Quinn, then turn around and…and have Puck go and save me. You can't insult my looks then spend the rest of the night staring at me. I let you into my home!"

"I'm sorry, but are you girls in line for the –"

"Yes!" – "No!" Quinn and Rachel shouted at the poor woman who dared interfered. The woman, with her palms up in surrender, nodded and scattered away. Rachel pulled Quinn out of the line and over to a corner, as if that could possibly give them any more privacy.

"Rachel, what is your problem?"

"My problem, Quinn Fabray, is that I thought we were past high school and have all matured. But alas, it appears that I'm wrong and it's two steps forward and one step back when it comes to us."

Quinn took a step closer until they were toe-to-toe, and seethed through her teeth. "Us? Rachel, there is no us. The best we could do and have ever done is tolerate each other for the sakes of our real friends."

"You know that's a –"

"And you call this maturity and growing up?" Quinn laughed humorlessly, and for a moment Rachel could smell the alcohol on her breath. So maybe having this discussion at their current state wasn't such a smart idea. "We're underage kids who've snuck into a club with fake IDs to get our kicks. High school was only 6 months ago. You think playing dress up with Kurt's advice and drowning yourself in raccoon makeup for some upperclassman guy makes you mature? Sorry to break it to you, Rachel, but no, it doesn't."

Rachel thought that was the end of it, until Quinn smacked her purse on the sink and towered over her with another bout of anger. "I thought when you decided to dump Finn and focus on your school, that you've finally matured and grew up into the special butterfly that we all know you are. But lo and behold, you did nothing but turned into an even bigger diva and once again, chased the nearest guy that gave you the time of day."

Rachel inhaled deeply at Quinn's sudden outburst. She thought they were on the right track, especially since it wasn't so long ago that Quinn had bought her train tickets to see each other, that they were emailing pleasant letters back and forth. It seemed as though she was wrong, and Quinn thought differently and wasn't going to hesitate to burst the already thin bubble they were in.

"Oh, yeah?" Rachel began, lips pressed in a firm line before spitting out, "Like you're so much better than me, right? Like your recent rendezvous with your professor or – or your newfound interest in faux feminism and sororities with girls I'm certain you talk badly about behind their backs makes you so much better than me?"

Rachel pressed her palm against Quinn's chest and gently pushed her back when the other girl made a move to storm away. She hissed in Quinn's face. "No, you don't get to walk away from me again. You know what I think, Quinn? I think you're just jealous of me because of my success with NYADA. That everyone we knew in Glee is happy to call me up and ask if they can visit us in New York, while the only one who even cares enough to bother you is Santana."

"Oh, this is priceless." Quinn's jaw clenched, unclenched, before she bared her teeth and dipped her head to match Rachel's height. "You think I'm jealous of you? Of the poor loser who's only friend in high school was her stuff animal, and now she's finally managed to have two best friends to rub together? Don't kid yourself, Rachel."

"Tell me that you're actually happy," Rachel challenged. She knew she was crossing the line every time she edged Quinn on, but she's sick and tired of playing doormat to people who do nothing but walk all over her. Quinn being one of the worst offenders. "Tell me that you wake up, happy to be at Yale, that you can look at yourself and be proud of who you are."

"God, you're such a bad Lifetime movie," Quinn snapped back. "I'm not doing this with you in a dingy restroom."

"Please continue," – both girls turned to the voice of the soap dispenser lady, her iPhone out and pointed at them – "My Vine followers are loving this!"

Quinn let out a sound between a whine and a canary being eaten by a cat. She shoulder shoved pass Rachel, smacked the phone out of the lady's hand, and banged the door shut on her way out. Feeling deflated and not in the mood anymore for clubbing, Rachel was slower to storm out but she made sure to give a disappointed headshake at the soap dispensing lady.

Quinn is relentless, pulling on her hair and slamming two fingers into her all at once. It shouldn't turn Rachel on as much as it does, but it does and she's screaming into her pillow and pushing herself back. Yeah, she really needs to ask Quinn where she learned to do this because you don't turn from a straight, good Christian girl into a Sapphic love machine over night. The fact that Quinn has such control over her drives Rachel both crazy and scarily hormonal.

She's only been with three guys; Finn, Brody, and a couple of times with Jesse St. James whenever he visited New York, so it's not like she has much experience in the sexual intercourse area. This thing with Quinn though, something that will only last for a few hours and for one night, easily surpasses them all without a doubt in her mind.

The thought makes her bit on her lip and moan deeper into the pillow.

Quinn's hand leaves her hair, but Rachel's taken for surprise when fingers scrape down her backside before it lands a good smack on her ass. She stills for a moment, too shocked to let out a noise. Quinn must sense her shock because she also stops her thrusting to ask, "Was that – was that ok?"

If you keep talking to me in that sexed up voice you can do whatever you want, Rachel wants to say, but instead she chooses, "Ye – yes, it's fine. Caught me by surprise, that's all."

Quinn rubs at Rachel's bottom, soothing out any lingering pain, before she resumes fucking two wet fingers in and out of Rachel at a frantic pace. Her thrusts began to increase, and so does the volume in Rachel's scream. She alternates between smacking Rachel's ass or palming it, and it's enough to send Rachel tipping over the edge.

Rachel's walls squeeze and spasms around Quinn's fingers. The pillow muffles Rachel's cries, but her body can't hide the shudders of pleasure. All she wants to do is get back to her regular breathing so she can pass out, but then she feels Quinn's weight over her back then Quinn's kissing her shoulder blades. Warmth spreads throughout her entire body, and she knows she can't just blame it all on her orgasmic bliss.

With strength she didn't know she had, she flips them over and crawls over Quinn's body. The blonde's too tired to physically resist, but she does tell Rachel to stop. "You don't need to do anything. I'm fine, Rachel."

"I might be new to this whole sex thing, but I'm pretty sure etiquette says it's rude if I don't reciprocate."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're being ridiculous," Rachel presses, before taking Quinn's wrists and holding it above their heads. She settles in between Quinn's leg and nibbles on the blonde's jaw. "Let me do this for you, please."

Finally, Quinn relents.

Rachel watched Quinn from afar, annoyed at how the girl was inside a three-man circle laughing it up as if she hadn't just been fighting with her friend minutes ago. Rachel couldn't fathom what Quinn's problem was – was she jealous at Rachel's success? Jealous that Rachel loved her school minus her annoying dance teacher? Jealous that Rachel not only still have Finn's heart, but also share a healthy sexual relation with an attractive upperclassman with enviable skin?

Rachel should be out there right now having fun with everyone else, but instead she's cooped up in her corner mulling over Quinn Fabray's moods. What a disastrous Friday night!

"Rachel!"

Rachel looked up, her angry mask falling quickly when she sees Mike side glide his way to the booth, making her crack a smile. She took the shot he kindly offered, because at this point she might as well drown her misery away in horrible alcohol. If Santana could do it and not die, so could Rachel.

"Hey, turn that frown upside down," Mike said.

"I'm sorry, it hasn't been such a great night."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to burden you with my troubles, Michael, but thank you."

"Are you –"

"You should go back out and have fun," Rachel continued. "It seems like you're the only person who is genuinely having a good time tonight. All I wanted was to throw a good reunion gathering since we haven't seen each other in months, but it looks like everyone would rather be off in their own world. I don't know what I did wrong when all I wanted to do was uplift everyone's spirit, especially Kurt and Santana's."

"Well, maybe –"

"And Quinn! I thought we've all changed since high school, but all Quinn's done is proven me wrong. She's still so mean, and vindictive, and a liar! One minute she pretends that we're friends, and then next she's giving me the cold-shoulder. Am I only good enough for her when she needs someone to make her feel better? I feel like the only time she ever listens to me is when she's about to make another stupid mistake."

"I think –"

"You think that's it?" A sudden realization dawned on her. "Do you think she's making a big mistake now and her sudden 180 degree personality switch is a silent cry for help?"

Mike, his mouth still opened, didn't bother with a response that time. It's only at Rachel's silence and her expectant face did he realized she wanted him to say something. "I uh – I think maybe, you're right? I don't know," he chuckled, scratching his head. "She really did seem excited to come here when we spoke earlier. She couldn't stop talking about how long it's been since she's seen you, so I can't explain the attitude change but I can say it did sound like she missed you."

"You're right," Rachel declared, nudging Mike away so she could slip out of the booth. "There's something bothering her, and it's my job to get to the bottom of it. I've always been the one in high school to never give up on Quinn, I'm not about to start now."

"Wait, what just happened?"

This time, Rachel didn't hesitate to drag Quinn away from her adoring fans. She led them out a side exit and cat hissed at a man smoking a blunt and a couple making out by a dumpster until they all scrambled away. Quinn tried ripping her wrist out from Rachel's grip but Rachel, using force she didn't know she had, held on with determination.

"Oh my god," Quinn cried. "What the hell is your problem this time? Why did you just kidnap me out here? Why do you always kidnap me?"

"Are you in danger, Quinn? Is someone threatening your life? Are you pregnant again? Is the professor pressuring you to do something you don't want to do? Not like having an illicit affair with a student is in any way a condonable act to begin with. We really need to talk about that some other time."

"What are you talking about? This is crazy even for you."

Frustrated, Rachel let go of Quinn to smack her fist against the brick wall. Stupid move. She yelped out in pain and quickly examined her bruised knuckles. It came as a surprise when another pair of hands clasped around her bruised one, and an even more frustrated Quinn was breathing roughly through her noise and cursing everything that was Rachel.

"Look at what you did," Quinn muttered, rubbing at Rachel's knuckles. Quinn bit at her lip and frowned, looking awfully concerned for someone who said they only tolerated each other.

"I don't care about my hand," Rachel lied, because her hand did hurt like a mothertrucker. "I care about you. I hate the fact that you keep shutting me out as if I personally offended you. I don't want to care, but I do. I do, I do, and I do and it drives me insane."

"And you think it doesn't drive me insane?" Quinn stopped her soothing rub but still head onto Rachel's hand. "I don't want to care about you either, Rachel. I don't want to know about your damned Finn problems or your Brody problems or how happy you are at NYADA. I don't want to care that the only reason I'm here right now is because of some stupid reunion you've concocted in your head, and not because you want me to be here."

"What are you – of course I want you here! That's the purpose of a reunion!"

Quinn fought back a growl before tossing her head back, physically looking pained. "No! Don't you get it? I don't want you to call me because you have no one else to confide in. I don't want you to invite me over because hey, since Mercedes and Mike and whoever else are already here, why not her too? I don't want you to come to me just because I'm acting like a bitch and you have this innate desire to cure everyone's problems, but because you want to on your own."

Rachel's lower lip began to tremble as Quinn words jabbed her piece by piece. "I don't – I'm not understanding."

"God, you're so frustrating!"

The retort on Rachel's lip was cut off as Quinn cupped her cheeks and slammed their mouths together. Rachel remembered Finn once saying kissing Quinn Fabray was like fireworks, but the boy must be on crack because this was far and beyond any lame chemical reaction. This was a galaxy exploding. Ok, maybe that was a chemical reaction too, but galaxies sounded a lot better than just fireworks. She really needed to google some poems about this.

"Are you seriously thinking while we're kissing?" Quinn asked, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads together.

"How did you know?"

"You're staring off into nothing and you have that deep thought face."

Shyly, yet boldly all at once, Rachel looked down at their feet. "I'm thinking about were we can go to...continue this."

"I'm not like, in love with you or anything," Quinn quickly said, tightening her hold on Rachel's face. "But I...but I can't seem to want to do anything but this."

"I know what you mean."

It's so much slower than anything they've done so far that Rachel wonders if it's still even the same night or if she's been hallucinating this entire thing. She's incredibly nervous, due to the whole lack of experience thing, but fortunately she had been well prepared for this. She thanks all the Youtube instructional videos she watched in preparation for her 'experimentation' stage in college, never thinking Quinn Fabray would be at the reciprocating end.

She's also fortunate that she has a healthy masturbation routine, otherwise she wouldn't have such intimate knowledge on how to touch a woman as she does now.

Even though Quinn takes a bit longer than her, prefers more stimuli on her clit than penetration, and moves around a lot, Rachel thinks she can master this.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers airily, watching Quinn's face scrunch up every time she manages to brush against a good spot. She leans down and kisses the side of Quinn's mouth then nibbles her way down a strong jaw. She always admired Quinn's bone structure, but to now be able to devour it is a whole other feeling. She couldn't get enough of Quinn's skin, or her scent, or how soft everything was.

Her stomach has no choice but to flutter when Quinn's walls squeezes her fingers, or when Quinn's heels dig themselves into her thigh. She has to remind herself over and over again that she's the one making Quinn Fabray go crazy on a hotel bed, that she's the one causing all the noises to come out of Quinn Fabray's perfect mouth.

Quinn releases a moan so girly that it leaves no room for Rachel to deny that she really just had sex with a girl, and she enjoyed it so much more than she ever did with boys. That's not to say she's leaning more on one side or another – it's just to say she's definitely leaning in Quinn's favor. On Quinn. Over Quinn. Underneath Quinn.

"This doesn't mean anything."

Rachel's suddenly ripped back to reality, her eyelids fluttering at Quinn's words. One moment she's fantasizing about early morning coffee runs with Quinn Fabray, the next moment she wants to put a state, a country, a universe in between her and Quinn. "Of course not," she says, matching Quinn's monotone.

"It was a drunken mistake."

"Yes, it was. Even though the amount of liquor I had would have left my body by now given the time of my last drink, and by your words and actions you sound entirely lucid, it was all just one big, drunken mistake."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

It's a challenge, because they can't seem to exist in the same vicinity without challenging each other. Rachel wonders if this is a good idea, but then who is she if not one to stick to her horrible ideas until the very end.

The thing Mike hated the most after every club outing is the going home part. Somehow, they always ended up losing at least one person. It's a mess keeping track of people and their whereabouts, especially if you're the designated driver – which Mike wasn't, but he might as well be since he's the only one who hadn't drank more than one drink.

The first person he managed to find right before closing time was Santana, and that's only because Santana caused a mess by spitting angry Spanish at one of the bouncer's faces. He knew a Lima Heights Adjacent tantrum when he saw one, so before the bouncers could toss her out of her ass, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her outside.

"Santana, calm down! It's just me!"

"I don't know a Me! Get off me you crazy asshole, stop! Stop! I'm being –"

"It's Mike Chang!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

Outside on the sidewalk, he let her go when he was sure she wasn't going to drop kick him anytime soon. He felt horrible seeing her tear-stained face, smudged makeup, and wild crazy-eyes, because it wasn't so long ago that he had to comfort his ex with the exact same look. Breakups were hard, and if Mike weren't so good-looking and awesome, he'd have experienced the pain of being dumped himself.

"Are you ok to stay out here by yourself?" he asked. "I'm just going to head back inside and get the others. The club's about to close and…"

Mike trailed off, getting distracted by a very familiar high-pitched voice. Not far off was Kurt by the stoplight, crying into his phone.

"I know it's very late," Kurt said, struggling to wipe away his snot, "but I can't stop thinking about you, Blaine. I've tried the serial-dating thing, the blind date thing, and even the one-night stand thing, but I can't stop comparing them to you. I love you so much, baby, and despite all the cheating and lies –"

"Dammit, Kurt, no!" Mike snatched the phone away from him and quickly ended the call. He shook his head disappointedly. "You were supposed to be doing everything but this, remember?"

"I know! But I can't help it. How can you mend a broken heart?"

Mike could sense a song bubbling up inside of Kurt, but he's saved from it by the sound of Santana's wail. They both stared wide-eyed at Santana, one in embarrassment and other in understanding, as she cried out, "BRITTAAANY!" into the night. Someone else cried out, "Shut the fuck up!" back at her.

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose because this was not how the night was supposed to go. "This is getting way out of hand. Kurt, do you know where the others are?"

Kurt sniffed pathetically. "Mercedes left with that married producer guy."

"What!"

"Don't worry, she gave me his business card just in case he tried to pull a Ted Bundy on her."

"Here I was, thinking Mercedes was the responsible one in all this. Ok, what about Puck?"

"He left with the bartender."

"What! Dammit, you guys! Just one night – one night without drama." He was afraid to ask the next questions. "What about Rachel and Quinn? Please don't tell me they went off with some more strangers."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know what happened to them, but Rachel did text me not to worry about her. Quinn probably did leave with some guy – she was mighty popular tonight. Unlike poor, forever alone Kurt Hummel…"

Mike uttered at a tsk at Kurt's tears. "I turned my head for just one second and this happens. Alright, how about I just get you and Santana home?"

Kurt agreed without a fight. Santana was more difficult to calm down and drag home. Quinn answered Mike's text asking if she's alright with a very vague response of 'I'm good. Mind your business.' Mercedes and Puck ignored their texts from him. Rachel had the decency not to ignore his text and even gave him a call back.

"Where are you?" he asked her, keeping one eye on a depressed looking Kurt and another on a softly sobbing Santana.

There was silence on Rachel's end until she answered in her regular cheerful voice. "I ran into my NYADA classmates at the club. Don't worry Mike, I know them very well and I know they won't do anything sketchy. I'm safe."

"O,h well, that's good to hear. Do you want me to check up on you later?"

"Sure. Just give me a call."

"Thank god you're being safe. Everyone here seems to be making one stupid decision after another. All I wanted to do was dance."

"You know, on a regular day I would find your mature, take-charge attitude a turn on and insist we team up for a duet, but I really have to get going. Sh – he, er, they're coming back…"

"Alright, call me if you need me. And try not to do anything stupid."

There's another long pause before Rachel said, "You know I won't. Goodnight!"