Author's Note: I should apologize that I can't reply to every review. I really do hope you guys understand. But just know that your reviews are absolutely appreciated and they truly mean the world to me. I'm being repetitive, but I can't thank you all enough for sticking by this story regardless of how bad I am at updating this. On another note, a big thank you to a dear friend who has tried guiding my hopeless grammar and writing style. Anyways, enjoy!

Of Inconsistencies and Continuities

Part IV

Rachel thought that she would catch a break, but no. The universe probably wanted her dead. Okay, maybe that was exaggeration on her part but with that kidnapping fiasco with Santana and Brittany and maybe award her with a hangover, all courtesy of a two dollar bottle she got from a nondescript gas station yesterday.

Quinn was next to her, her features soft and peaceful. Her blonde tresses slid gently before they took rest right in front of her closed eyes. Quinn stirred ever so slightly, but remained sound asleep. Rachel's expression thawed; her stubborn façade slowly mitigating. Any complaints immediately erased when she raised her right hand up and gently swept Quinn's hair out of her face.

"Quinn," Rachel whispered. She was just relieved the girl was back. She didn't know how, but she was. And while not entirely as she had hoped, Quinn was back nonetheless.

Rachel got out of bed and grabbed her sweater and phone, intent on grabbing a quick cup of coffee from the kitchen before making an effort to wake a seemingly comatose Quinn. The chronic headaches were getting to her and she would rather not have Quinn watch her do a re-enactment of what happened yesterday and think she was mocking her.

The brunette quickly made her way downstairs to the coffee maker on kitchen counter, already furiously grinding away beans from its 6:00 a.m. timer as always. Rachel massaged her temples with her forefingers, sighing as she did so. She had barely slept while watching for any signs of movement or consciousness from Quinn and well, and it had been well past 3:00 a.m. before she was drifted to sleep despite her best efforts.

With her back against the kitchen island, Rachel crossed her arms and blankly stared at the coffee drip. She inhaled the rich aroma, her shoulders relaxing, only to tense again when her phone began to vibrate impatiently on the granite countertop.

A smiling Finn appeared on the screen. Rachel's fingers tapped against the case of her phone, her attention flickering back and forth between the "Answer" and "Decline" buttons on the touchscreen.

"Ugh," Rachel said, forehead softly collided on the front of the phone as her eyes shut. She waited for it to stop vibrating. The screen mercifully went dark and she finally released the breath she didn't know she was holding.

The coffee maker let out a screech, pulling Rachel out of her thoughts as she hastily grasped the handle of the pot with her free hand and detached it from its base.

"Of all people you have to be infatuated with, it just has to be Quinn," Rachel said, mumbling to herself as she put her phone down on the counter. Silently berating herself, she stomped back to the machine, reattached the pot, and then glared at the cupboards before unpausing her monologue. "and just when you're in a stable relationship with the guy you've been mooning for the longest time, you allow yourself to be swept off your feet by Quinn." Rachel paused. "Or Quinns." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Stupid," Rachel said. "Just stupid."

On her tiptoes, she continued muttering as she reached for the cupboard's handle. Why did she have to be so charming? Why did she have to be so suave? Why did she have to be so considerate? Why was she everything Finn's not?

"Damn it!"

Back on her heels, she stomped her right foot with her arms right back on her sides as her fists tightly clenched. Too distracted in her thoughts, she barely registered the deliberate creaking noises at the staircase.

Still in a black shirt and shorts that brought back unwanted Skank memories, Quinn watched Rachel flail in the kitchen right at the last few stair steps. She held back a smile as she observed Rachel begrudgingly bringing a stepping stool her fathers must have brought especially for her right in front of her perennial nemesis. Quinn hesitated going any further, afraid of breaking one of Rachel's signature spiels not unlike the ones she usually did during glee club—her speaking, and no one listening except for an apparently bored Quinn. Well, maybe not quite similar, Quinn abjured. She wasn't hiding behind a book right now, but still, the furtiveness of it all was indistinguishable and uncanny.

Headaches now gone, Quinn felt like there was some sort of time gap between now and then. She had absolutely no memory at all.

Judging by her clothes and Rachel's on-going tirade, she was going to ask her about it. Not that she had much of a choice anyways, but the idea of approaching the subject seemed out of place right now, and she didn't want to potentially offend Rachel that she actually had no clue as to why she slept over.

Did they decide to be best friends overnight and had another Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza? Did they party too hard and just so happen to had gotten drugged? All she could remember was that pounding headache she had the last time they had dodgeball and that her thoughts towards Rachel had gotten extremely convoluted and incongruous.

Quinn finally pushed herself off against the stair handrail and trudged her way to Rachel, whose arm was still outstretched to grasp the elusive handle.

She didn't know she was fixating on Rachel's exposed indents of her back until she collided against nondescript Tupperware sitting idly on the breakfast bar, toppling them over and tripping Rachel from the sound in the process.

"Shit," Quinn said, her cheerleading reflexes kicked into high gear as she ran over to Rachel, practically saving her from a broken spine and fractured ankle. It looked like the scene came straight out of a cheesy, trite romantic movie – with Quinn literally dipping Rachel.

Rachel blinked, gaping at her. "I—uh, thanks."

"Uh, yeah," Quinn said.

Gradually, the position became uncomfortable and Rachel was getting heavier and heavier by the second. Quinn blinked back, clearing her throat as she pulled Rachel upright.

They stood there, avoiding each other's gazes. Rachel was suddenly too busy deciding as to whether which side she preferred to shift her weight on. Quinn subconsciously rubbed her thumb against her fingers, as if trying to remember how Rachel's back felt against her palm.

Quinn eventually looked up, back at Rachel, and then back up at the cupboard. She opened the cabinet with ease and reached over to what she could only assume was a smooth handle of a mug.

"Is this—" Quinn raised an eyebrow at the bedazzled gold star mug. "—what you wanted?"

Rachel's cheeks flushed, but accepted the mug Quinn offered to her. "Thanks, Quinn."

Another pause.

"Oh!" Rachel was wide-eyed. "I haven't offered you anything. Unfortunately, all I have right now is coffee? God, I'm sorry for being such a bad host. Do you want coffee?" Rachel asked, talking a little too hastily as she tried again to acquire another mug. Rachel turned to her and looked as to what Quinn could only describe as sheepish.

"Let me get that," Quinn said, before getting another cup out of the cabinet. This time it was a generic white mug. She assumed it was one of her dads'.

"Did you sleep well?" Rachel asked. With the two mugs in hand, she went over to the forgotten coffee maker.

"Yeah," Quinn said, making herself useful by scooping up the scattered Tupperware she tumbled over just moments ago and putting them back to where she remembered they were placed.

"Yeah?" Rachel poured the contents into each mug.

"Yeah."

Rachel offered her the coffee and Quinn welcomed the heat emanating from the ceramic as they both sat beside each other by the bar.

They both paused as they sipped the bitter liquid.

"So, Sectionals," Rachel said as she grabbed the sugar dispenser and placed it in front of Quinn.

Quinn put a generous heaped tablespoon of sugar, took another thoughtful sip, and nodded to herself. "Right. Sectionals."

"Any song choices?"

"No," Quinn said.

"Right."

Rachel pursed her lips and tapped her palms on the surface without a conscious rhythm. She glanced at Quinn, whose features were unreadable as always. Rachel's stare slowly contorted into a piercing look.

"So are we just not gonna talk about it? Pretend that nothing has happened at all?"

"What?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Oh my god, you are."

"What's going on, Rachel?"

"About what happened, about what's been happening!"

"Rachel, calm down," Quinn said, putting the mug down and then holding Rachel by the shoulders. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Rachel's jaw slackened. "Wait, you have absolutely no idea? No idea what's going on? Absolutely no idea whatsoever?"

"Changing the sentences around more than once doesn't magically change my answer to 'yes', Rachel."

"I just thought that maybe you… and I…"

"What?"

Rachel reeled back a bit – okay, maybe she attacked her just a tad, but the fact of the matter was that Rachel had actually thought that Quinn had suffered something not unlike anaesthetic awareness when she wasn't quite her. Or quite them. And again, whatever.

Screw it.

"So here you are, in my house, slept in my bed, all cozy and everything, drinking my coffee, acting like everything's normal while I've been through hell with you for the past few days," Rachel said. "and all I get is a sarcastic and clueless response?"

"Well, if you put it that way," Quinn said. She just knew she would offend Rachel. Quinn ran a hand through her hair and then proceeded to rub her eye against her knuckles.

God, she was so adorably infuriating and unbearable.

"It's not like I'm doing this on purpose," Quinn said as she raised one arm and dropped it on the table with a thud.

"You poisoned Finn."

"I did?"

"And you bit Santana."

Quinn's brow furrowed. "I did what?"

"And you had this motorcycle. And guns."

Quinn's brow furrowed further. "What?"

"And you kissed me," Rachel said. She tilted her head down to her chest. "And we almost did… stuff in a bathroom stall."

Quinn's eyes widened, her cheeks reddening by the second. "We did?"

"And I didn't answer his call. I'm such a bad girlfriend." Rachel grabbed her phone. "And we kissed! I have to fix this—"

"What are you—"

"God, and I thought you were—and I was so—"

Quinn's left forefinger and thumb held the bridge of her nose. No one could break Rachel out of an imminent speech.

"For the love of—listen to me," Quinn said, snatching the mobile device from Rachel's hands.

"Hey!"

"I have no idea as to what you're trying to 'fix' your relationship with Finn when he doesn't even know anything. We could make out in front of that big lug and he'd still think we're just close friends. Plus," Quinn said. "You and I need to talk about this thing you're going off on about, 'cause I sure as hell want to know what else I did."

Rachel huffed.

"Fine," she said. "And thank you for using the apropos pronouns."

"Rachel, focus," Quinn said.

"At least I don't have to deal with four Quinns anymore," she said, sighing. "at least I hope so."

"Wait." Quinn leaned forward. "What did you just say?"

"You were literally four people."

Quinn's expression was blank before she laughed. "That's insane."

"Please," Rachel said. As if she didn't hear that enough from Santana.

"As if I didn't hear that enough from Santana." Rachel crossed her arms. "I was violated, manipulated, and harassed by you. All four of you. And I still have this baffling crush on you," Rachel said the last part under her breath – just out of Quinn's earshot – as she looked away.

"I didn't catch the last part."

"Nothing," Rachel said. "The point is, do I seem to be someone who immerse themselves in drollery?" she then immediately added, "and if you're wondering, no, I'm not on drugs."

Quinn frowned. She leaned back again as she also crossed her arms, mimicking Rachel. "Do you at least have proof, then?"

"Is this—" Rachel pulled down her sweater to reveal an alarming number of bite marks and hickeys on her concealer-free skin. "—proof enough?"

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. "Did I… do that?"

"No," Rachel said.

"Oh."

"I was joking," Rachel said, monotone. "Of course you did this."

"You just said that you don't joke."

With pursed lips, Rachel raised one finger and closed her eyes.

"It's—" a quick exhale and then she opened her eyes, her finger back to poking the marks for extra effect. "You did this. And you made it your absolute mission to make sure that I know how you truly feel about me."

Quinn suddenly laughed.

"Feelings. Towards you."

"I—Yes."

Quinn impulsively found the ceiling much more interesting than this conversation right now. She scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Berry."

Rachel blinked. "You're actually accusing me of lying?"

"Please," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "Try as you might, you're not as innocent and good as you like to think you are."

Rachel swallowed.

Quinn crossed her arms. Rachel eventually reached over to place her right hand on Quinn's stiff forearm.

"Quinn," Rachel said, her voice matching her gentle expression. "You don't have to deny it. It's okay.".

"I don't have to deny anything," Quinn said, her nails digging into her skin.

"Quinn."

"Don't." Quinn rebuffed, swatting Rachel's hand away and then got off the stool. "You're clearly making things up, Berry. The pressure of Sectionals is getting to you."

Rachel's throat clenched. "I thought we're already past this."

"We aren't past anything," Quinn said, jaw tightening by the second.

Rachel gnawed her bottom lip, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. Inhaling sharply, her features hardened as she looked at Quinn straight in the eye.

"Fine," Rachel said. "I believe you can see yourself to the door. Your shoes and bag are right at the entrance."

She nodded. "Thanks for having me."

Quinn put on her shoes and made her way to the door. Once opening it, Quinn immediately glowered.

"Oh, hey! I was just about to knock."

That goofy smile wasn't getting him anywhere in life. "Finn."

"Is Rachel in? She didn't answer my call and I was wondering if she needed a ride—"

Quinn rolled her eyes and bumped right into him. Finn had to catch himself from staggering backwards from the force.

With her back on him, she raised her arm, waving. "Bye."

Finn scratched the back of his head, watching Quinn's retreating figure. "I—uh, bye?"

With the door ajar, he then peeked into the household. Not a person in sight. "Rachel?"

Rachel wiped her eyes with the back of her wrists and sniffled. "I'm in the kitchen. But don't come in okay?"

"Okay." Finn nodded to particularly no one. "I mean, I know I got here a little too early, but… is this a bad time?"

"No," Rachel said, rummaging for excuses. "I'm just not ready yet. Could you just wait for me outside?"

"Oh, okay."

"Thanks, Finn."

Hearing the door close, Rachel breathed a sigh, rested her head on the countertop, and buried her face into her arms. She needed to lay there for a few minutes before showering.

What a way to start her day.

After being greeted by a drunken Judy, she went upstairs and locked herself in her room. Quinn threw her bag on the floor and plopped down on her bed.

She really didn't want to go to school today. The idea of facing Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson together was making her nauseous and even more so when Rachel had the audacity to accuse her that she, Quinn Fabray, was in love with her. And her so-called evidence was a ridiculous story to boot.

Four Quinns. Sure. She inwardly scoffed at it. She sure had some wild imagination, but Quinn expected no less from the self-centred Rachel Berry, thinking everyone just wanted to worship the ground she walked on whenever someone was nice to her, and once she thought they didn't, which was in the first place, Rachel's desperation would get the better of her.

Quinn peered to the side where her table clock sat. She had barely fifteen minutes to get ready.

"God, I hate her," Quinn said, before sighing to herself.

No, she didn't. Quinn resigned to the fact that they already settled that untruth a long time ago, but she would have to be the last person on earth into admitting that deep inside, there was a semblance of genuine fondness towards Rachel, but a confession from her part would probably be the death to her.

Bottling up feelings, shoving them, and not acknowledging they were there in first place was her thing after all. Avoiding confrontation was her priority right now, so finding answers—rational answers—to the inexplicable time lapse on her part was out of the question. It was better that way anyway, she thought. Especially with Rachel.

"Hey there, Squishy Tits," Santana said. "Finally back from the day-care center?"

"Nice to see you, too, Santana," Finn said, before settling her attention to Rachel. "I'll see you later."

Rachel half-smiled. "Yeah."

With another dopey smile, Finn leaned down and kissed Rachel on the cheek. While Santana didn't even hold back a grimace, Rachel flinched from the affection, but made a conscious effort on not pulling away. Once he was gone, Rachel's expression fell.

"And what's up with you, Dwarf?" Santana asked. "The orgy yesterday with the four Quinns didn't go as well as you planned? Or are you all mopey 'cause you don't get to mack on the Quinns anymore since that empty-headed infant is back crawling and dribbling around the school?"

"Not now, Santana. I don't have time for a game of ripostes with you," Rachel said, silently wishing she had just told Finn that she was sick. She would have been in bed right now, alone and writing songs with her favourite vegan hot chocolate right beside her.

"Quinn's back," Brittany said, pointing at a busy Quinn who was just a few set of lockers away from them rearranging her books.

Santana looked over Rachel's shoulder. "Huh. That's weird."

"No," Rachel said, murmuring as Quinn walked right past them without as much as a passing glance. "More like, we're back to normal. Just as it should be, I guess."

"Back to her repressed bitchy self, I see," Santana said, scowling.

"You're sad," Brittany said, tilting her head ever so slightly.

"Of course I am," Rachel said. "I'm starting to despise Finn's presence and I'm horribly smitten by Quinn. And just when I'm actually starting to feel okay with liking her, she's back to being so unresponsive to everything."

Rachel exhaled slowly. "And just when I was actually thinking of breaking up with Finn for her. Now all of it seems ludicrous and ineffable," she said. "God, I'm so awful."

"Oh, will you stop with the pity party already? You're no better than Queen Pressed Lemon herself not getting off that fucking high horse of hers," Santana said.

"I just want this day to be over with," Rachel said, clutching her books tighter to her chest.

"I have a feeling anything's not over, though," Brittany said. "So don't give up, okay?"

"I know," Rachel said. "It's just there's Finn and Quinn, and then there's Finn and Quinns. I mean am I interpreting this whole thing wrong? Was it just those four particular people who liked me but not Quinn?"

Brittany shook her head. "No. Quinn likes you."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Usually there's always an explanation after that, Brittany."

Brittany shrugged. "I don't have anything. Sorry. But why can't it be that simple, though?"

Rachel sighed. "Of course."

"Well, at least you actually admit you're actually gay for her," Santana said.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Quinn's ignoring me."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "And did that ever stop you before?"

"Well, no."

"Exactly. So why stop now?"

It was unlike Rachel to be so out of tune during glee club, both literally and figuratively. Although she didn't expect Quinn to have this effect on her either. With Quinn's face well-hidden behind Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, Rachel kept her within her range as she sang and accounted any movement that would give her insight that at least Quinn wasn't totally disregarding her existence.

But as always, Quinn was unreadable, Rachel thought. Pun unintended.

A belted note and a rather bored and obligated applause later, Rachel stood frozen in front of the other members, duly disappointed when Quinn didn't even bother putting the book down.

And it went like that day after day, organically becoming a routine for both of them – Quinn completely forgetting that Rachel was an actual, sentient member of the group with the latter getting more and more irked as she continued to watch her. With Rachel's uncharacteristic silent hostility and Quinn's characteristic passive-aggressive behaviour, even Santana, who had no reason to involve herself except for Brittany's flexible ways of persuasion, was becoming squeamish.

So when Mr. Schuester was in a middle of a pep talk that barely brought any pep, Santana suddenly stood up.

"Alright," Santana said. "That. Is. It."

"And here we go," Mr. Schuester said, tossing his whiteboard marker and eraser on the piano. He proceeded to sit down beside Brad, his chin resting on his palm.

Brad simply pitied him – if anyone were to ask him, which no one ever did, he was surprised it took so long for them to butt in. But hey, he was only there to magically know every song without asking the kids what they were going to sing.

"Could you just do us all a favour and just stop acting like a couple of two year olds?" Santana asked.

Quinn and Rachel didn't seem to hear her.

"Hey!"

Nothing.

"Fucking shit—" Santana didn't even want to finish. She balled her fists and looked over to Kurt and Blaine. "Gay one, Gay two. Help me out."

Blaine and Kurt shook their heads slowly, wide-eyed.

"Nope," they both said, mouthing the word.

And as much as Kurt wanted to play matchmaker again, Quinn was scaring him.

Tina was ready. Yes, it was finally her time to shine. But when Mike grabbed her forearm when she began to stand, he simply closed his eyes and shook his head at her direction.

Damn it.

Santana looked over to Puck, and then smacked him on the arm.

"Hey!" Puck said. "Why do you ladies keep harassing me?"

"Stop drooling and talk to them."

"Hell no. Do you see them right now?"

Santana moved closer, towering over him even with their height difference. "Don't make me rip that stupid Mohawk right off of your head."

"Okay! Okay!" Puck raised his hands up. "God."

Santana tapped her foot as Puck rearranged himself in his seat.

"Anytime now."

"Rachel?"

Puck could see Rachel's jaw clench. Nope, no way.

"Uh, hey, Quinn?"

Quinn turned the page louder than usual.

Puck cowered. "Never mind."

Santana grumbled under her breath and then turned to Mercedes, who raised her index finger up.

"Don't even think about it."

"Maybe I could—"

Tina couldn't even finish.

"Guess I just have to do everything around here," Santana said.

Finn blinked. "What's going on? Did I miss something?"

Santana crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she stared at the back of Quinn's head. "You did. Q here and the Hobbit have been doing… extracurricular activities behind your back."

Quinn snapped her book shut and the menacing sound reverberated throughout the room.

"Oh yeah, I kinda knew that," Finn said. He put her arm over Rachel's shoulder and grinned, pulling her in as he did so. "And I think it's pretty awesome that you and Quinn have been getting along with song writing and everything again."

This only caused Rachel to scowl further at Quinn, her glare still penetrating the side of her head.

And Finn was oblivious.

And also, water is wet.

"It is, it is," Santana said, nodding a little too eagerly. "And song writing? Mm. No, no. I don't think so. Try again."

"Huh?"

"Oh, oh." Brittany raised her hand up, wiggling her fingers as she bounced on her seat. "I know, I know."

"S," Quinn said, standing up. "Can I have a word with you outside?"

"And it finally speaks. Thank you, lord, hallelujah," Santana said, raising her palms over her head before they unceremoniously dropped back to her sides. "And no, you need to have a word with Yentl who's eyesexing you over there. Not me."

"S."

Rachel removed herself from Finn. "She's right, you know," Rachel said, also standing up. "You and I. We need to talk."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, but didn't look at Rachel. She stood there under the critical examination of all, as if judged. Even Finn was starting to get suspicious, turning his attention back and forth between Rachel and her.

Quinn started packing up. "I'm leaving."

Santana laughed. "Oh ho ho no, you don't. I'm sick and tired of dealing with your bullshit," Santana said. "Even I feel sorry for Berry. So you're not going anywhere."

"You can't keep me here."

"I can," Mr. Schuester said, approaching Quinn. "You need to sort whatever's going on between you and Rachel. Sectionals is coming up and I need you both to bring your 'A' game by the time we perform, and it's just not going to happen if you two are each other's throats."

Santana praised again. Finally, he was being a teacher.

"I agree," Finn said, standing beside Rachel. "I mean. I thought you were friends."

"Not now, Finn," Quinn said. "This is none of your business."

"It kinda is our business, Quinn," Kurt said.

Mercedes nodded. "Yeah, and as much as I love the peace and quiet around here, Rachel doesn't deserve being treated like she's not here, you know?"

Santana turned around and raised her arms with her palms up. "Why, thank you for finally chiming in."

Tina could only grumble at that. Mike could only comfort her so much.

"I don't need this," Quinn said.

"You do," Mr. Schuester said. "With the exception of Rachel and Quinn, you're all dismissed."

"You can't do this!"

"Again, yes, I can. Well, until five at least," Mr. Schuester said, ushering the kids to the door. "Think of this as some sort of timeout. Either that or detention with Sue."

Quinn could only watch as one by one, including Brad, left the music room.

—

Despite her assiduous attempts into opening the door, the knob barely budged. They were completely locked in.

"Congratulations," Quinn said. She turned around and nudged herself off the door. "Your little scheme worked. Are you happy now?"

Rachel gaped. "You think I planned this?"

"Well, who else would blow things out of proportion?" Quinn asked. She threw her book on the piano lid and sat on the bench, facing the keys as she ran her fingers across them.

"This is insane," Rachel said, marching right over to Quinn's side. "You're blaming me for something you did." Rachel then threw her hands up in the air and whipped around. "No, wait. Never mind. That is so like you."

Quinn sifted through the music sheet Brad left behind. "Ha."

Rachel turned around once more and returned to her side. "Quinn, I just want to talk. Like civilized people."

"And I just want you to leave me alone," Quinn said, looking up at Rachel.

"I know you want answers, too," Rachel said. "And we can find out if we just—"

Quinn's fingers pressed the keys a little too hardly for Rachel's taste, producing a note so off-key, it sounded ominous. "We just what?"

"If we just work together," Rachel said, her voice cracking. She wrapped her own arms around herself under Quinn's stare. "Quinn, I—I just. I just can't stay angry at you. A lot happened. There were four of you and—"

"Still standing by your story, I see," Quinn said, sneering.

"Will you just let me finish for once?" Rachel asked. "No matter how much you try to cut me off, it's truth," Rachel said. She stepped a little closer, putting less distance between them. "I can't make things up as I go, Quinn. Why can't you just do the same and be honest with yourself?"

"Because, Berry, and I want you to listen carefully," Quinn said as she stood up and faced her, their noses barely inches apart. "I'm not in love with you."

This was the first time in weeks Rachel got a close inspection of Quinn's face.

"I commend you for being such a good actress, Quinn, but… what are you so afraid of?"

Quinn appeared perturbed at that. And then in pain. Rachel had to catch Quinn from completely collapsing on the floor.

"Not again," Rachel said. Quinn's weight became too much and it resulted to Rachel ending up on the floor with the former right on top of her. "Great. Just great."

What now? Were they coming back? How did it usually go? Was Quinn going to completely split into four physical personalities again right in front of her eyes?

Three minutes passed by. And then five. And then ten.

Rachel eventually decided to push Quinn off of her, and with a grunt, she pulled Quinn by the arms. With a few close calls of falling again, Rachel was able to drag her to a corner in one piece where she made her sit upright against the wall. Rachel furrowed her brow after she grabbed the nearest chair and sat across Quinn's limp body.

And she watched.

She glanced at the setting sun through the clerestories and then at the wall clock—it was almost 5:00 p.m.

Nothing had happened and nothing was happening. Rachel had thought of calling out for help, but had dismissed that particular course of action entirely as it would have probably caused the entire school to shut down if Quinn would just happen to decide to do some sort of "quadfurcation", to which she had concluded when she had watched the paint peel on the other side of the wall.

Rachel's desire to keep this under wraps more so than getting out of this room was obvious, but as the clock continued to roll out, she started to fidget. She had neither excuse nor alibi if Mr. Schuester would just barge right in and find Quinn still unconscious. He would probably think she knocked her out, a feat she could never do even if she actually wanted to.

Quinn had gone through Sue Sylvester's Nine Circles of Hell for crying out loud. And Rachel's nearest thing to violence had been her insulting an award-winning choreographer who was shorter than her. Regardless of that fact, however, Mr. Schuester would definitely think that low of her.

Rachel stood up, approached Quinn's lifeless person, and then squatted in front of her.

"Please wake up," she said, patting Quinn's right cheek. "Come on, Quinn, you unrepentant, hopeless, ineradicable, inveterate blonde." Rachel paused after a beat. "Okay, I didn't mean that. Just please wake up before Mr. Schue thinks I gave you a concussion."

Rachel exhaled again, sitting down. She didn't care how disgusting the floor was anymore. Rachel looked at the time again – she only had seven minutes left.

Oh well. She guessed detention was exponentially better than having to explain why there just so happened to be four Quinns.

Rachel poked Quinn's forehead, pushing Quinn's head back. She giggled as she repeated it a few more times, before finally sighing when the feeling of childishness began to set in. Rachel crawled her way to Quinn's side.

"Well, this might be the only time where I can talk to you without being so angry at me, so…" Rachel said, before pausing. She laughed, shaking her head as she looked up. "This is stupid. I mean you clearly won't hear any of this anyway. But here I am, actually—ugh. "

Rachel eventually cleared her throat. Might as well.

"You know, I still can't forgive you for hurting the boys," she said as she sat down. "It was extremely cruel of you. And your means of courtship was by physically and mentally holding me against my will…" Rachel hugged her knees, her chin resting on them. "Well, it's working."

Rachel turned her head towards her.

"Or was working," she said. "I think it was you in all of them the whole time, but you're just so…" Rachel sighed again, reclining against the wall.

"I mean, the physical torment, the names," Rachel said, before smiling. "I finally get the pornographic drawings and that portrait of me with hearts around them. I'm just sorry I didn't realize until now. That I was oblivious to everything."

"I did a lot of thinking." Rachel could hear her thrashing heartbeat amidst the deafening silence. "I like you, Quinn," she said, closing her eyes. There. She said it. She had been the giving end of a confession more times than she could count, but this felt novel.

"But just know that I am willing to wait," Rachel said. "Now will you please just wake up before Mr. Schue comes in?"

Quinn didn't grow up in a household like hers. The pressures of being constantly perfect and the struggles she had been through, Quinn didn't have it easy in spite of what everyone thought. The only exception, however, was Rachel – she was the only one who understood. Quinn had everything to lose and it was ironic, though, that the pariah living under the bottom rung of the social ladder that had nothing could sympathize.

Quinn groaned and it was music to her ears. Rachel's body turned towards her and placed her hand on Quinn's shoulder as the latter stirred back into consciousness. Just in the nick of time, too.

"Oh, thank god," Rachel said. "Quinn?"

"What happened?" Quinn asked. Quinn squinted. The room transformed into a kaleidoscope right before her. "And why is the room spinning?"

"You've been out for a while," Rachel said. For the zillionth time, Rachel would like to add but decided against it.

"I was?" Quinn examined the area once it didn't threaten to trigger some sort of epilepsy. Her gaze settled back to Rachel's face. "So where are the others?"

"You mean our friends? They locked us in here, remember?"

Quinn shook head. "No, I mean, the other three," she said. Rachel stared wordlessly. "You know, the one who hunts zombies for a living, the female Tarzan, and the non-cannibal version of Hannibal Lecter?"

Rachel stood up and backed away slowly. "Who are you?"

Quinn's forehead crinkled as she patted herself. "I'm pretty sure I'm Quinn."

"Wait." Rachel pointed a finger at her. "You're that Quinn."

Quinn nodded before looking at her funny. "I—yes?"

"But where are the others?" Rachel asked, and then proceeded to gape at her. "Oh my god, are they dead?"

"I… don't know," Quinn said, getting herself off the floor. Rachel's panicked expression was infectious. "God, I hope not."

Both of them turned to the sound of the door's lock clicking and the door leaf creaking open. Kurt's impeccably coifed head and Blaine's overdone gelled hair peeked out of the opening.

"Hey, Rachel, Mr. Schue wanted us to get you two," Kurt said.

"Just open the fucking door." Santana pushed the door wide open and shoved her way through both of them. "They're just angry, not infected with tuberculosis."

Mercedes closely followed. "Are you two done fighting? 'Cause we kinda want to split out of here. We ain't your babysitters."

"Please tell me I didn't miss anything—" Brittany smacked Puck on the back of the head. He rubbed the area, wincing. "Seriously? I didn't even get to finish what I was saying!"

"Sorry," Brittany said. "I just wanted to try it."

Finn lumbered his way through the human barricade and encroached into Rachel's space. His hands grasped her arms, as if checking her.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel nodded before glancing at Quinn, who came across as being overwhelmed under the scrutiny of her friends and then in awe when she walked over to where Mike was standing.

She hunched down and studied Mike's backpack.

"Is that all of the Kanto badges?" Quinn asked.

Mike blinked. "Uh, yeah."

"No way. They're metal trimmed too," Quinn said, inspecting the Rainbow Badge pinned to the shoulder strap between her forefinger and thumb. "How do you keep it in such mint condition, though?"

Mike and Tina looked at each other. "I'm… just careful with it?"

A hush fell over them and Rachel took this opportunity to leave with Quinn.

"Okay, that's enough, Quinn," Rachel said, walking past Finn and over to Quinn. "If you'll excuse us."

She grabbed her by the arm and pulled Quinn out of her stupor, the latter stumbling in tandem with the former's unfailing strides.

"Thanks for getting us and we'll see you tomorrow!"

Rachel breathed out a sigh once they finally arrived at the school's entrance.

"Did I do something wrong?" Quinn asked, frowning as she rubbed the arm Rachel had been holding like a vice grip.

Rachel eyebrows shot up. "I—uh, no," she said. "No, you didn't."

"Oh, okay," Quinn said. "What now?"

"Could you take us home?" Rachel asked. "My house, I mean. We kind of need to talk."

Rachel felt the dire need to regroup. She would have to call Santana and Brittany later.

Quinn shrugged, reaching for her car keys in her back pocket. "I don't see why not."

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Tell her we're in your head.

"Whoah," Quinn said, hitting the brakes. Rachel would have flown right through the windshield if it weren't for the seatbelt. "Did you hear that?"

Rachel groaned. The whiplash literally took her breath away.

"Jesus, Quinn," Rachel said, kneading the back of her neck. "And hear what?"

Serial Killer Quinn: Boo.

"There it is again," Quinn said, looking around.

"I didn't hear anything, Quinn. Please, I don't have time for this," Rachel said. "Can we go before the police come by and ticket us?"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm going," Quinn said, shifting gears.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: This is all your fault, by the way. Now we're stuck.

Serial Killer Quinn: Didn't think the side effects would be this bad.

Lion Quinn: I want to go home.

Quinn: So Rachel wasn't kidding you're all real.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Nope. She was telling the truth. Rachel was trying to explain but you were being such a bitch. So. There's that.

Dork Quinn drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and glimpsed at Rachel – she was busy scanning the car radio.

"At least I know you're all still alive, somehow," Dork Quinn said, murmuring.

Rachel turned the volume down. "Did you say something?"

Dork Quinn shook her head a little too forcefully. "Uh, no."

She cursed inwardly; it suddenly felt like a knife went through her skull.

"Are you okay? You're sweating bullets," Rachel said.

"I'm fine," Quinn said. Her knuckles were turning white from gripping the steering wheel.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Should we stop talking before she gets us all killed?

Lion Quinn: No.

Quinn: No, I want answers.

Serial Killer Quinn: Amazing. You finally want answers. So calm and collected, too.

Quinn: Shut up. So where exactly are we? And how is this even remotely possible?

Serial Killer Quinn: We're in her head, obviously. And how all of this is possible, that's really up to you. But when this… "gateway" was severed, we finally understood that you're not unlike a gateway of ours.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Again, it's her fault. With the drug she injected into herself.

Serial Killer Quinn: That's right. By yours truly.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: That wasn't a compliment.

Quinn: So what you're saying is I'm some sort of… vessel?

Lion Quinn: No.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Not exactly. We were split into four.

Quinn: So why did this happen?

Dork Quinn swallowed as the acid aftertaste lingered. She was getting nauseous.

"If you all could just stop talking," Dork Quinn said internally. "Just until I can get Rachel home safely. Please."

Lion Quinn: No.

Serial Killer Quinn: Shush.

Dork Quinn could barely walk by the time they got to Rachel's house. She staggered out of the vehicle and bumped into the hood, her hands resting on it as it supported almost all of her weight.

Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt as she followed the nauseated Dork Quinn with her eyes. She quickly got out of the car.

"You look like hell," Rachel said, rushing over to Quinn's side as she barely caught her.

"I'm fine… you really don't need to carry me," Quinn said once Rachel had seized her arm, put it around her neck, and had her free hand clutch the former's waist.

"Trust me, I'm used to this," Rachel said. "I just hope you're not going to pass out on me again. Although, you have may have improved my voice with me lugging you around, which is always a plus. Did you know lower back muscles are one of the most overlooked when studying voice? My lower back has always been my weakness. And you've strengthened it quite considerably and my breathing has been a lot better."

"I think it's my weakness, too," Dork Quinn said.

Quinn: Please tell me Rachel doesn't fall for this bull.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: I hope not.

Lion Quinn: No.

Serial Killer Quinn: Didn't I just tell you all to be quiet?

"Shut up."

"Oh? Then we can always practice," Rachel said, beaming. "I think I have just the perfect solo for you to sing the next time we have glee."

"Sure," Dork Quinn said. "But uh, resting sure would be nicer than singing right now."

"Oh, right." Rachel said. The look of sheepishness didn't escape her, but it was only there for a split-second until they reached the porch steps. "Just one step at a time, okay, Quinn?"

And slowly but surely, they got to the door. Rachel fumbled with the house keys and inserted the right one into the keyhole after a few misses. As soon as they were in, Rachel guided Dork Quinn to the living room couch, where the latter immediately laid down without complaint. The couch obediently shifted as Rachel sat on what available space was left, which was right against Quinn's stomach.

"Let me just put our things in my room. Are you going to be okay?" Rachel asked, putting her palm on Dork Quinn's forehead.

Dork Quinn made a sound that could only be interpreted as a "yes", curling around Rachel.

"Do you want anything?"

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: If you say "you" I swear to god...

"Damn it. Fine."

"Just do what you need to do," Dork Quinn said, waving her off lazily.

"Okay."

The couch shifted again once Rachel's weight left.

Quinn: She's gone. Now explain.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: I'm not surprised that you're not freaked out about all of this.

Quinn: Well, Rachel did set me up with this whole "Quinnception" idea. So, spill.

Serial Killer Quinn: We're from different alternate realities. Think of…

"Multiverse," Dork Quinn said under her breath. "from Marvel, just in case you didn't know. Multiple versions of you."

Serial Killer Quinn: Right.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: And you're our portal. And how we got here? It's up to you.

Quinn: You just said that a while ago.

Serial Killer Quinn: She means it's psychological.

Quinn: So I'm schizophrenic.

Lion Quinn: No.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Oh no, we're real.

Serial Killer Quinn: You just brought us here because of something.

Quinn: And what is that something?

Serial Killer Quinn: That's only for you to know.

Quinn: This cryptic bullshit is just obnoxious.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: It's the truth. We actually don't know. And now we're sort of in a standstill between our individual realities and yours.

"Except me."

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Lucky you.

Serial Killer Quinn: More like lucky us. If she weren't an exception right now, who knows what would have happened. We could have probably been erased completely from actuality.

Quinn: So… how do we fix this?

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Not we. You.

Quinn: In case you didn't notice, I'm stuck in here with you three and with her out there.

Serial Killer Quinn: She's got a point. Maybe something will trigger some sort of existential occurrence and set everything back to normal.

"So, what do I do?"

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: No idea.

"Great." Dork Quinn was getting groggier by the second. "Okay. Timeout. I feel like shit right now."

A moment passed without incident and Rachel returned with an ice pack, a blanket, and a few DVDs on hand.

"I know this isn't exactly the time to relax and unwind, but do you want to do a movie night with me once you're feeling better?" Rachel asked as she handed the ice pack to Dork Quinn and set the rest of the things down on the coffee table.

"Thanks," Dork Quinn said. She sighed as she placed the pack on her forehead. Dork Quinn eyed the sedentary Rocky Horror Picture Show that laid on the top of the meagre pile as she shakily sat up and scooted away to give space for Rachel. "And sure."

"My dads won't be home tonight."

"Oh, okay?"

Rachel nodded to herself, unable to hold eye contact with Dork Quinn. "So…"

"So…?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "Right. Uhm. You pick the first movie."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Can we watch Rocky Horror?" Dork Quinn asked.

"Sure. Let me set it up," Rachel said, moving towards the home theatre with the DVD.

Serial Killer Quinn: If I could slap you right now, I would.

"Huh?"

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Tell me, if someone tells you that their parents won't be home, what do you think that means?

"It means that we're alone together?"

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: And?

"And…?"

Lion Quinn: No. Just no.

"No?"

Quinn: Please don't give her ideas.

Serial Killer Quinn: And please stop being in denial about everything.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: It means she wants you.

"Wants me to what?"

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: You're impossible.

Serial Killer Quinn: She wants you to fuck her, genius.

Dork Quinn gulped—the constant pressure in her head seemed like a faraway sensation. Her gaze rested on the back of Rachel's thighs as she bent down. The click of the DVD case being shut closed made Dork Quinn jolt.

"Sorry it took a minute there," Rachel said. A crease formed between her eyebrows as she juggled three remote controls, returning to Quinn's side and sitting down beside her. "I always watch on my laptop." Rachel laughed. "I never knew watching movies could be this complicated."

When she didn't hear a reply, Rachel looked up, ceasing her from tinkering with the controls.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked. "I know I'm being repetitive but, if you're really feeling unwell, you could just sleep."

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Idiot.

"Quinn?"

Lion Quinn: Speak.

"Hello?"

Serial Killer Quinn: I swear if you don't spit out a sentence, I'll have your body disembowelled and stuffed.

"Yeah, sorry," Dork said, her laugh completely out of place. "It's just hot."

"Do you want me to turn on the air-conditioner?"

"Uh, no. It's fine, really, I'm fine. Totally fine," Dork Quinn said.

Quinn: I can't believe I have a halfwit of an alter-ego.

Rachel stared.

"Really. Don't worry about me," Dork Quinn said, racking her brain for a tangent.

Quinn: The remotes.

"Thank you!"

"Do you want me to help you with the remotes?"

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, thanks," Rachel said, passing the devices to her.

After only a few moments of fiddling with them, the television came to life. Dork Quinn took consolation to the fact that she was actually adroit with technology after hearing a chorus of sighs and murmurs of her being a clueless imbecile. And besides, Rachel appeared impressed when she got the elusive home theatre to be cooperative and had Rocky Horror to start.

And subtitles, too!

Dork Quinn eventually sat up a little straighter, throwing a lopsided smile at Rachel as she watched her animated, vibrant expressions during Dammit Janet.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Put your arm around her.

"I… I don't know."

Quinn: I can't believe you're encouraging her. She has a boyfriend.

Serial Killer Quinn: Can it, Janet.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: She's just jealous. Now, do it. And please don't do that yawning thing.

Dork Quinn swallowed and her arm slowly crept up and went around Rachel's shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

Dork Quinn immediately reclaimed her right arm. "Sorry. I was just stretching."

"No," Rachel said, fiddling her fingers. "It's okay. Uhm. Go ahead."

"Oh." She lifted her arm, briefly stopped mid-way, and then wrapped it around Rachel once more.

The two were rigid, unmoving as if the contact alone was strained and arduous. Rachel was unable to immerse herself into the movie despite Tim Curry's riveting performance. She was caught off-guard, however, that the harmless proximity within each other's personal space just by this action alone affected her more than the previous "misencounters" she had with the other Quinns.

And the two remained in that inflexible position until the credits, only because Rachel had patted Dork Quinn's thigh to signal her to stop the movie and asked her to play West Side Story, although they didn't move once that latter did as she was told. The voices in her head didn't help either, having stopped bothering when Dork Quinn had made it clear that if they were going to talk again, she would pass out sooner or later and the level of guilt of doing that to Rachel again would become immeasurable.

They stopped talking at the same time they stopped moving.

The second time that assured each other that they were still alive and well was at around 10:00 p.m. and the night was cooler than usual, and that Rachel silently asked for the unremembered blanket, to which Dork Quinn had to remove herself from her and made it her duty to envelop it around themselves with its warmth.

The third time was Dork Quinn's pick, Repo! The Genetic Opera.

The fourth time was at around 4:00 a.m., when they finally steered clear of musicals and Rachel fell asleep during The Hunger Games, her head drifting to Dork Quinn's chest. The former subconsciously curled around her, her breaths steady. Dork Quinn inhaled sharply as she weighed out her options before a solid ten minutes passed and decided to softly wake a disoriented Rachel just alert enough to have her between her legs so she could wrap herself around her, with Rachel's back against her front. She was about to prop her legs on the coffee table when Rachel groggily told her not to.

"That is mahogany," Rachel had said.

Rachel hummed at the same time when she exhaled when, instead, Dork Quinn nuzzled into her neck, the latter breathing in her scent.

Quinn: That's kind of creepy, if you ask me.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: At least she finally made a move.

"Guys, what did I tell you making a commentary about everything?"

Lion Quinn: No.

Serial Killer Quinn: It was getting boring. You're boring.

Quinn: I can't believe that you're doing this.

Serial Killer Quinn: She's you.

Quinn: That is not me. I wouldn't do this. I'm not in love with Rachel.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Tsk, tsk. Excuses, excuses.

"Please stop. You're going to make me pass out again."

Lion Quinn: No.

Serial Killer Quinn: We can't let her sleep. Not until we know that nothing bad will happen if she does.

Quinn: And how, exactly, can we "know" anything if we're here?

Serial Killer Quinn: If we weren't disembodied right now, I'm seriously reconsidering murdering you. What's with all the questions?

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: Just let her think.

Quinn: This should not be happening. This cannot be happening. Please tell me this is just some elaborate dream.

Zombie Apocalypse Quinn: If you could just make up your mind whether you believe us or not, that would be great.

The voices stopped again.

6:00 a.m. came and the smell of coffee invited itself into the living room—the sound of the alarm was shut off this time. Then a knock.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, still in a sleepy haze.

"Rachel?"

Rachel's eyes shot open, but didn't move. "Finn."

"Should I tell him go away?" Dork Quinn asked.

"I—no, I mean," Rachel said. It was too early—and it wasn't for her routinely elliptical workout. "Just stay, okay?"

Dork Quinn nodded before she let go of Rachel, who tiptoed all the way to the entrance door.

"Hey, Finn," Rachel said, hiding behind the door as she leaned onto it. "You're here earlier than usual."

"Uh, yeah." Finn scratched his head. Rachel pursed her lips at the action. "I was worried. You did, kinda, just bailed on me yesterday."

It was still too early in the morning to correct his grammar.

"Sorry, Finn," Rachel said. "I suddenly remembered that I still had unfinished homework."

"Oh, okay," Finn said. He began to shift around. "So, I know this pretty cool diner nearby. Their bacon is amazing. Want to get breakfast there?"

Rachel's face became unreadable, tense. "No, thank you for the offer, though. I'll see you at school."

"I—"

Slam.

Finn's outline remained before it finally gave up and left when calling out Rachel's name and numerous variations of "did I say something wrong?" were futile attempts into bringing her back.

"Did someone say bacon?" Dork Quinn asked, her head peeking out of the living room. She noticed Rachel's tight expression. "I'll… be in the kitchen, then."

"Here you go," Quinn said, setting down a plate in front of Rachel, who eventually had followed her into the kitchen and had watched her cook. "Mini Pikachu pancakes with fruit and syrup." Rachel glanced at her and then back at the stack. "Don't worry. They're all vegan. I checked the ingredients and everything."

Rachel said nothing as she forked the whole grain mix and ate a piece of Pikachu's ear.

"You don't have to eat it," Quinn said immediately when Rachel's frown remained intact as she ate through her fourth piece.

"…Finn forgot that I'm vegan," Rachel said.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said, taking off the apron. She sat down beside Rachel, who was now staring blankly at the almost empty plate.

"I'm not mad," she said. "I mean, I am. But... not as much as I expected myself to be?" Rachel sighed. "I don't know. I guess I don't care anymore. Clearly Finn doesn't, seeing as he doesn't even bother to even remember what my diet is."

Rachel put her fork down and then faced her. "I didn't know you could cook, though. And it's delicious, by the way. Thank you."

Quinn smiled. "No problem."

Rachel smiled back. "Also, I just ate Pikachu, didn't I?"

"I'm so glad that you at least know who Pikachu is," Quinn said, beaming.

Rachel laughed. "You're such a dork."

"I hope you like dorks," Quinn said.

"Dork or not," Rachel said. She slightly parted her lips as she leaned closer. "I like you."

Quinn's cheeks reddened by the second as she subconsciously mimicked Rachel, the space between them lessening considerably.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. Guys. Help."

No answer.

"Guys!"

Lion Quinn: No.

Dork Quinn felt her throat going dry when Rachel's eyes fluttered close. She steeled herself and pushed herself in for a kiss. It only lasted for a few seconds before they pulled away at the same time, a smile creeping up on both of their lips as they looked at each other.

Rachel licked her lips, her eyes downcast as she tucked a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. Dork Quinn could only grin from to ear to ear.

"I wish Quinn was as honest as you," Rachel said, her features suddenly sober. "Or am I just being delusional for thinking that she actually likes me?"

A solemn expression replaced Dork Quinn's smile. She swung around on her stool to face her own plate of untouched bacon and with crossed arms, leaned on the breakfast bar.

"She likes you," Dork Quinn said. "She's just scared, that's all."

"I'm willing to wait," Rachel said. "But it would take a miracle for her to open up."

Dork Quinn laughed.

"Sorry." Rachel couldn't help but smile. The weight of grasping what was happening was finally removed from her shoulders. "Maybe more than four miracles?"

"You may not notice it, but she's got a soft spot for you," Dork Quinn said. "You just need to be patient. Let her… see it in her own time, but sort of push her towards the right direction. It sounds complicated and tricky, and it is, but… I think she's worth it." She looked right in Rachel's eye. "Quinn's in love with you, Rachel. She's terrified 'cause, as clichéd as it is, she doesn't want to scare you, too, and end up losing you and your friendship. It's rocky enough as it is. Plus with Finn around…"

Rachel's shoulders relaxed. "Finn is clearly out of the equation, as you can tell. She's making this more difficult than it actually is."

"Then tell her that," Dork Quinn said. "But it's never black and white. Plus, being gay isn't as… simple to her as it is to you."

Rachel gave a lengthy nod. "…For how long?"

"For how long what?"

"How long has she…?"

"Oh." Dork Quinn stared into the distance, before returning her gaze to Rachel. "A long time," Dork Quinn said, before touching Rachel's arm. "But don't feel guilty. She was still, is still, sorting things out."

"I'm just sorry I didn't notice until recently."

"Don't blame yourself," Dork Quinn said. "She's pretty good at repressing her own feelings." Rachel nodded in reply. "Just don't let her realize too late."

"Thank you," Rachel said, not being able to find any other appropriate response for her advice.

Dork Quinn's hand slid down to Rachel's own. "It'll be okay."

Rachel leaned forward and kissed Dork Quinn's cheek. "You're sweet."

"I do try," Dork Quinn said. "Also, talking in third person is weird."

The sound of Rachel's laughter resonated throughout the kitchen once more, and a discarnate Quinn could only witness the scene.