I find that a bottle of Merlot and a hot bath normally get me back on track, she returns after a while of punching in words and erasing them again, because they're not quite right.
                          
It's not even entirely untrue; the medication she's on is a precaution, but once an attack is triggered, nothing helps short of riding out the panic and then finding a place to be alone. Usually with wine. Usually in a bathtub.
                          
She's already driving home when her phone sounds again, and while she normally doesn't check her messages while in a car-unless she's being driven, but that would mean being in New York-she can't really resist temptation, this time around.
                          
I don't have a bottle of Merlot. :(
                          
A red light about three minutes out from her house has her finger hovering over the send button for a long moment, but-surely she's not misinterpreting this? Quinn likes playing games, but she's never been subtle or coy to the point of that message not being a very deliberate hint.
                          
I do. :)
                          
She doesn't really expect another texted response, and then a good twenty minutes after she gets home, her doorbell rings, and she pulls on the collar of her t-shirt for a moment and then just sort of snorts at her attempt to, what, gussy up?
                          
She's in sweat pants and her hair is in a messy bun and whatever, they're friends sharing a bottle of wine after a long day.
                          
That's the idea, anyway.
                          
When she answers the door, Quinn is in a UNLV hoodie and a pair of old, worn-looking jeans, and looks exhausted; a pair of glasses hang from the collar of the sweatshirt and she leans tiredly against the wall next to the door, right underneath the porch light.
                          
"Not a single liquor store near your house?" Rachel asks, with a small smile.
                          
Quinn just sort of rolls her eyes, and then steps in closer and-well, on a purely objective level, it's an almost friendly kiss. The objective level doesn't take into account the way Rachel's knees weaken at just the slightest hint of pressure from Quinn's lips against her own, however, or the way Quinn gives her a knowing look before tapping the tip of her nose with a murmured, "Smartass."
                          
After that hello, she nudges past Rachel and into the hall like that one time she's been at Rachel's has been enough for her to forever be comfortable in the place, and Rachel watches her walk down the hall and toss her backpack onto the floor next to the couch.
                          
"Is the wine breathing?" Quinn then calls out, heading left towards the kitchen, and for one long, gracious second Rachel just lets herself picture this scene as a permanent fixture: the end of a long work day, and Quinn asking about the wine before pouring them both a glass and then...
                          
Well, not snuggling, perhaps, but something.
                          
It's just a second, and then she closes the door and follows Quinn into the kitchen, before tipping onto her toes and attempting to pull two wine glasses from one of the top shelves.
                          
Her breath catches when Quinn presses up against her back and reaches past her. "Not the handiest place for someone so ... minute to keep their wine glasses," she teases, in a low undertone.
                          
"I don't drink by myself," Rachel responds, before turning around-her entire body brushing against Quinn's in the process, and that gently stirs the first shimmer of arousal, but only barely-and looking at Quinn wryly. "I figure one private drug habit is enough for any person."
                          
"How was it today?" Quinn asks, putting the glasses on the counter but not backing away. "The show, I mean."
                          
"Good. Okay, I mean. By both medical and personal standards," Rachel says, before taking a deep breath and gently pushing on Quinn's hips. "But I am exhausted, and I'd like... something uncomplicated, tonight. If that's okay."