A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I thought: "Maybe I should write a character study! A challenge!" and then this... happened. I don't know if it'll be a one-shot, although that was how it was originally intended. I guess it'll all depend on what you all think, dear readers. So, goes without saying that I don't own Glee, the characters, or anything, really. Just my ideas. And a deep-rooted hatred for how RIB treated my beloved Quinn Fabray this season. This is probably a response to that. With Faberry. Enjoy.

Mirrors can't lie.

Quinn told herself this over and over again as she stared into familiar hazel eyes in the bathroom mirror. She placed her hands on white porcelain, steadying herself on the sink as she leaned forward, needing a closer look. The stare-down continued, and she watched her eyes change colors; shifting in realm from a glassy sea green to a dark, dusky honey brown. Finally, they shifted to a stark combination of the two, and Quinn forced a smile at her own reflection. It was flawless, stunning, and absolutely fake.

"I'm Quinn Fabray," the blonde girl said to her reflection. She tried the same sentence again, in a different tone, with a different fake smile from her catalog, and kept rotating tones and smiles until the reflection became unfamiliar.

"I'm Quinn Fabray," she tried again, her words laced with a sad, defeated tone that wasn't stock for someone of her breeding, for someone with her status on the social ladder and her upbringing. She was born of wealthy parents who were high-class, high-society, well-informed, well-rounded, spiritual people who were solidified by their church and their peers. They were well-liked and well-respected, and she had carried those traditions to the halls of McKinley High, where, even though she had fallen from grace in the past, she still ruled with something of an iron fist. Even though she was no longer affiliated with the Cheerios! (truthfully, they weren't as popular since they failed to advance to Nationals), her legend was still known, still whispered about in the hallways. People still moved apart to let her pass when she insisted on strutting down the dead center of crowd.

Her eyes darted up to the now warped reflection, and instead of seeing the image she had perfected and the lies she had etched upon her own face, she saw a sad, loveless, and insecure girl. Those same hazel eyes burned into the mirror, and she prayed the glass would shatter under her stare, and cursed it when it didn't happen. She released the sink and slumped to the floor, gaining the strength to scoot herself into a far corner where she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself, and sobbed.

Shouldn't I have it all?

After her loss of Prom Queen, which she knew was more due to a cruel joke from the underlings and less a symbol reflecting her status and popularity, she began to question everything about herself.

Once, she had Finn Hudson, the heartthrob whose dopey sense of humor and awkward stroll made him a prime boyfriend candidate. Now, he had Rachel Berry, hapless midget who talked too loud and whose shrill verbosity could make ears of any passing dogs spontaneously bleed. But Rachel Berry was human, had a good heart, and she did not, so Finn didn't want her anymore. Although it killed her to accept her losses in all forms, she could understand why he chose the way he did.

Once, she had Noah Puckerman, and that nearly cost her everything. A night of insecurity that had been soaked carelessly with wine coolers had led to a pregnancy that devastated her family, and forced her once laissez-faire universe to crumble within itself, creating a vortex of shame and humiliation. She wasn't bred for that, she wasn't taught to understand consequences. She was just supposed to play her role properly, and not make mistakes. To watch her step, to watch her back, and to destroy any evidence of hapless errors, which should be few, at best. This giant, glaring error that had wrecked both mind and body had been given to Shelby Corcoran, the biological mother of Rachel Berry. Quinn knew that it was best for her baby, for Beth, to have a real mother that wasn't some scared girl, but deep down, Quinn always wondered if maybe it would have been worth the risk and stares to keep someone who would always love her. Unconditionally.

Why is love so hard to obtain? Why am I not good enough for it?

Two losses went to Rachel Berry, by proxy or by direct failure, and Quinn felt her heart surge.

Once, she had Sam Evans, who was genuinely sweet and caring. He was affectionate, and he never pushed too hard or expected too much from her. He was beautiful, and had proper qualities that could have easily made him someone she could really fall in love with. But his brand of goodness was too good to be tainted by her hands, and although Quinn remembered being tempted, so tempted, in fact, she needed status more than love when Sam was part of her life. Because she neglected him, he allowed himself to be tainted by Santana Lopez, who realized somewhere along the line that stealing boyfriends wasn't her scene, and that she'd rather take up space in the hearts of the fairer sex.

Quinn felt a tear drip down her face, leaving hot track marks that carried the remnants of her mascara with them. Sam had been good to her, and perhaps he could have given her the kind of storybook romance, the easy, unconditional love she knew now was what she really needed all those times she chose status and society. Now, Sam was giving his all to Mercedes Jones, who really deserved a Prince Charming, and Quinn could only allow herself to resent the girl for a brief, selfish moment. She could have kept Sam, after all. But, instead, she broke his heart and left her own bare, exposed, and alone.

Quinn slumped over, no longer using the wall for balance and found herself tucked into a fetal position sideways, tears continuing to blaze trails down her face. They touched her, warmed her in a way that made her nausea rage and roar within her, sending her into a dizzy spiral. She shut her eyes; whatever pain would come now, she embraced. Because at least it would remind her that she was still among the living. She had fallen so far, once a statuesque angel, a figurine that people flocked to stare at, and now she was just another pawn in a chess game that she was watching through a blindfold, uncertain of what the next move would be, or what move was headed her direction next. She wondered every day when the final, deadly blow would resound above her head, and felt at peace.

At least I won't see it coming.

Quinn rubbed her hands up and down her arms, warding off a chill when goosebumps formed. She remembered the feelings she once held within her, recalled in vivid detail the brief moments, no matter how long or short they were in their existence, where she was loved. When she was important. The tears ceased for a moment, and Quinn breathed in deeply, then let herself slip back.

Fall, 2003

A ten year old Lucy Quinn Fabray ran around the playground, her red, curly hair flying, flowing behind her like a stream of ribbons as she ran to the jungle gym that was in the center of the playground. Her hands stung briefly as she climbed the bars, rubbing on calluses that weren't quite developed. Her skirt flew up around her as she made her way to the very top bar in the center of the structure. Once she reached it, she sat on the bar, her legs dangling beneath her. She smiled and looked out over the entire playground; she felt like a queen at the top of a high tower, able to look down all her subjects that were playing and happy below.

"Hey," a voice called from beneath her. Lucy frowned; she did this every day at recess, and nobody disturbed her. This was her jungle gym. She looked down, pushing her hair out of her face.

"What do you want, peasant?" Lucy asked, staying in her character. Her voice was proud and strong, booming down beneath to where the other person stood. After the sunlight shifted, she could see more clearly, and saw a little boy with bright blue eyes and dark hair standing near the bottom rung of bars.

"Peasant?" he asked, obviously confused.

"Yes, peasant," Lucy replied.

"I don't know what that word means," the boy replied sheepishly. "But you're blocking the high bar. I want to play, too."

"I didn't say you could play here, peasant. This is my castle," she continued in the same booming voice. She hugged the bar tightly with her legs and crossed her arms.

"Your castle?" the boy asked. The wind picked up again, and his unruly, unkempt hair fluttered in his eyes. "Well, then can I play on your castle?"

"You have to ask permission from your queen," Lucy replied.

"I don't know your name…" the boy said.

"You don't know the name of your queen?" Lucy asked.

"No…" the boy said, kicking his feet in the dust slightly.

"It's Quinn. Queen Quinn," Lucy said. "It's okay this time, but next time you have to stay in character."

She uncrossed her arms and smiled down at the boy, who returned the same smile.

"Can I play on your castle, Queen Quinn?" the boy asked, doing a little bow. Lucy laughed, amused, and waved her hand in a magnanimous gesture.

"May I," she prompted for a moment before scooting over on the bar. "You may find refuge in my castle, loyal subject."

"Gee, thanks," the boy replied, obviously excited. He climbed quickly to the top of the top of the jungle gym and sat next to Lucy. They sat in silence, swinging their feet for a minute before he spoke up again. "I'm Joey."

"My real name is Lucy," Lucy replied. "But I hate it."

"Why?"

"It's a dumb name," Lucy said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Quinn's my middle name. I like it better."

"Do you want me to call you Quinn?" Joey asked.

Quinn smiled, suddenly bashful. Joey was pretty cute, she noticed. Something about the freckles on his face added a devious tinge to the slightly feminine, almost angelic structure.

"If you want," Lucy replied quietly.

"Do I have to call you Queen Quinn all the time?" Joey asked again.

"No, only when we're playing Castle," Lucy decided. "We can be friends, if you want."

Joey smiled, and reached down to take her hand. It didn't mean anything to two ten year olds, it was just a simple, sweet gesture, but it made Lucy's heart soar. To feel wanted, to feel like someone else thought she was special, it made her lightheaded and warm with power.

"You have pretty eyes," Joey stated. "They kind of look like giant balls of sunshine."

Lucy blushed and scooted closer to the blue-eyed boy.

"I think this friends thing is going to work out really well," Lucy replied. They didn't feel a need to play Castle anymore, just sat in silence, quietly talking and getting to know each other until the bell that signaled the end of recess sounded. The other kids began to line up, and Joey jumped down off the bars first, helping Lucy down so she wouldn't flip up her skirt or tear her tights.

They walked to the line together, hand in hand, and Lucy thought they would be friends forever. Maybe he would be her husband one day, if he liked her so much already. She could have skipped all the way back to class, but didn't. She was raised to be a lady, after all.

Quinn sat up a little straighter, bracing her back against the wall again. She drew her knees to her chest, keeping her feet flat on the floor, and wiped her tears with one hand, then frowned when she saw black smearing her fingertips. She knew her face must look a mess, like a macabre painting, or perhaps even a masterpiece that had been tainted by spilled ink. When her mother first taught her to apply make-up at the ripe age of fourteen, she was told that her face was the outer representation of the inside, and if the outside wasn't perfect, people would never believe the inside to be perfection, either. So, Quinn would spend hours from that day forward trying to paint angels on her face, to deliver the message that while girls should fear and respect her because of her beauty, boys should love her because of it. She knew her place was at the top, just like her old jungle gym castle, and while she wasn't so open to letting another breach her fortress, she thought nothing of entertaining audiences at random.

But only if they proved their worth, which was always part of the problem.

Quinn wiped her hand on the tile next to her, making a bigger mess and shivered as another cold chill soared through her. She fought the tears, battling another fresh wave until her face stung and quivered, but the tears did not fall. She wondered for a moment when she got so good at hiding emotion, and felt herself fall into another memory.

Spring, 2009

Her sophomore year of high school was nearly finished. She had just walked off the football field, clad in her Cheerio's uniform. She had slated her place as Captain for the following year. Her boyfriend, Finn Hudson, was jogging toward her still clad in his football uniform, and sweaty from practice. His helmet was tucked under his left arm, but as he came within touching distance of the blonde, his hand found hers immediately. It was like a magnet; no matter what, Finn's hand would always find hers.

It made Quinn feel safe, to know that Finn would always be there. He was safe, sturdy, and reliable. He was handsome, and granted, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but he got the job done and made her look even better. He brought up her position on the social totem pole, and the two of them would be McKinley's power couple when junior year started; him, the soon to be star quarterback, and her, the (hopefully) Nationals winning Cheerio captain. She had drawn from fairy tales, and even though she knew they were hard to come by, she felt that what she was currently living was as close to one as she'd get. High school was supposed to the pinnacle of a society girl's existence, for it paved the rest of her life. Next year, she'd be Prom Queen, and he'd be Prom King, and they'd accomplish the goal again during their Senior year. They'd graduate, and immediately following, he'd likely drop to one knee with a giant ring that cost him almost all his savings, and they'd get married after college.

They'd wait to make love, to consummate their relationship until their wedding night, because that's what God asked of his children, and then they'd conceive their first child out of love and harmony, within the shield of wedlock.

Quinn would get a decent job, though Finn would be the breadwinner. She would teach her children morals, values, and raise them to be just as she was, so they could go forth and have their own fairy tales come true. Everything would be perfect.

Finn gave Quinn's hand a little squeeze, and Quinn looked up at him, smiling happily.

"You look really beautiful today, Quinn," Finn said.

"Thank you," Quinn replied demurely, ducking her head slightly. Finn's smile widened, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she accepted and pressed her lips to him. It wasn't passionate, since they were careful in their needs and watched their hormones closely. Or, at least, Quinn did. She hadn't allowed things to progress past first base, and Finn had… difficulty controlling his urges, but Quinn was helping. She made him go to Celibacy Club meetings with her, and the power of prayer made up for the gaps and shortcomings during their time alone.

They started to walk off the field, hand-in-hand, and Quinn's eye focused on someone just off to the side. Another flash of red, a boy in uniform, jogged past. He tore the helmet off his head with a grunt, and he grew closer. Darker skin and mischievous eyes got Quinn's attention, although her hand was still laced with Finn's, and she felt a rush soar through her body. Noah Puckerman was dangerous, she knew, both in reputation and looks. Her friend, Santana, had all but marked his leg in staking her claim, but did well to share boastful stories of their sins together.

Puck smiled at the couple and nodded his head.

"Hey, Hudson," the boy greeted, giving Finn a fist pound. He turned his attention to Quinn and did a little bow. "Quinn."

"Hello, Puck," Quinn said kindly. His attention on her didn't last long, and Quinn felt her stomach churn slightly. Why was he no longer interested? Wasn't she the prettiest girl in school? She was prettier than Santana, wasn't she? Puck looked at Finn instead.

"We still on for video games at my house tonight, bro?" Puck asked. Finn worried his teeth on his bottom lip, and smiled sheepishly down at Quinn.

"Um, I erm… uh… Quinn and I were planning to…" Finn stuttered. Quinn felt his grip grow slack, almost releasing, but not quite. She made up the difference.

"We had plans," Quinn said stiffly. Puck nodded.

"Okay, cool, well maybe some other time," Puck said. "We gotta hit the showers, though. Quinn probably doesn't want to be around a bunch of stinky animals."

"I really don't," Quinn replied, growing irritated at her boyfriend's lack of reply concerning the entire situation.

Finally, Finn released her hand and smiled apologetically before leaning down and capturing her lips again. It lingered a little longer this time, and she put on a little bit of a show for Puck by slipping Finn just a taste of tongue. The boy pulled back with a dopey smile and wider eyes than usual.

"Wait for me?" Finn asked. Quinn put on her biggest, brightest smile.

"Always," she replied.

Puck and Finn crossed down the center of the field, and she made her way toward the bleachers.

Her hand grew cold from the light breeze and lack of contact with Finn's. She watched the boys leave. Why had she been so upset about Finn making plans with someone else? And Puck, of all people. They were best friends, after all. She could easily have made plans with Brittany and Santana.

Her stomach tightened again.

Jealousy. For a brief second, she knew her answer. Finn was safe and sturdy, but he wasn't what she really wanted. She craved a little bit of danger to counteract the good image she always had to work tirelessly to obtain. Because, sweet as Finn was, she wanted more. She wanted attention from Puck. From both of them, really, but definitely from Puck.

She laced her fingers together and laced both of them in her lap, feeling them get warm, but not warm enough.

She wondered, for a moment, if she would ever be able to stop wanting and just be happy with what she had.

Fall, 2009

Quinn laid on her back, trying not to breathe in the scent of shame and disgust as it washed around her. Sobriety was a funny thing; it made her realize all her mistakes, bright and full before her very eyes. She hadn't intended on sleeping with Noah Puckerman, on losing her virginity to him, on giving up on everything she had ever worked so hard for.

Practice had been rough the day before. She was working on her stunts, tirelessly, and Coach Sylvester had been yelling, name-calling, relentless with her name-calling and barb-like insults. They had torn deep, they had made her feel an inch tall, and after practice, Finn was nowhere to be found. Family dinner, he said, he had to leave early. She missed the feeling of his hand, she missed his dopey smile, and she missed the way he could always, always make her feel better about herself.

Puck had been there, and like it was some sort of sick sixth sense, he was able to smell the insecurity on her. It hadn't been difficult for him to convince her to go back to his place, just a flash of that smile, a glimmer of mischief in those eyes, and she was done. Greedy Quinn, always wanting more. But this time, she knew, she had bitten off more than she could chew.

He offered her a wine cooler when he sensed that she was sick of watching him play video games, but not interested enough or trusting enough to really talk about what was on her mind. Quinn had never been a stupid girl; she knew what wine was, and she knew what it contained. That mystical substance known as alcohol that her parents downed in heavy gulps, finishing off bottle by bottle before the halfway point of the week even was upon them. She always smelled it on her mother's breath and her father's jackets, and knew that it was dangerous. Dangerous like Puck. Dangerous like desire. Yet, when he offered it the second time, weakness took over and she took him up on his offer.

It didn't taste like evil or like sin, nor did it smell like her mother's breath and her father's jacket. No, it tasted like peach. Well, the first one tasted like peach. The second one, from what she could remember, tasted like strawberry. Or maybe raspberry. The third, well, she couldn't remember the third at all.

She could remember how she ended up on her back with Puck's heavy weight on top of her, crushing her. His hands were rough, insistent, never slowing down. But she didn't ask him to slow down, either. With the alcohol came her confessions. She told Puck how Coach Sylvester told her she was fat, untalented, nothing… Puck smiled and assured her that she was beautiful.

The prettiest girl in school.

Prettier than Santana.

Quinn let his hands touch under her shirt, let him go further than Finn had ever gone, and never once told him to slow down. He was so persistent with his compliments, though some of them were more vulgar than she liked, they made her feel really, really good about herself.

When sex happened, and it did happen, Quinn remembered that it hurt. Really, really badly. It wasn't romantic, and she couldn't fool herself into thinking that it was her wedding night with Finn. Puck's hands weren't as big, but they were stronger and more bruising. Quinn remembered worrying about bruises the next day, and somehow, in that worry, she forgot to ask Puck if he had protection. Although, she kept remembering him assuring her that it was okay, that she was beautiful, that everything was so, so good and that she was so, so good.

That everything would be okay.

And she believed him.

Stupid girl.

Quinn managed to muster up enough strength to make it into one of the bathroom stalls, where she ejected the contents of her breakfast and her lunch into the toilet. She waited until all the vomiting had stopped, and the crying began again. She reached for the handle blindly, and flushed, then sank against the wall, scooting backward so her back touched the wall, because she needed to be as far away from her shame, from her memories, from the mess of everything as possible. She heard the door to the bathroom open, and cringed.

She had already fallen so far. Nobody could see her like this. This would ruin everything. At least, it would ruin everything she had left.

She sniffled, trying to force back her tears and her emotion again.

"Is someone in here?" the person asked. The voice sounded familiar, but her ears were swimming. She could only make out the words and the familiarity, but she couldn't place it.

Of course she wouldn't respond. This seemed to placate the person, and she heard a quiet cough followed by running water.

Quinn tucked her knees back to her chest and rocked herself back and forth. She pondered for a moment if she could manage to stay here for the rest of the day, if she could use the time and then collect herself enough to make a graceful exit, just to her house where she could go and hopefully avoid her mother just for as long as it took to get to her room, where she could continue wallowing in the misery of her broken dreams.

She had the fleeting thought to check her cell phone. She did still have friends, after all, and surely someone would have noticed her absence by now. She wasn't sure of the exact time, but she felt like she had been in the bathroom for at least an hour, possibly two. Quinn opened her inbox, and felt her heart sink.

Not a single message. Nobody even noticed.

Her face scrunched up again, and this time, she couldn't stop the tears as they fell. A choked sob escaped from the back of her throat, and she tightened her arms so much that she felt the bite of her own fingernails as they gripped into her upper arms. Her cell phone clattered to the floor. She heard the water stop.

"Hello?" the voice called again. Quinn closed her eyes, trying to stay quiet. To stay unnoticed. To go below the radar. Because even though the voice was familiar, it wasn't familiar in a way that made Quinn feel safe. Perhaps if it were Brittany, or even Santana, but it wasn't.

Her mind shifted. Santana. Santana had been good about giving her some kind of comfort, even if it wasn't always enough or always as sincere as Quinn truly needed in the past. Santana had been a good friend, in her own slightly detached way. They had gone off and on between being best friends and bitter enemies, but Quinn knew that Santana understood her longing to be loved. She understood it even more after she lost what she thought was her own unconditional love from Brittany, and developed something of a heart when she got the blue-eyed blonde back again.

That heart had been good to Quinn once, too. It had been compassionate, even for just a short time.

Quinn remembered.

Spring, 2011

Lima looked different, empty, after the bright lights and giant buildings of New York City. Quinn was sitting in the passenger seat of Santana's car, waiting for the brunette to get the rest of her stuff off the bus. After their loss, after Finn kissed Rachel in front of everyone, after she had been gutted, Quinn had leaned on the fiery brunette. Santana had torn into everyone on the team, spewing threats and vulgarities in every direction. She blamed them for the loss. She blamed them for the fact that Quinn was inconsolable. And, once the rage had subsided, the brunette had found Quinn, tucked into a corner, and insisted that the girl stay with her, so she'd know for absolute certain the blonde was all right.

It had been the kindest thing Santana had ever done for her.

Quinn ran her fingers absently through her newly-cropped hair and looked blankly out the window. She continued to stare until she heard the car door open, then close. The spicy scent of Santana's perfume wafted into the girl as the brunette settled in, buckled up, and started the ignition.

"Do you want to go back to my place, or are you okay with driving around for a little while?" Santana asked.

"I don't care, whatever you want," Quinn mumbled numbly. Santana shook her head.

"Stop doing what everyone else wants, Q. Think for yourself for a fucking change. What do you, Quinn Fabray, want to do?" Santana asked, her tone stern, but holding a tinge of something else that brought forth the confidence in Quinn from the darkest, furthest recesses of her mind.

"Drive," Quinn ordered, and she could have sworn she felt Santana smile. Slow and smooth, like a caress. The car pulled out of the parking lot, and they found themselves careening down an open road.

"Any requests as to the destination, or are we winging it?" Santana asked about ten minutes later.

"Take me somewhere so I can forget," Quinn requested.

"Done and done," Santana replied. The rest of the drive was in silence, and Quinn blanked out until she felt the car slow to a stop, and heard the click of the ignition.

"Where are we?" Quinn asked, looking out the passenger window as if it was a doorway to a new world.

"It doesn't look as nice during the day, but at night, it's kind of peaceful," Santana said. She opened her door and stuck her feet out of the car, letting the night breeze waft in. Quinn breathed deeply, and felt her senses tingle. It was quiet, except for the crickets chirping in the background and the slight sound of Santana's breathing combined with her own. "I'm getting out. You do what you want."

Santana got out of the car and shut the door behind her. Quinn waited for a moment, then leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cold glass window. She waited, listening to the sound of her own breath. In and out. Her own heartbeat.

She waited a few seconds more, then got out of the car. Her eyes adjusted again to the darkness, and she looked out at long strips of green, green grass that looked slightly blue in the night lighting. Fireflies scattered around the entire scenery, making it almost picturesque. Then, Quinn's eyes settled on the lake, and just before it, a large tree. Her heart slowed, perhaps in reverence, perhaps in welcome. Either way, she felt the tension, the anger, the pain, the sorrow, all faded away. She felt the anguish and the negativity leave her body like steam, and could have sworn she saw that steam wash forward until it settled among the fireflies on the lake.

Quinn made her way to the tree that was covered in knots, with thick limbs that looked like the dictionary definition of shelter.

"I thought you'd never get here," Santana said from behind her. Quinn turned and saw the brunette seated beneath the giant tree, her eyes reflecting the starlight and the green glow of the fireflies. Quinn smiled, slightly captivated by the rapidly flickering qualities in those dark, stormy brown orbs.

"Thanks for bringing me," Quinn said. "I just needed to… escape, everything. All of it."

"Nah, I get it," Santana said simply. "This is where I go when shit gets too crazy."

"Well, thank you," Quinn repeated.

"Would you quit with the 'thank you's' and just sit your ass down?" Santana said, gesturing to the spot next to her. "Best seat in the house."

They sat in silence, both of them watching the lake, until Quinn shifted her gaze elsewhere, to the girl next to her. She remembered the hotel room, before all the crazy happened, before her haircut. Santana had been there for her then, too. She had suggested a change, held Quinn's hand when the blonde got her locks shorn. It had been liberating and terrifying at the same time, and afterward, Quinn found herself questioning what change really meant.

Quinn's eyes raked over Santana. Again, she remembered… Puck saying that she was prettier than Santana on that night she always tried to forget, but never really could. As much as she hated it, that night had paved her life, her road, more than fairy tales, more than her upbringing or her religious ideals. That night had forced her to grow up, physically and otherwise.

Santana was so beautiful, Quinn thought. Her intense eyes were still focused, never wavering. Her hands were delicate, but strong, and they rested on her knees. She was still, almost like a statue, and seemed to be at peace. Quinn wasn't used to be being audience to a calm, peaceful Santana Lopez, and it was striking in its rarity and its beauty. Quinn felt like she was an outsider, a voyeur, looking in on an intimate, private moment. She held her breath, but kept staring.

She caught Santana's breath pick up, and could swear she heart the other girl's heartbeat make itself known.

"Fabray, would you stop staring at me already?" Santana asked, her tone suggesting that she was mostly teasing, at least. She smirked, and Quinn still couldn't tear her eyes away. "I thought you weren't into girls."

Quinn felt a rush through her system. She had never considered it, really. She wasn't opposed to it. She was friends with Santana, who was a lesbian, even if she wouldn't come out of the closet fully. At least, she hadn't yet. She had watched Santana and Brittany be affectionate with each other for years, and while Quinn didn't completely understand it, and while her religion taught her that it was sinful, that it was wrong, Quinn thought it was oddly beautiful. And she was a sinner, too. Hadn't she given birth to a child out of wedlock? Hadn't she broken her vow to God by giving herself to Noah Puckerman in a way that was driven by illegal substances for someone of her age?

She couldn't see how Santana was any different. If anything, Santana was better, because she could accept things about herself that other people hated. Quinn couldn't do that. But maybe, she could learn from Santana, and maybe the brunette could teach her.

"I don't like girls," Quinn said simply.

"Well, you're doing a shit job of fooling me right now," Santana quipped.

The brunette looked at Quinn and smiled. Quinn wanted to look away; she wasn't prepared for this. She wasn't prepared for just how intense the brunette could look, how beautiful she could look while shrouded by mystique and moonlight. She wasn't prepared for any of it. She was vulnerable, again.

"Relax, Q. I'm not going to axe-murder you," Santana chided.

Quinn gulped.

"Sorry, I just…"

"Staring. I get it. I'm a hot piece of ass," Santana said, shrugging her shoulders and arching an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry that Brittany doesn't see you," Quinn said, unable to stop the words as they left her mouth. Santana looked angry for a second, and clenched her jaw. She stayed that way for a second, then exhaled heavily, and nodded her head in a way that looked like it was too heavy for her to hold up any longer.

"I'm sorry that Finnessa is a giant douche bag," Santana replied.

"He's not right for me," Quinn said. "I mean, I think I realized it a long time ago. Before things happened with Puckerman, even. He wasn't what I wanted, not really. I wanted the idea of him more than… him."

"Eh, Berry can have him," Santana said. "He's so boring."

"I think you could do better than Brittany, too," Quinn said, getting up a hint of bravery. "I mean, you know I care about her. But if she's content to be with Artie, let her. That means she's not good enough for you, and another girl is out there, just waiting to love you."

"You're talking like you've got someone in mind," Santana said, furrowing her brow.

"I don't, not really," Quinn replied bashfully.

Even though she did. She looked at Santana's lips, and wondered what it would be like to kiss them. But only for a moment. She couldn't let herself dwell on those types of things for too long.

Santana Lopez was intense to her very core. She was wild, passionate, and untamed. She was wild and dangerous like Puck, but she could be sweet and compassionate like Finn when she really, really tried. But she was smart, like Sam, and Quinn knew that Santana didn't judge her. She hadn't always been nice during Quinn's pregnancy, but most of it was for show. When Quinn had weird night cravings or needed a foot rub, Santana had always been a text message and a brief car ride away.

She was a good friend.

"Then why are you looking at me like you want to kiss me?" Santana asked bluntly.

"I don't want to kiss you," Quinn scoffed.

Santana smirked.

"If you wanted to try it, Q, I wouldn't say no," Santana pressed. Her voice was smooth like silk and honey, and Quinn felt the heat surge in her belly. It wasn't jealousy this time. It was what she should have felt that night with Puck. It was what she should have felt when she slept with Finn in a last-ditch attempt to make him see that his place, his purpose was to be with her, to fulfill her fucked up fairy tale.

Desire.

She felt desire.

Quinn moved forward like a woman possessed and caught Santana's lips with hers. They kissed, and it was slow, surprisingly. Passionate. It wasn't rough or bruising like Puck, nor sloppy and clumsy like Finn and sometimes like it was with Sam. Santana was skilled, gentle, but insistent. She moved forward and placed a hand on Quinn's hip, drawing the blonde into her. Quinn draped both arms around Santana's neck, and moaned softly into her best friend's mouth. Santana took this opportunity to trace her tongue along Quinn's bottom lip, then enter the blonde's mouth, seeking out her tongue for a heated duel.

"Santana," Quinn moaned gently. Santana kept kissing Quinn, lowering her to the soft, slightly dewy grass and laying on top of her.

Santana's weight wasn't heavy, like Puck's, and Quinn didn't feel anything poking at her, begging for attention she didn't want to give. Santana's hands felt like freedom, Quinn realized, as they touched her just right. They didn't paw at her breasts, they caressed them. Santana's lips, when they moved to her neck, didn't bite, but merely scraped at her pulse with perfect teeth. Santana was warm and soft, and her breath smelled sweet.

So, Quinn didn't protest when the Latina began to remove their clothes. She didn't slow her down when they were both naked under the shelter of that giant tree. She didn't stop Santana when skilled, adept fingers curled between her legs, requesting entrance that this time, Quinn was happy to grant.

Quinn allowed Santana to breach her fortress, to enter her castle and stake her claim.

Santana brought Quinn to new heights, and Quinn left scratches over the brunette's back that would likely scar, but Santana didn't complain.

When Santana rolled off Quinn, both girls laid side by side in the grass, panting gently. Quinn didn't feel ashamed or dirty. She didn't feel disgusted, and she didn't want to run and hide.

She felt Santana's hand move slightly down, fingers gently tangling with her own.

Santana Lopez held her hand.

And maybe, just a little bit, at least, Quinn felt the stirrings in her chest that felt a little like love.

Quinn fought the urge to vomit again. That memory was more painful than she thought it would be. Before, it had always been beautiful, but now, since she felt forgotten, it felt like betrayal. Another choked sob escaped her, and as soon as it left, she was startled by a light rapping on the stall door she was hiding behind.

"I heard you crying, and I'm not trying to intrude. Believe me, I understand the need to find solace and have a good, healthy release of emotion in a place like a… bathroom," the person said. Her voice didn't hold pity, just honesty. Quinn felt her tears cease momentarily. "I don't know who you are, but I know what it feels like to be alone, and if you'd like to open the door, and would permit me, I could offer help, in some form. A shoulder to cry on, literally, perhaps."

Quinn couldn't help herself. She reached behind and opened the lock, allowing the door to be freed, and tucked herself into a different corner. She didn't look up, didn't want to see the initial rush of pity she expected to show up in the girl's eyes when she was discovered.

"Oh, Quinn," the girl said. Still, there was no pity. There was acceptance, and maybe even, Quinn thought, forgiveness. A moment later, Quinn was being held by a pair of slim arms, and the smell of cherry and almonds overwhelmed her senses in a way that made her feel warm from the inside out. She was hugged close to the girl's chest, and buried her face in soft fabric, worrying for a moment that her mascara would ruin this Good Samaritan's shirt, then pushing that worry away when the gesture was encouraged. Gentle fingers tangled through her hair, and the other hand moved to rub her back. "Oh, Quinn, what happened?"

Quinn sniffled, and allowed herself to be held and comforted. She focused on breathing, although it was staggered, choppy, frail.

"Lost… lost everything," she managed. It sounded desperate and tired. It was barely even her voice. This was not Quinn Fabray. "I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," the girl said. "Whatever you're hurting about, it's going to be okay. Eventually. I won't go anywhere, okay? I'll just stay right here."

The words were familiar. It's okay. But this time, they weren't laced with expectation, they weren't encouragement. This time, it felt like a promise.

And Quinn believed it.

Through her tears, Quinn looked up, wanting to see who her protector was. Who this angel was, who had taken the time to stand outside a bathroom stall because she heard a random stranger crying and felt the need to comfort. To be someone's rock, to give so much of herself when little would be offered in return.

Dark hair came into sight first, followed by kind, dark eyes and an innocent smile that reminded her of Joey, her first friend on the playground. It was innocent, and she thought, absolutely beautiful.

Then, when her vision cleared, she recognized the girl's face and felt another searing wave of nausea.

Treasure Trail.

Man Hands.

RuPaul.

Berry…

No, she was none of these things. Quinn blinked twice, and the other girl wiped away each and every new tear as they fell.

"Rachel," Quinn breathed. The brunette smiled and held Quinn a little closer.

"Hello," Rachel replied sheepishly. "If you want me to go, I'd understand."

"No!" Quinn said loudly, clutching at Rachel's shirt. She felt desperate. She felt needy, miserable, but for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel alone, and wasn't about to plunge herself back into that cavern of emptiness. "Please stay?"

Rachel nodded, and continued to stroke Quinn's hair and rub her back.

"You don't have to tell me what brought you here," Rachel said, her voice soft and musical even in a near whisper. "Although it breaks my heart to see you like this."

"Why?" Quinn asked, her voice strangled. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. How could Rachel be so kind now after everything she had done? "I treated you like… I was horrible to you."

"You did what you had to do to survive," Rachel replied simply. "It wasn't kind, but I understood. I've watched you, trying at first to understand why you targeted me, why you felt the need to be so cruel, but then it started to make sense, and I couldn't hold it against you. I couldn't hate you. I couldn't even be mad, not really."

"What did you see?" Quinn asked, clearing her throat. "What did you see in me?"

"Everyone wants to be loved. Some need more than others, and some do all the wrong things to get it," Rachel explained. "You're a little bit broken, Quinn."

"You make it sound like that's okay," Quinn said. "Which still doesn't explain why you're being so… wonderful."

"I'm a sucker for it," Rachel said with a gentle smile. "For you."

What does that mean?

Quinn was about to lose herself in her thoughts again, when Rachel began to drag her body forward. She was stronger than she looked, and with only a little bit of effort, managed to get Quinn to her feet.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Rachel said, looking at Quinn with perfect, kind eyes. She opened the bathroom stall and extended her hand. Quinn gazed at it for a moment, as if it were a foreign object, then moved her own forward to grasp it. Their fingers laced together, and Quinn felt a strange burning sensation in her palm. Her hands hadn't even been cold before, she thought, why were they feeling like that?

Rachel's hands were smaller than Finn's, yet they made her feel protected, and somehow, Quinn felt drawn to her like a magnet. Even when she pushed her away, and she had pushed with all her might, Rachel still managed to be there.

Rachel's arms weren't as strong as Puck's, but somehow, the tiny brunette managed to make Quinn feel safer than Puck ever had on nights when Quinn would crawl into his bed during her pregnancy, not for anything more than the request that as the person carrying his child, he hold her like a good man should. He would oblige her requests, although she always sensed he wanted more. There was no ulterior motives behind Rachel's embrace, and Quinn didn't feel stifled, or smothered. With Rachel, she felt like she was secure, and secure enough to accept and enjoy the lack of danger.

After Quinn was cleaned up, the track marks from mascara wiped from her face, Rachel leaned in to embrace the blonde. They hugged, right in the middle of the bathroom, and Quinn breathed in deeply. Rachel didn't smell spicy like Santana, but she felt familiar. Like a friend, like trust and freedom, like how Santana's touches had been tender and had brought out a new side of her. Rachel smelled like the clean night air, and her eyes sparkled like fireflies even under harsh incandescent lighting.

For the first time all day, Quinn smiled. Rachel took a step back and smiled back, then moved to exit the bathroom.

"Rachel, wait," Quinn called after the girl. The brunette paused, halting solidly in her tracks, then turned to face the blonde.

"You're feeling better," Rachel said softly. "I figured that was my cue to leave. A good actress knows her cues."

Quinn couldn't stop the words. She knew she had no right to make this request, but did anyway. She sent up a silent prayer, just in case God hadn't forgotten her completely, and let the words escape.

"Stay?"

Rachel smiled even brighter, and nodded her head. This time, it was Quinn who extended her hand, and Rachel stared at it for a moment, just a brief, shining moment before allowing Quinn to take her hand and lace their fingers together.

Quinn opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall, her hand still attached to Rachel's.

She saw the stares, but didn't see them.

She felt the comments being prepared to be thrown, but didn't feel them.

She could sense the curiosity in the air, but it didn't bother her.

Rachel Berry felt perfect.

Quinn smiled.

Maybe it felt a little bit like… well, not love. She wanted love, craved it, and needed it. She had risked her entire life for it, thrown her world upside down for it. But now, she knew, she had the patience to wait for it. For the real thing. However, this… whatever it was… felt a little like the start of something good.

A/N: Thoughts, comments, reviews... all accepted, embraced. So, please, let me know what you think. I'd really love to hear it.