Author's Note: A quickly written fill for the Blind Date prompt for Faberry Week. Written in a day and unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

Those Who Will Not See

There are none so blind as those who will not see.

"You're letting Santana set you up on a blind date?" Rachel asks incredulously.

Quinn blushes and averts her eyes to her coffee cup. She'd only come out—well, officially—just three months ago after spending the last two and a half years at Yale experimenting. Her one-time thing—okay, two-time thing—with Santana hadn't been as much of an exception to her rule as she'd initially imagined it to be. Oh, she'd gone back to Yale and continued dating guys who'd turned out to be losers—although, thankfully, no more of them had been married—but then she'd also proceeded to make out with girls at parties every time that she'd had a little too much to drink. Eventually, she hadn't needed the alcohol to find herself wrapped up in another woman's arms, and she'd finally just admitted to herself that she preferred having sex with women. It had taken a few more months after that to finally be able to tell another person—Santana, appropriately enough—that yes, she is, in fact, gay. Santana had smirked that self-righteous smirk of hers and proclaimed that she'd known it all along.

She's currently spending the summer in New York City as part of an acting workshop that she'd been lucky enough to be accepted into. Despite the fact that she's barely two weeks into it, she already thinks that it's amazing, and she's hoping that she'll be able to use it to make some connections and, hopefully, open some doors. If nothing else, it should all but guarantee her acceptance into the graduate program at Yale. It certainly doesn't hurt that she gets to spend the summer before her senior year with some of her best friends. Rachel, Santana, and Kurt have been nice enough to let her stay with them—although the loft is a little crowded with all four of them sharing it.

It had been Santana's idea to set Quinn up with someone—well, actually, it had been her idea to take Quinn to a gay bar and pick up some hot chicas, but that plan had come to a disastrous end when the woman that Santana had encouraged her to flirt with had ended up having a girlfriend to rival Lauren Zizes in size and bad attitude. After that experience, not to mention her many hookups in college, Quinn came to the realization that she'd much rather form some kind of meaningful relationship with a woman than just keep hooking up—hence Santana's offer to set her up on an actual date.

"What do I have to lose?" she poses. "I'll be here for the next three months, and while I'm not exactly desperate for a relationship right now, I wouldn't mind meeting someone that I might make a real connection with."

Rachel frowns and crosses her arms. "The only connection you'll make with a woman from Santana's little black book is a physical one," she grumbles testily.

Quinn thinks she's being a little harsh, but she only shrugs and says, "Well, that wouldn't be so bad either."

"You could have asked me, you know?" Rachel says, and Quinn's eyes dart to hers in question. "I'm nearly positive that I know at least one respectable gay-ish woman who might possibly be interested in you."

Quinn puffs out the breath that she hadn't been aware of holding and giggles self-consciously at the brief, fanciful notion that Rachel had meant something else. "And that is why I'm letting Santana set me up."

Rachel huffs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."


The woman that Santana sets her up with is named Chloe, and, "She's smokin' hot, Quinnie Pie," Santana assures her. "Just your type, too."

Quinn arches a skeptical brow. "I wasn't aware that I had a type." She's dated—well, hooked up with—a variety of women with different body types from blondes to brunettes to redheads. She doesn't really think that she has a preference.

"Just trust Auntie Tana," Santana encourages her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and squeezing before she gives Quinn a once over. "You are looking super fine in that dress," she says, smacking Quinn on the ass. "Isn't she, Berry?"

Rachel shifts on the chair with her nose buried in a magazine, making a show of glancing up as though she hadn't been paying attention to their conversation, even though Quinn has caught her eyes on them more than once. "Mmm...yes. look very lovely, Quinn," she agrees, the tone of her voice emphasizing her sincerity.

Quinn smiles gratefully and thanks her, smoothing her hands over her dress one last time before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

She soon wishes that she hadn't bothered. The date starts off well enough—Chloe arrives at the restaurant promptly at seven, and they begin the tedious task of making small talk in an attempt to get to know one another. Chloe is a curvy brunette with warm brown eyes, and she's a psychology major at NYU. Santana had met her at a bar on campus, but Quinn prefers not to know any of the other dirty details that accompany their history.

It starts to go wrong when Quinn makes the mistake of mentioning her two year coming out process, and Chloe decides that attempting to psychoanalyze her would be a fun first date activity. Even if she were in the mood to let a relative stranger start guessing at all her childhood traumas, Quinn had already been psychoanalyzed back in her first year at Yale by her douche of a cheating ex-boyfriend and it hadn't turned out well for either of them.

Quinn manages to make it through dinner without turning into a total bitch, but it's a very close call since every pretentious, overly-verbose word out of Chloe's mouth begins to irritate Quinn like nails on a chalkboard. To her credit, Chloe gets the hint sometime before the check comes, and they go their separate ways with thin smiles and no mentions of a second date.

When she gets back to the loft, she finds all three roommates camped out on the couch in an attempt to appear nonchalant. She smiles a little despite her crappy evening at the fact that her friends are waiting up for her when her parents never did.

"So, how did it go?" Kurt eagerly asks.

"Well, she's already home," Santana points out, "so it didn't go as well as it could have."

"Santana," Rachel chides with a frown, "Quinn isn't the kind of woman to just go home with someone on the first date."

Santana bursts out laughing. "Have you listened to any of her college stories?"

Rachel's face flushes pink and she crosses her arms, staring down at the floor. Quinn feels her own cheeks heat at the reminder of her more embarrassing exploits. "Just stop," she tells Santana. "And for your information, I asked you to set me up on a date, not a therapy session," she growls, tossing her purse on the coffee table as she collapses across from them on the chair.

"Oh, yeah," Santana muses, tapping her fingernail to her chin. "I forgot about that nasty habit of hers. I just figured you'd be into the whole intelligence thing." She waives a dismissive hand. "Not to worry. I've got someone else in mind."

Rachel whips her head up to glare at Santana. "Perhaps you're not the best person to arrange this date."

"Like you could do better," Santana snaps. "Who would you set her up with?" Rachel opens her mouth to respond, but Santana cuts her off. "Don't even tell me it'd be that Mara girl."

"There's nothing wrong with Mara," Rachel defends.

"Except that she's totally straight," Santana points out.

"She is not," Rachel argues, then more quietly mutters, "I don't think."

"Oh, honey," Kurt says, wrapping an arm around Rachel and squeezing her. "You have no gaydar. Mara is one of those straight girls who are just a little too touchy-feely with other women."

"Really?" Rachel asks meekly, and Kurt smiles sympathetically and nods.

"So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Santana says, shooting a hard look at Rachel, "I know the perfect girl. Her name is Annette and she works at the bar with me. She's just your type."

"That's what you said about Chloe," Quinn grumbles.

"Trust me."

Quinn sighs, wondering if maybe she should just listen to Rachel.


"Are you really going to do this again," Rachel asks from her perch on the edge of the bed. She's fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she watches Quinn put the finishing touches on the outfit that she's wearing for her date with Annette.

"At least I'll have some entertainment this time," she says with a smile. Instead of a formal dinner, they're meeting at a local bar that has an open mic night. Annette has an in with the owner, and Quinn figures that if the date goes awry, at least she'll have some terrible, amateur singing to keep her entertained.

"I just don't see why you can't relax and enjoy being here with We're strong, independent women who don't need a relationship to define us."

Quinn chuckles. "I'll remember that you said that when you meet your next Mr. Right."

Rachel frowns, tugging at her skirt a little harder. "I've matured quite a bit since my unfortunate, overly-romantic past dalliances."

"And you say that every time you break up with Finn, yet every time," Quinn trails off, cringing at the bitterness she can hear in her voice.

"Well, this time I mean it," Rachel insists, glancing away with a frown. "We won't be getting back together again, and I'm perfectly happy being single right now."

"I know," Quinn soothes. "I'm sorry." To be fair, they have been broken up for six months solid this time without any hints of a relapse—or so she's been reassured by Santana. Quinn suspects that Finn jealously punching Rachel's director in her off, off Broadway play and almost getting her fired was the final straw.

"I suppose that I've given everyone enough reason to doubt me," Rachel admits with a sigh. She glances back at Quinn with an unreadable expression—Quinn blames her advanced acting classes for that new ability. "You deserve someone wonderful, Quinn. You shouldn't try to force it...and certainly not with one of Santana's cast-offs."

Quinn ignores the flutters in her belly at Rachel's compliment and frowns. "She told me that she's never dated Annette."

Rachel rolls her eyes and stands, straightening her skirt. "She may as well have, since they're constantly going out together for drinks and dancing and...God knows what else. You deserve better."

"We're going on one date, Rach, not planning a wedding." Rachel winces, and Quinn apologizes again. She takes one last look in the mirror and fluffs her hair. " I passable."

Rachel attempts a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You're...perfect," she says wistfully with a little nod, leaving Quinn to stare after her in silence as she disappears into the bathroom.


The date with Annette goes much better than her first blind date. The woman is certainly sexy—also a brunette with dark eyes and a little shorter than Quinn. For some reason, from the little that Rachel had said, she'd expected Annette to be brash and forward—more like Santana, she supposes—but she's actually fairly pleasant and well-spoken. Actually, she kind of reminds Quinn a little of—well, of Rachel, if Rachel had been born in Brooklyn and had a thing for tattoos.

Annette is a singer, too—it seems like everyone in New York is trying to break into show business—and they talk about her gigs, and Quinn's acting workshop, and it's all going pretty great until Annette takes the mic and sings a rendition of Here's To Us that would be incredible if it didn't bring back all kinds of unfortunate memories for Quinn and invite the inevitable comparison—once again—to Rachel. After that, Quinn really can't get the similarities out of her head, and she finds herself not paying attention to Annette as she thinks about the fact that, apparently, Santana is convinced that short, curvy brunettes with brown eyes are her type.

"You're really not into this, are you?" Annette eventually asks her.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says sadly. "You're actually really amazing. You're just..."

"Not your type," Annette finishes for her, and Quinn nods even though she's actually thinking that Annette may be too much her type. "It's cool," she says. "To be honest, you're not really mine either, but Santana thought we'd hit it off. And you're hot as hell, so I figured, why not? No harm, no foul, right?" she asks, taking a sip of her beer.

Quinn tries to smile, but the realization that she's just been on a date with some weird amalgamation of Rachel and Santana kind of freaks her out.


This time, Quinn doesn't get back to the loft until well after one o'clock in the morning. She's as quiet as she can be letting herself in, but she releases a little squeal at the sudden click of the lamp and the blinding light that floods the room. Holding one hand over her eyes to shield them, she's finally able to make out Rachel sitting on the couch and looking up at her sleepily.

"You scared the hell out of me," Quinn whispers harshly.

"I'm sorry," Rachel apologizes softly. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"Well, I did," Quinn assures her, dropping her hand. The sight of Rachel waiting up for her—it's bringing back those weird thoughts again and she doesn't want to deal with them. Rachel Berry is a dead end road unless you're a guy with decent looks and more than a modicum of vocal ability. Quinn is the opposite of that. "It's kind of late," she excuses herself, shuffling toward the bathroom.

"How did your date go?" Rachel asks, stopping her. "Did...did you like Annette?"

"Yeah," Quinn admits.

"Oh. Th-that's good," Rachel stutters quietly.

Quinn shrugs. "I don't think I'll be seeing her again, though. At least not romantically."

"Oh?" Rachel repeats, sounding a little more interested.

"It'd be too much like dating," you, she thinks, but says, "Santana. And God knows that would never end well."

"Well, then, it's probably for the best," Rachel says with a relieved smile. "I'm sure Santana will understand that you're not interested in anymore blind dates."

"Oh, no, I am," Quinn corrects her. After all, she needs something to distract her from the sad realization that her weird little fascination with Rachel back in high school isn't as dead and buried as she'd hoped. "I'll just have to ask her to find me someone else," she decides, leaving Rachel to stare after her this time.


"What the hell do you mean you want a blonde?"

"Or a redhead. It doesn't really matter," Quinn huffs impatiently. "And preferably someone not in show business," she adds.

Santana narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Why so picky all of a sudden, Q?"

"Oh, I don't know," Quinn drawls. "Maybe because every time you set me up with my supposed type, it turns out to be a disaster."

"Hey, now," Santana growls. "You're the one that messed it up with Annette."

"She wasn't into me either," Quinn reminds her.

"Which is weird, because she usually goes for blondes, although you are a little more girly than her usual preference."

"Can you just set me up with someone who's the opposite of what you think my type is?"

Santana stares at her for with narrowed eyes. "We're really doing this?" she finally asks. "Ignoring the tiny little troll doll in the room?"


Santana rolls her eyes. "Well, she's too tiny to be an elephant."

Quinn tenses. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do," Santana says knowingly. "But we'll keep playing it your way."

Quinn slumps back in her chair and closes her eyes. "There's no other way to play it, Santana," she says in defeat. She rolls her head to the side and looks over at her friend. "Just...find me someone to distract me."

Santana purses her lips, looking like she wants to say something more, but instead, she sighs and nods her agreement.


Unfortunately, the next woman that Santana sets her up with is even more disastrous than the first two. Sharon, a bubbly blonde, not only drives Quinn to distraction with her inane babbling to compare their date to countless, ridiculous reality dating shows, but she spills Quinn's glass of red wine all over her white dress. She goes home stained and growling, and everyone but Rachel avoids her.

"I think I can get that stain out," Rachel offers with a tentative smile that makes Quinn want to cry.


Unlike the first three times, Quinn doesn't actually get a name for blind date number four. Quinn is more than a little leery, even though she asked for this. All she has are instructions to be at a restaurant called Quantum Leap at six o'clock and Santana's assurance that, "I think you'll be really happy with this one, Quinn. And if for some reason you're not, I promise to personally kick her ass."

Quinn finds the place pretty easily and follows the hostess to a table where she proceeds to wait for her mystery date. She really is going into this one blind, and it makes her more nervous than the others. If this one doesn't work—well, she'll just have to take Rachel's advice about being a strong, independent woman and try to avoid being at the loft and in Rachel's presence as much as possible.

It's a minute after six when a shadow crosses her table and her date slides into the chair across from her—except that it isn't her date, it's, "Rachel?"

"Hello, Quinn," she says quietly, a nervous smile on her face.

Quinn sighs, sitting back in her chair. "She's standing me up, isn't she?"

Rachel swallows and shakes her head. "N-no."

Quinn turns to look around the restaurant before she realizes that no one else is coming, and her gaze whips back to Rachel. "What are you doing?" she asks lowly.

"I realize that this is probably rather unexpected," Rachel begins, anxiously twisting her fingers together on the table. "It's kind of unexpected for me too," she admits carefully, "but I've spent the last three weeks watching Santana set you up with the most awful women, and you come home disappointed every time."

"Rachel," Quinn cuts her off angrily. "I don't need you to give me another pep talk about the joys of the single life, okay?"

"You come home disappointed," Rachel repeats determinedly, her voice rising slightly before confessing, "And I'm relieved. I'm so damned relieved that you're not going to see those women again."

"I...I don't understand," Quinn mutters. "You said that I deserved someone wonderful. Did you not mean that?"

Rachel exhales sharply, leaning forward. "Of course, I mean it, Quinn. I just didn't realize when I said it that I want to be your someone wonderful."

Quinn thinks that she must have heard wrong. "You?"

"Yes. seems that I've developed some very strong romantic feelings for you that Santana feels might be reciprocated."

"Santana? Did she...did she put you up to this?" Quinn asks warily.

"No. I approached her and," she blushes, smiling hopefully, "well, suffice to say that the conversation was very enlightening for both of us. I care about you, Quinn, and if you'll let me, I'd really like to continue with this date and see what happens."

If this is a dream, Quinn hopes she doesn't wake up before they get to the goodnight kiss. "You do realize that I'm a girl?"

Rachel gazes at her in confusion. "That would be rather hard to miss," she says wryly. "You are the prettiest girl I've ever met."

"And you're attracted to me?" Quinn pushes, still unable to believe that this is really happening.

Rachel takes a breath and lets her eyes wander over Quinn's face with barely concealed adoration. "Like you wouldn't believe," she murmurs reverently.

Quinn flushes with pleasure, biting into her lip. She reaches across the table and takes one of Rachel's hands. "You're paying," she demands kindly.

Rachel grins and links their fingers. "Of course."

"If you play your cards right, I might even let you take me home tonight," Quinn teases.

"But you're already," Rachel starts with a tiny frown before understanding lights her eyes , and she giggles. "I think that's acceptable."

"Santana was right," Quinn breathes contentedly. "I am really, really happy with this blind date."

Rachel beams back at her, squeezing her hand. "I'm glad, because it's the last one you'll ever have."

Quinn doesn't have a problem with that at all.