Glee 1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Wanting Comes in Waves

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Summary:** Rachel Berry finds herself in a ship built in honor to the hundredth anniversary of the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. Will history repeat itself, or not?

**Spoilers:** none. This is entirely AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination. The title is the same as a song by The Decemberists, which I obviously do not own.

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Alyssa. Inspiration came from luckypressure's drawing, and this is just my attempt to tell the entire story. All inconsistencies and mistakes are mine, since this is not beta'd.

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><p>Rachel Berry had always been aware of her size. She knew that she was short by almost everyone's standards -and the endless teasing she had to put up with during her high school years was proof enough of that. She knew that she had a tiny frame -to accompany her tiny stature-, and she knew that her size made it much easier for whomever was her dancing partner of the moment to lift her up. She also knew that, the first time people heard her sing, they had trouble comprehending how a voice like hers could carry so well through a body so small.<p>

However, despite how long it had taken her to be comfortable with her size, Rachel Berry had never felt insignificant anywhere or in comparison to anything -until now. She stood frozen in awe next to her limousine as she stared at the ship before her. Her eyes scanned the massive structure from bow to stern, absorbing every single detail of the polished façade. And as she contemplated the massive size of the ship, she couldn't help but feel entirely irrelevant to its existence.

It was a funny feeling, she thought. She could walk among some of the tallest buildings in the world when in New York, and yet she never felt like this. Quite the contrary, actually. She felt like, no matter how tall the buildings, or how big the population, she was larger-than-life and nothing could stop her. And yet... yet here, in front of this ship, she felt as pointless as a single snowflake in Antarctica. Then again, said snowflake was probably trapped in that deserted continent, never to escape the cold, windy life. She suddenly empathized with the lifeless, icy substance: this ship was her own Antarctica.

She suddenly wondered if the passengers of the Titanic had felt the same way before the supposedly unsinkable ship as she felt now. But then she laughed at the irony and mentally scolded herself for even thinking of that. Not that she didn't marvel at this ship in particular -because she totally did-, it's just-it's just that there was a certain trepidation that came along with the fact that this ship had been built as a tribute to every drowned soul of the Titanic on the hundredth anniversary of its sinking.

With a huff, she straightened up, shouldered her bag, and strode towards the ship, a few members of her staff trailing behind her.

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><p>While growing up, Rachel Berry had never thought that her dreams of Broadway, and New York, and stardom would bring along any of this. Had she been told that her manager and her agent (and her publicist, and basically <em><em>every <em>_single other person in her staff) would hold the reins of her personal life so much more than __she __did, she would have probably (against all professional advice) tried to make it out there on her own as an independent artist.

But alas, she hadn't been that wise, so now she was stuck in this situation that threatened to suffocate her any day now. She had to endure a transatlantic trip trapped on a ship with her agent (one fabulous, yet slightly too overbearing Kurt Hummel), the rest of her staff, and the young man they all expected her to be engaged to once the ship landed back in New York: Finn Hudson.

She huffed exasperatedly against the railing of the upper deck of the ship as she stared out at the vastness of the deceitful ocean in a rare moment of solitude her closest bodyguard, Noah, had granted her. Why couldn't anyone understand her and leave her personal affairs alone? She didn't want to marry that Finn guy. He was awkward, and dim-witted, and whenever she was with him, she had the feeling that he wasn't really aware of the concealed insults he would send her way. Actually, now that she thought about it, she didn't want to marry any guy. _At all_.

She was a Broadway star, with eight shows a week, and tours, and contracts. She did __not __have time to tend to the petty desires of an immature __man-child __that couldn't tell the difference between the sea and the ocean. She sighed. She needed to delay the decision-making process and enjoy this trip instead. It wasn't every day that a busy star like herself had the opportunity to sit around on a ship for four days rather than take a plane.

Loosening up was __exactly __what she was trying to do as she looked at her surroundings when she noticed a blonde head delicately bobbing up and down on the deck below. She tilted her head —after all, she wasn't sure __why __the young woman had caught her attention— and stared at the oblivious blonde for a moment. She then realized that there were two other girls with her: a really sweet looking blonde -all limbs and grace, and grins from ear to ear-; and a dark haired girl who seemed far more earnest as she talked to one blonde -though she smiled tenderly as she played with the sweet looking blonde's hands. Rachel watched as the blonde she had originally noticed was indeed talking to the other brunette, though she clearly remained focused on whatever she was doing on her lap even as her lips moved.

Why had this stranger caught her attention, though? Why _this_ blonde who seemed so immersed in whatever she was doing rather than in the conversation around her? Why not someone else?

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she didn't realize that she had kept her gaze nestled atop the blonde head below all that time. And by the time she came to this realization and focused on the girl again, she found the stranger's face tilted towards her own. She could feel the blonde's eyes on her, examining her face, and —even from such a distance— she felt the most pleasant tingle course through her spine as their eyes connected.

"Miss Corcoran is requesting your presence, Miss Berry," Noah Puckerman's voice startled her.

Thoughts now interrupted, she turned around to find him standing behind her, hands clasped behind his back as he stood stiff in his suit. She couldn't really be mad at him for breaking her connection with the blonde stranger. After all, even though he wasn't the only person that kept her company, Noah was the only person she could talk to, and who didn't make her feel alone even in the most crowded of places.

"_Noah_," she began, giving him a small, genuine smile, "I've already told you. Call me Rachel, okay?" she insisted -for what she thought was the hundredth time-, placing a tiny hand on his firm shoulder.

Despite all the time they spent together, and how pleasantly loose he could become whenever they were alone -and away from the judgmental eyes of the rest of her staff-, she thought she saw a faint blush tint his cheeks. His expression softened the slightest bit, and he cracked a charming smile, "Of course, Miss B-_Rachel_."

She liked Noah. And she trusted him. He was the one person around whom she could be herself entirely. He was sweet and charming, and he would sometimes throw rather lewd comments in her presence whenever he was relaxed enough and sure that Miss Corcoran wouldn't scold him. They had fun together most of the time, and he was the only one who knew her little secret and took her seriously. Actually, truth be told, Rachel believed that -if it weren't for said secret about her being a lesbian- she would have probably at least tried to date him.

"See? That's better," she dazzled him with a patented Rachel Berry smile. "Now, tell Miss Corcoran I'll be there in a minute, alright?"

He turned around after a polite nod, and left her alone with her thoughts once again. Instantly, the blonde that had been at the back of her mind during her brief exchange with Noah was the center of her attention one more time, so Rachel turned towards the railing to watch her for a moment before heading inside.

However, to her disappointment, the young woman was no longer sitting on the lower deck. In fact, as Rachel's eyes scanned the expanse of the open space, she couldn't spot the blonde anywhere -or her two companions, for that matter. For some reason, that fact disheartened her. She didn't know why, exactly, but she felt like one last look from the blonde stranger would have given her the strength and patience to deal with her manager once she wandered back inside.

She let her shoulders slump with a sigh as she closed her eyes, briefly thinking that she needed to see the other girl again. Realizing that she still had another three days to do so, she straightened her back and spun on her heels swiftly to face one of the control-freak monsters.

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><p>Tea was a condescending game of epic proportions to her -and she hadn't even talked so far. She couldn't honestly understand why she had even been invited to this tea party, when Shelby kept feeding her coffee instead. She rolled her eyes as Shelby and Kurt kept throwing overtly flattering comments towards the architect and the owner of the ship, and she had to stop herself from scoffing out loud at their obvious ass-kissing. The architect, Mr. Chang, didn't seem to care much for compliments as he simply thanked them politely and tried to carry on talking about anything else. He was a brilliant young man -a mathematical whiz, really-, with an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Rachel liked him. Despite all the fame this ship had brought along for him, he remained humble and approachable. The owner of the ship, however, was an entirely different story.<p>

Mr. Abrams had been boasting the prowess they had accomplished with this ship for the past twenty minutes -going on and on about its luxury and star quality, and what not. He was a physically impaired young man, quite tragic if Rachel thought so herself -and she knew tragedy, she often thought of her life as a tragedy. He was smart, she couldn't deny that, but it was obvious to any level-headed person that the prominence of this nautical achievement had got to his head.

She was on the process of turning everything Mr. Abrams said into a joke in her head, when she realized that Finn was thrusting a jug of milk in her direction with a dopey smile. She turned to stare at him disbelievingly with a frown. Milk? _Milk_? For the love of God, she had told him several times that she was _vegan_! Couldn't he retain information for longer than three seconds in that pea-sized brain of his? She was just about to tell him those exact words, when she was saved by Miss Jones.

"Whoa, there, Finn. Put that milk back, Rachel doesn't drink it," she commented with a smile, which only garnered an incredibly confused look from his part, so she elaborated, "She _can't_ consume milk. You're not going to start forcing her to do that, now, are you?"

He blinked at her dumbly for a few seconds, and then Rachel saw his large hand retreat and set the jug back on the table. She smiled at Miss Jones gratefully and went on poking at her scones, even as Shelby's eyes raked up and down the poor woman's frame dismissively.

Mercedes Jones was a young woman of undeniable talent who had blown the world away with a single that amassed hoards of fans when it came out of nowhere on YouTube. She had been an overnight success without any real publicity -something that Shelby Corcoran condemned, apparently, if her looks and comments were anything to go by. She was a nice girl, Rachel thought as she smiled at her. She was polite to everyone -unlike those diva rumors Rachel had read about said-, and she listened to everyone attentively, commenting every now and then. Even more, she seemed to get along with Rachel's assistant, Tina Cohen-Chang, better than Rachel herself did -and definitely better than Shelby did. Seriously, Rachel thought there was no need for the woman to treat the poor girl like a simpleton _servant_ when, in fact, her silent support meant much more to Rachel than Shelby's concealed insults did. Who _cared_ what Shelby Corcoran wanted and liked, anyway?

Out of boredom -and because she knew it would bother Shelby to no end-, Rachel lit a hand-rolled cigarette -she was well aware of the addictive effects that the nicotine in the filter of traditional cigarettes could cause, so she avoided those. Either way, the moment the tip of the cigarette burned, Shelby turned to her incredulously with a warning look. "You know very well that you _shouldn't_ be doing that," she hissed at Rachel.

Somehow sensing both women's discomfort -Rachel didn't really know how he could ever be _that_ perceptive-, Finn plucked the barely lit cigarette out from Rachel's mouth and stubbed it into the ashtray that lay somewhere about the table. Rachel glared at him -which, of course, he didn't even notice-, and her gaze then connected with Mercedes' apologetic half-smile. Out of things to distract herself with, Rachel tuned into the conversation around her -a conversation that Mr. Abrams seemed to be monopolizing.

"The idea was to emulate the design and luxury of the RMS Titanic, merely to demonstrate that its unfortunate fate was nothing more than human error, rather than malfunction or failure of the ship. But at the same time, I also wanted to make her larger than the original, you know? I wanted its size to be imposing, powerful, and intimidating like a grown _man_, almost border-lining on monstrous," Mr. Abrams elaborated as a response to some question that Rachel hadn't paid attention to.

She found his commentary on size rather amusing. She didn't really know why, whether it be just sheer annoyance at her whole situation, at this context that surrounded her, or at the fact that she found it rather insulting that he talked about size in such a way when she herself was so tiny. So she couldn't really stop herself from giving her input on the matter, "Perhaps it should do you some good to get yourself acquainted with Freud's theories on man's obsession with size, Mr. Abrams. Maybe even with theories on misogyny, as well, don't you think?"

Shelby cast a look of horror in her direction -Kurt's wasn't much different from that either-, and muttered unintelligibly under her breath. Not bearing to look at the woman for a second longer, Rachel rose from her seat gracefully and smiled at the other people on the table, "If you'll excuse me. This was lovely," she offered right before walking out of the room.

On her way out, the last thing she heard was Finn's innocuous retort, "Was Freud like a priest, or something?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Wanting Comes in Waves

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Summary:** Rachel Berry finds herself in a ship built in honor to the hundredth anniversary of the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. Will history repeat itself, or not?

**Spoilers:** none. This is entirely AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination. The title is the same as a song by The Decemberists, which I obviously do not own. And I also do not own Titanic (the 1997 movie or otherwise).

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Alyssa. Inspiration came from luckypressure's drawing, and this is just my attempt to tell the entire story. All inconsistencies and mistakes are mine, since this is not beta'd.

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><p>Rachel Berry needed a distraction. Well, maybe something to take her mind off of things for a while would be enough. She stalked out of the upper deck in an attempt to get away from Shelby Corcoran -Noah hot on her heels. He sometimes wondered how someone so short could walk so freaking <em>fast<em> whenever those passionate bursts of energy hit.

To say tea hadn't gone well would be an understatement. That woman could get on her nerves like no one else could -though she was sure that, given the chance, the Finn-giant could probably give her a run for her money. She walked briskly, muttering under her breath. How _dare_ Miss Corcoran tell her that marrying that incompetent prick was an _order_? Couldn't she see that -gay or not- he would smother her into oblivion just by cupping her cheek with one of those sausage hands of his? _Unacceptable_!

Noah followed her blindly with pursed lips until she stopped abruptly in front of him and he almost ran into her. She spun around -hair whipping with the sheer force of the movement-, and faced him with an annoyed huff, "Noah, if you could be kind enough to inform me of an inscrutable place within the confines of this ship where I could remain unreachable from the rest of my staff, I would _greatly_ appreciate it."

His head tipped back as he received the brunt of her desperate rant, and, when the words sunk in, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "Well, your... _employees_ think they're too good to be seen with anyone who isn't in the business or anyone who isn't part of first class -no offense," he clarified after a beat, "so I doubt they'd be willing to mingle with normal people who travel in the lower decks just to search for you, if you were to _hide_ there," he offered with a slight wiggle of his eyebrows.

A rather devilish smile spread on her features as she thought it over. That was in fact a brilliant idea. With a tilt of her head, she wrapped her arms around his bicep and grinned up at him, part of her horrible mood disappearing already, "Walk with me, Noah."

They took off once again, their pace now considerably slowed down as they descended stairs and rounded corners. He could feel the tension in her body buzzing through the connection with his arm, so he offered her a warm smile as they stepped out into the open hallway of the lower deck, the sun not quite hitting them, yet bright enough to set their eyes alight and give their skin a soft glow.

But then... then he felt her abruptly tense up to immediately feel the tension literally drain from her body completely as she came to a halt beside him. He turned towards her to observe her, and he found that her expression was something akin to surprise, and maybe something else he couldn't really understand. So he followed her line of sight in the hopes of maybe actually understanding.

Rachel's breath was momentarily knocked out of from her lungs as she spotted the blonde from before ahead of them in the open hallway. She didn't know _how_ or _why_, but the mental and emotional exhaustion from her meeting seemed to float away from her body in an instant as she took in the sight.

The blonde was perched against the parapet -arms resting limply on top of it, hips cocked back casually-, as she stared out at the ocean silently. She was wearing a rather worn out -and rather baggy- grey t-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans that Rachel could only describe as tattered. Her gaze drifted down to take in the shoes she was wearing and-Good _God_, Kurt would have an _aneurysm_ if he ever saw Rachel wearing anything even remotely similar to the pair of incredibly _dirty_ black Converse the blonde had on.

Rachel then let her eyes skim over the other girl's face, taking her time to examine her expression. Short blonde strands of hair danced freely with the salty breeze, every now and then brushing against pale skin in disorderly patterns. But God, Rachel thought, her profile was absolutely _stunning_. She hadn't been able to make out the details of her face earlier that day, but now she could easily see a smooth forehead, a sharp cheekbone, the most adorable little nose she had ever seen, and a pair of plump pink lips. Definitely stunning. And Rachel was helplessly captivated.

She turned towards Noah to find him staring at her curiously, and she couldn't help but blush. She dropped her gaze for a moment, strangely unable to meet his eyes, but then gathered up the courage to do so and looked up at him with a shaky sigh. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she could see the smile in his eyes as they twinkled. She decided upon walking up to the blonde and introducing herself, yet when she spun around again to act on her decision, she only saw her retreating form disappearing from the deck.

She stared after the stranger forlornly, pondering on what was the reason behind her behavior, until she felt a clumsy hand tap her shoulder and then rest there. She shook away the sudden longing she felt carving a void in her chest and turned to find Noah once again standing behind her -his hand on her shoulder actually soothing.

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to keep herself together. She felt Noah turn her around to head back inside.

"Sorry," he stated as they began heading back to the upper deck, "Mister Hummel said you should be getting ready for your dinner with Mister Hudson. I think we should start heading back now," he paused, and she eyed him wearily. She smiled at him gratefully as he went on, "Don't worry, Rachel. I'm sure you'll see her again," he added as he wrapped his arm fully around her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.

She gave him a tight lipped smile and burrowed further into his side, "Thank you, Noah."

Her dinner with Finn was yet another disaster. She honestly could not fathom how Kurt could ever believe Finn would ever be a match for her -or how _Shelby_ could, for that matter. The guy was a Neanderthal. Though Rachel was certain that if she were to use that term to insult him to his face, he wouldn't comprehend her. So if it ever came to that, she would bluntly call him a _brute_ instead.

What was even worse was that he seemed to think that they were perfect for each other; when, truth be told, she had never met anyone more insulting to her entire being. During those two hours with him, he hadn't once seemed interested in her dreams and aspirations, in her habits or her lifestyle -in fact he had asked her if she wanted some of his salmon even _after_ she'd _explicitly_ explained to him that she had been a vegan for years. He completely disregarded her attempts to get the conversation flowing in the subjects she enjoyed the most, like musical theater, or music in general, or her work... he didn't even seem to register the hints she threw at him about her fondness for grand romantic gestures or intellectual stimulation. He only appeared to be interested in their supposedly upcoming engagement, and everything such an event entailed.

Rachel refused to marry someone like that. In fact, even if she loved him, she would never go through with it. She didn't want to marry him -she didn't even want to _see_ him again. Actually, if she had a choice in the matter -and if it didn't put her career at risk or jeopardize her inexistent criminal record-, she would honor the Hudson river and dump him to the bottom of it once they arrived in New York. Oh, _God_, he would probably think that it was actually named after him. Maybe _she'd_ jump instead.

_God_, she was suffocating. She was just nineteen years old, and yet she felt as if her life was out of her own hands and dealt with as if it were someone else's property -her happiness be damned. Why couldn't they understand? Yes, Broadway had been her dream, her ultimate goal -it still was. She loved to perform, she loved to sing. Her instant success -which, if she was being honest with herself, had been somewhat expected- had been nothing but a burden with Kurt and Shelby handling not only her career but also her life. She should have never let them do that to her. But now there was no way out.

She couldn't choose which roles to play; she couldn't choose which charities to support. She couldn't decide when or where to go out, or even whose company to enjoy -if it was so decided that she should. She had no say in who her friends could be, or who to hire. She was never alone -her every move was scrutinized and controlled by her staff. She didn't go out for the sake of having fun anymore; she had no one to talk to, no one to trust -though Noah was the only person she dared call her friend. She didn't even enjoy the stage anymore.

She was constantly in the spotlight, and she couldn't bring herself to enjoy the attention. She felt like Kurt and Shelby were her puppeteers and she was nothing more than their means to an end -and she _hated_ it. She hated how loneliness was a permanent fixture in her life, and yet she was surrounded every single second. She hated feeling like the understudy to her own _life_, as if she were the second choice for the role of Rachel Berry -a role that no longer represented the actual person within her.

Rachel Berry was suffocating.

She didn't even realize that she had been crying until she reached the deserted stern. The wind bit at her bones, almost slicing her skin as it slapped her moist cheeks. Her lashes were wet, and she had trouble blinking -her vision blurry. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she felt her anguish consume her, the cold seeping into her nostrils as she took shaky breaths. She didn't know how her life had come to this, but she couldn't let it go on any further. It was exhausting.

She suddenly found herself on autopilot -both her brain and her gut seemingly gone with the salty oceanic wind. She tilted her head -dark tresses flowing harshly in a tangled mess-, and her eyes glazed over as she continued running. Her arms loosened to hang limply against her sides as she advanced steadily, now entirely unaware of the biting chill of the gusts whipping the stern -and of the puffs of smoke drifting upwards from a bench she passed by. She didn't even flinch when her fingertips brushed against the icy metal of the railing to then curl around it and hold onto it tightly. Instead, she simply stared down at the moving water, watching as it seemed to refill the space the ship left open as it sailed forward in the opposite direction.

Her mind was blank as she climbed over the railing, easily swinging her leg first to straddle it and then to stand at the other side of it, her grip on the metal tightening so much that her knuckles turned white. She was briefly wondering if it'd feel like an extreme case of brain freeze when her thoughts were interrupted by a silky -yet rather shaky- voice behind her, "Please don't do it."

Rachel didn't even care to mask her shock at someone else being in the secluded area. Yet she turned her head to look at whomever had dared question her actions, only to find the blonde from earlier that day now dressed in a loose white shirt, a well worn pair of black pants, a black tie, and chunky boots.

Rachel was momentarily distracted by how different she looked, now with her shirt untucked from her pants, collar unbuttoned and tie loose around her neck. As her eyes raked upwards again, she noticed the pleading look behind hazel eyes. She suddenly remembered that the blonde had spoken, so she took a deep breath before addressing her, "I'll get on with it and let you move on with your life, guilt-free."

"Just-" the blonde rushed, "how about you come back onto the ship instead?" she suggested -did Rachel detect an ounce of desperation in her voice?- and took few deliberate steps closer to the brunette.

"I don't know who you are, or why you would deem it necessary to make your presence known afore me at such an _inopportune_ moment, but I would prefer it if you were to stop coming closer and leave me be to do with my life as I please; which is a really elaborate way to say that I _will_ jump whether you stay or go," Rachel replied, hoping to confuse the stranger into actually leaving her alone.

However, to her chagrin, the blonde tilted her head -trying to stop a smirk from forming- and shoved her free hand into the front pocket of her pants. "You won't," she stated firmly, and Rachel's eyes widened at the defiant tone, because-well, this girl definitely seemed to be incredibly sure of what she was saying.

"What do you mean that _I won't_? I have enough of people telling me what to do! Who do you think you are to believe that you have a right to do the same?" Rachel retorted -losing her cool, her grip on the off-white railing tightening until her knuckles turned white. She barely stopped her mild annoyance at the interruption from turning into ire when a perfect, blonde eyebrow arched upwards -seemingly mocking her.

The blonde eyed her with a dry chuckle before taking one final drag from her cigarette, then let her head hang limply for a second. She observed Rachel for a moment, appearing to gauge her actions and reactions, before she surely inched closer to the railing -hazel eyes never straying from brown ones. Slowly -so very slowly-, as if to somehow reassure Rachel that she wasn't going to try anything unexpected, the blonde threw the cigarette butt out into the open sea before them. Then, she promptly shoved her other -now free- hand into the remaining free pocket of her pants and addressed Rachel once again -this time far more calmly.

"I don't believe that, actually. I believe you are a rational human being capable of executing your free will perfectly. You can choose to do whatever you please with your life. I _do_ believe, however, that becoming propeller food _just_ to kill yourself is not the smartest choice," she stated with a shrug, but then her brows furrowed as she added, "Actually, I think the idea of suicide, in general, is the most cowardly way out to ever exist," she paused again as a smile claimed her lips, slightly curling them upwards, "_besides_, if you were to do it for real, I'm pretty sure you would have done it already."

Rachel was momentarily baffled by the retort, and her own brows knitted on her forehead. She didn't know why -or why she cared-, but this stranger had established with her the most comfortable conversation she remembered having in months. She shook her thoughts away as her determination weakened, "I _would_ have... if only you weren't a distraction of the most inconvenience," she replied as she turned her head to face the water once again, "Don't you have _things_ to do? Go away."

"Tsk, tsk," Rachel heard from behind her, and her eyes flitted to the side briefly, although she refused to look at the blonde again. "I thought you didn't like people telling you what to do. I am not inclined to believe it is _polite_ to do _precisely_ that to me, now is it, Miss?" the stranger inquired almost playfully, and Rachel was sure the question had been rhetorical.

Before Rachel could come up with an answer worthy of being uttered, the blonde continued, "Now, now, Miss, I think this is an extreme situation that calls for extreme measures. We can't have you hanging off the back of a ship like a _poorly_ reenacted Titanic scene at the hands of a mental-institute patient, now can we?" she paused, eyes twinkling as Rachel -completely unaware of her own actions- began turning around to face the stern again. "I'm all for jumping in after you, after all, I've always been an _excellent_ athlete, so I'm certain I could call for help and pull you out of the water-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Rachel interrupted, yet the blonde, relentless, went on with her rambling, "-only problem would be that the temperature of the water would probably cause you hypothermia within just fifteen minutes of being immersed in it."

"Hypothermia?" Rachel squeaked, now facing the stern completely, and the blonde nodded her assent, "Yes, hypothermia. Which I'm not looking forward to. Because if you jump, I jump."

"Well, but-" Rachel started, again, staring at the blonde, "why did you imply that it would only affect me and not you?" she asked, easily overlooking the fact that this stranger had basically compared her to a patient from an insane asylum.

"Hmm," the blonde hummed -internally grinning at the fact that the brunette kept inching closer to being back on the ship without even knowing it-, "because doing Sue Sylvester's cheerleading practices six days a week at the crack of dawn with snow almost up to my knees for four years kind of helped my tolerance for lower temperatures," she explained with a little shrug, and Rachel went on staring at her.

"And you're certain that, considering my lack of physical training and my obvious lack of fat around my muscle tone, I would get hypothermia quickly?" Rachel asked worriedly. Somehow, all intentions of jumping had been diffused, and, instead, she was now terrified of the idea of dying surrounded by nothing but freezing cold water.

"Well, if you put it that way, then yes, I am," the blonde replied sincerely before pursing her lips and balancing her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. Upon seeing the look of pure distress on Rachel's face, she pulled her hand out of her pocket and gently offered it to the brunette, "let me help you get back here," she said tenderly and bit softly on her lower lip.

Rachel looked for a moment at the hand proffered to her, and then back up at the blonde's expectant face, taking in every detail of it. She couldn't help but admire the faint shade of pink that tinged the blonde's pale cheeks. The calmness and tranquility of her expression and demeanor simply blew Rachel away, and all she could do was stare at the blonde and let the sight soothe her. She was somehow suddenly met with the blonde's hazel eyes staring back at her. Rachel was desperate to look away -suddenly embarrassed- in an attempt to hide the fact that she had been caught staring. But she couldn't. For the life of her, she couldn't look away. She was enchanted, as if on a trance as those eyes were now clearly fixated on her own.

Rachel opened her mouth to take the blonde up on her offer to set her feet securely on the ship again, but the only thing that came out was an inaudible squeak. For heaven's sake, Rachel Berry was _never_ speechless! The blonde blinked at her sudden ineptitude with words, and her gaze danced over Rachel's eyes. The next thing Rachel knew, her eyes were cast over a delicate, feminine hand held up towards her. She dropped her gaze to examine it for a second, briefly confused as to why the hand was there. She looked up at the blonde in silent query, only to notice that pale cheeks were now tinted red. Oh, for the love of _God_, she had been right before: the blonde possessed a beauty out of this world.

Of its own accord, Rachel's own hand clasped around the blonde's, and her eyes fell again on hazel orbs. "Okay," she agreed absent-mindedly, voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," the blonde repeated, and her slender fingers wrapped securely around Rachel's smaller hand and clasped tightly. Once she was certain that her grip on the brunette was strong enough, she let her eyes go back to the shorter girl's face. She blew some stray hairs away from her forehead and smiled at the brunette, "I'm Quinn Fabray," she stated softly, and Rachel's eyes met hers up close -all big, and wide, and vulnerable, and _scared_.

However, the introduction seemed to ease the brunette somewhat, and soon she offered her name with a shy smile of her own, "Rachel Berry."

"Well, Rachel Berry, as much as I was enjoying staring up at all the gorgeous stars in the clear sky, I have to admit that I enjoyed our little impromptu conversation much more thoroughly. And I think that we could both enjoy it more once you're safely on the ship again, don't you think?" Quinn asked warmly, tugging at Rachel's hand to help her over the railing.

"Yes, I do think so," Rachel's smile widened as she talked dreamily, "You enjoy stargazing?"

Quinn blinked at her curiously, rather amused at the question, "Yes, I just aim for the stars," she replied, her other hand now circling around Rachel's free hand. As they found the perfect balance to start moving inwards -Rachel pushing, and Quinn pulling-, Rachel bit her lip and replied, "You know, I always add a gold star right after I sign my name. It's my signature."

"Really?" Quinn scrunched up her nose, grinning warmly at the idea of finding common ground with the brunette, "Hmm, then I hope every star in the sky," she started as Rachel stepped on a higher bar of the railing, "stays silver, just so that you're the _only_ gold one."

"Why, that's incredibly thought-" Rachel's sentence was cut off by a shrill shriek as one of her Louboutins slipped on the painted steel. She suddenly found herself busy juggling actions: trying not to drop to a certain death -though she would probably be pulverized by the propellers first-, attempting to pull herself up, mentally thanking the heavens for Quinn's incredibly quick reflexes.

"I've got you!" flew out of Quinn's mouth as both of her hands now gripped her wrist tightly, trying to pull her up as Rachel flailed and shrieked in desperation. "Jesus _Christ_, Berry! Stop _howling_!"

That comment did nothing to put Rachel's fears to rest, and it only served to make her yelling come along mixed with heavy sobs, "Please don't let me go! _Please_! Help me!"

"Crap! Berry, calm down!" Quinn tried to no avail, since Rachel didn't even pay attention, "Rachel, _Rachel_, listen to me!" well, that seemed to garner the brunette's attention, so she continued, "I've _got_ you, okay? Calm down, I'm _not_ going to drop you," she reassured, pulling harder on Rachel's wrist to emphasize her point, "But you've got to calm down, otherwise all that movement will make you heavier, and I won't be able to lift you up," she tried to explain, and sighed heavily when Rachel finally nodded in understanding, swallowing past her tears and the lump in her throat. "Alright, try to pull yourself up while I try to lift you up," she commandeered, flexing her arms to help the brunette over the metal railing.

After exerting an amount of strength that Rachel hadn't experienced in-well, in _years_, if she was honest, Quinn managed to pull the majority of her body towards the wooden deck. The motion caused them both to topple over, and Rachel went tumbling onto the blonde's warm body -which effectively cushioned her fall, even as she marvelled, in the back of her mind, at the blonde's strength. Rachel froze atop the blonde -eyes wide as she held Quinn's gaze-, neither of them daring to breathe.

Rachel watched as the expression in hazel eyes shifted to panic as the moment was broken when a loud voice boomed nearby, "What the hell is this?"

Rachel braced her weight on open palms above Quinn, barely aware of slender hands holding her waist gently, and turned to look at the stout man who had interrupted them -two guards standing behind him. She saw him glance at Quinn, and then back at her to acknowledge her distressed state, likely noticing the tear tracks on her cheeks and the decaying state of Quinn's old clothes. He approached them sternly, and placed a careful hand around Rachel's bicep, helping her pull herself onto her feet as Quinn remained sprawled on the wooden floor.

Once Rachel was sufficiently far from Quinn, the guard motioned to the other two and pointed at Quinn, "_You!_ Do _not_ move, you hear me?"

The blonde looked up at Rachel -almost pleadingly, yet resigned to whatever her fate may be-, and complied with the guard's order, deeming it best to keep her mouth shut for the time being. The next few moments were a blur to Rachel, and the next thing she was aware of were Finn's arms wrapping solidly around her, knocking the breath out of her tiny frame, "God, Rach, I'm so glad you're okay!"

She scoffed to herself, as the thought that it certainly wasn't thanks to him entered her brain, and she risked another glance at the blonde. Rachel frowned as she saw one of the guards handcuff her roughly -probably per Kurt's request. She then glanced at the young man, observing the way he played with the collar of his shirt gingerly. She was suddenly overcome by a fresh wave of rage, as she realized that this was ultimately all his fault. Hadn't he forced her to wear the Louboutins instead of the Mary Jane's she had chosen, she would have never slipped, and thus none of this ruckus would have happened.

Oh God, and _Quinn_! Quinn would have never found herself in this humiliating situation hadn't it been for Kurt's desires to channel his inner girl through Rachel's fashion. She pushed herself away from Finn's lumbering frame -noticing, out of the corner of her eyes, the clueless look on his face- and stalked over to where the guards and Kurt were scolding Quinn for daring to even come close to a first class celebrity passenger like Rachel.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, patting the guard's shoulder to get his attention while he tightened the cuffs around the blonde's wrists. She was aware of several things going on around her, even as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She noticed Quinn's grimace as the cuffs probably cut into the skin of her wrists, she noticed the disapproving glance Kurt threw at her, and she noticed Finn approaching them to be clued in into what was happening.

"Why is Miss Fabray in cuffs?" she inquired politely, her eyes fixed on the stout guard, and she felt Quinn's eyes suddenly burn on her skin.

Before the guard could answer, however, Finn pulled her aside and butted in the conversation, "She was _hurting_ you, Rach!" he whined, eyes flashing to Quinn's face with something akin to anger -and suddenly Rachel feared he would kick at the floor or something like that-, "What were you trying to take from my fiancée, you little bitch?" he asked Quinn smugly, his oversized hand falling roughly against Quinn's lean shoulder, the weight causing her to stumble backwards silently.

"Finn!" she shrieked with a frown, pulling him away from the blonde to address him more forcefully, "Leave her alone! She just _saved_ me!"

"What?" the tall young man asked, clearly unable to comprehend the actual nature of the situation, "Saved you from what?"

"I almost toppled over the railing and Miss Fabray here pulled me back in, you _asshole_!" Rachel retorted angrily, and she saw Quinn flinch at her choice of words. "I demand that you take the cuffs and let the young woman go. She should be commended for her actions, not punished for her bravery and nobility," she stated firmly, addressing the guards that held Quinn's wrists tightly restrained. She then turned to Kurt as Finn started walking away, mumbling incoherently under his breath, arms thrown up in the air, "Kurt, _fix_ this, immediately!"

With a roll of clear blue eyes, the thin man waved at the guards, silently motioning for them to let Quinn go. He stood idly by observing Rachel -whose hands were firmly planted on her hips- while the guards released Quinn's wrists and left the deck, looking mildly displeased at having been interrupted over nothing but a misunderstanding. Once they were out of sight, Rachel cast a warning glance to Kurt, nodding her head towards the blonde, in the hopes that he'd catch her drift and give Quinn something in return for her heroic actions.

In turn, Kurt turned towards the blonde and let his eyes wander up and down over her lean frame, taking quick notice of the rumpled state of her clothes and the disarray of her hair, "What did you say was your name, again?"

"Quinn. Quinn Fabray," the blonde replied with a reluctant smile -Kurt's smirk could make even Rachel feel unworthy of his attention- and outstretched her arm for him to shake her hand.

Kurt refrained from shaking the hand that Quinn had offered him with a smile and, instead, gingerly tilted his head to stare at it disdainfully, as if it were to give him leper if his skin made contact with hers. Blushing awkwardly, Quinn's hand retreated to rest limply against her side before being promptly shoved into her pocket.

"Mister Kurt Hummel, Miss Berry's publicist," he introduced himself, tilting his head upwards as if that would give the blonde the idea that he was well above her by social standards. That condescending little _jerk_! Rachel thought glaring at him as she stood rooted to her spot, too angered to move. "I suppose I should show you gratitude for sparing our little diva from a gruesome death, shouldn't I?"

Rachel was enraged. She couldn't believe Kurt was being such an ass about the whole thing. Did he always treat civilians like this when she wasn't around? When he glanced at her calmly, she levelled him with a stubborn stare, and he seemed to finally stop ignoring her hints, "Well, Miss Fabray, I suppose that gracing us with your _grand_ presence for dinner tomorrow and being granted with a glimpse at first class life would be enough of a reward for you, am I correct?"

Rachel eyed the blonde expectantly, hoping for an affirmative answer, as Kurt's manicured hand curled around her shoulder. Quinn glanced back and forth between the pair, her blush deepening, and nodded subtly -almost imperceptibly-, "That would be a pleasure, Mister Hummel. I appreciate it," she agreed shyly and resumed the biting of her lower lip.

"Well, that settles it, then!" Kurt exclaimed, suddenly excited to be able to rid himself of the blonde's presence, and clapped his hands with an exaggerated smile. he then turned to Rachel and offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

Defeated -yet now having something to look forward to-, Rachel turned to face him and nodded solemnly before curling her arm around his as the blonde nodded at them again, "I'll-I'll see you tomorrow, then," she smiled bashfully. Rachel nodded at her, their eyes connecting briefly once again before Kurt turned her around to walk back into the chambers of first class. It'd be a long long day, except that now she could at least take a breath without choking at the mere thought of her existence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Wanting Comes in Waves

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Summary:** Rachel Berry finds herself in a ship built in honor to the hundredth anniversary of the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. Will history repeat itself, or not?

**Spoilers:** none. This is entirely AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination. The title is the same as a song by The Decemberists, which I obviously do not own. And I also do not own Titanic (the 1997 movie or otherwise).

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Alyssa. Inspiration came from luckypressure's drawing, and this is just my attempt to tell the entire story. All inconsistencies and mistakes are mine, since this is not beta'd.

**A/N2:** also, if anyone wonders about what Finn gives Rachel, I'll post a link to a picture on my tumblr.

* * *

><p>Rachel complied as Finn sat her down on the plush chair before her boudoir, "Stay here, okay?"<p>

She nodded absent-mindedly, fingers idly tracing the back of her hand-held mirror. Now that she wasn't around the blonde any longer, she was starting to feel shaken up about what had happened outside. It was odd, she thought, how despite having almost killed herself she had felt much more at ease around Quinn, and yet now, in the safety of her own room, with the man who would become her husband, she felt nothing but despair. She could only attribute the feelings she had experienced throughout the night to the person she was with on each occasion, and she remembered her own words from earlier.

She hadn't given them much thought at that moment, only focused on trying to frantically get rid of Quinn just so that she could jump and end it all, but now she recalled them clearly, and she knew she had been right without even knowing it. She wasn't suffocating because her life was pointless or anything. No. She was suffocating because she had let other people handle her life and mandate what she would and would not do.

She looked up at her own reflection in the oval mirror -its frame intricately crafted in gold, of course- on the boudoir, examined her features, the emotions behind her own eyes. And she couldn't even see a flicker of the gold star she knew she was meant to be. Instead, all she saw was the wide-eyed gaze of a caged animal desperate to escape its fate.

And Quinn... Quinn had seen through her. She had seen through her every lie and fake smile. She had seen the dim light of her fading spark, whereas everyone else thought it to be as shiny as ever. Quinn had saved her, and Rachel hadn't even noticed until it had already happened.

A small smile lingered on her features as she realized she should thank Kurt -_mentally_, anyway, since there was no way she would tell him so- for inviting Quinn to their first class dinner the following night, for the idea of being able to spend more time with the blonde without pretense or excuses made her heart rate pick up.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she spotted Finn returning towards her through the mirror. her smile faltered as he approached, yet he didn't notice, too caught up in whatever he was carrying in his hands. She pulled herself together quickly -letting a tight smile stretch her lips- and looked at him as he kneeled beside her on the carpeted floor. Her eyes scanned his face as he let his gaze drop momentarily -rubbing his palms on his pants- to then lift his hands to clasp around her own, eyes rising to meet hers.

"Rachel, I know our engagement won't be official until we get to New York," he began, eyes now fixated on their joint hands as she stared at him, "but I really love you, and I want you to spend the rest of your life with me. It's okay if you have to travel a lot, I can stay home and take care of your cats while you're working," he continued, flashing a dopey smile, and Rachel wondered if there was anything even remotely positive hidden somewhere in his obviously unplanned speech, "I don't always understand why you try to do everything that everyone else asks you not to do," he went, his brows furrowing. Rachel's expression suddenly mimicked his, her eyebrows pressing tightly together between her eyes. Was he trying to- "Do you mean I'm _defiant_?" she interrupted, and she took the look of deep confusion on his face as a yes. She gave him a small smile, suppressing a defeated sigh as she encouraged him to go on. God, he probably hadn't even _heard_ the word before.

"Uh, yeah, um, anyway, I don't always get it, because it's much easier to do what you're told, since older people know better," he said -rather excited, actually, if the half smile on his face was anything to go by-, and then squeezed her hands, "the point is that I love you, even if you still won't let me make a barbecue for you," he suggested -smile widening-, and even though she couldn't stop her eyes from widening, Rachel did her best to keep the expression of sheer horror out of her face, "and I thought I'd give you something to show that, since you girls always like jewellery and clothes and other really expensive stuff. So this," he added, letting go of her hands and bringing them down to pick up a rectangular velvet box and present it to her, "is what I got you," he finished, all but pushing the blue box against her chest, with a goofy smile and wide eyes.

Rachel took the box offered to her with nimble fingers, barely pressing her fingertips to the velvet, almost afraid to ruin the delicate material. Once the box was tucked safely in her hands, she risked a glance at Finn's face, only to find that the expression of an incredibly excited five-year-old on Christmas morning was still etched firmly to his features as he stared back at her expectantly. She opened the tiny clasp at the front of the box, and her fingers lingered there for a short moment, hesitating to open it. Deciding to get it over with sooner rather than later, Rachel opened the box, her gaze instantly dropping to its contents and remaining there in shock.

There was no denying that the piece was truly beautiful -enchanting, even-, and yet, it was also incredibly offensive. "Well?" Finn asked her, shifting back and forth on his knees, "Do you like it?" he grinned, and she had to force her own lips to stretch into a fake smile as she looked up at him, "Ye-yes. Yes! I do! It's gorgeous, Finn. Thank you," she replied, and her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

"It's a rosary," he began explaining, "decorative, I think," he frowned momentarily, "there was something history related that the guy mentioned, but I can't really remember it right now. Anyway, I thought it would be like, really cool, since it's all made of diamonds, and white gold, and it's religious stuff, and I know you like that," he finished with a wide smile, completely oblivious to her utter disappointment.

She drifted back into her own mind as he carefully lifted the rosary from its hold in the box. Was he really _that_ blind? Or, well, _deaf_, actually. Either way, Rachel had trouble believing that someone their age -and in a social position like his- could be so... _daft_. Her frown deepened as he circled her neck with the rosary, and she suddenly wondered if he was aware that such an ornament as this was not supposed to be worn as a necklace. As she felt him clasp the jewellery behind her neck, her eyes shifted to rest her gaze on his reflection, an intense dislike for his entire being forming deep in the pit of her stomach. How outrageously _rude_ of him to present her with a gift with such blatant Christian implications!

She exhaled forcefully as she glared at him through the mirror -every fiber of her being suddenly repulsed by the completely innocent gesture of his tongue peeking out in between his lips in concentration as she felt him try to pull her hair to the side without it catching in the crevices of the rosary. No, _really_ -she thought-, was he clinically _stupid_ or something? She was still betting on him being deaf... either that, or she was slowly losing her mind, since she was exceedingly sure that she had mentioned to him -and not precisely in passing, but actually pointedly- that she was _Jewish_, and that anything related to Jesus Christ -aside from him being considered a prophet-, had absolutely nothing to do with her religion. She mentally scolded herself. Maybe she should have told him that she had no affiliation whatsoever to Virgin Mary, though she realized that Finn Hudson was probably the type of guy that didn't even know what a rosary was used for.

He shifted over back to her side on his knees -something she deemed both incredibly childish and incredibly-well, truth be told, it was simply not something a real gentleman would do. Avoiding his gaze, she observed her own reflection, her fingertips absent-mindedly tracing the polished edges of each rosary bead, feeling the smooth surface of the tiny diamonds.

She felt his large hand curl around her forearm gently to bring it down to rest on her lap, and she turned to find him staring at her like he couldn't contain himself, "Look, Rachel, I love you," he smiled down at her -even on his knees, he was taller than her-, "I have all the money in the world, and I already have lots of special stuff, and I can give you anything you want," he paused, that dopey smile of his returning to claim his features as he rested his chin atop his palm -elbow atop the wooden boudoir-, "all I need is to have my needs taken care of, you know?" he finished with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Rachel was truly horrified. Her throat was suddenly so dry that she couldn't even swallow properly without it hurting her deeply. Was he insinuating she was to have sex with him right then? Did he really think that she'd give herself to him after a present as vain as that rosary? A present that she could have afforded herself, and which was offensive to the entirety of her being? She couldn't believe him.

Deciding to play dumb -or incredibly proper-, Rachel stood up slowly, all the while looking at him straight in the eyes, "I can't even _begin_ to express just how magnificently _grateful_ I am," _liar_, "for such a _wonderful_ present, Finn. It truly thaws and warms my heart," _liar, liar, liar_, she thought, yet she went on, "Truly. However, now I fear I must send you on your way, since Shelby believes it beneficial for my health and my performance to partake in a certain number of hours of proper rest, so I should now be left to my own devices so that I can change into an attire more appropriate for bed duties and start my pre-sleep ritual," _lia_-well, actually, that was completely _true_, she finished, stealthily inching them both closer to the door before opening it with a subtle smile.

"Oh," Finn frowned, not quite comprehending how he went from wanting to have sex with Rachel to standing barely out of her room once again, "Okay, um, I'll go get a cheeseburger then, I didn't have a chance to eat with your accident and all, and I'm starving, so," he grinned, happy that he would get to satisfy his growling stomach. Oh, for the love of God, Rachel thought, could he _really_ be any more insensitive? She had never met anyone with such an inexistent grasp of common sense, _ever_. "And anyway, I don't have any condoms with me," he chuckled, and Rachel couldn't stop the repulsion from being openly displayed on her features, "so, I'll see you around tomorrow," he added and bent down to kiss her cheek, "sleep tight, Rach," he finished, and promptly strode down the hallway with long, brusque steps, anxious to get that cheeseburger that had occupied his thoughts for all of those three minutes he'd been standing outside.

After he rounded the corner, Rachel remained stood against the doorframe, staring at the wall opposite her door, trying to determine whether he was mentally challenged, intricately evil, or just downright idiotic. For the moment, she'd go with downright _idiotic_. Yeah, that would explain every offensive bit of his obnoxious comments. With a huff, she shot a quick text to Tina to bring her her appointed sleepwear, and retreated to the bathroom to begin her routine, Finn Hudson promptly forgotten, all thoughts now occupied by one Quinn Fabray. The smile on Rachel's lips was genuine for the first time since she had last seen the blonde as she guided her electric toothbrush around the recesses of her mouth.

* * *

><p>"I'm-I'm glad I get to see you again before dinner."<p>

Rachel turned to smile at Quinn as they slowly walked down the dock that morning, and her smile widened when she noticed the quickly deepening blush that had claimed the blonde's cheeks following her statement.

"I'm glad I get to see you, too, Miss Fabray," Rachel offered with a slight tilt of her head. Quinn shot her a shy smile before glancing back, her expression becoming almost grim, "So, who is he, again?"

Rachel turned to follow her line of sight, her eyes landing on Noah walking several feet behind them. She noticed that the blonde had stopped walking -they both had-, so she took her momentary distraction to observe her before replying. Her clothing wasn't much different from what it had been the night before, except that her shirt was now baby blue, and she wasn't wearing a tie -actually, Rachel was sure the pants were the exact same she'd had on the previous night. Rachel couldn't exactly put a finger on what it was exactly, but there was something about the blonde's outfits that just-the only way Rachel could possibly explain it was that it made her feel this... _pull_ towards Quinn, as if she wanted to have her always within reach.

She shook her thoughts away as she remembered that the blonde had asked her something. She found Quinn looking at her rather amused -head slightly tilted to one side, one eyebrow barely raised-, and caught sight of Noah farther in the background.

"That's Noah," she replied, "Noah Puckerman. He's-," she paused for a moment to find a way to describe him accurately without giving too much away, "he's my head of security, and my own bodyguard," she explained, yet she couldn't help but blush faintly at how superfluous it seemed, at that moment, that she had a personal bodyguard, while Quinn had probably been through her whole life under the care of only her parents, just like every other average person around the globe.

"Your own bodyguard?" Quinn inquired, her tone almost incredulous as they began walking slowly once again. She cast a glance over to the brunette, eyes twinkling as she promptly slid her hands into the pockets of her pants, "I'd ask if he's more than that, but I've met your... _boyfriend_."

Rachel couldn't really help the bout of laughter that escaped her at that comment, earning her another raised eyebrow from the blonde. It wasn't that she found the statement funny in the slightest, it was the fact that said boyfriend, as Quinn had so... easily put it, was one of the reasons behind her distress, one of the reasons they had actually met in the first place. Rachel shook her head softly at the thought and set her gaze on Quinn, "Finn is..." she stopped abruptly and frowned, because-well, it downed on her that she had a fiancé she didn't want or care about, a fiancé she never asked for, and who was _definitely_ of the wrong gender. But facts were facts, and she silently promised herself that under no circumstances would she lie to Quinn.

"Finn is my fiancé, actually," she finally stated, and despite her vow to be true to the blonde, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of shame.

"I actually caught onto that last night when he _mentioned_ it," Quinn shrugged nonchalantly, but otherwise kept quiet.

Rachel was struck silent for a moment, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks, but continued anyway, "And Noah _is_, actually, more than a bodyguard. He's the closest thing to a friend that I've had in years," she added with a genuine smile. It was true, after all, since Kurt had stopped playing such a role in her life when her fame came about. "Anyway," she went on, suddenly apprehensive of her own life and her own choices-for once in her life desperate to guide the spotlight away from herself, "tell me more about the wondrous shenanigans of the heroic Miss Fabray," she prompted with certain flair.

Instead of replying right away, Quinn lowered her head for a second to then lift her gaze towards Rachel rather shyly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she played with one of the thick ropes of the deck.

"You have quite a poetic way of speaking sometimes, you know that?" she counter-asked playfully, twirling around yet another rope. Upon receiving a humorous bow from the brunette as a response, she stated simply, "My life is not even half as exciting as yours, I'd say."

"Oh, come on, Miss Fabray," Rachel protested, her mood lighter now that the attention was away from herself, "I'm an exceedingly curious person, humour me," she grinned, refraining from poking the blonde's shoulder in encouragement.

"Well," the blonde began, "first of all, you may feel free to call me Quinn, if you so wish," she smiled gently, and then her hands returned to her pockets, "I was born and raised in a small town in Ohio. I actually had a pretty decent life there. You know, the kind of life that unpopular kids believe to be easy," she paused for a moment to cast her gaze straight ahead and away from Rachel's eyes, and spoke softly, "I was captain of the cheerleading squad, I had a straight A average, and my devout Christian parents had my entire life planned out for me. It _should have_ been easy, you know? Following the steps they had carefully laid out for me: graduating as valedictorian and captain of the Cheerios, getting into a good college to study business, marrying a nice, _Christian_ guy, and settle down..." she drifted off, eyes glazed over as she listed off the accomplishments her parents had expected her to achieve.

Rachel observed her silently -something not even she had believed herself capable of accomplishing- and waited for her to go on, all the while letting her eyes rake over every detail of Quinn's face, deeply interested in what she had to say, "But I didn't want any of that," the blonde frowned, and pressed a pink tongue against her lips to moisten them, "so I got a job, saved some money, and waited. I knew that the moment I told them what I actually wanted to do with my life, they'd disown me and kick me out. So, when I graduated, I took the money I had saved, packed my bags, and left. And I never looked back," she explained, and seemed to get immediately lost in her own thoughts.

Her curiosity now piqued, Rachel encouraged her to go on elaborating, "So what did you do then?"

Quinn's head turned to regard the brunette, eyes only slightly widened, as if she had been caught off guard by being comfortable enough around Rachel to open up about her past. She heaved a sigh past her lips, and offered a self-deprecating smile to Rachel, "I ran," she stated simply. "I got a ticket to Italy, and worked my way around Europe from there," she chuckled before launching herself into a more detailed explanation of her resumé, "I started as a photographer for some fashion blogs based in Italy, then backstage at some shows in Milan. From there, I moved to Paris, where I catered backstage at some more shows. There I met my best friends," she smiled widely as she recalled that first encounter, and Rachel found the expression not just utterly adorable, but also surprisingly liberating, since she couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to smile genuinely about someone else without the ulterior motive of having to please someone or kiss someone's ass.

"Back then, Brittany was a model in several of the lesser known shows, and Santana worked as a make-up artist backstage," she laughed in reminiscence before turning to Rachel and shaking her head, "she absolutely _hated_ that job. But she put up with it, since Brittany was there," Rachel smiled at her reassuringly as they reached a part of the wooden deck that was more open, and her smile involuntarily turned into a grin when the gusts of wind tossed Quinn's blonde strands into a state of constant, undulating disarray.

"Once the fashion season was over, I worked a few gigs in, um-in art, you know... my day job was as a museum guide," Quinn bit on her lip, her cheeks getting a red tint to their skin, "you know, it was nothing _fancy_ like the Louvre or anything, but um, at the Bibliothèque-Musée de l'Opéra National de Paris, and at the Musée de l'Imprimerie, in Lyon, where I worked, for the most part, preserving and restoring old books," she blushed profusely as she finished elucidating and leaned back against a mast, head hanging low as she avoided Rachel's gaze.

Quinn rolled up the sleeves of her button-up up to her elbows, exposing a pair of pale forearms. Rachel couldn't help but watch the skin presented to her eyes with rapt attention, and followed their movement to a delicate wrist as Quinn lifted her hand to pull a cigarette out of the breast pocket of her shirt. Rachel stared as the blonde gingerly set the cigarette between her lips and sheltered it from the wind as she lit it. It was only when Quinn exhaled the smoke from her first drag and met Rachel's eyes that the brunette realized she hadn't said anything in response to what Quinn had told her.

"I think that sounds like a fantastic way to spend your time," Rachel said flatly, mentally berating herself for not being able to come up with something more... well, something _nicer_, since she thought what the blonde did was actually valuable work. "I mean, working at a museum sounds like something that's both profitable and interesting, a job where you can learn, and give to people, without being some street artist with no future worthy of living bumming around for a few euros a month," she shrugged with a half smirk, clasping her hands behind her back in her most ladylike manner.

Rachel didn't know exactly which part of what she had said had bothered the blonde, but something had clearly upset her, as she suddenly sprung up with a loud scoff -shaking her head, one hand on her hip, the other almost frantically flicking the ash off her cigarette-, "_Unbelievable_!"

"What-what's wrong? What did I say?" Rachel inquired, genuinely confused. She waited until Quinn stopped pacing and levelled her with a glare that quickly turned into a defeated stare as she blew out some smoke, "Nothing. It's just-" she paused, literally biting on her tongue as she observed Rachel's clueless expression, "That was _offensive_, you know?"

Rachel remained quiet, still trying to comprehend which part of her statement had had such an effect on the blonde. "Look, I come from a pretty much stuck up family, so I understand what you mean. But you can't just talk like that about people you _don't_ know, because if they're working -no matter how or where-, as long as it's honest, they're just as dignified as you are," Quinn explained patiently. She didn't really know why, but there was something about the ingenuity in Rachel's expression that made her refrain from putting on her best Head-Bitch-in-Charge attitude from her Cheerios days as she replied to the brunette. Deep inside, she knew that, unlike most people in the industry that surrounded Rachel, the brunette was the one person who wouldn't deserve the backlash.

Rachel didn't really know what her response to that should be. She opened and closed her mouth, speechless, feeling the flush wash over her skin as she stared at Quinn. Her skin crawled in discomfort as the blonde raised her gaze to meet her own calmly, and without an ounce of judgment. "I'm sorry," she squeaked, letting her head drop once again, hiding her face as her lower lip quivered.

Rachel suddenly understood the implications of her words. She rebuked herself for slipping into that persona, an exact replica of the media puppets she so much as despised. It was ironic, she thought, how society worked. It was ironic, that people like Quinn were the most harshly judged, simply because they decided to do something with their lives, because they went about the world working justly and without bothering anyone, because they didn't really care for the banalities and the superficiality of people in Rachel's line of work. And yet, the entitled assholes and backstabbing bitches Rachel encountered everyday were the most judgmental of them all, even though -Rachel thought- they were probably the ones who deserved being judged the most.

Quinn wasn't exactly a people person, so she didn't really have an idea of what reaction to expect from Rachel. However, seeing the emotions flash through the brunette's face blatantly, she thought it'd be probably for the best to lift the mood for a while. She exhaled after another drag from her cigarette, and smiled at Rachel warmly, "It's alright, Berry. I can tell you agree; unlike that fiancé of yours, who probably wouldn't even know that the preservation of books is an actual job," Quinn smirked, because-yeah, that Finn dude didn't seem to be the brightest crayon in the box.

"That's-" Rachel frowned and pursed her lips. She almost blurted out that it was true (yes, she agreed with Quinn), but for better or worse, Finn was her fiancé, "That's incredibly _rude_!" Rachel expected the blonde to chuckle, maybe even laugh out loud at her reaction; but she didn't. Instead, Quinn simply took one last drag from her cigarette, slowly released the smoke, and flicked the cigarette butt off the confines of the ship... and all Rachel could do in the meantime was fold her arms across her chest and bite back her words as she waited for the blonde to speak again.

"_Rude_ would be the way he treated you last night," Quinn started, at once getting up in Rachel's space. The brunette stared up into hazel eyes, daring herself to refute the blonde's words, but she couldn't, "_rude_ would be to do anything, to comply to his every whim just to keep him happy, to let him tell you what to do, order you about as if you were his _maid_ rather than his equal," Quinn went on, her palms and fingers curling around the railing behind Rachel, trapping her against it, "_that_ is disrespectful to _you_," she continued, voice barely above a low growl, "not just on his behalf, but on _yours_, too, Berry, because you're the one _letting_ him do it," she finished, practically breathing the same air as Rachel.

Rachel had trouble swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, even if on the outside she was the poster child for cool and collected. She tightened her grip on the steel bar behind her, her knuckles turning white as she squared her jaw and searched Quinn's eyes for any sign that she may not believe what she had just said. She found none. _God_, she had known the blonde for barely over twelve hours, and yet she was capable of reading her like an open book accurately. No, scratch that, she could read her as easily as an English professor could read a children's book. And she was absolutely _right_. Every single one of her words had hit the nail on the head.

"Do you love him?"

Rachel blinked a few times before the words registered in her hazy brain, "Excuse me?" she asked incredulously, as if Quinn's question were the most ridiculous occurrence.

"Do you _love_ him?" Quinn inquired again, this time much more tenderly, and Rachel saw her expression soften considerably. The brunette lowered her gaze, finding herself unable to both voice her true feelings aloud and outright lie to Quinn's face. Instead, she settled for verbally avoiding an answer, "That's a highly inappropriate thing of you to ask, Miss Fabray. I don't believe it is your place to question the existence... or _depth_," she added as an afterthought as she realized that she should be confirming her love for Finn instead of making its existence more dubious, "of my feelings towards Finn," she finished, still not daring to meet Quinn's smoldering stare.

Just as she began to feel trapped, however, she saw -out of the corner of her eyes- the blonde's fingers loosen their grip around the metal railing as Quinn pulled herself away from her, "I don't need to question them," she stated firmly, voice not wavering in the slightest, and Rachel's head snapped upwards of its own volition to meet Quinn's eyes, "Your silence was all the answer I needed, Berry," she said with a certain finality as she straightened up.

"Look, obviously, I don't know you," Quinn began when a few minutes of silence had passed between them -neither of them having shifted from their positions-, "but whatever has been going on in your life led you to what happened last night. And the opinion of a commoner like me probably doesn't even appear on your radar, but I think you shouldn't let other people make choices for you and ruin your life, because you are a _star_, Rachel, and you have too much to live for to let it go to waste," she whispered and finally tore her gaze away from brown eyes, "I'll see you tonight at dinner," she added, voice almost cracking, and turned around to walk away.

Rachel frowned, torn. One part of her was baffled that this blonde she had barely met could be so in synch with her thoughts and feelings and just-and her entire _being_. And the other part of her simply soared as the realization hit her that all Quinn was doing was _pushing_ her-pushing her to be who she was supposed to be, rather than a shell of what everyone else perceived, pushing her to _live_, rather than simply be alive.

She surged forward in a heartbeat, "Wait!" she exclaimed -her arms rested limply to either side of her frame, yet her fists were curled tightly.

Quinn turned around swiftly, eyes wide as she waited for Rachel to catch up with her, and wrapped her arms around her middle, folder clutched against her chest. Rachel stopped before her, eyes alight with newfound purpose, and she offered the blonde a beaming Rachel Berry grin -one she hadn't actually felt on her own features since she had graduated high school. Before she could even get another word out, Rachel noticed the folder held protectively in Quinn's arms -really, how hadn't she noticed that before?- and took Quinn's hand in hers, "Thank you," she said softly, and the blonde smile at the sincerity in her tone.

They stayed like that for a moment, silent, until Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear -pursing her lips nervously-, and asked, pointing to the folder, "What is that?"

Confusion flashed behind Quinn's eyes, until she saw that Rachel was pointing at her chest, and her own eyes landed on her folder. She blushed and shot a shy half-smile to Rachel before walking over to a bench farther within the open deck, "It's-uh-it's a collection," she offered as they took a seat side by side under the midday sun. Upon receiving no more information than that, Rachel raised her eyebrows suggestively and glanced at the worn leather of the folder.

With a nervous sigh, Quinn released her lower lip from its hold between her teeth, and tentatively offered the folder to the brunette. Rachel took it gratefully, and promptly opened it to examine its contents. To say she was pleasantly surprised was an understatement. She certainly had not expected a bunch of such detailed sketches and portraits, least of all-well, she definitely had _not_ expected the nudes.

Mentally willing her cheeks to cool down -and probably also return to their usual tone-, Rachel commented proudly, "These are actually really good, Quinn."

Her eyes weren't on the blonde at that moment, but she could feel her every moment and reaction in her own being, so she didn't miss the warm grin that settled over Quinn's features, "Thank you."

"Where did you draw these?" Rachel inquired absent-mindedly, too engulfed by awe to do more than breathe the words out.

"Paris," Quinn replied, leaning forward as she set her elbows on her thighs and rested her chin atop her open palm, "You could say I'm a bit of a street artist."

That caught Rachel's attention, and she lifted her gaze to stare at Quinn with wide eyes, resolutely speechless, only to find the blonde smirking at her playfully. Well, that certainly explained why her comment had upset her before. A smile curled her lips upwards and she suddenly didn't care about whether she was showing too much interest, "What about the naked girls? Did you draw them on the street, too?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow before she let her eyes drop to the drawings once again, admiring the details of every feature, and mark, and crevice in the bodies exposed in graphite before her eyes.

"No," Quinn chuckled good-naturedly before pointing to one of the girls, "that is actually Brittany," she explained, and then pressed her fingertip to paper again when Rachel turned the page over, "and that is actually Santana," she pointed out casually, "I made these for them, as a present to show my deep appreciation for their friendship. I will give these to them for their birthdays once they settle down in New York," she smiled, and Rachel couldn't help but feel like it was contagious, because she found herself smiling as well, because God, those drawings were the most thought out presents she had ever heard of anyone giving to anyone else.

The breath caught in her throat when she looked up only to find Quinn's face mere inches away from her own, eyes pointedly focused on the drawings on Rachel's lap, and she had to force the words out of her mouth with supreme effort, "What about the other naked girls?"

Quinn pulled back, relaxed, and rolled her eyes mischievously, "I don't really remember their names," she then frowned, and continued with a shrug, "but they are all French models I ran into while I worked backstage with Brittany and Santana," she said with a sigh, to then elaborate, "they offered some money for the drawings, because it was the easiest way for them to take images of themselves to the agencies that could possibly scout them, and getting photographs taken would be more expensive."

"That's-" Rachel started with a serious tone, but then her expression evolved into a bright smile, "that's incredibly generous of you, Quinn."

The blonde returned her smile as Rachel handed the folder back to her, "I have to admit, Miss Fabray, that you are incredibly talented with graphite and paper."

Quinn blushed, not really used to taking compliments, and shook her head before risking a shy glance at Rachel and speaking timidly, "Actually, I've always wanted to be a writer," she confessed, her blush deepening.

Rachel was about to reply animatedly that she should go for it, when she spotted a group of people other than Noah several feet away from where she and Quinn were, "Oh no!"

At the abrupt change in mood, Quinn's brows furrowed tightly across her forehead, and she tilted her head upwards when Rachel stood up so quickly that it seemed indelicate. Yet as she followed Rachel's fearful gaze, her eyes landed upon a much older woman who held a rather scary resemblance to the young brunette she had spent her morning with, and another two women trailing right behind her. Deeming it polite to introduce herself, she rose to her feet next to Rachel and kept quiet as she waited for the shorter brunette to speak.

"Shelby, what are you doing here?" Rachel inquired, eyelashes fluttering quickly, and, even though Quinn was looking at her, she could feel the other woman's eyes shift back and forth between Rachel and herself almost accusingly.

"I could ask you the same thing. Miss Cohen-Chang and I have been looking for you everywhere!" Shelby countered harshly before setting her intimidating glare on Quinn, "And _who_ might you be, _sweetheart_?"

Quinn almost sputtered at the viciousness with which the term of endearment was directed at her, but she didn't want Rachel to take the brunt of what could possibly be a stern talk to, so she kept her mouth shut and settled for lifting a delicately sculpted eyebrow challengingly before replying steadily, "Quinn Fabray, ma'am," she offered her hand to the woman before her, "and I offer you my most sincere apology for the inconvenience, but Miss Berry was in my company for most of today," she commented casually as Shelby took her hand, and she shook it firmly -actually, she hoped her grip would cause at least the slightest of pain in the other woman's hand, since she was certain that Shelby had a role in whatever was making Rachel feel so unworthy of living.

Rachel's eyes shifted over and over again among the woman around her: from Quinn to Shelby, from Mercedes to Tina, to then jump back to Quinn and finally settle on Shelby's face with a seething glare. She ground her teeth as she watched Shelby shake Quinn's hand, her immediate distaste for the blonde apparent in her features to Rachel's trained eye. Yet, despite Shelby's attitude, Quinn was undeterred, "I was merely telling Miss Berry that the Bibliothèque-Musée de l'Opéra National de Paris," she rambled on, even in French, "would be an absolutely _wonderful_ place to see her legacy displayed at at some point during her career, wouldn't you agree?" she inquired almost smugly -and certainly rhetorically-, before adding sweetly, "I would most certainly be delighted to assist Miss Berry to achieve such a thing!"

Both Rachel and Mercedes had to bite back a chuckle at the derisive tone with which the blonde delivered her lines -Tina would have laughed, too, yet she was even scared to admit that Shelby Corcoran terrified the steady syllables of the English language out of her-, yet Shelby, relentless, held her head even higher and eyed Quinn up and down with a deprecating smirk, "Miss Berry won't be going anywhere before dinner tonight," she then waited for Rachel's expression to shift to hopelessness as she stood beside Shelby silently, and continued condescendingly, "and she will _specifically_ avoid all kinds of association to _anything_ related to gender _ambiguity_, considering her upcoming engagement party," she finished -and, Quinn thought, she definitely seemed to be satisfied with herself-, and walked away, arm wrapped like chains around Rachel's shoulders as she guided her back inside.

As Shelby cast one last disapproving look at Quinn over her shoulder, the blonde lost any remnant of respect she could have had for the woman -she had never had any to begin with-, and raised her hands in the air mockingly, completely aware of what Shelby had meant by gender ambiguity. She wasn't stupid -actually, if there was anything that everyone she had ever met would agree on, that'd be that she was astoundingly smart-, so she knew that dinner that night wouldn't be an easy slope to get over, but something more akin to the Himalayas.

As she shoved her hands back into the pockets of her pants and watched Rachel disappear inside with Shelby, Quinn realized that the other two women were still standing before her. She eyed them both up and down, and offered them a genuine lopsided smile.

Mercedes took a step forward first, grinning up at the blonde as she slid her sunglasses up to rest atop her head, "Sweetheart, if you want to impress Monster Corcoran at dinner tonight, you're gonna need to wear something a li'l more feminine, y'know?"

Quinn frowned and looked down at her own attire, finding absolutely nothing wrong with it, yet completely dreading the idea of going back to the baby doll dresses she used to don back in her high school days, "Well, Miss..." she paused, realizing that she didn't know the other girl's name.

"Oh, Jones. It's Mercedes Jones. But just call me 'Cedes, dear," Mercedes beamed at her, clutching a tiny purse in her hand and beckoning the other girl towards them with the other, "and this is Tina Cohen-Chang, Rachel's assistant," she added, and Quinn tilted her head as Tina shook a blue strand of hair away from her face and replied, "H-h-h-hi."

"Alright, 'Cedes," Quinn started, testing the name on her tongue before folding her arms across her chest, "what is your plan?"

Mercedes grinned conspiratorially, "Well, I'd offer you one of my own dresses, but we could probably fit more than one of you in them," she tilted her head as her eyes examined Quinn's body, "and they'd definitely be way too short for those legs of yours," she straightened her head again and smirked, "Tina here has some pretty rad wardrobe, though," she finished with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and Quinn couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips with a scoff when Tina shyly waved her approval at her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** The Wanting Comes in Waves

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Summary:** Rachel Berry finds herself in a ship built in honor to the hundredth anniversary of the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. Will history repeat itself, or not?

**Spoilers:** none. This is entirely AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination. The title is the same as a song by The Decemberists, which I obviously do not own. And I also do not own Titanic (the 1997 movie or otherwise).

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Alyssa. Inspiration came from luckypressure's drawing, and this is just my attempt to tell the entire story. All inconsistencies and mistakes are mine, since this is not beta'd.

**A/N2:** The songs used in this chapter are credited at the end of the chapter. And you can find links to pictures of the dresses Quinn and Rachel are wearing throughout the chapter in my tumblr post about this update.

**A/N3:** I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter, but I have no affiliation whatsoever to either the _Bibliothèque-Musée de l'Opéra National de Paris_ nor the _Musée de l'Imprimerie_

* * *

><p>Quinn stood poised at the top of the last flight of stairs, where she was supposed to meet Rachel for dinner. For a moment, she watched the passengers of first class bustle about all dolled up in suits and dresses -from prominent fashion houses, if she had to make a guess- more expensive than all of her belongings put together.<p>

However, she quickly lost interest in those people. After all, they were -to her- what she probably was to them: boring commoners with mundane lives. Instead, her eyes strayed towards the string quartet playing near the center of the dining hall. She clasped her hands across her lap against the fabric of her -admittedly borrowed- dress, and couldn't help the smile that spread on her features as she admired how they played.

Tired of scanning the ball room, she allowed her gaze to focus on the movements of the violinist's and cellist's fingers against their respective instruments. A smile reclaimed her lips without her permission as she watched the swift, frantic shifting of fingertips against strings -a bluntly stark contrast to the slow, melodious music wafting from the quartet. After a few moments of observing, the music finally seeped into the conscious part of her brain, and she recognized the piece from the many years she spent taking piano lessons during middle school: _Winter_, from Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_.

Her eyes drifted closed against her will as she let the music soothe her. When she opened them again, she barely caught Miss Corcoran and Rachel's _fiancé_ passing her by to step down the remaining flight of stairs and into the dining hall. She'd be lying if she said she was confused when neither of them acknowledged her -they ignored her completely, in fact-, but, even though she was certain Miss Corcoran had made direct eye contact with her, she knew what their world was like -she had been raised in it after all. It was all about pretense and adulation, and showing only certain tiny bits of oneself to people whose contact could be convenient.

Don't get her wrong, despite having been raised in such an oppressive and phoney environment where everything one witnessed was the façade of the shell of the person projecting it, she hated it. All the lying that the lifestyle required was absolutely exhausting to her, and it had been one of the reasons why she had run away from it all at the first chance she got to do so.

Just as she had decided they weren't worth her time, and had let them walk past her, she caught a glimpse of Mister Hummel and Mercedes approaching her down the stairs. She wasn't fazed -not really-, even if that Hummel young man could be a tricky person to deal with. However, she was definitely aware of her heart rate picking up and her breath catching in her throat when she spotted Rachel trailing behind them -her arm linked with Tina's.

Quinn was aware of several things going on around her. There were passengers exchanging pleasantries everywhere in the dining hall. The string quartet had disappeared from their spot -leaving their instruments behind in their stand-, and speakers around the entire room had been turned on. Mercedes glanced at her for a split second -with a slight mischievous glint in her eyes-, while Mister Hummel didn't even cast his eyes in her direction. Tina's gaze fell on her with a shy smile as the first notes of Florence + the Machine's _Shake it Out_ began drifting noticeably from the speakers, and Rachel's eyes finally connected with her own.

The connection was broken immediately after, until confusion and shock flashed in Rachel's features and she suddenly tipped her head upwards again, this time to fix smoldering brown eyes on Quinn. After her double take, Rachel could not tear her eyes away from the blonde. She had originally liked her with her... _other_ clothes, but this dress-_Lord_, she felt her mouth go dry at the sight. It wasn't exactly a pompous dress: all black and not at all revealing; long sleeves and delicately intricate patterns all the way down to Quinn's knees, where it flowed in waves with every little movement of the blonde.

Rachel felt a shiver rake through her body form her spine and outwards as all she was aware of was Quinn, herself, and the first few lines of the song playing around them. Her cheeks flushed pink as she noticed how composed Quinn looked -not one shred of nerves apparent in her bright hazel eyes-, and she bit back a whimper when she caught sight of the plump lip now tightly held between the blonde's teeth. Quinn looked so different in that dress -which seemed oddly familiar to Rachel, even though she couldn't exactly pinpoint where from. Not that it looked better or worse on her than her usual -from what Rachel had gathered- attires did; it was just... _different_. She had an inkling that the outfit was to match the attitude the blonde would carry throughout the evening. Whereas she had been calm and laid back, casual, sensitive, and passionate before, she now gave Rachel the impression that tonight she'd be collected and rational, graceful and proper.

For her part, Quinn couldn't form one single coherent thought. Every piece of data that her brain could process at the moment was in one way or another related to how Rachel looked -absolutely breath-taking. Of their own volition, her eyes drank in every single detail: from the rich waves of Rachel's dark hair -cascading over her shoulders-, to the minimum make-up adorning her lips and long lashes; from the glittery golden shade of her -admittedly slightly translucent, and dangerously short- dress, to the dark off-brown of her knee-high boots.

When pair finally reached Quinn, Rachel smiled widely and let go of Tina's arm as Quinn beamed at them -eyes fixed on Rachel's-, "Good evening, Miss Berry," she took a small bow before turning to nod at Tina, "Miss Cohen-Chang," she greeted, earning an appraising look from Rachel and a silent nod from Tina.

"Miss Fabray," Rachel began in a formal -yet playful- tone, "I'm glad you could join us this evening," she continued, earning yet another bow from Quinn, "I hope this event lives up to your expectations."

"It already does," Quinn replied simply -voice considerably lower, eyes never straying from Rachel's. She then pulled out one of her arms and raised an eyebrow as she bent it at the elbow before Rachel, "Shall we, madam?" she offered as her lips quirked into a demure smile.

Rachel stared at her for a moment, feeling everything within her swoon at the gesture, and then promptly took the blonde's arm gingerly. As they descended the last flight of stairs into the dining hall of first class, Rachel couldn't help but wonder if the universe was telling her something through the lyrics of the song -because if her impending marriage to Finn was her darkness, then she would gladly take the inclusion of Quinn Fabray to her life as her very own dawn.

Once they found themselves entering the hall, Tina interrupted shyly from behind them, "Care to escort another lady, Miss Fabray?"

Quinn smiled widely at her. She barely knew the raven-haired girl, yet she had done everything in her power to help her with Rachel so far, so she offered her other arm for Tina to take. As they continued walking leisurely around the room, Tina began explaining, subtly pointing to one person or another, "That's Mister Abrams over there in the wheelchair; he's the owner of the ship. His ego is about the size of this ship, and he can sometimes be cluelessly disrespectful towards women, but he's overall a nice man," she spoke softly, leaning closer to Quinn's ear, "That couple over there? That's Mister Schuester; he is the C.E.O. of one of the biggest record labels in the world. The redhead with him is his mistress, Emma Pillsbury. This is supposed to be a business trip for him, so, _naturally_, Mrs. Schuester is in the States with the children," she added conspiratorially as they went about the dining hall.

Rachel wasn't exactly thrilled to be sharing Quinn with Tina, but she was content enough to be hanging from her arm, pressed tightly against her side. Either way, she decided to pipe in, "Everyone knows about it, but I'm sure you can imagine the scandal it'd be if Mrs. Schuester were to find out."

Quinn turned her head towards Rachel with a soft snort, yet the brunette went on excitedly, "Oh! And Dustin Goolsby over there has resented Shelby for _years_ now because she's my manager. He's a great agent, though, as he's booked some of the most prominent rising stars of today," she explained rapidly, completely overriding the faint sound of Tina's timid voice and the music reverberating within the room, "The odd blonde that's wearing all leather is Holly Holliday. She made a fortune working as a therapist for celebrities and helping some of them overcome addictions and such. She's an uncharacteristically bizarre individual, though I must admit she's good at what she does," she paused with a giggle and then turned to continue enlightening Quinn as they drew near to their table, "And that handsome Asian man is Mister Michael Chang, the architect who designed this ship. I haven't had the opportunity to converse much with him just yet, since he seems to be quite a reserved person. But, from what I've gathered, he is an outstandingly noble and kind person," Rachel finished as they finally reached the group loitering by their assigned table.

At that moment, Tina leaned towards Quinn again, eyeing Shelby with an expression of muted terror, "Remember, these people will include you in their conversation, and they'll be polite, but they are like bloodhounds for money. So as long as you don't insult them, you should be able to counter their comments."

Quinn raised an eyebrow before smirking at her, and replied confidently, "Don't worry. I can handle it," her smirk turned into a warm, appreciative smile, "but thanks for the tip." She then turned towards Rachel once Tina had let go of her arm, and let her lead them both towards Shelby, Kurt, and Finn.

"Good evening, everyone," Rachel addressed the trio with a bright grin. They turned towards her and Quinn simultaneously, and the brunette instantly noticed the practiced, polite smiles on their faces -well, Shelby's and Kurt's, anyway, since Finn always looked confused. Before Shelby could interject even one word, Rachel was talking again, eyes defiant, "I'm sure you all remember Quinn."

Quinn still wasn't sure where Rachel stood with the older woman, but she certainly did not miss the shock that flashed in her eyes. She ignored Finn completely, seeing as how he hadn't even been courteous enough to escort Rachel to dinner himself. Kurt, however, composed himself far more quickly. And as he lifted a manicured hand to finger the collar of his Jil Sander shirt, she felt the ghost of a smirk tug the corners of her lips upwards. Game on.

"Miss Fabray," Kurt began -back ramrod straight as he eyed her up and down, judgement written all over his face-, "you certainly clean up nice," he then tilted his head, "I can barely detect the traces of third class mannerisms. _Brava_!"

"Pleasure to see you again, Mister Hummel," the blonde grinned politely, "well, one can never go wrong with a little Dolce & Gabbana, right?" she inquired rhetorically before turning towards Finn, "Mister..." she drifted off, realizing that she had never asked Rachel for his last name -not that she actually cared.

"Hudson," Finn replied, voice dripping with venom as he thought she was mocking him, and looked down at her in an attempt to appear superior.

"Mister Hudson," Quinn continued, outstretching a delicate hand towards him, "I believe we hadn't been properly introduced, but I'm glad it gets to be under more amenable circumstances."

He shook her hand disbelievingly while Rachel tried to stifle a chuckle at the confusion on his face. Quinn returned the handshake firmly, and the group started moving to take their respective seats at the table. Kurt lowered himself onto his chair carefully, and then slid a palm to cover his eyes when he noticed that Finn had sat down, completely ignoring Rachel. Quinn took that as an opportunity and circled the table behind Rachel before pulling her chair out while everyone else took their own seats. Rachel looked up at the blonde and smiled bashfully at the gesture as she sat down. After pushing the brunette's chair the slightest bit closer to the table, Quinn rounded the rest of the passengers again and found her own seat, next to Mercedes.

Once everyone was sat, Shelby rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward as she directed her glance towards Mister Abrams and Mister Chang, "Gentlemen, Miss Quinn Fabray here is joining us from the third class tonight," she started the conversation while the waiters poured wine in each of their glasses. Once she had the attention not only from the pair but from the entire table, she continued, almost delighted, "she was the one who pulled our beloved Rachel back aboard last night," she then turned towards the blonde with a smirk, "so, tell us, Miss Fabray, are there many abysmal differences between this and third class?"

"Actually," Rachel interrupted, addressing the entirety of the table, "if it weren't for Quinn, I wouldn't be sharing this magnificent dinner with any of you tonight. So I deem it appropriate to raise a toast in her honor."

Quinn cast a warm glance towards Rachel -slender fingers curling around her glass-, aware of all eyes darting back and forth between herself and the brunette, and raised her glass in time with everyone else for the toast. After a chorus of "to Quinn" and taking a cautious sip of her wine, Quinn set the glass down once again, "Thank you, Rachel," she started, and turned towards Shelby, "to answer your question, Miss Corcoran, I can assure you that third class is as well equipped as the home of any middle class person. So if you are imagining rodents or squalor, you can rest peacefully at night with the certainty that there are none," she elucidated before addressing everyone else, "by the way, this Chardonnay is _outstanding_," she added with a wink and a click of her tongue.

At Quinn's side, Mercedes hid a grin behind her own glass while Rachel merely tilted her head, pleasantly surprised by the discovery of Quinn's clearly capable taste buds. Tina exchanged a sly glance with Mister Chang over the table, while Shelby all but burnt a hole in Quinn's forehead with a deathly glare. Finn, on the other hand, furrowed his brow the moment the word _Chardonnay_ was dropped, and -after recovering from the shock that the unexpected comment caused on him- Kurt shook his head at him to keep quiet.

Setting her glass on the intricately embroidered tablecloth, Rachel spoke gently -eyes alight-, "I was incredibly pleased to find out that Miss Fabray is actually quite an outstanding artist -if I may say so myself. I was positively blown away by her work when she showed it to me earlier today."

Flushed with unnecessary shame from feeling left out, Finn covered Rachel's small hand with his own grotesquely larger one and popped into the conversation, "If it's anything like the artwork for DC or Marvel, then I'm sure it's great," he stated with a dopey smile -seemingly proud of his comment.

Quinn wasn't sure whether the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks was from the surprise she felt at the rather inadequate comment, or from second-hand embarrassment. She looked over at Rachel, only to see her eyes softly squeezed shut in an attempt to focus hard enough on biting back a chuckle. It was then that Quinn decided to take pity on the oaf -it wasn't her natural reaction, really; in fact, every fiber in her being told her to run the opposite way and further ruin his image, but she couldn't really bring herself to make Rachel look bad in front of all these people who clearly influenced her world.

"Um, truth be told, Mister Hudson, I've never perused neither a comic book nor a graphic novel in my so far brief life, since my education has always ranked higher among my priorities, and I've never had enough time as a teenager to indulge in such... _mundane_ hobbies," she replied politely. Well, at least she _tried_ to? It wasn't her fault she came out so snarky because the giant was probably more used to exploring the _moons of Jupiter_ than to opening actual books. "So I apologize for not being precisely aware of the quality of the artwork you are referring to. But I'll be mindful to examine either artist if I ever have the chance," she added with a wide smile as she carefully spread her napkin atop her lap and addressed the rest of the occupants of the table, "I have explored several methods for the visual arts, but I've always had a soft spot for graphite or charcoal portraits, so I specialize on that," she finished with a small smile, and Rachel thought she detected a shy nature behind the gesture.

"So you clearly don't seem to mind getting your hands dirty," Shelby commented with a smug smirk as she handed her glass to a waiter to pour her some more wine.

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the woman for the double entendre of her words, and replied firmly, not letting the comment shake her confidence, "Well, someone has to, right ma'am?"

"I would suppose so, yes," Shelby answered as her smirk grew wider, certain that she'd result victorious in their concealed verbal spat.

"Besides, it's really satisfying to see one's hard work result in such a powerful _product_, wouldn't you agree, Miss Corcoran?" Quinn inquired sweetly, eyes darting briefly towards Rachel before returning to rest on Shelby with a pointed look at the end of her question.

Rachel, noticing the shift in the atmosphere between the two women, and the fact that Shelby fell silent right after that -seemingly seething-, thought it appropriate to switch subjects and dissolve the tension palpable in the air. She turned away from the pair, "This ship is a _striking_ work of nautical art, Mister Chang," she offered with a gentle curl of her lips.

"Why, thank you, Rachel. I truly appreciate that," he smiled back at her, somewhat demurely.

"I find that, unlike in other ships, the excellence of the facilities, the detail of the ornaments, and the pragmatism of the actual mechanics do not clash here. I believe it's a genuinely commendable achievement," the brunette continued with her appraisal of the ship, finding the subtle pink tint to his cheeks quite endearing, given that he was probably accustomed to such comments considering his prominence in the contemporary nautical world.

Quinn's attention on Rachel's voice was disrupted when a waiter appeared at her side with a silver tray, "Caviar, Miss?"

Quinn eyed Shelby and Kurt discreetly, knowing they'd find pleasure in her unwarrantedly presumed lack of manners or knowledge of such trivial things pertaining to their higher class, and all too aware of both pairs of eyes resting on her silently, waiting for her to say something that would incriminate her as a low life. Well, Quinn Fabray never brought anything to the table other than her _A game_, "Sure," she grinned before feigning innocence, "is this by any chance from beluga sturgeon from the Caspian, sir?"

The waiter seemed momentarily lost for a moment, and turned to cast a fearful glance towards Mister Abrams, while everyone else at the table merely stared at the blonde -Shelby's eyes were wide, and Kurt actually almost dropped his fork. Mister Abrams addressed Quinn with a tight smile, "Sadly, it isn't. This is actually Israeli ossetra sturgeon, but I trust you'll enjoy it all the same," he explained, somewhat disheartened for being called out on not serving the best of the best on his own ship. The blonde simply blinded him with a grin as the waiters continued filling everyone's plates, then picked up her cutlery to start eating along with the rest of the table.

Rachel was thankful for the silence that took over the table once every plate was served, a tranquil mood beginning to form, and she took the opportunity to observe the blonde. She absorbed every quirk and movement of her slender hands: from the gentle hold of her fingers around her knife and fork, to the mute delicacy with which she rest them against her plate to sip from her wine; from the imperceptible oscillation of her wrist as she lifted her fork to her lips, to the way said lips curled around it gracefully and barely shifted as she chewed slowly. And her sudden fixation with the blonde's mouth didn't obscure the fact that Quinn was using the right cutlery with the right dishes without any prompting from anyone.

She was in the process of wondering _how_ the blonde knew about proper table etiquette when Shelby's voice boomed throughout the silent table as she posed yet another inquiry to Quinn, "So, tell us, Miss Fabray, where do you live?"

With all the patience in the world, Quinn swallowed her bite of food and chased it with a moderate sip of wine before licking her lips, "As of this moment, I'd say it's obvious that I live here," she replied playfully, "but my domicile -if you were referring to the legal side of it- rests in Lyon."

Rachel focused once again on the words coming out of Quinn's mouth -though not entirely oblivious to Finn's hushed question to Kurt about why Quinn had mispronounced _lion_ and _why_ she'd be living among them-, knowing that whatever Shelby decided to bring up next would be something she actually knew already.

"And pray tell, how do you manage to afford so much traveling?" Shelby asked, once again trying to ridicule Quinn's financial status.

"Same as most people. I _work_," the blonde shrugged casually before lifting a forkful of her meal to her mouth. After the few seconds of a lull in the conversation -filled only with the soft melodies that drifted around from the string quartet- while everyone waited for her to continue, Quinn elucidated, "I started out as a museum guide in Paris, and worked my way around from there to Lyon. I have a strong penchant for old books, so I ended up restoring and preserving books at the Musée de l'Imprimerie," she paused with a complacent smile. But then Rachel noticed a slight twinkle in hazel eyes as Quinn picked up from where she left off, "As for the ticket to this ship... Let's just say it must have been God's hand that beat the odds. During a round of poker with my two companions, my friend Brittany won all three of our tickets with an blessedly lucky hand."

"Ah," Mister Abrams interjected as he rested back against his chair, hands clasped placidly across his stomach, "God is the biggest puppeteer of luck, and it's impossible to get anything in this life without at least a little bit of it."

At that, Kurt shook his head as he folded one of his arms across his chest, "Nah huh. There is no God. Every person crafts their own destiny with their choices and their actions," he stated with conviction, and turned to Quinn with a slight smirk, "right, Fabray?"

"Actually, Mister Hummel, I don't really think that Jiline sewed that shirt herself. I think not even _Raf_ did it. It was probably any of the several people who work for them. And yet their destiny seems to be more important than that of their workers. Personally, I believe that fate can be sealed by someone's inaction just as much as by their actual actions," Quinn retorted, her calm tone reinforcing her logic, leaving no room whatsoever for Kurt to refute her statement -if he recovered from his shock, that is. He had certainly never expected a third class commoner to talk about fashion in such detail and so naturally. He was truly baffled.

"Why do you like living in the wild?" Finn suddenly inquired -voice pitchy and eyebrows tightly knit together.

Shelby breathed out an exasperated sigh, thinking of every possible material with which she could sew Finn's mouth shut, and clarified, "What _Finn_ meant was that you find that fortuitous existence attractive, don't you?"

Quinn looked back and forth between Shelby and Finn. Her eyes then observed Rachel momentarily before settling finally back on Shelby, "As a matter of fact, Miss Corcoran, I do," she paused, the entirety of her expression turning earnest. She glanced down at her lap as her brow tightened for a second, and when she raised her eyes once again, there wasn't even the faintest trace of a smile on her face, "It may be incredibly naïve of me to think this way, but I-there's a certain romanticism about handling your life as situations present to you. Don't get me wrong, I don't consider myself a romantic at all. But I do believe that life is unexpected. There's a definite thrill to waking up every single day completely unaware of what we'll do or say, of who we'll cross paths with, of where the road will lead us. And I think that taking everything in stride and making the most of it is the most fulfilling way to live life -to truly _live_ rather than be merely alive. The ability to choose and decide is what defines us as human beings -separates us from every other species on this planet-, yet the choices we make, the paths we take, the people we acquaint with... those are the things that define us not as people but as a single person with unique capabilities, and traits, and thoughts.

"I don't believe in coincidences. But I do believe that there's a reason why I'm alive here today -breathing the same air as you. I believe there's a reason our lives mingled," she paused to lock her eyes with Rachel's as she spoke, "a reason our lives are now entwined," she breathed out before addressing the rest of the table once again, "I truly believe I am meant to be here. I don't claim to know why. All I know is that a week ago I was sleeping under a printing press in the museum, and now I'm here, sharing some mighty French wine with you prominent people," she shrugged with a content smile, "I guess I'm just saying that I don't find my existence aimless, just reasonably fateful. And I'm glad God decided it was in my fate to meet you all. I'm glad to know that I'm alive to take one more breath."

"That was a great damn speech, Quinn," Mercedes beamed at her from her side.

Across the table, Rachel sat tight lipped, breathing deeply through her nose in an attempt to keep her tears from further moistening her eyes -though she was certain that they were probably sufficiently glossy for everyone to notice her state. She remained silent, mentally going every word Quinn had uttered, hanging onto each and all of them. The more Quinn talked, the more alive she felt -a deep emotion threatening to swallow her whole from the inside out, setting her every nerve end on fire with the mere tone of Quinn's voice.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat -from second-hand pride-, she curled her hand around her glass of wine and lifted it with a serene, reverent smile, "To fated encounters," she proposed, voice cracking almost imperceptibly as her gaze locked with Quinn's once again. The chorus of voices in the table echoed her toast, completely oblivious to her connection with Quinn.

Before anyone could start yet another topic of conversation, Quinn softly clicked her fork against her glass, "In order to convey my deepest gratitude for having been able to join you all for dinner tonight -and because I know Miss Berry will really appreciate it, I would like to leave you with a humble token of my thanks, if you'd let me," she stated, cordially making eye contact with every person sat at their table to proceed if they agreed.

Once she received a few nods, she rose from her seat and marched over to the string quartet -dress flowing with every steady step she took. Rachel saw her whisper something to the violinist, and then Quinn was gracefully lowering herself onto the piano bench -eyes immediately cast down upon the ivory keys. Slender fingers glided over the keys until they found a suitable position, and then Quinn was playing the first few notes of a song Rachel did not recognize. Her fingers moved slowly as the violinist began accompanying her, and then her hand began quickening the tempo, until the rest of the quartet joined in, creating a peaceful melody.

Rachel watched wide eyed as Quinn's fingers moved expertly over the keys, hitting every note with precision. Her eyes then focused on the elegance with which her upper body shifted, on the way her neck bent forward just so and hazel eyes drifted closed as Quinn lost herself in the music -her other hand now creating a complementary melody. Before long, Quinn was playing by herself again, the quartet muted as she stroked the keys towards the end of the song.

To be honest, Rachel was slightly disappointed that the room hadn't erupted in applause or cheers at the end of the piece, but then again, the majority of the passengers hadn't even been aware of Quinn having taken the seat afore the piano. By the time Rachel had made up her mind to get up to congratulate Quinn on her performance, the blonde had started playing yet again. Rachel dropped back to her seat with a silent thud and stared at Quinn in awe as she now began singing. And this time... this time Rachel recognized the song -a pure lucky strike, since she had never listened to the song, or heard of the band, until Noah had introduced her to them backstage one day.

She was, however, pleasantly surprised by how easily Quinn's alto matched the entire register of the song, considering the original version was sung by a man. The way the blonde's pitch dropped noticeably during the bridge wasn't lost on her, as it caused a rather distinct reaction in her lower abdomen. And the lyrics-Oh! For the love of sweet Barbra, the _lyrics_! From the moment the first verse made it past Quinn's lips, she just _knew_ the blonde wasn't just singing to her but also _about_ her. Every single word made the utmost sense to Rachel, conveying the clearest message -a concise reminder of everything Quinn had already told her, of the strength Quinn had given her by pulling her back onto the ship the night before.

This time, when Quinn's voice drifted off and she stopped tinkering with the piano keys, Rachel was the first one on her feet to clap her hands loudly, and the rest of the room followed -some less willingly than others, of course. As Quinn returned to the table, the women were resuming their seats, and the men -sans Kurt- were donning their jackets. Suddenly feeling kind of lost, Quinn leaned over Mercedes to ask what was happening.

"Oh, sweetie, don't worry. They're just leaving to talk sports or whatever," Mercedes explained as Quinn straightened up, and Shelby's eyes found hers, "Are you staying, Miss Fabray?"

Quinn smoothed over the front of her dress -nervous habit she'd been trying to get rid of for years-, and shook her head softly, "Sadly, no. I'm afraid I must go back," she replied apologetically.

Rachel, in turn, was desperately trying to get rid of Finn just so that she could give Quinn a proper goodbye for the night, but he was bent over the back of her chair, head looming next to hers, "Do you maybe wanna go back to the cabin? We could, you know, spend some time together or _something_," he whispered in her ear. She had to resist the urge to shudder in disgust, lest he assume it were for other reasons.

She shook her head firmly, offering him a soft smile, "No, thank you, Finn. I'll stay here for a while longer."

"Oh, okay," he grinned as he stood to his full height once again, "I'll see you later, then," he added before walking off to catch up with the rest of the men.

Rachel breathed out a relieved sigh when he disappeared from her sight -eyes closed softly. When she opened her eyes, Quinn was standing before her, hands tightly clasped behind her back, the ghost of a smile dancing upon her features.

"So you really have to leave, huh?" Rachel inquired, completely disheartened as she raised her eyes to look at Quinn.

The blonde pursed her lips together in an apologetic half smile, "Yeah," she whispered, gaze dropping to her feet.

"For what's worth, I haven't enjoyed someone's company or someone's performance this much in a very long time," the brunette smiled genuinely, truly appreciative of Quinn's efforts to impress her.

"You did?" Quinn looked up abruptly, eyes wide in disbelief.

"I did," Rachel nodded softly, "That was the most beautiful gesture _anyone_ has ever directed at me, and you have no idea of how _much_ it means to me."

Quinn bit her lip, fighting the blush the rose steadily to claim her cheeks, "I'm glad it does," she paused and, much to Rachel's surprise, she took the brunette's hand in her own as she bent forward, and placed a tender kiss to her knuckles before whispering softly, "Goodnight, Rachel."

The moment Rachel lost sight of Quinn's hazel orbs and the blonde disappeared up the stairs, she noticed the tiny paper folded neatly in her hand. She lowered her hand discreetly, and unfolded it with a frown, which only vanished when she read the words scribbled in delicate handwriting across the paper: "_Take every breath as if it were your last. Meet me at the top of the stairs!_"

Rachel promptly excused herself from the women that still remained at the table, feigning a headache, and walked steadily to meet Quinn. She found herself facing the blonde's back as Quinn leaned against the marble railing, seemingly admiring the designs crafted onto the wood before her. Upon hearing the click-clack of Rachel's heels, the blonde turned around to face her, instantly offering Rachel her hand, "If you'll allow me the pleasure, I will now show you what a _real_ party looks like," she said with a slight smirk.

Needless to say, Rachel tightly grasped the hand proffered to her and let Quinn lead the way.

* * *

><p>Songs used in this chapter:<p>

- "_Winter_" by Antonio Vivaldi

- "_Shake it Out_" by Florence + the Machine

- "_Near Light_" by Ólafur Arnalds

- "_While Your Lips Are Still Red_" by Nightwish


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** The Wanting Comes in Waves

**Author:** blairdrof

**Pairing:** Faberry

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Summary:** Rachel Berry finds herself in a ship built in honor to the hundredth anniversary of the maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic. Will history repeat itself, or not?

**Spoilers:** none. This is entirely AU.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, nor am I in any way affiliated to Glee. Everything you'll find here is the product of my imagination. The title is the same as a song by The Decemberists, which I obviously do not own. And I also do not own Titanic (the 1997 movie or otherwise).

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Alyssa. Inspiration came from luckypressure's drawing, and this is just my attempt to tell the entire story. All inconsistencies and mistakes are mine, since this is not beta'd.

**A/N2:** The songs used in this chapter are credited at the end of the chapter.

**A/N3: **This chapter, in particular, is dedicated to Caro, Alyssa, and Jay, for their birthdays :)

**A/N4: **I'm incredibly sorry for taking so long to update. But writer's block got in the way. And then life got in the way. But here's the update now :)

* * *

><p>Rachel breathed out almost shakily as she tried to walk steadily in her ridiculously high heels. It was tricky. Despite her first class ticket, she hadn't been granted the chance to explore the entirety of the ship, so her eyes flitted back and forth between the walls on either side as Quinn guided her down several corridors.<p>

There were so many things she truly hadn't noticed: the creamy wallpaper that covered the walls in what she realized was already part of the third class quarters -lined with intricate details in what seemed to be some sort of golden thread-; the nondescript pictures aligned on the walls of the corridors every now and then -adorned by what looked like handcrafted frames in shades of grey and blue-; the surprisingly well polished wood of the floor -which she had actually expected to be-well, dirtier, considering it was third class.

She tried to take it all in, yet it was hard to keep her balance what with her eyes roaming all over the walls instead of the floor, those stupid heels Kurt had selected for her, and the fact that one of her hands was currently unavailable for purchase were she to trip, since it was clasped tightly around Quinn's slightly larger one. Before she could get the words out to comment on one of the framed pictures that had caught her eyes, the clicks and clacks of her heels and Quinn's shoes on the wood were drowned by an upbeat melody wafting from somewhere close by.

Quinn turned her head slightly to look back at Rachel and offer her a warm smile before turning yet another corner and quickening her step. She guided the brunette down a narrow set of stairs, and Rachel halted to a stop next to the blonde, suddenly bombarded by loud music and flashing lights.

In turn, Quinn turned to observe the shorter girl's profile as she took it all in: the thumping of the bass buzzing steadily under their feet, the myriad of colors cast on their faces by the strobe lights, the mass of bodies swaying and moving all over the place... even the small stage at the far back of the room. She watched, mesmerized, as the blue and pink lights cast shadows on Rachel's face and glinted off the hair on the crown of her head.

The blonde couldn't keep the smile off her features when Rachel turned to her -eyes alight- and tugged their still clasped hands towards the moving crowd. Despite the almost ear-splitting volume of the synthesizer and the muffled murmur of the people around them, Quinn swore she could hear the brunette giggling contentedly right ahead of her. However, she caught a glimpse of shiny blonde hair a few feet away, and before Rachel could get lost in the throng of people, Quinn pulled at her hand.

Rachel's head spun towards her questioningly, and the blonde nodded in the direction she was now leading them. A confused frown ghosted over Rachel's brow as they zig-zagged their way past several third class passengers, until Quinn let go of her hand to throw herself into the arms of a dark haired girl.

"Q! You _bitch_! Where the hell've you been?" the girl whined, arms wrapped tight around Quinn, and -upon quickly scanning her face- Rachel recognized her as one of the girls who had been with Quinn the first time she'd seen her from atop the first class deck.

Once Quinn pulled back to resume her spot next to Rachel, the brunette noticed the other blonde that had completed the trio that first morning she'd spotted them waving at Quinn with an excited grin. During that fleeting moment in which none of them spoke, Rachel took the opportunity to size up the pair. The tall blonde seemed easy going and rather approachable, though a bit odd -if the lion shaped woollen beanie (with its little, knitted, lion ears protruding from either side) on her head was any indication-, yet Rachel couldn't really make out much more than that under the somewhat dim lighting. The dark haired girl, on the other hand, instantly set her on edge -the hairs at the back of her neck standing with a shudder. After internally recoiling at the seemingly threatening stare the girl levelled her with, Rachel raised an eyebrow at the indecently short dress that hugged every curve of her tiny body.

Before Quinn could answer the girl's question, Rachel found herself on the receiving end of a displeased scowl, "And who the fuck's the midget?"

Rachel's first instinct was the squirm her way away from this brunette, yet slender fingers curled around her wrist -soothing. She turned to Quinn, who appeared to remain unaffected by the girl's language, and looked at her intently, silently attempting to convey her inquiry. Thankfully, the message seemed to reach her, because the blonde smiled at her reassuringly before launching into the proper introductions.

"Rachel, _this_," Quinn began, motioning towards the scary looking brunette, "is Santana. And _this_," she pointed at the taller blonde, "is Brittany," Quinn smiled as Brittany tugged at the ends of her beanie and offered Rachel a wide smile before slipping a lollipop into her mouth, "she's the one who won us the tickets with that lucky hand of poker," she explained, and then Rachel panicked for a moment when the blonde's hand left her own.

However, it was soon relocated to the side of her waist, and Rachel felt Quinn pull her closer to herself as she faced her two friends and spoke confidently, "This," she started once again, pressing Rachel to her side, to which the brunette felt her cheeks heat up, "is Miss Rachel Berry, Broadway star extraordinaire, joining us from first class tonight," she elaborated -while Santana's eyes crawled up and down over Rachel's entire appearance- and stared fixedly at the dark eyed brunette in front of them, "and if only you'd asked earlier, you would have known that I had been extended an invitation to accompany her for dinner tonight," Quinn finished firmly.

The blonde then seemed to engage in a staring contest with Santana, and -needing to shake her discomfort- Rachel offered Brittany her free hand and a sweet smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said simply as Brittany's hand wrapped around her own, "and thank you," she continued, now covering the tall blonde's hand with both of her own, "if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have been blessed with Quinn's _wonderful_ presence during this transatlantic journey," she added sincerely, and Brittany's grin widened around her lollipop.

Beside her, Quinn's contented grin threatened to make her cheeks hurt, and she was desperately thankful for the light settings of the party for hiding the faint blush to her cheeks. For her part, even with Santana glaring at where her hands were joined with Brittany's, Rachel felt a warm tingle spread out from where Quinn's hand rested curled against her waist and over her entire body. Letting go of Brittany's hand -which immediately appeased Santana-, Rachel shifted towards Quinn again, "Come on," she bit her lip excitedly, "let's dance!"

Completely incapable of denying the brunette, Quinn nodded at her two friends and let Rachel her take her towards the dance floor with a dazed smile. Soon enough, Rachel found a spot that -despite being rather cramped- was far enough from the speakers to allow them to speak freely without straining their voices.

Quinn was in the process of recognizing the song being played when Rachel rolled her eyes playfully as she danced before her, "So, did Santana ever lose her patience with the make-up and punch a model?"

The blonde burst into deep laughter and shook her head, "No. But I _do_ recall one incident with an Australian model who _apparently_ put her hands on Brittany for something other than a job backstage at a Gaultier show," she admitted as she twirled Rachel around, careful not to elbow anyone around her.

The brunette brushed against the hem of Quinn's dress when she finished her twirl, and inquired curiously with an almost concerned frown, "What happened?"

The blonde took a deep breath before considering the most... tame way to recount the events, "She ripped her extensions off her scalp," she explained, feeling second-hand embarrassment for her friend when she saw Rachel's eyes widen almost comically, "and then made her up with products that weren't hypoallergenic, so by the time she hit the runway, her face was swollen, her eyes were bloodshot, and I'm _pretty sure_ there were tears involved."

"Oh, my _God_!" the brunette exclaimed, ceasing all movements as she stood before Quinn, hand flying to cover her mouth in shock. The blonde observed her for a moment, finding her reaction entirely adorable, because it was more than apparent that there wasn't a single malicious bone in Rachel Berry's body. Slowly -and now entirely unaware of the music playing around them-, Rachel uncovered her mouth to reveal a dropped jaw, clearly having trouble to get over her shock. Quinn tilted her head as she watched her, hands coming up to rest against the brunette's biceps soothingly.

"Was she fired?" Rachel inquired in an almost squeaky voice, and Quinn was so busy admiring the way the lights seemed to make the brunette's dress glitter in bright shades of pink and green, that it took her a moment to reply, "The model? No, she just had to handle the rest of the shows for that day with burning eyes."

Rachel shook her head -suddenly remembering that they were supposed to be dancing-, and began moving slowly once again, "No. I meant Santana."

She frowned when the blonde scoffed almost dismissively, "No, she managed to pass it off as a simple _mistake_," she then shrugged before following in Rachel's steps and resuming her dancing, "you wouldn't _believe_ how incredibly chaotic backstage can be right before a show. Make up gets misplaced _all_ the time."

"That's-" Rachel began, but quickly drifted off, rather baffled. The blonde took her by the hand once again to twirl her as she shook her head with a joyful smile, "Yeah, that's Santana for you. But, she's always had my back when it mattered," she shrugged casually, but then spoke softly, earnestly, "She's been there for me from the very first day we met; and _she_ was the one who suggested I join her and Brittany in London. So I'm more than glad to have her in my life."

Rachel's fingers ran across Quinn's palm as the blonde finished, and her eyes searched Quinn's face. Her grip around Quinn's hand slackened, and she consequently let go of it -head hanging low as she stared at her feet finding the resolve to speak out loud the words that had been playing on a loop in her mind for years, "I wish I had someone like that in my life," she conceded softly and looked up to meet hazel eyes, "I've never had a best friend," she confessed and then scoffed at herself bitterly, "I've never had a _real_ friend, period," she continued, voice cracking slightly as they stood still -a stark contrast to the crowd surrounding them in the dance floor-, "Kurt and I were building our friendship in high school," she began explaining, a small frown marring her forehead as she reminisced, "but then Shelby came along, and my career started, and he just-," Rachel bit on her lip -unable to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat, and wishing her forming tears away-, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Noah like the brother I've never had, but how pathetic is it that the closest thing I have to a friend is my bodyguard?"

In a heartbeat, Quinn had enveloped the brunette's tiny frame with her arms, "Come here," she spoke over the music as she pulled Rachel to herself and held her close, "You have _me_, okay? I know I may not be more than a flicker in the radar of someone who shines like you do, but I'm right here, for anything you need," she whispered so softly in Rachel's ear, that the brunette had to strain to hear her over the music. She pulled away from Quinn to search her face with her gaze, looking for any trace of dishonesty and finding none.

Even though she believed the blonde's words, her insecurities crept up on her, and she found herself speaking, "Why would you do that? You barely know me."

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek as she pursed her lips before answering sincerely, "Because what little I _do_ know about you, I like. And I take care of the people I... _like_."

To Rachel, the reply was genuine enough, even if she felt that there was something the blonde was omitting, so she smiled warmly at Quinn. In turn, the taller girl returned the smile before taking the brunette's hand tenderly and swinging it back and forth between them, "Would you like me to get you something to drink? Water, perhaps?" she asked, hoping to diffuse the tension that she suddenly felt between them.

Rachel's smile widened involuntarily, and she swung their hands again as she teased, "Beer should be fine."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, surprised, though there was the hint of a smirk curling the corners of her lips, "_Beer_?"

The singer tilted her head, eyes fixed on the blonde's, "Why, Miss Fabray, I can indulge in the same beverages as you," she retorted playfully, and Quinn nodded her assent, "Very well then," she dropped the brunette's hand, "I shall be back with a pint of beer for thee," she grinned and took a playful bow before disappearing into the crowd.

Rachel watched her go, giggling to herself. She didn't know what it was about Quinn, but there was something about her... _something_ that somehow managed to make her smile genuinely no matter how much her thoughts and fears threatened to bring her down. For the first time in so long, she finally felt some of the weight of the world relieve her shoulders from its burden, and she twirled alone in the middle of the crowded dance floor. She knew she must have looked silly, twirling like a little girl in a dress that made her look like anything but, yet she didn't care.

Once she came to a stop in the same spot she had started from, she took a moment to observe the people dancing before her eyes under the strobe lights. They weren't really that much different from her. Sure, none of them were wearing a Pucci dress, but they probably went about life the same way she did, trying to find a sense of happiness that seemed to escape their grasp just when she was so close -unreachable.

She was deep in thought observing the crowd before her, when she felt a tug on the hem of her sleeve. Her gaze dropped to find a little girl in a frilly pink dress, all blonde pigtails and big green eyes, grinning up at her. "Hi, there, sweetie," Rachel smiled at the little girl. The tiny blonde didn't reply. Instead, she clasped both of her hands against the front of her dress and swayed from side to side. Amused, Rachel knelt down before her and asked, "I'm Rachel," she introduced herself, offering the girl her hand, which she took in her much tinier one; and Rachel was surprised to find that something as simple as the anonymity that introducing herself only by her first name gave her a great sense of refreshment. As she held the girl's hand in her own, she inquired, "What's your name?"

"My name's Stacy" the tiny blonde replied, bringing a small finger to her lips and sucking on it as she looked up at Rachel with wide eyes.

"Well, Stacy, that's a beautiful name," the brunette shook Stacy's hand gently, "it's a pleasure to meet you," she continued warmly, "is there anything I can do for you?"

Stacy's head bobbed up and down, pigtails swaying back and forth with the motion, and she removed the finger from her mouth, "Can I dance with you?"

Truly moved by this little stranger's simple request, Rachel took Stacy's hand in her own once again and stood up with a nod, "Yes, you may," she answered, and then returned Stacy's contented smile. However, before she could comply to Stacy's request and begin dancing, a young blonde man came to a halt right before them.

"Stacy! There you are!" he said, sounding incredibly relieved as he picked up the little blonde girl in his arms. Amidst the mild commotion, Rachel took the chance to look at him properly: he had blonde hair, and green eyes -and the plumpest lips she had ever seen in a boy-, and he seemed to be wearing a uniform similar to that of the other ship crew members she had encountered so far. He then turned to Rachel, smiling apologetically, "I'm so sorry if she was bothering you. It won't happen again, I promise," he rambled on quickly, and the brunette noticed a certain resemblance to the blonde girl clinging to his neck.

Not bothered in the slightest, Rachel smiled at the pair before replying, "Oh, no, it's alright. We were just about to dance for a bit." The young man looked at her for a moment, seemingly confused, before nodding, "Oh, um, well, again, I'm sorry if she bothered you or disrespected you in any way."

Rachel shook her head, "Not at all. Stacy is a really sweet, well-mannered girl," she smiled, and she could sense the relief wash over the young man as he sighed. "I'm Rachel, by the way," the brunette offered her hand once again, though this time, the young blonde man looked at it, unsure as to whether she was actually offering it to him. Shaking himself off his stupor, he took it in his own free hand and shook it gently, "Sam Evans. Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Oh, nice to meet you, Sam," Rachel replied warmly. She didn't particularly like being addressed as ma'am, but this Sam guy seemed to be incredibly respectful -which, she had to admit, was a rare sight in men of around her same age-, and a gentleman, so she let it slide. "So, Sam Evans, I hadn't seen you around the ship before," she went on -albeit a little awkwardly, scared she would offend the young man.

He smiled at her -Stacy still in his arms, seemingly playing a one-sided version of peek-a-boo with Rachel as she hid her face behind her tiny hands and spied the brunette from in between her fingers-, and began explaining, "That'd be because I'm working on the third class decks, ma'am, not the first. I've got to make sure nothing gets out of hand. And-"

"Sam?"

The young man turned around to find Quinn smiling at him, an uncapped bottle of beer in each hand. "Quinn!" Stacy squealed, wiggling herself off Sam's grasp and jumping to the floor to tackle Quinn into a hug, "Hey, you!" Quinn greeted, smiling down at the little blonde head pressed against her stomach. She then looked up behind Sam's shoulder at Rachel, and promptly handed her one of the bottles, a faint blush staining her cheeks -unnoticeable under the currently blue lights casting shadows upon them-, "Here you go, as requested, m'lady."

Despite being completely out of the loop on what exactly was going on around her, Rachel found herself smiling widely as she accepted the beer from the blonde, "Thanks," she replied, fingertips barely brushing against Quinn's knuckles as she brought the bottle to her rest against her chest.

Seeing the blonde with a now free hand, Sam offered his to her, "Good to see you, Quinn," he nodded as the other blonde let go of his hand to pat the top of Stacy's head and then walk over to stand beside Rachel -arm sneakily slipping to wrap around the brunette's waist-, "I see you've met Rachel," Quinn said, and Rachel noticed a certain hint of protectiveness in her tone. She dropped her gaze to the floor, even if she remained silent, in an attempt to hide the sudden flush to her cheeks.

"I have," Sam answered, but then took a second to look back and forth between the two women, and saw something flash in Quinn's hazel eyes. Suddenly intimidated by the look the other blonde was giving him, he took Stacy by the hand and tipped his hat, "I better get going," he glanced down at Stacy, "Come on, Stace."

"But I want to dance!" the tiny blonde whined. Sam's jaw dropped, speechless, and he raised demure green eyes to Quinn. In turn, the blonde turned to look at Rachel, who wore the most adorable smile Quinn had ever seen, even if it was directed at Stacy. She then turned to Sam, "Let her stay with us for a while," she suggested, and Stacy promptly shook Sam's hand off her own and went to stand to Quinn's other side, "We'll get her back to you when we leave. I give you my word," she finished earnestly, earning a wide smile from the little girl beside her.

Rachel watched Sam nod his assent, not an ounce of reluctance in the motion, and she found herself wondering how someone like Quinn Fabray -who, as she was learning, was proving to be more noble than Rachel had originally thought- hadn't risen higher in the world.

"Alright," Sam agreed, straightening the front of his uniform, "you know where to find me," he then turned to Rachel with a gentle smile, "Ma'am," he added politely before disappearing in the crowd to retreat to his post.

Rachel took a sip from her beer and turned to Quinn -only now noticing that the blonde's bottle seemed to be far more empty than her own-, "So, you know Sam?"

The blonde took a long swig from her bottle before curling a finger around one of Stacy's pigtails, "I do," she replied, then glanced at Stacy with a smile, "Do you want to dance with Rachel, Stace?"

The little blonde nodded, and Quinn met Rachel's gaze as the brunette gave a mild frown, "Are you sure you don't want to dance, too?"

Quinn shook her head as Stacy took Rachel's hand in her own, "It's alright," she answered, leaning back against the closest wall, beer bottle held gently, "We can dance more later," she added, levelling Rachel with what the brunette thought to be a smoldering gaze.

Rachel nodded and handed Quinn her still practically full bottle of beer before letting Stacy lead her a few feet over, instantly moving to the rhythm of whatever song was playing. Quinn watched the pair as they danced. She watched Stacy's dress twirl as Rachel spun her around. And she couldn't help but smile contentedly to herself as Stacy giggled non-stop, causing the brunette to laugh without restraint. From that moment on, all she could focus on was the way Rachel's face lit up as she laughed -never missing a step as she danced with the little girl.

She memorized every single detail of the brunette's face as she danced, every movement as she twirled Stacy, every line on her face as the lights hit it this or that way. Since they had met, she had never seen Rachel act so freely, or look so happy as she did now -unconcerned about everything or everyone that tied her to her world. It was then that Quinn reaffirmed her promise to herself to do everything in her power to keep Rachel as happy as she was now.

It wasn't long until the contents of her bottle were gone, and she placed it neatly on the floor, against a corner so that no one would trip on it and get hurt. Quinn rested her chin on her hand calmly as she watched Rachel dance with Stacy, and soon the pair was heading back towards her -overtaken by a fit of giggles. Quinn smiled as Rachel led Stacy towards her by the hand -the exhaustion evident on the younger blonde's face.

"I think someone is going to crash their bed pretty soon," Rachel told Quinn once her own laughter had died down. In turn, the blonde pushed herself off the wall with a small smile and wrapped an arm around Stacy's shoulders, "I agree," she then locked her gaze with Rachel's, "do you want to-"

"Yeah," the brunette replied before Quinn could finish, her tone earnest as she felt the anticipation wash over her spine in a faint tingle. Rachel knew that once they took Stacy back to Sam, it'd be just her and Quinn once again, and this time, there would be nothing to stop her from whatever may happen.

The blonde nodded silently -unlike the tiny blonde by her side, who suddenly couldn't stop nodding off-, and led the pair towards where she knew Sam would be. Before Rachel knew it, they had left Stacy with Sam and bid the pair goodnight, though they returned to their previous secluded spot towards the edge of the dance floor.

This time, when they resumed their dancing, Rachel moved closer to the blonde -close enough to speak comfortably without raising her voice. Deciding to act before she lost her confidence, the brunette placed her hands on Quinn's waist while they danced, "So," she looked down at the almost inexistent space between them, and Quinn blinked down at her expectantly, "you never told me how you know Sam."

The laughter that erupted from Quinn's throat shocked the smirk off Rachel's face, and the brunette frowned, "I'm sorry, it's not my pl-"

"It's alright," Quinn interrupted with an easy smile. She twirled Rachel away from her before pulling her close again, and now her hands were resting on the brunette's hips, "There's not much to tell, really. He was the officer who checked our tickets when Santana, Britt, and I got onto the ship," she began retelling the events, "we met again that first day, when he was looking for Stevie. It just so happened that Stevie was with me at the time, so we started talking. Stevie and Stacy are his siblings," Quinn smiled down at Rachel, who was listening intently to the blonde's every word, eyes wide, "He's a very hard working guy. He traveled from the States to England with his siblings because his parents couldn't afford to feed them all. So he promised he'd take care of Stevie and Stacy with his job on the ships to save some money and bring it home with him at some point," she continued, gaze nestled on Rachel's face lovingly. She then giggled to herself, "When we were talking, he told me I was pretty. I thought he was hitting on me, you know. But he meant it in a completely disinterested way," Quinn went on with a mild shake of her head, "I told him there was absolutely no chance I'd like him back that way," she explained, and Rachel frowned up at her, curious as to why that'd be, considering that Sam was actually a handsome young man with better morals than most of the men Rachel had crossed paths with. "It turns out that he's about as gay as I am," she raised her eyebrows with a small laugh, and Rachel tilted her head at the blonde, a widening smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You're gay?" the brunette inquired softly, somehow not shocked by this development. Quinn blushed profusely and frowned, "Is that-is that okay with you? Because I understand if-" she replied, pulling away, yet Rachel's hand curled tightly around her bicep stopped her as she shook her head, "Not at all," the brunette smiled at her, and Quinn nodded in relief.

The music then changed to a slower song. The synthesizer still resonated in the dim room, yet it was obviously something more akin to a love song than it was to any of the other dance songs that had played before. Feeling the music calm her nerves over what she was about to say, Rachel pulled the blonde close and wrapped her arms around Quinn's neck before resting her cheek against her collarbone, "I don't," she whispered against the fabric of Quinn's dress, loud enough for the blonde to hear.

Quinn pressed her cheek against the top of Rachel's head as they swayed back and forth to the music, "You don't what?" she whispered back.

"I don't love him," Rachel replied firmly. Then she sighed against Quinn's dress, "_Finn_," she clarified, "When you asked me if I loved him... I lied. I _don't_. I never will," she confessed, and Quinn's arms tightened gently around her waist, keeping her close. "It's not just that he's a dumb asshole," Rachel continued, and -even though the brunette couldn't see her- Quinn couldn't stop her eyebrows from shooting up in her forehead at the language the singer used -though she agreed with Rachel's assessment-, "it's just that I _can't_ love him. But _no one_ understands that. Well, no one except Noah. He's the only one who knows," she drifted off and remained silent for a moment while Quinn listened to her attentively. Rachel then brought her head up to look at Quinn, though her arms stayed wrapped securely around the blonde's neck, "Noah's the only one who knows I'm a lesbian," she confessed once again, eyes never leaving Quinn's -though neither of them noticed the pompously coiffed hair or the icy blue eyes observing them from the doorway to the party room.

Quinn felt the breath catch in her throat at the brunette's admittance, and she remained speechless for a few seconds, staring at Rachel's face as if it were her lifeline. "_Why_ are you marrying him, then?" she inquired softly, and the brunette felt her heart clench at the way Quinn's voice broke towards the end of the question.

"Because Kurt convinced Shelby it would be a good move for marketing and publicity, and because apparently Finn has enough money to take my career to the next level," Rachel replied with a defeated sigh.

"Can't you just refuse to do it?" Quinn inquired with a deep frown, anger growing inside her, "_They_ work for _you_! You should be able to be with whomever you please!"

The brunette shook her head sadly, "Shelby doesn't _just_ work for me, Quinn," she paused, a fresh bout of tears threatening to spill, "She's my _mother_."

The blonde's eyes widened in shock, but it wasn't long until her anger turned to ire as she acknowledged what Rachel had just told her, "How could she _do_ this to you, then?" Quinn questioned, eyes wide and pleading as she stared at Rachel, jaw tight.

Rachel just scoffed, shoulders slumping, "Because she's my mother, but she's not my mom," she replied simply, swallowing past the forming lump in her throat.

Quinn shook her head and pulled Rachel tight against her, the brunette's head resting against her shoulder, "I won't let her," she stated, then pressed a tender kiss to Rachel's temple, "I won't let her force you to ruin your life with him, Rach. I _promise_," she repeated more firmly, keeping Rachel wrapped securely in her arms.

Rachel sniffled and stayed pressed against Quinn, letting the warmth and the sense of security envelop her. In turn, the blonde unlocked her hands against Rachel's back to stroke dark hair gently while they stood still in the dance floor -a comfortable, yet rather painful, silence between them despite the music and the murmur of the people surrounding them.

When the music returned to its usual upbeat pace, Rachel pulled herself away from the blonde and pressed one of her sleeves against her eyes to wipe her tears. When she glanced up, she found Quinn staring at her looking completely heart-broken. She sniffled again and pulled the blonde's hand in her own, "Come on, don't let me bring you down," she smiled brightly.

Quinn observed her for a moment, trying to decide whether the smile was genuine. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be showing Rachel a party, so she returned the brunette's smile and tugged her hand until Rachel followed. They made their way through the throng of people until they reached yet another corner of the room -near the bar-, where the small stage was located. Once she realized where the blonde had stopped, Rachel looked up at the stage before her, a small smile forming on her lips. That's what she loved doing. That's where she loved being. She cast a questioning glance at Quinn, yet the blonde bit her lip, trying to hide a playful grin, and dashed to climb up the steps to the stage.

Before Rachel knew what the blonde was doing, Quinn began dancing ballet in synch to the thumping bass and background synthesizer. Rachel watched, absolutely mesmerized, as the blonde danced delicately. Every twist, every turn... every movement of her legs, every movement of her arms... every time she stood on the tips of her toes, every time she jumped gracefully... everything, absolutely _everything_ seemed to be in complete synch with the music. And Rachel found a definite and unique brand of beauty to the way the fast, joyful beat of the music complemented the blonde's delicate, measured movements.

Rachel watched as if in a trance. She admired every move as she traced Quinn's body with her eyes. She admired her precision. She admired her discipline. She admired her flexibility. She admired how Quinn managed to create such a beautiful piece of art -because there really was no other way to describe it- with her body, how she managed to make it seem as if the music slowed down merely to keep up with her determined movements. She admired the way in which the muscles in Quinn's legs and arms seemed to twitch with her every move. Yet as her gaze locked with the blonde's, she couldn't help but feel as if their roles were reversed, and Quinn were the one admiring her from atop that stage.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and before she could think through what she was doing, she found herself with Quinn on the stage. She began performing ballet steps of her own, and soon they were performing a silent duet to an electronic song that seemed to fit them despite the mismatch in genre. She didn't really see Quinn while she danced, as her eyes were closed, yet she could feel the blonde's hazel eyes burning on her all throughout the song. When the song ended -as did their performance-, Rachel opened her eyes, and turned to Quinn. Yet before she could speak, the blonde raised an eyebrow and blurted out, "Want to try tango now?"

Rachel burst into loud laughter at that and shook her head, "I've never learned tango," she replied.

Quinn nodded, "Okay," she smiled, offering her hand to the shorter girl. Rachel eyed her hand, unsure of where the blonde would lead her to now. However, Quinn raised a perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow challengingly, and Rachel found herself completely helpless to deny her hand. As she clasped her hand around Quinn's larger one, the blonde grinned warmly at her, "Let's go on with ballet then," she suggested when a new song began.

* * *

><p>Songs used in this chapter (and by <em>used<em> I mean this is the playlist I used for their time at the party):

- "_Bittersweet_" by Sophie Ellis-Bextor

- "_Pray_" by Syntax

- "_Remedy_" by Little Boots

- "_Exit_" by Marsheaux

- "_Ooh La La_" by Goldfrapp

- "_Nobody Loves You (Like I Do)_" by Honeyroot

- "_Indestructible_" by Robyn


End file.
