"He is a demon from hell."

"He is not!"

"Fine, he is Satan himself."

"Isn't that sort of the same thing?"

Quinn's grandmother rolled her eyes at her and took a long sip of wine, watching Rachel and Quinn's parents over the glass. A fresh bandage from where Van had bitten her was wrapped around her index finger.

"So what do we know about her?"

It should worry her, Rachel sat on the couch between Russell and Judy Fabray, and indeed Rachel looked more nervous than Quinn had ever seen her, except for the night Rachel had shown up at her apartment. She kept fiddling with her skirt, kept tugging at a string that had unraveled from a sweater with the owl on the front. Kept twisting the hair curling over her shoulders and held back with a band. But Quinn could just hear her voice, answering every question softly and fully, and Quinn knew there would be a lot of questions. And not just for Rachel.

"Everything I need to know, I knew when I was seven."

Connie smiled at her and hugged her shoulders.

"She's moody. More dramatic than a Broadway musical, but I think she actually likes that description. She cries at commercials and I dread the days when there are singing competitions on television, the neighbor called the police one night because they thought I was beating her, but she was just yelling at one of the judges."

Her grandmother snorted and Quinn laughed, winking at Rachel when the girl turned an inquisitive look her way.

"She has a sweet tooth. She loves pasta and snuggling. She gets lost inside herself a lot," Quinn said softly. "Sometimes I just catch her staring and I wonder what's going on because I just… I just can't feel it. I'm not sure if I'd want to even if I could, because I just don't understand. Living in that house, with that woman – "

"I'm sure she did the best she could, Quinn."

"For herself," Quinn snapped, keeping her voice low so as not to worry Rachel. She moved into the kitchen and checked the oven, her hands shaking a little as she leaned on it.

"Seventeen years of stifling her dreams, five years of trying to cheat destiny just because her mother lost out on hers."

"Remember what it was like to lose yours, and try not to judge Rachel's mother so much."

"I hate it when you're logical," Quinn grumbled, starting to take things out of the refrigerator to complete their meal. It was Rachel who had insisted that they invite her parents for dinner when they came to visit rather than going out. For her part, Quinn had suggested they invite Shelby – and Rachel had asked if Quinn was prepared to move all the furniture for the inevitable brawl. In the end they'd both decided that would be a really bad idea; a shadow still crossed over Rachel's eyes anytime her mother was mentioned, and Quinn was keen on avoiding that, especially since a visit from her parents now meant that Rachel was sat on the couch between them, looking adorably awkward.

"Have you punished her yet?" Connie asked, effectively drawing Quinn's attention away from her girlfriend, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

"No? I mean yes, but I mean—what?" she sputtered, and her grandmother laughed.

"Stop looking so worried," she said, nudging Quinn. "She seems to be holding her own."

Quinn had expected Rachel to be even more nervous than she was, but it filled Quinn with pride to have seen Rachel when she was introduced to Quinn's parents, smiling and appearing every bit of a gracious hostess. Her girlfriend had wondered how much of that was Rachel's mother, how much of it had been working at Burt's, and how much of it was actually, well, Rachel. But in the end, Quinn supposed it didn't matter. What mattered was the way her parents, though cautious, had embraced Rachel. How Rachel's face had flushed pink in surprise. How she had smiled brightly at Quinn, and Quinn felt a warmth that was becoming all too familiar.

Maybe it wasn't the same as being able to hear Rachel without speaking, but somehow, slowly, it was becoming enough. Not better, but enough.

"I'm not going to talk to you anymore if you keep doing that," Quinn said to her grandmother, who simply grinned.

In truth, Quinn hadn't talked to anyone about it, even Jamie. Jamie had asked, and Elle too, but Quinn had played it off, answering their questions while really… not. The urge to call Jamie and ask for advice over every little thing was diminishing, and though Quinn couldn't say she was one hundred percent certain that everything she was doing was right, she at least felt more confident.

It helped that Rachel, for her part, was coming into her own as a very vocal person. There'd been more than once when Quinn had to remind Rachel that yes, she thought the person on television sang terribly, and yes, they shouldn't have even been given the screen time, but she was trying to study for an exam and couldn't they talk about it after? At the same time, Quinn loved that there was never a quiet moment during dinner, loved that Rachel had a small notebook now of her thoughts and feelings, loved that finally, one night, Rachel had said softly "Stop asking me if it's all right to be on my knees, Miss, this is what I want to do."

They had been keeping a list since the beginning, a list that had grown steadily, of wants and wishes and do's and don'ts, complete with an entry that Rachel had headlined THE WORD. Capital letters, in steady black ink, Rachel's power to say no, encapsulated by two gold stars and highlighted in bright pink. Of course it was bright pink. It had made Quinn laugh, even when she wanted to tear up a little at the trust, at the clear power that Rachel was giving her with the acknowledgment that no still existed. "Mostly 'yes', sometimes 'maybe, we need to talk about this', and always this word," Rachel had said to her that night, pointing to it.

"You've been reading my textbooks," Quinn had joked, pulling Rachel closer to her on the couch, and Rachel had snuggled in. Her favorite position was tucked under Quinn's chin, and they seemed to fit together perfectly.

Quinn had looked over her books herself, thinking that somewhere, anywhere, there might be something to give her a bit more confidence in this situation, and how she was dealing with it. But other than a small mention of strange people who had chosen to break the bond, Elle was right. It was rare, and… no one really knew. Quinn wondered about the others out there. Had it hurt them as much? Had they moved on? Had they reconnected? She'd started researching online – with Rachel's blessing – but so far… it seemed that others just didn't want to talk about it. Quinn could understand why. She and Rachel had talked about it a few more times, haltingly, again in bed under the cover of darkness when they would press their cheeks together and the tears would mingle. Quinn admitted to Rachel that she'd felt bitterness, not just to Shelby but to Rachel herself. But hearing the way Rachel's voice would become so small, the deep, wounded shadow of a little girl who desperately just wanted a daddy and her mother's approval made it impossible for Quinn to hold onto that resentment. It was better for her heart, better for Rachel, for Quinn to just let it go into the past. She knew full well the guilt that Rachel held into, something that Quinn felt she'd have to coax out of her, bit by bit, and she knew she'd never be able to do that by holding on to her own anger.

At Rachel, at least. As far as Quinn was concerned, Shelby was still fair game.

"Looks like dinner is ready," Connie said as the oven beeped, and Quinn nodded. "Want me to do anything?"

"Yes, we want you to have a seat," Rachel said, coming up behind them before Quinn had a chance to respond. "Quinn and I are here to serve our guests."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at her, to which Rachel put her hands on her hips, challenging her, and Connie laughed when Quinn relented with a shrug.

"She's feisty."

"So I've heard," Quinn said drily; Puck told her that every time he saw the two of them. It made Quinn smile, thinking about how Sam was finally getting what he needed. She wished it hadn't taken him getting hurt, but he'd seemed to recover fast enough, thanks in no small part to Puck waiting on him hand and foot.

"Go sit," Quinn said, giving her grandmother a gentle shove in the direction of the "dining room." The apartment really was cramped, she thought. Sometimes it seemed as if she and Rachel were on top of each other, but they made it work. Still, she didn't think she'd be hosting any more dinner parties anytime soon.

"Everything all right?" Quinn asked Rachel, drawing the girl to her with a light kiss on her lips. She cupped Rachel's face in her hands, scanning her girlfriend for signs of… well, she didn't know, and Quinn was pretty sure that her parents hadn't done anything but ask a few questions, but she couldn't help be on edge.

Rachel smiled and hugged Quinn to her. "We'll talk after dinner, hmm, Miss?"

"Well, sure, if you want to, princess…"

"I promise you, I'm fine." Rachel gave Quinn a wink and picked up the wine bottles, bumping her lightly with her hip. "Now come on, be the perfect hostess."

"Don't be a brat," Quinn laughed, swatting Rachel's bottom as she followed behind her with the food.

She pulled the chair out for Rachel once everything was settled, taking in her mother's look of surprise, her grandmother's amused snort, and her father's thumbs-up. She'd missed her family. She loved the freedom of New York, loved the sense of accomplishment now that she'd done what she'd set out to do the minute after high school graduation – she'd found Rachel. And as crazy and confusing as it was, she loved the life that she was creating with Rachel. Waking up with her, going to school with a smile knowing that when she got home she'd have Rachel's hugs, movies to watch, cuddles until they fell asleep on the couch… Even the arguments they would have cemented their relationship, Quinn thought.

Because if they could work through their bond being broken, a simple argument was nothing.

But there was something about them all sitting there, together, around the table, as a family. Because Quinn knew (or hoped) that after their dinner, Rachel would be accepted as part of her family. There was no Quinn without Rachel, there never had been, and Quinn knew that even though her mother was probably apprehensive, even more than Quinn's father, maybe she'd at least see how much Quinn loved her, and how hard Rachel was trying in return.

Maybe trying too hard, because Rachel's hand was shaking so badly she knocked over a glass of wine, and Quinn hastened to wipe it up.

"Sorry, Miss," Rachel said regretfully.

"No harm done," Russell said, and smiled at his daughter. "Quinn may or may not have told you but she's actually a horrible klutz. When she was a little girl she'd trip over her own feet."

"Hey!" Quinn said indignantly, huffing when Rachel giggled. "I wasn't that bad!"

"You went into a store and knocked over an entire rack of clothes when you were nine," Mrs. Fabray pointed out, and Quinn glared at her as Rachel burst out laughing.

"This is mutiny," she muttered. "Mutiny, I tell you." But she grinned sheepishly when Rachel reached out and squeezed her hand.

"You're fine, angel," Quinn said, kissing her knuckles. "Accidents happen."

She watched over dinner as gradually, Rachel lost what little bit of nervousness she had left, and Quinn let out a sigh of relief, content to just enjoy being with her family. That didn't mean she was happy when they decided to share more stories about when she was a child, and she put her foot down firmly when her grandmother offered to bring baby pictures.

She couldn't help wonder what it would be like if the two of them went to have dinner at Shelby's. She didn't think she'd suggest that anytime soon.

Rachel and Connie had gone into the kitchen to clean up after dinner, at Rachel's insistence. Quinn felt warm, happy, and was glad that she was a little tipsy when she found herself sitting next to her mother, as her father stood by the window and made a business call that couldn't wait.

"Well?" Quinn finally asked.

Judy rolled her eyes and smiled, nudging her daughter with her elbow. "Stop being so melodramatic, I don't think Rachel needs any help in that department."

Quinn grinned and settled against the couch, her head on her mom's shoulder. "I know you have something to say."

"I'm worried. I'm worried that she'll break your heart again. I'm worried that I'll get a call in the middle of the night and your dad and I will have to fly here and hold you while you wail about how much it hurts, and why?" Judy's voice shook a little, and Quinn nuzzled closer. "I'm worried about her mother, and what lengths she'll go to, to keep you two apart. She's done it before, she seems to be quite used to manipulating Rachel, and I will be damned if she will manipulate my daughter."

"Wow, go Mom," Quinn said, a little in awe since she wasn't used to hearing her mother speak that way. It made her see why her dad had fallen in love with her mother; he'd told Quinn once that he didn't want a "submissive without fire."

Quinn was beginning to learn what he'd meant.

"I just want you to be careful, and I want you to be certain."

"I know, Mom, I—"

"And I," Quinn's father said, coming to sit on Quinn's other side. "Want you to have this."

He handed Quinn a check.

"Russell, really? Are you sure she's—"

It was for a hundred and thirty thousand dollars, made out to Quinn Fabray, and she stared at her father.

"We talked about this last night, Judy, we both agreed that Quinn is old enough to make her own decisions, and if she feels it's the right one, if she feels Rachel is the right one, then we should help."

"I know, but—"

"Judy."

"Yes, sir." Judy leaned over to kiss her daughter's cheek. "I'm going to go help Rachel and mom with the dishes."

"Dad, I don't know what to—" Quinn looked after her mother's retreating form.

"I didn't mean to cause a problem…"

"You didn't," Russell said, slipping his arm around Quinn and drawing her close. "Your mom and I talked about it last night, that's what I was on the phone about. Making sure I could draw up the check today. She'll be fine, she just worries."

"And you don't? Dad, I can't take this, this is a lot of money…"

A hundred and thirty thousand dollars, Quinn thought, her eyes fixed on the check, her mouth open.

"You're my daughter, and I want to make sure that you're taken care of. This apartment is nice but it's too small." Quinn blushed, nodding in agreement. "I want you and Rachel to find a little place. It's not enough for anything extravagant, but a little fixer-upper might be fun."

"Dad, I don't know what to say, thank you doesn't seem enough…"

"Oh, it's not," her dad said with a wink, and Quinn laughed. Her father sobered though, and pushed Quinn up a little so that she could look at him.

"If this is what you want, if this is what Rachel wants, then I want you two to make a life together." He seemed tired, Quinn thought with a sudden pang, noticing the slight tinge of silver to his golden blonde hair. "And you can't really make a life in a studio apartment with two women and a serial killer cat."

"He's so misunderstood," Quinn said affectionately, watching as Van clawed at Judy's ankles while she tried to dry the dishes.

"That's what all the girls say," Russell joked.

"Do you love her?"

"Yeah, Dad, I do."

"Does she love you?"

"She tells me she does," Quinn answered, blushing again.

"Then you'd better take care of her."

"That's what I'm trying to—"

"No, I mean it, Quinn," her father said, his voice a little stern, and Quinn sat up. "Your mom's worried that Rachel will hurt you, and believe me, I'm worried about that too. But I also know the potential you have to hurt her, as her mistress, especially after everything she's been through."

She'd thought about that, every day ever since she'd found Rachel. Worried about each step she'd make, whether it would be the right one, or whether it would irrevocably damage the progress they'd made too far. Was her voice too harsh, her smacks too hard, had Rachel been on her knees or in the corner too long? It was hard, Quinn was realizing, to be a mistress. Even if it was nature, the nurture part of it was always a game of second-guessing and trial by error. She only hoped she didn't make an error so bad that Rachel would be damaged, and leave her again.

"I don't know what I'm doing most of the time," Quinn admitted, twisting her hands in her lap. "But Dad, I'd die before I hurt her."

"Stop being so melodramatic, Rachel has—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Day by day, one step at a time, baby girl," her father said. "And you can always call me and ask—"

"No, stop," Quinn said with a grimace, holding up her hand. "I love you, but I am not calling my father and asking for domination advice."

"Suit yourself," Russell said, chuckling as he kissed her head. "Just be careful. And let me know when to get the moving truck ready."

Quinn threw her arms around her father, burying her face in his shoulder as she teared up. "Thank you, Daddy."

Later in the evening Quinn panicked when she came out from her bath and saw no sign of Rachel. A breeze alerted her to the open fire escape; she found Rachel sitting there, the check from Quinn's father in her hand.

"Still hard to believe, huh?" Quinn asked, squirreling her way onto the small fire escape and pulling Rachel into her lap, wrapping a blanket around them both. Cars rushed by below them, the city was alive with night and stars.

"Yeah," Rachel said, leaning her head into Quinn's chest. "Your parents are… good people."

"So is your mother."

"How hard is it for you to say that?"

"Only a little. Maybe more than a little."

"At least you're honest," Rachel said, and Quinn could tell that she was smiling.

"Rachel, are you sure you want to do this?" The question had hung over them ever since Quinn's father had presented her with the check, ever since her parents and grandmother had left the two of them alone in their apartment.

"No," Rachel said with a shrug, and Quinn's heart sank a little, until Rachel twisted around in her arms, leaning up for a kiss. "I'm not sure of anything anymore, Quinn. But I'm sure that I love you."

"I love you too."

"Miss?"

"Yes, princess?"

Rachel's eyes took on that look again, that cloudy expression that worried Quinn, when it seemed that she would get too lost in a world that Quinn doubted she would ever truly be a part of. She squeezed Rachel closer.

"I'm not ready for Broadway."

"Oh, uh, okay," Quinn said, surprised, one hand toying with Rachel's braided pigtail. She loved it when Rachel had her hair up in braids and wore her pink pajamas; for some reason it made Quinn feel strong, and protective, even more so than usual.

"Well, we don't have to go to shows if you don't want to, sweetheart."

"No that's not what I meant. I'm not ready to… perform."

The understanding hit Quinn like a ton of bricks, and she nuzzled her face into Rachel's hair.

"It's too soon, isn't it, princess?"

Rachel nodded. Her voice was soft as she explained it to Quinn, about how she was so used to doing what her mother had expected of her, had shoved her dream down so far that she'd lost sight of it until that day that Quinn had walked into the diner, and then it had all come roaring back.

"But I'm scared," Rachel admitted, and Quinn kissed her cheek. "My voice is wonderful but there are people out there who've had a lot more training than I have, and I don't… I'd like… I'd like to take some acting lessons. Some acting lessons, and some voice lessons, maybe, I don't know. But I just don't think… I'm not ready for the stage yet."

"And that's okay," Quinn reassured her, wrapping the blanket tighter around them as a particularly harsh wind blew over the fire escape. "You don't have to be ready, Rach. I'd love to see you on stage; the stage was built for you, Rachel Berry. But it's waited this long, it can wait a bit longer. You can take some classes, and then do whatever you want. Whenever you're ready."

Rachel was quiet for a minute. "The stage was built for me, huh?"

"Yep," Quinn confirmed.

"You do realize that in its earliest form, Broadway has existed since the 1800s?"

"Well… you're an old soul."

Rachel laughed, and nuzzled Quinn's nose with hers. "Your parents liked me."

"Oh thank god," Quinn said with relief. "I mean I figured they did, since, you know, check. But they weren't too hard on you?"

"Your mother is a force to be reckoned with," Rachel said, and Quinn nodded. "I understand her worries. I did my best to reassure her."

"She'll be fine," Quinn said. "My dad seems to be fighting in your corner, and Mom too. It might just take her a bit longer."

They were silent again then, listening to the sounds of the sitting and laughing as Van tried repeatedly, to no avail, to snag the check from Rachel's hand. They were going to have their own house, Quinn thought, feeling the excitement beginning to grow. A little house maybe on the outskirts of the city (but nowhere near Shelby); a little blue house with a front yard and maybe a back porch where they could watch the sunset. A huge kitchen where they wouldn't be bumping into each other, where Rachel could sit on the counter as Quinn cooked. Maybe they could have Elle and Jamie over for dinner, Puck and Sam too. A huge couch in the living room they could fall asleep on without their backs killing them the next morning. Enough room to stretch and laugh and love.

Just be.

"Perhaps we ought to consider a soundproof room, since if I'll be taking voice lessons I'll be needing lots of practice. The neighbors might not approve."

"Screw the neighbors," Quinn pronounced resolutely, and Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Your voice is beautiful, and you practice whenever and however you want, Rachel Berry."

"Yes, Miss," Rachel said in that quiet, adoring way that made Quinn shiver.

"In fact, you should get started practicing right now."

"Oh, I should, should I?" Rachel said with a knowing grin.

"No time like the present, after all."

"And what should I sing?"

Quinn glanced at the check, and let herself get lost again in the thoughts. Of love, of life, of home. With Rachel.

"Anything, Rach. Anything at all."