Changed Directions

Waking up a few minutes before her seven-thirty alarm, Rachel spotted a shadow in the corner of her room. Tensing slightly, she slowly slipped a hand under her pillow. Pushing off the bed, she landed nimbly on the floor, switchblade inches from Kurt's face. The man yelped, scrambling back into the wall and raising his hands in front of his face. "I come in peace!" Rachel jerked her arm back. "Jesus, Rach. What the fuck was that?"

"You know better than to sneak up on me, Hummel."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "This is a loft in New York, not a warzone. Do you really need a knife under your pillow?" The club owner just shrugged before stretching with a yawn. The falsetto winced as his friend's back made several loud cracking sounds. "When was the last time you had a relaxing day, Rach?"

Pausing on her way to the dresser, an almost dreamy smile spread across Rachel's face. "Last night."

Flopping onto the bed, Kurt slid his hands behind his head, propping it up slightly. "Tell me everything."

"Tell me too!" A voice shouted from the kitchen; it was followed by a series of bangs.

"You better not be destroying my kitchen, Noah!" A deep chuckle was the only reply. "That's not reassuring." The woman muttered, before slipping on a black tank-top and yoga pants over the sports bra and boxers she'd worn to bed. Opening the door, she gave an elaborate bow, gesturing for Kurt to leave. Rolling his eyes the man walked down the hall into the bathroom, leaving the brunette to follow her nose to the kitchen.

Puck was flipping pancakes and bacon on the stove. Around his waist was an apron stating 'Not Just A Cock, I Can Cook Too'. After pulling a bowl of freshly chopped fruit off the table and spearing a piece of watermelon, Rachel tried to pick out what the mow-hawked man was humming to himself. Finally figuring out the tune, she grinned and joined in with a harmonizing whistle. Finishing with a flourish, the two friends chuckled. "You're definitely singing that tonight."

"What is my boyfriend singing tonight?" Kurt asked, slipping into the room.

Rachel winked. "You'll see." Finishing her fruit, she stood, placing the bowl in the sink. "I'm headed to the gym. Kurt, make sure Puckerman returns my kitchen to its former state of cleanliness." Picking up her iPod, she slipped out the door.

Kurt frowned. "Damn her, she escaped questioning."

…

Quinn's nose twitched.

Is that…

Her eyes shot open and a grin spread across her face.

Bacon.

Scrambling out of bed, the blonde threw on sweatpants and a tanktop before walking to the kitchen with a skip in her step.

"Start frying the bacon and she shall appear."

Ignoring Santana in favor of crossing closer to the skillet, Quinn reached for the tongs. A spatula smacked her hand away. "Nu-uh, it's not done yet. Get away from my stove, Q."

"Britt!" Quinn whined, rubbing the back of her hand.

"You heard the lady; and you know she'll go all mama bear on your ass if you try touching her kitchen while she's cooking."

It was discovered back in middle school that Brittany had an ingrained mastery of culinary arts, and she ruled her kitchen with an iron fist.

Resigning herself to waiting for her bacon fix, Quinn grabbed the mug of coffee offered to her by the Latina.

"So…" Santana smirked. "How was last night?"

A goofy smile spread across Quinn's face as she remembered her date. "Amazing, romantic, wonderful, gorgeo-"

"Whoa there, Blondie." Santana placed a hand over the other woman's mouth. "No need to use every adjective in the dictionary. How bout you actually tell us about it." Just as Quinn was about to speak, Brittany placed waffles, bacon, fruit salad and syrup on the table. Faster than either other girl could blink, Quinn snatched up a slice of bacon and wolfed it down.

Brittany shook her head with a chuckle. "You are gonna burn your insides some day if you don't have the patience for letting stuff cool."

"But you let it cool before you set it out, B." Quinn said, with a confused tilt of her head.

"Only 'cause I know the minute it touches the table it'll be in your mouth." Quinn didn't even blush, used to the comments on her bacon habits.

"Anyways," Santana broke in, "your date?"

This time a blush did spread across Quinn's face.

Keep this up and you'll permanently be the color of a cherry.

Shut up.

Is that honestly the best comeback you have? What happened to the Fabray that could snap back a retort in five seconds that would bring the other person to tears?

I grew up, something you, my dear subconscious, seem to have not done yet.

A pinch drew Quinn out of her internal conversation. "Quinn, get outta your head and talk."

"Okay, S, okay." She explained the date in detail, from the music to the car to the cabin and pond.

Santana gave a whistle as she sat back. "Wow, you have quite the charmer on your hands, Q."

Quinn rested her chin on her hand, a goofy smile spreading across her face again. "Yeah, I do. I love it."

The Latina stood with a clap. "Well, enough about romantic shit; time for work, babes."

…

Rachel hopped nimbly from foot to foot, hands in the on-guard position, waiting for her partner's move. He lunged at her, and she caught his arm, using it to lever her over his head and twist his arm. He broke away and came back with a swift kick to her thigh. Allowing the thigh to collapse to avoid excess injury, the brunette rolled to the edge of the ring. Grabbing the barrier, she leapt onto the second rope, balancing herself in the corner, before flipping into a back handspring, shirt sliding to reveal flexing, taunt tan abs. A foot collided with her opponent's chest, sending him crashing into the barrier. With a groan, the man tapped twice on the ground. Crossing to him, she offered a hand and helped pull him to his feet.

Rubbing his lower back, the man shook hands with the ex-diva. "Jesus, Rach; I forgot how much power that tiny body holds."

Rachel shrugged. "I'm not tiny, Jake, I'm concentrated awesome."

Jake chuckled. He was about 6' 4" tall and had the muscular build of a boxer. Normally gel spiked red hair stuck to his face with perspiration. He and Rachel had been kick-boxing buddies since they'd met in the gym a year ago. His girlfriend, Ariel, often came to watch their matches and laughed as Jake, usually, got his ass kicked by a woman a foot smaller than him.

Stretching, Rachel waved by to Jake, before moving through the rest of her gym routine; crunches, push-ups, pull-ups, bench presses and finally a half hour of yoga to cool down. Feeling refreshed, the brunette exited the gym and jogged the four blocks home, intent on a long, luke-warm shower and revel in the memories of Quinn and their date.