Guest::nice story. i just wish there was more quinn because i kept missing her. haha. amazing writing skills you have there. sad this is about to end.

Thank you very much. Indeed, Quinn wasn't the main character, I hope I have done her some justice. Enjoy this last chapter.

…

…

…

It wasn't like a giant airport of a large metropolis. It looked more like an airstrip airport where only small airplanes operated: single-engine or twin-engine aircraft. The city wasn't even one of the eastern metropolis. It was a hamlet far from the great centers, a place surrounded by farms and conservation areas.

Rachel was the third to get off Lester Goldberg's private jet. She took a deep breath in the damp New York air. She waited for the city, but found the interior of the state. It was in that village that Goldberg kept an important warehouse for the contraband scheme he kept between the east and the country. When Rachel saw the last step of the staircase to descend from the jet, she hesitated. She had been warned that from the moment she set her foot on the ground of the foreign land, she would be over as a button. After all, being a button was an important part of the complex set of things that defined Rachel.

She took the plunge and others followed. Rachel was alone in a foreign land, and everything she carried was her body clothes, a backpack with documents, her wallet, a book, and her headphones. The money she had in the wallet wasn't even good in that new country. She could see the movement in the hangar, but everything seemed unfocused.

"Rachel!"

Her heart raced at the familiar voice she hadn't heard in years.

"San?" She looked away and saw her best friend approach.

They hugged tightly, a long contact, as if they had no desire to leave each other's arms.

"Berry!" They broke the embrace at the sound of Goldberg's command. He was serious and gestured with his hand.

Rachel nodded and took the backpack. From the inside, she took out the little purse in which she stored her buttons and handed them to Goldberg. He gestured once more and Rachel nodded. She picked up her wallet and pulled out the metal button that held her identity as a button and gave her access to the organization's headquarters. Santana watched her best friend deliver the buttons and her heart went off.

"What kind of deal did you make with her?" Santana said indignantly.

"It was her choice," Goldberg replied quietly.

"You son of a bitch. She's your daughter!"

"No, Lopez. She is not my daughter. Isn't right, Berry?" Santana stared at Rachel who just nodded. Goldberg was telling the truth. "Despite this, Berry is with her family. It's just not mine, is it?"

Santana was confused. Her research had been perfect. She managed to reach her friend's biological father, and in the process discovered more things about the main buttons. Santana discovered on her own merits that Goldberg was running schemes that were far from ethical, and this caught the attention of bigger buttons. Santana, however, made a judgmental mistake about Rachel's paternity. But truth be told, Goldberg manipulated her to continue the deception. Santana didn't know what Goldberg meant about Rachel remaining in the arms of her family, but she knew full well what it meant to turn her buttons. It meant that Rachel was on her own.

Santana herself didn't have much time to stay there. Her presence had already been a courtesy. She would be leaving for Washington in an hour and knew that Rachel would soon be surrounded and invited to get out of there. Then she thought quickly. Santana took her small wallet in the back pocket of her pants and took out all the money she had.

"Santana, you don't have to!" Rachel protested.

"Shut up and listen to me. This money isn't much, but you can buy a bus ticket to New York City and feed yourself for a few days. When you get there, immediately look for the refugee center. This isn't disclosed, but our country is on the list of citizens with shelter. They will register you, they will offer you a bed, some food and they will license to move without being disturbed by the migration agents. Then find your mother. Having a reference always helps. Try to get a job with registration as fast as you can. Anything will work: clean bathrooms, sell hot dogs, do whatever you have to do but dealing or prostitution. Rachel, do you understand?"

"Prostitution? Me?"

"Did you get the point?"

"Yeah... what about Quinn?"

"We'll get there, but do exactly as I asked. Rachel, I can't go with you, I shouldn't be here in the first place, but I promise I'll help you as much as I can."

"I think it's time for your sister to leave, Lopez."

Santana stared at Goldberg, again not understanding what he was actually saying. She took one last object from her wallet, a blue button, and placed it in Rachel's palm.

"You can't do that!" Goldberg said with some disbelief.

"I'm still the right leader in my original circle. You have the authority to lower her or me as a button if you want, but I have the right to final word on the exclusion or not of the members of my circle. Rachel will start again, as you wish, and I know I can't be there with her, but she's still a button!"

Goldberg smiled and waved his employees to escort Rachel out of the hangar. Rachel kissed Santana's cheek before allowing herself to be shooed from the place. Once out of the hangar and seeing the village in the distance, she mentally calculated the walk she would have to make to get there and catch a bus to New York City. Rachel took the first step, the second, the third, and so on. She looked at the blue button in her hand. In a way, she beat Goldberg.

...

Everything in that city was great: so many lights, so many skyscrapers, so many cars, horns, traffic lights, people. It was almost vertiginous. Being there brought on emotions that Rachel had never felt before. That was New York City, the cultural capital of the East, the supreme concept of modernity and development. It was the city of dreams she hoped would one day conquer, like a Roman emperor.

How many nights she had spent at the button headquarters watching movies, leafing through books, listening to the music, jazz, blues, Ella Fitzgerald's and Billie Holiday's divine voices. Oh my gosh! Billie Holiday: The personification of a life that the rulers of her country used as a bad example. "Those drugged and indecent artists from the East", they said. Not for Rachel. Not that she wanted to have Holiday's life, but she wanted to make art, to make her voice an expression of art. Art didn't recognize limiting frameworks, art couldn't be grimace, art had to be free as a cry.

But that was before, when Rachel was the dreamy girl who had learned to deal with the pain of her losses. Rachel now knew what it was like to deal with the pain in her flesh, knew the darkness, the prison, the oppression, the desperate cry. Now, she was in the city of her dreams carrying deep scars. What would she do with it? Could she handle freedom?

"Name?" The clerk at the Migration and Refugee Center was in a bad mood.

"Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Age?"

"20 years."

"Nationality?"

"Confederation of the Midwest, Ohio State."

"Passaport number?"

"I do not have a passport."

"Number of any document you carry?"

"I have my social security number in my country." Rachel showed the photo document and handed it to the clerk to register.

"Do you have criminal records in your home country?"

"Yes."

"What is the reason?"

"I have been charged and convicted of insubordination, contempt and disturbance of public order. I served a year and two months in a minimum security prison."

"What did you do?" The clerk smiled. "Pitched a wall?"

"Basically I sang a forbidden song in a school choir competition and I try to ran out."

The woman looked at Rachel and for a moment thought she wasn't serious. But as Rachel remained serious, she saw that the young woman before her spoke the truth. Even so, the story seemed so ridiculous that she burst out laughing. For her, a citizen of the free world, it sounded ridiculous what was considered a crime in certain dictatorial regimes. She wasn't the only one. Many citizens of the 'free world' used to despise and misjudge. Rachel was serious. It wasn't a joke to her that she suffered from singing a simple song.

"What song was it?"

"What's going on, Marvin Gaye."

"At least it was good song," the girl commented and Rachel nodded. "Do you have any acquaintances or relatives who live in this country?"

"My mother, her name is Shelby Corcoran, and she's a resident of New York City. But I'm not sure of the address. And I have..." Rachel hesitated. She didn't know if she could. Finally, she chose not to risk registering Santana or Quinn as references. "I have a little half-sister, Shelby's daughter. She was born here and her name is Elizabeth."

"Does your mother know you're here?"

"No, ma'am. There is no communication between civilians between our countries at this time. Besides, I didn't plan my escape. It was a matter of opportunity."

"Okay, Rachel Berry. Your registration is done, your case will be reviewed and your license to circulate should be out in a week. In the meantime, I strongly advise against leaving this building. No one will stop you, but you may have problems if you are approached and you may lose your rights as a refugee. You'll be directed to the ladies' dormitory, past the next booth to get clean bedding, a blanket, your hygiene kit, and the locker key to put your things in. The showers are coin operated. It costs 50 cents and lasts five minutes. The laundry center here is also paid for, but I can assure you it's 50% cheaper than other laundromats around here. We offer meal once a day at dinner time. We serve from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. If this is your only meal of the day, don't be late. We have a convenience store here downstairs if you need to buy toiletries or food. You can occupy a bed in this shelter for up to a month counting from today. Any question?"

"What happens if my refugee record doesn't come out in a week?"

"If your registration is not approved, it means that you will be sent to deportation."

"And what happens if my registration is approved but I can't get a job or a place to stay for up to a month?"

"I'm afraid you can be referred to the refugee camp in Florida."

"So I don't have much choice."

"I recommend that you get a job and a place to stay as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

"Good luck."

Rachel took her document and passed the designated counter. She received old yet clean bedding, the hygiene kit, and a thin blanket that couldn't warm anyone up during the winter, not to mention the fabric pincers. The key to the locker corresponded to the number of the bed she was supposed to occupy in the female dormitory. She entered the space on the third floor. The lockers were on the wall of the front door and there was no privacy, no partition between the bunks. Rachel knew it would be hell, but she needed to be strong.

...

Rachel's first three weeks in New York were like a nightmare. She got her refugee register, but she learned that her refugee status didn't help at all. She was alone, she was broken, and she had to beg on the street if she wanted to take a shower or wash her clothes at the end of the day. Even if Santana didn't allow Rachel to be excluded, the little diva should, in theory, be without button's help for a long time. Still, a button named Peter Adams sought Rachel to give her an address and a phone. That was when Rachel had the opportunity to hear Shelby Corcoran's voice for the first time.

The first meeting was marked at a diner near the Brooklyn refugee center. Choice of Shelby herself, who argued that it would be better for them to meet in a neutral place. For Rachel, this meant that her birth mother wanted to probe her and ensure that her presence wouldn't be a disruption to Shelby's family.

Rachel was the first to arrive. She sat down at a table near the entrance and asked for a bottle of water while she waited. She was hungry, she still hadn't gotten a job, and the bottle of water was all she could afford with the coins she got in the street while she was looking for a job.

Shelby walked into the diner almost half an hour later. Rachel was impressed by the very well-dressed woman, even in casual style. Rachel got up and stood there waiting for the birth mother. Shelby smiled and hugged her daughter for the first time since Rachel was just a baby on her lap. Shelby smelled so good. Rachel didn't even though she had showered before the meeting. The tiny soaps offered at the refugee center had no perfume at all.

"It's surreal that you're here in New York!" Shelby said sitting down at the table.

"It's surreal to me, too. As I told you on the phone, it was all too sudden."

A waitress went to the table to deliver the menu to Shelby. She glanced quickly at the options and opted for a coffee and a piece of blueberry pie.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Shelby asked.

"I'm not hungry." Rachel lied.

"Are you sure? It's on me!"

Rachel looked at the waitress and asked for the same. Coffee and a slice of blueberry pie wouldn't kill her hunger, but at least it would fool her stomach into dinnertime at the refugee center.

"You gave money to a coyote?" Shelby asked after the requests.

"No... do you know Peter Adams?"

"Yes. He was the one who was looking for my letters to give you."

"He's from the same organization that I'm a part of. And it was this same organization that got me out of the country."

"How?"

"It's complicated, I can't say much about it. But I can say the name of the man who brought me here. Lester Goldberg."

"Oh..." Shelby shook her head. "So you met your biological father."

"Do you really believe that Goldberg got you pregnant?"

"He's a complicated man, Rachel. He was an abusive boyfriend who, in the end, still escaped responsibility when I got pregnant. I don't know what he told you, but I assure you he's not a good person."

"I know that..." Rachel was interrupted briefly when the waitress handed over the orders. The two women thanked her. Rachel ate a piece of the pie and murmured. She hadn't put anything so good in her mouth for many days. It almost made her forget the argument with Shelby.

"Lester... Lester and I met in college. I was a freshman and he was in his third year. We dated for two years. In the first year everything was perfect, but after he graduated, things started to change. At last I got pregnant and he left me. If it weren't for Hiram, I would be lost."

"What about Juan Lopez?"

"Juan Lopez?"

"Yes, the doctor who attended you when you went to the hospital after one of Goldberg's assaults?"

"Yes I recall. Juan Lopez was just one person I met among so many others."

"But did you have sex with these other people?"

Shelby paused for a moment, surprised at the direction of the first face-to-face conversation she had with her own daughter.

"Why would that be any of your business?"

"Because Lester Goldberg is not my biological father. But I think you already knew that, didn't you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because he told you that he couldn't have kids. He is sterile."

"He was lying, Rachel."

"No he wasn't. Goldberg himself knew who my biological father was. He gave me the hint, and I did a DNA test."

"Rachel, I..."

"It doesn't matter now. It's no longer relevant."

"Why not?"

"Because Lester Goldberg is a thug who serves a good cause, but he's still a bad guy. And he's a true asshole which cashed in the anger he still feels from you in me. I'm glad his genetics is not on me. It may seem strange, but it was a relief to know that I was the result of a quickie of yours with Juan Lopez in the pub's restroom."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because being welcomed by the Lopez family was the best thing that happened to me after my dads were murdered by the government. And they were wonderful to me without even knowing anything."

"I'm glad." Shelby said awkwardly. Juan Lopez, for her, was just a guy who passed quickly through her life and nothing more. It was strange that one almost unknown was the father of her first daughter. She thought maybe that was why she felt strange about Rachel herself: the person in front of her was an adult she hardly knew. That meeting was far from being what she imagined it would be.

"Me too..." Rachel took a sip of her coffee. It was stronger than she was accustomed to. "Can I ask you a delicate question?"

"Of course."

"Did you regret leaving me?"

"Yes, I did. The first year was particularly the worst. I went through a lot of problems and I often thought about going back. On the other hand, what would it do? I'd be arrested when I came back, I wouldn't have you, and none of this would do any good. I knew I could trust Hiram, that he would make a good father. So I moved on."

"And found a new family..."

"Do you think this is a bad thing I did?"

"Found a new family? No, ma'am."

"My husband wasn't a saviour of my life. By the time we met, I was settled and well. He was just the last proof that my place is here."

"Does he know about me?"

"Yes, He does."

"Beth knows?"

"She knows, but she imagine you're like a high school teen with boyfriend dilemmas, like those Nickelodeon shows. It's too out of the picture."

"Still, may I meet her?"

"Of course. Let's have dinner at my house sometime. For the presentations to be made."

Shelby's speech resonated in Rachel's mind. Have dinner sometime. Not today, or tomorrow, or in a week. It's sometime, maybe, one day or never. It was as if the last of the illusions had been overturned. Shelby paid the sneck, hugged Rachel one more time, but no word about taking her home and taking care of her. Shelby left her with a "let's keep in touch". Rachel concluded that if her biological mother didn't want her even when she was a baby, it wouldn't be an adult full of problems that Shelby would harbour.

Instead of returning to the refugee center, Rachel decided to walk a little bit way through Brooklyn. She needed to see the city and stop thinking about that crap. Then, she saw a sign in the window of a small grocery store: need a helper. Rachel entered the store that she passed by almost every day.

"Hello!" She said after getting the ad from the shop window.

"Hey!" A Korean lady answered. "We're almost closing. Are you looking for something?"

"A job!" Rachel showed the ad.

"I placed this ad in the window not even 10 minutes ago. What do you know about grocery?"

"All I can say is that I'm a fast learner and I need this job."

"Ok. Let's talk."

...

When Quinn received the white button with the note, she barely believed it. It was as if an euphoria had invaded her chest. It had been over a year since she was in New Jersey studying like a madwoman, and from time to time making statements at the behest of the buttons against the government of her country, including against her own father. Not that this was difficult. But most of the time, and although her new circle wasn't bad, she missed the friends she'd learned to love.

"They put so many junks under our doors nowadays!" The roommate observed pointing to the button that Quinn held.

"It's just a joke with an old colleague of mine." Quinn shrugged.

"I know this colleague?" The girl was genuinely curious. Then Quinn just shook her head in negative. "Is it from here on campus?"

"It's someone I haven't seen in a long time."

"Okay, Fabray. I even think it's cool that you get other people to socialize. You're almost a hermit on this campus: you don't have fun, you just study, you're beautiful, you're practically a celebrity, and you don't pick up anybody... are you sure you're not asexual?"

"Fuck you, Mills." Quinn took the backpack, slipped on a sneaker, and left.

Quinn lived just over a year in New Jersey. From the times she went to New York to the buttons' headquarters, she had systematized certain paths. In this case, she took the train to Manhattan and then another one that went from lower Manhattan to the Bronx, where the Office of Buttons worked. Before entering the four-story building, Quinn checked the ticket again to see if it was on schedule.

She advanced to the entrance, greeted the doorman, passed the magnetic card that allowed her to enter the building, and headed toward the basement, where was the recreation area and the piano bar. It was one of the few places in that building where you didn't have to have an electronic button to get access. The upper floors were another story, it needed the metal button and Quinn had one that access some wings.

But the piano bar was fun: it meant you could drink for half the price and that was a huge draw for any button. That wasn't Quinn's interest, even though she thought she deserved a drink. She went downstairs and entered the room already in search of her goal. She didn't find anywhere, so she decided to sit at the bar.

" It's been a while since I've seen you, Fabray," the bartender said.

"I'm busy in New Jersey, Frank."

"Let me see if I remember correctly... screwdriver?"

"You'll never forget that shit, right?"

"It was the best piano performance in the history of this bar! How could I?"

"Okay, Frank, but today I just want a coke, please." She put her coins into the bar.

Quinn picked up a straw and sipped. Frank put the peanut bowl - this one for free - in front of Quinn and went to meet someone else. Quinn picked up the cell phone, checked out the social networks and her email. It had no relevant message. Not even news that interested her. When the glass of Coke was almost empty, she saw the girl entering the bar. She got up and walked toward her, hugging her tightly.

"You did it!" Quinn whispered in her friend's ear she hadn't seen in over a year. "You did it, Lopez!"

"I owed you this visit a long time ago. I have some business to do here, so I took the time to optimize this visit."

"Yes, but you don't call me, you don't send messages. You're the only person on this planet who still writes letters! It's not enough."

"Writing letters is relaxing. It helps me to think."

"But sometimes it's difficult to understand your left-handed writing. Have you ever tried writing with your right hand?"

"It's worse!" Santana smiled and joined Quinn in the bar. "So this is New York headquarters."

"Never been here?"

"It's the first time." Santana accepted a glass of Coke. "I'm glad everything is going well."

"I never thought I'd like here this much."

"Not planning on coming back?"

"Not really!" Quinn smiled. "There's nothing there for me."

"Not even her?"

Quinn stared at her friend and thought for a moment.

"Ok, I would come back only if I were to rescue her."

"You really loved her, right?"

"It was the sincerest relationship I ever had. I think I loved her, San. What I know is that it hurt in my soul when she gave herself up and was arrested. I never saw her after that day."

"Rachel got out of jail."

"Really?" Quinn smiled. "Thank God. How is she?"

"Surviving I guess."

"Have you heard from the others?"

"The others are still working as buttons. Seban is due to disembark in Washington in a few weeks."

"Is that you?"

"I learn things they don't teach in college."

"I guess. It must be a very hard training."

"It's true. On the other hand, I came to see the game in a new light. I also discovered things about myself that I never imagined."

"Intense."

"You bet." Santana sighed and toyed with the sweat of the glass. "I have a mission for you."

"As a button?"

"Yes. I need you to deliver an order to me." Santana took an envelope from the folder she carried and handed it to Quinn.

"When?"

"Today, if you can."

"Today, Santana. Which is? Why don't you go with me?"

"Because I have another appointment and I can't be in two places at the same time."

"So you're back to being my leader..."

"Please! I never stopped being the leader of our circle. So? Can I count on you?"

"Doing what?"

Santana smiled. She put on some more coke and toasted her friend. They talked a little more before Santana said good-bye to whatever engagement she had. Quinn left New York headquarters and frowned when she saw the address she had to go. In Brooklyn: a place she never been before. She took the subway and mumbled the long journey she would have to make. She found a place to sit and took out a book to study.

Quinn was in doubt as to which station should go down and she ended up going wrong. She mumbled that she had to walk much longer than expected. And what intrigued Quinn most was that the envelope had an address, but not a name. She was in doubt if it was deliberate or if Santana simply forgot to put a name on it. She checked the address in the mobile app and walked to a grocery store. The place was closed, but she noticed that there was still movement inside the store.

Quinn knocked on the door.

"We're closed!" She heard a voice shout from inside the store.

"I have an order!"

Quinn heard footsteps toward the door and the gloom of someone unlocking the shop.

"Oh! Fuck!" Quinn murmured when she saw who it was. An emotion struck suddenly, her heart racing and tears came down. "Rachel?"

"Quinn? Are you real?"

They hugged each other and forgot for a moment the world around. They still didn't know, but the envelope contained the lease of a small apartment in Brooklyn already paid with three months of advance. It was basically a room with a bathroom and a kitchen counter, but it would be enough for Rachel no more sleep on a mat between sacks of potatoes and carrots. There was also a note with Santana's hand writing: "I find out the truth, big sis. Be alright. Love, Santana."

But all this was good news for later. At that moment, with Rachel in Quinn's arms, it was as if they both were home again.

...

(TEN YEARS LATER)

The case wasn't one of the most complicated: poor teenager was robbing a convenience store, police officers who were close to the premises attended to the alarm and took the burglar, but with the use of excessive force. Peter Moliente was shot through the chest and lodged in the column. He arrived at the hospital in critical condition, but wanted the fate that HE survived. Although Moliente has a criminal record and was known to be involved with dealers, the city's security videos, in addition to recording a witness, show that the boy didn't react to the arrest as the police alleged. The public prosecutor's office was scolding Moliente, though he was a key witness: the case was the trial of the two police officers accused of involvement with rival mafia groups that allegedly worked to remove mules from the competitor.

The prosecutors team was able to gather enough evidence that the police were corrupt and that the case was more than excessive force. It was just one more step of what the team was doing: dismantling organized crime. The group was formed by the experienced Damon Thair, famous for being relentless and reputed for incorruptible: the great candidate to be the next promoter of the city. Also part of the team was the talented Quinn Fabray, a beautiful woman who, at the age of 30, enjoyed great prestige in the city.

Quinn was a hit from the start. She arrived in the East as a political refugee and had the first few quiet months in the new land. But she was a button and needed to follow an agenda. Her story came to the press with some changed facts: she suddenly became Quinn Fabray, the rebel daughter of a neighbouring Fascist politician who chose exile to submit to ideologies she didn't agree with. The people loved it, and the Eastern government was quick to use it as propaganda.

Quinn was able to graduate with honors in Law. She completed her internship at a large law firm on her own merits and, finally, passed the qualification tests at the public prosecutor's office. Quinn made good money on her own sweat, bought a nice apartment, a car, met lots of interesting and influential people, quickly learned how to do politics, earned a greencard, and filed for citizenship.

About personal life, she had some lovers and wait until Rachel Berry was ready. It was a three years waiting. One day, Rachel went to a little apartment that Quinn rented and said she no longer wanted to be a messy puzzle, that she needed someone who loved her to put all the pieces together again. It was what Quinn patiently did and gathered all the pieces that made up Rachel Berry. The marriage happened two years ago.

"How about stretching the night in the tavern? We need to relax! "Gilbert, a co-worker and one of Quinn's kindest, suggested.

The tavern in question was a bar near the office that was frequented by public prosecutors: it was a relatively decent place to sell drinks at a reasonable price, had good snacks on the menu, the bathrooms used to be clean, and the owner knew how to treat the clientele.

"My liver hasn't bounced back from last week." Quinn complained.

"The point is that the liver needs to have a routine to process the alcohol, otherwise it gets lazy. I read it in a magazine once."

"Do you have any prescription to prevent your wife from killing you?"

"I'm not married, Fabray!"

"It's because no one can handle your boredom." Quinn raised only one eyebrow.

"That's just a way of relativizing a concept, my gorgeous colleague." He tried to seduce her, but only managed irritate Quinn.

"Gil, definitely your liver needs a dose, but what my liver needs, along with the rest of my body, is instant noodles, couch, blanket and my wife."

"This is old man's program, Quinn!"

"This is the perfect show for me tonight."

"I need single friends." The man complained.

"Good evening, Gil."

Quinn took the subway and passed the drive to her apartment without paying much attention to what was going on around her. Unlocking the door, she noticed an envelope on the floor. One brown A4 size. Quinn checked the envelope without a sender, felt there was a small object inside it. She opened the envelope and took out a small button and a note indicating date, time, location, and confidentiality. Quinn's heart pounded.

…

"I've never seen anything like it!" Rachel stared at the images in social networks.

Peter stopped short to see the two-day tragedy that had taken place at a music festival in Eastern Europe when a group of neo-Nazis clashed with another group with no definite identity, but it was speculated that were young people who had shirts of the socialist party of Poland. As the crowd was huge, many people were trampled on the run. There were 43 deaths and hundreds of injuries.

"It was sad!" It wasn't that Peter was indifferent to the pictures, but he was too busy planning Rachel's new tour.

Yes, Rachel Berry didn't become a musical theater actress as she had dreamed since she was a little girl, nor did she become a pop star with bandages on high. Also it wasn't for lack of attempt. In her first year in the city, Rachel got some small jobs, whose money barely paid for rent and personal expenses. But at least she was fighting in a free country.

Rachel's fate began to change when she was invited by Jesse to sing in a bar that opened the stage for amateur singers twice a week. It was her first birthday in the city and she wear a political shirt for the liberation of her own country. As Jesse was a songwriter, the two featured authoritative political music. It was a surprise: the duet drew the attention of the locals and the owner of the bar, who, in a rare attitude, allowed the pair to play another song.

The following month, Rachel and Jesse became regular attraction of the bar. Once a week, they played a set of five songs and earned a change. Quinn went to preside over Rachel on one of those nights: not just her: a friend who was into the producer offered to record a demo. Jesse, Peter and Rachel began to spend the sole of the shoe in search of a record company, in addition to trying to play in other places of the city. Things started to happen. Rachel and Jesse formed a duo who sometimes sang in a duet, sometimes singing solo.

One day Rachel, still moved by the assassination that killed Gilmore and Pierce, gave a speech about the struggle for freedom and democracy in her country on a full house night. It was a success and Rachel became from there the voice of protest for the return of a democratic state and free of its country. Rachel and Jesse's career only grew, even though within the indie circuit they were traveling through, but it was a job that earned them good money: enough to guarantee independence. When that happened, it was the moment Rachel looked for Quinn.

"Since when did you become so insensitive?" Rachel complained about the lack of dialogue.

"Do you want to go on tour or not?"

"Will a conversation ruin your planning? Since when?"

"I'm just trying to focus, okay?" Peter focus on the computer screen.

"Did you fuck with Colin?"

"By chance, it's none of your business!"

"Of course you fucked Colin." Rachel rolled her eyes. "You should get married soon."

"Is that so?" Peter took off his glasses and faced his friend. "Just because you are married didn't mean that this life is for everyone."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"Of course..." Peter flinched.

That's when the bell rang from the office rang. Rachel answered and recognized the button that used to do the mail service. It was strange, since she hadn't been requested for some time. She thought it might have been a call from circles in town and nearby, but the envelope wasn't standardized.

"What is it?" Adam asked.

"A calling" Rachel took the button and the note out of the envelope.

"From who?"

"A person I haven't seen in a long time."

...

During all the years that Quinn spent in New York (including college times in New Jersey), she became a habitué of New York headquarters, largely because of the work she did as a button. But it was rare that she entered the ward of private meetings. Usually the place she went was the legal wing or the piano bar, where Rachel sometimes also liked to take a straw with the circle of nerds she was pretending to rule: the truth is that the purpose of Rachel's circle was based on discourse by means of art.

The private meeting wing was a chic and comfortable space, used by members of the upper circles. Quinn, however active, still didn't have the proper entry code for such a ward. She showed her metal button to the secretary on the most private floor of the headquarters, who accompanied her.

Quinn's heart soared with anxiety as the secretary opened the door and she looked into the comfortable living room. She smiled to see who was on the sofa watching something on the television. Santana was prettier than ever with her long, silky black hair, lush physique, dressed elegantly and feminine.

"Hi Quinn!" Santana smiled and got up to hug her friend tightly.

"Santana!" Quinn returned the gesture. "My God, San! It's been five years since we last met! Where have you been?"

"I'll explain everything as soon as your wife arrives."

"Did you invite Rachel? So why the note said it was confidential? "

"Because it is."

Five minutes later, the door unlocked again and Rachel entered the place. Like Quinn, she smiled genuinely and gigantically at Santana, opening her arms to embrace her sister.

"San!" Rachel cried out. "Oh my God, Santana! It's been forever since I've seen you!"

"A year and two months, exactly." Santana smiled and Quinn frowned. You mean Santana visited Rachel more often? She would talk to her wife about it later. "Oh, we'd better sit down because the show's about to start."

"What show?" Rachel, after hugging her sister tightly, was surprised by the situation. She looked at the television, but couldn't decipher the movement of people.

"I called the two here and even ordered some snacks because I didn't be with anyone but you." Santana sat on the couch between Rachel and Quinn, who was equally lost.

"Santana?" Quinn also couldn't understand what's going on.

"We did it! Brooks is resigning today. The regime has fallen and what is happening on television is our transmission of this wonderful event! Girls, we'll be able to go back home as free citizens!"

...

Of course, Quinn and Rachel weren't going to go back to the country definitively, but they thought it was very important to get on the private airplane and spend a few days witnessing the result everyone fought so hard. Quinn and Rachel were spokesmen in exile for the freedom of that people: Rachel with her songs and Quinn with her political comments.

Santana? Well, she and the team of special agents had a direct role in this achievement with the service and intelligence and espionage.

And there was contribution from all the other buttons of that circle first.

Blaine embraced political careers and became a young opposition leader who took to the streets to resist police oppression and pressure the government for change. Sam was assigned to be one of the leaders in conducting demonstrations in and around Lima. Kurt became a teacher, but he needed to refuge in the West when they learned about his sexuality. He returned to the country the same day as Rachel, Quinn and Santana. Matt was publicly a quiet coffee owner who had inherited his father, but secretly was an efficient coordinator of the circles of new buttons. Seban was Santana's partner in the intelligence team. Brittany became a great choreographer, but she didn't want to get involved with politics after her father was murdered.

On that happy day, the exiles and those who remained in the country were reunited. Rachel and Quinn were the first to appear in the airport landing room. They were holding hands, demonstrating to the people that there was no doubt about their relationship. As Quinn headed to a stage to speak quickly, Santana took advantage of her anonymity to go to her parents.

"Hi dad. Hi mama," She said simply, with a smile on her face.

Juan and Maribel answered the daughter with a tight embrace, of a longing of whom one hadn't seen personally for 12 years.

"Look at you!" Maribel held her daughter's face affectionately. "So grown up. So beautiful."

"You look beautiful too, Mom. You look great."

"Shall we go home?" Juan asked.

"Finally!"

...

"I remember this basement so well!" Santana smiled as she entered the old basement of the Pierces mansion, where the original circle used to meet. But it wasn't just that: that basement was an important part of her relationship with Brittany: it was where they used to date. "I missed this place."

"True!" Brittany smiled confidently at her ex-girlfriend. "This was the place for a few firsts times, right Santana?"

"Of course..." Santana blushed remembering that she and Brittany made love for the first time right there.

"For example, it was here that Rachel was first kissed." Brittany smiled, leaving the singer blushed.

"What?" Santana frowned and looked perplexed at Rachel, begging for her to clear up.

"The first person who French kissed me was Brittany!" Rachel said as she waited for Matt to finish the drinks. "I never told you about it?"

"You forgot to mention that, Rach!" Santana said earnestly and made a few laughs, but Rachel continued to behave as if that wasn't a big deal: which in fact it wasn't now that they were all adults.

"Don't take it personally, San." Matt served everyone with a drink that was his invention. "Brittany kissed everyone in this circle at least once."

"Except me!" Quinn reiterated, sampling the drink. "God... Matt, this stuff is very good. What did you put here?"

"State secret."

"Even you, Seban?" Santana was still indignant.

"It was only once!" The man was more interested in hooking up the video game that became a historical model: the same as the group used to play and have fun during some meetings.

"And when did you kiss Sam?"

"After you left and when Rachel was in prison..." The agitator also answered as if it wasn't a big deal.

"What about Matt?"

"When she got drunk at a party that Rachel and I worked... but that was a long time ago!" Matt also didn't care about chance.

"Past waters, Santana," Brittany said with a discreet smile on her face.

"Ok... ok..." Santana was only surprised.

She was a woman who knew many things and knew secrets of state that her friends never imagined. However, this almost innocent part with her youth with Brittany and that first circle was never probed. Then it wasn't that she had any more love expectations with the choreographer, and they had already overcome that relationship.

"You don't think it's funny that we're all 30, we all date each other, but only Rachel and Quinn got married?" Brittany asked, holding out the glass for another shot of the drink.

"And we were the last couple to form." Quinn spoke bragging a little and hugged her wife aside.

"Rachel, I've always wanted to ask you, but by a chance, Jesse is gay?" Blaine asked. He, like everyone else, had autographed records that Rachel sent to each through the button-mail network.

"Jesse? No, he's straight." Rachel answered awkwardly.

"But the other goof who work with Rach are," Quinn added.

Blaine and Kurt spent two more years together, trying to maintain a distance relationship after they both finished school, but love didn't stand up to the obstacle of time and space. They remained friends, though, and Blaine was one who still had some fantasy that someday they might come back. Kurt, on the other hand, no longer had such illusions and even found a new love in the countries of the West.

"Well…" Seban pondered. "It isn't because we didn't marry that we are miserable and alone. We all have someone to lean on. I have a girl myself. "

"You don't have a girl!" Santana snarled. "You have a watchdog!" The leader's attitude made the others curious.

"Just because my girl beat you up," Seban said proudly.

"What?" Rachel was curious.

"He literally dates a gorilla that is part of the security body of the big buttons... one day she pissed me of and... let's say she was lucky because my shoe was slipping..."

"You called her Rambo's stunt double after an explosion! It was nice to see when you were thrown to the other side of the bar." Seban said proud.

"Was it a bar fight?" Sam laughed.

"Details..." Santana took out a file from her bag. "Guys, our country is free now and we are together again. Besides drinks and small talk, I thought of something else to mark our reunion."

"What is it?" Quinn was curious.

Santana just smiled and put the video file on the set. There was the image of the young Rachel, with a fringe, with a bossy face and her hands on her waist.

"I told you I was going to count to three for you to start filming!" She said to the camera.

"Relax!" It was Seban's voice.

Cut and came another image of Rachel with a Broadway smile stamped on her face.

"Hello Shelby. I was very excited about your birthday present and I would like to return the kindness and, at the same time, enjoy to introduce you to my great friends. And I don't see how this can best happen this way. "

And what followed was the cover of "It's So Oh Quiet" that the circle had recorded in the basement of Brittany's house. Rachel put her hand to her mouth. It happened on the same day the agents arrested her, Sam, Quinn and the other friend from the glee club. It was also the point zero of the turmoil in which Rachel's life was transformed until her departure into exile. Up to that point everyone seemed so young and carefree. She seemed so young... and still a virgin. Sam had long, blunt hair, Quinn seemed bored with the choreography and the same was true for Santana. Kurt had the posture of anyone who wanted to compete with Rachel. Blaine couldn't resist and always looked towards to his then boyfriend. Matt danced with odd concentration, and Brittany danced as if she weren't there.

Another cut and came the "extras": Brittany devouring chestnuts that later would give her the biggest pain of belly; Santana complaining to everyone and swearing Rachel to death; Rachel puffing in the middle of a scene; Kurt and Blaine kissing on the couch in one of the breaks; Matt training a few steps to dance; Quinn smeared her tongue and rolled her eyes as if she were very bored; Sam pulling the fringe of his chin-length hair and then grabbing Rachel by the waist, spinning her crazy through the basement as she screamed. The last image was Seban, skinny and young.

"I think it was good..." And the video image was static.

In the end, everyone applauded the recording of a moment that seemed to have been lost in time. They didn't know it, but that occasion was the last time the circle was completely reunited. And they were all perplexed when they realized that it took them 12 years to get everyone back under the same roof.

Rachel was sobbing with tears, and the actress's emotion infected the others. The singer couldn't help herself. She sat on Santana's lap with her body facing her sister, Santana's legs were between Rachel's and the hug was tight.

"Never go out of my life! Never again!" She ordered. "None of you! Never go out of my life again!"

...

Rachel sat in the armchair on the porch of the Lopez house. That place now seemed retarded to her, poorer, the streets were dirty, ugly. Still, she was in one of the few places in the world where she felt completely safe.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Rachel smiled to see Santana approach and sit next to her.

"It's been an endless day," Rachel replied. "But I loved it."

"I agree." Santana stretched out her arms. "Did you know that our father is questioning Quinn? He wants to know what her intentions are about you and the size of her pay check."

"Isn't it a little late for that?"

"He's running after the wasted time."

Rachel nodded and the sisters enjoyed the comfortable silence. Rachel looked up at the sky to gaze at the beautiful full moon night. It was a sky full of hope. It was a free sky. She was free, everyone was free. It was a new world, a new opportunity. She prayed that the people would understand the greatness of that and deserve it. But she also knew that there was a lot of ground ahead, and the solution to the problems was still far away. As long as she had a voice to sing, she would continue to help in that purpose. Rachel would still be a button.