Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

AN: Mentions of domestic and child abuse. Nothing graphic.

Part One

White Fences

If Quinn Fabray thinks the month of May of her junior year is a disaster, then the following June is a complete and utter shit show.

In the great scheme of things, Quinn can probably accept that it's all karmic justice, but there's really only so much she can handle. She's only seventeen years old, after all. Surely there's a cap on how much a teenage girl should have to go through in such a short time.

Take just these two months alone.

It's almost unbelievable.

First, somehow, for whatever reason, she ended up off the Cheerios without her really even knowing how it happened.

Then, there was the entire revelation about Lucy, which, well, actually went much better than she initially thought it would.

Then, Prom, which was a total, undeniable clusterfuck.

It was almost inevitable that Finn would break up with her, but even she didn't expect it to be at such a spectacularly bad time. No tact, that boy.

Nationals in New York didn't go any better. Losing was one thing, but losing because of Finn and Rachel was something else entirely.

And, then, there's this:

"What is he doing here?"

Now, Quinn can probably handle nearly anything this world has thrown at her - God knows she's survived a hell of a lot already - but everything has just built up, and now she's staring at her mother and her father sitting together on her living room couch, and -

And.

"Quinn," Judy Fabray reprimands. "We don't use that tone in this house."

Quinn just stares at her, trying to figure out just what tone of voice she used to ask the question she knows is going to be the beginning of the end.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn asks again, "What is he doing here?" in a steady tone. She's calling on her HBIC to keep her calm and present, but she's just standing there, her suitcase at her side and her insides twisting.

She's just returned from one of the worst weekends of her life - bar the surprising haircut - and now she has to deal with this.

Judy rises to her feet. "Well, Sweetheart," she starts, her voice sickly sweet; "while you were away, your father and I talked, and I've decided to take him back." She smooths her hands over her pale dress. "He's coming home, Quinn."

Quinn just stares at her, believing she's heard incorrectly. "Home?" she whispers, frowning, because this isn't happening.

Judy smiles so widely that Quinn actually feels sick. She nods her head. "Home, yes," she says. "We need him here. Haven't you missed him?"

Quinn just about resists the urge to laugh, because, God, no, how could she miss the man who very coldly removed her from the only home she ever knew after she made one mistake?

"But - " Quinn starts, and then stops, because she really doesn't know what to say. She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "But, you promised me."

Judy's eyes widen slightly. "Quinn, that was a long time ago."

"A year ago, yes," Quinn says, and she's entirely too calm. "I didn't know promises have expiration dates."

"Quinn."

"No," she says. "You promised me he wouldn't be back; that I would be safe if I came to live with you again."

"It's going to be different now," Judy says. "He promises."

"Oh, and you just expect me to believe his promise when you can't even keep yours?" The sarcasm is evident in her voice, and she just knows she's pushing buttons she thought she would never see again.

Her father is sitting tensely on the couch, fists tightly clenched, and Quinn knows, without a doubt, that nothing has changed at all.

"No," Quinn suddenly says.

Judy frowns.

"No," Quinn repeats. "I don't want him here."

Judy shifts her posture. "It's already been decided, Quinn."

"So, what, I don't even get a say? What about what I feel about this?"

"I'm the parent here," Judy says. "I've already decided, Quinn. Your father is coming home, and we're going to be a family again."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "A family?" she scoffs. "We've never been a family. He made sure of it."

"Quinn, you have to understand," Judy starts. "I'm so lonely."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "Then, find someone else," she almost spits out. "God, anyone would be better than him."

"Quinn," Judy hisses, glancing over her shoulder at Russell, who is watching the entire interaction with hard eyes.

"I won't live here with him," Quinn declares.

"If you're going to fight this, nobody is asking you to stay," Judy says, and all the air leaves Quinn's body.

"Oh," she whispers. "That's what it's going to come down to, isn't it? You're choosing him again. You're doing it again."

"We need him, Quinn," she says. "We've been struggling without him. We need help, and you need guidance."

"Not from him!" Quinn snaps. This time, she knows her tone is harsh, and her parents both react.

Judy flinches, and Russell jumps to his feet.

"Don't you speak to your mother that way!" his voice booms, and Quinn does her best not to step back, even though she feels a flash of fear.

She hasn't felt this feeling in so long, and it's something she hates. She's been dealing with so much, all the time, and this isn't what she needs.

"Why are you even here?" Quinn asks him. "Where's your mistress?"

It's probably the wrong thing to ask, because his eyes turn colder. "Where's your bastard child?" he grits out, and Quinn's heart twists painfully.

"Don't you dare mention her," Quinn says, because he doesn't get to talk about Beth. She would be here with Quinn if it weren't for him, and he doesn't get to talk about her. Especially not that way.

"I'll talk about whomever I please."

"The same way you'll do whatever you please," Quinn scoffs. "What happens when one of us does something you don't like, huh? What happens then?"

Russell gives her a look. "I suspect you've learned from your mistakes," he says coolly. "You already know the repercussions of stepping out of line."

"As do you, right? I'm not the only one who's been kicked out of this house."

He steps forward, a sneer on his face. "Watch the way you speak to me, young lady. Have you no manners?" He glances at Judy. "I see why you need me here," he says. "She'll continually tarnish the Fabray name with this behaviour."

"What? The way you have?"

Quinn knows she should stop. She's just making him angry, but she can't. She hates this, and she's so disappointed in her mother for allowing this to happen.

"You can't just stand there and pretend you're some kind of saviour," Quinn accuses. "We don't need you. We haven't needed you since you skipped out on your family and dropped your pants for the first floozy you could - "

Quinn sees it coming, but she's too slow to avoid it, and Russell's palm connects with her cheek the way hers did with Rachel's just a few weeks ago.

Her own hand flies to the trauma sight, and she's both horrified and deeply disappointed. She doesn't even look at him, choosing rather to keep her eyes on her mother, whose own face is impassive.

"Is this what you think we need?" Quinn asks, and her voice is dangerous. "This is what you call different?"

Judy just shakes her head, and then says, "Go to your room."

Quinn can't actually believe this is happening, but her mind is spinning and her heart is racing and her cheek is stinging.

So, she just reaches for her suitcase handle, and goes up to her bedroom without looking back. She doesn't let out a breath until she's safely locked behind her bedroom door.

It's also the moment she bursts into tears.

She's disgusted and hurt and betrayed, and why is this even happening? She sinks to the floor, her back against her door, with her heart aching.

What happens now?

God, what happens now?

It takes Quinn almost fifteen minutes to get a hold of herself, and then she gets to her feet and unpacks her suitcase.

Only to pack it again.

And then another.

And another.

She packs all her things as systematically as she can, because she knows - she knows - without a doubt that it's going to come down to it. Whether she actually gets kicked out or leaves of her own volition, she doesn't yet know.

She has no idea what she's going to do or where she's going to go, but she knows she won't be able to live here with that man.

She won't survive it.

Before long, Quinn has all her things packed, and she sits on the edge of her bed and waits.

For what, she doesn't know, but the next thing that happens is her mother knocking on her bedroom door and calling her down to dinner. For a moment, Quinn contemplates not answering, but that will just create more of a problem, and that's the last thing she wants.

So, she goes.

And, it's a complete disaster.

Not that she expects anything else.

Quinn isn't hungry, but she thinks she's going to start some kind of riot if she doesn't eat what her mother so generously prepared for her. She's tense, and she just wants the meal to pass by without any problems.

But, her mother has to ask her about her trip to New York.

Quinn is tempted to lie, but her mouth says the words, "We didn't win," before she can stop herself.

"Oh?" Judy says. "I'm sorry, Honey. What happened?"

Quinn presses her lips together, stopping herself from breaking into a rant about stupid Finn and stupid Rachel and stupid kisses. "The other teams were better prepared, I think," she says diplomatically.

"Why weren't you as prepared?" Russell asks her, a certain edge to his voice.

She shrugs. "We're a passionate group," she says. "It's sometimes difficult to get things done."

"Don't you have a teacher in charge?"

Quinn almost rolls her eyes. "He's not the strongest personality in the room," she comments, which is probably kind at this point, because he was going to leave them.

He was going to abandon them, and Quinn has seen the back of far too many people in her life.

"Then, surely, you should find someone else," Russell says, almost dismissively. Then, frowning, he asks, "What Club is this, anyway?"

Judy hesitates before explaining it's a singing group.

Russell's face twists into a scowl. "Singing?" he asks with disgust. He looks at Judy. "This is what you've been letting her do while I've been away?"

"She started before," Judy says. "It makes her happy."

He scoffs. "Happy?" he asks, looking contrite. "What? Are you going to tell me this... Club doesn't make my family look like a bunch of fucking fairies?"

Quinn flinches at his harsh language.

"Russell," Judy says. "Quinn has maintained her grades, despite everything."

"Everything?" he questions. "You mean the bastard child that's tainted our name?"

Quinn's grip tightens on her fork, and she has the simple desire to stab her father with it. Beth is always going to be a vulnerable place for him to hurt her, and she needs to school her features, so he doesn't keep using it against her.

Maybe Russell is gearing up for a fight; for a chance to exact his authority, because he doesn't drop it. He doesn't stop asking about Quinn's life, dissecting her Prom loss and recent breakup, which her mother has to reveal.

And, well, Quinn snaps.

It's almost inevitable.

"Well, what did you expect?" she says, her voice accusing. "I've been raising myself for the past few years. You're an absent, abusive father, and my mother is a damn alcoholic!"

Maybe it's the word 'abusive,' or something else - she did sort of swear - but the moment Russell gets to his feet and comes for her, Quinn wonders if this is all still a part of her karmic payback.

At least, that's what she's thinking the moment before she passes out.

Quinn hears herself groan first, before any of her other senses even kick in.

Touch is in the forefront immediately, her entire body roaring to life, as the pain with which her father rewarded her erupts.

She groans again, shifting her body to try to alleviate the pain; just to give herself some respite. It takes her only a second to realise that moving is the absolute worst thing she can do.

She doesn't bother to open her eyes, already allowing her body to slip back into slumber.

What feels like seconds later, she's regaining consciousness, and the pain hasn't seemed to lessen in any way. She does, however, feel a little stronger, which is going to go a long way towards helping her catalogue and see to her wounds.

Because, they are wounds.

There's blood, which has happened only twice before. Open wounds are harder to hide, because they require some kind of dressing. They bleed.

They scar.

Gathering all the will power she has, she manages to get herself off her bed. The fact she's even on her bed is surprising. There's even a light blanket laid over her, and she wonders what her mother was feeling when Russell must have carried her unconscious form to her bedroom.

She wants not to care, but she does. She cares so much that her mother is doing this again. Before the pregnancy, Quinn tried so hard to stay in line and be the perfect daughter. She did everything they asked of her.

And, then, she made one decision, just to feel for once in her life, and the Universe decided it would be a nice story to have her end up pregnant. It's difficult not to feel sorry for herself at times like these, but she can't help it.

With a heavy sigh, Quinn drags herself to her bathroom to get cleaned up. She tries not to pay too much attention to what she's doing, because the severity of this particular beating is troublesome.

This is a message sent.

He's saying something very specific.

Fall in line.

Do as I say.

Quinn hears him loud and clear, which is why she can't stay here. She has no idea what she's going to do, or even if she can get anywhere tonight. She doesn't even know what time it is.

All she's really aware of is the pain, and the lingering fear.

This is no way to live, and Quinn shudders to think what would have happened if Russell returned to the house and Quinn had actually taken her mother up on the offer to keep Beth.

God.

What would Quinn do then?

Once Quinn has seen to the most pressing injuries, she's hit by a wave of exhaustion. She's also a little hungry, but she's sure she can find something once she's gone.

Where, she still doesn't know; just that it's somewhere.

It should be simpler this time around.

She wants to leave, so they'll have to let her.

Really, she doesn't know how she's going to get all her things out of the house when she's this injured. Maybe she'll just take the essentials with her, and come back for the rest when her parents aren't home.

Okay.

That sounds like a plan.

Sucking in a breath and shouldering her backpack, Quinn stumbles to her feet and heads to the door with the intention of leaving.

Only.

The door is locked.

Quinn can't say she's actually surprised, and her grip on the door handle slackens in utter defeat. Instead of immediately crying, she actually laughs, because, God, this is so not what she was expecting when she arrived home.

No.

It's not her home.

This place has never been her home.

Her laughter quickly turns to sobs, and she just wishes this wasn't her life.

Quinn turns her head to look at the window, contemplating if she would do more damage to her body if she tried to leave that way. Her father would probably hear her, and it's too much of a risk.

She'll figure something out in the morning.

Right now, she's safe in her bedroom.

Well, she hopes she is.

It's the only reason she's not full on panicking in this moment, even though there's a hopelessness creeping into her bones.

Her body hurts in places it hasn't hurt in a very long time, and she's going to have to deal with it at some point, but, right now, she just wants to stand here and breathe.

Her heart is racing.

Her breathing is ragged.

She's still crying.

"Get it together, Fabray," she says to herself. "It's fine. You're fine."

It's not, and she's not, but she can convince herself of it if she says it enough times. She hasn't felt this helpless since she was pregnant and caught in a horrid lie without a home and family. It's settling heavily on her, and all she wants is for someone to make it better.

She just wants her mother to take it all back. She needs someone to tell her everything is going to be okay, because it's the furthest truth from her mind right now.

Keeping a handle on her through proves to be difficult, but she forces herself to focus on cleaning her open wounds and rubbing salve on her bruises. She struggles through getting on her pyjamas, takes one too many painkillers, and then crawls into bed.

Her body immediately relaxes, and she forces herself not to make a sound, even though there's a moan stuck in her throat.

She just needs some sleep.

If she can get some sleep, surely things will be better when she wakes. They'll be clearer, and she'll be able to make sense of what she has to do to get through this life her mother now wants them both to live.

Just, sleep.

It's all she needs.

Only.

Something unsettles her enough that she can't manage to drift off. It's more than just the pain, and she huffs out a breath when she realises what it is.

Guilt.

With a sigh, Quinn reaches for her phone and pulls up the contact she's convinced she would never use.

Rachel Berry.

With the stinging in her cheek as a reminder, Quinn carefully composes a text message that she hopes will settle the unease in her gut. She knows it's been weeks since Prom, and she knows she's apologised for her actions, but it still bothers her.

Because she knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such actions.

She's known since she was six years old and she got caught in one of Frannie's lies.

She knows violence, and she's disgusted with herself for using it so... directly at someone else; at anyone else.

Quinn's really only used words herself.

She's never actually thrown a slushy, but she reasons that means nothing.

She rereads what she's written a few times, takes a breath, and then hits send.

She doesn't bother to wait for a reply, because there's a part of her that wishes she doesn't get one.

Maybe it helps, or maybe she's just exhausted, but she eventually manages to get to sleep, and she's mercifully saved from nightmares.

Quinn Fabray: Hello, Rachel, it's Quinn. I know you've said you forgive me for what happened in the bathroom at Prom, but I need to apologise again. If not for you, then for me. I'm many things, but I've never wanted to cause pain that way. You were so kind and so gracious afterwards - which may or not be a fault of yours; you should probably look into that - and I still don't believe I deserve it. I just want you to know how sorry I am, even though I don't think I can express myself enough. I promise it will never happen again. Never ever again.

Goodnight X

Rachel reads the text four times before she can even come up with a response. She's not sure what to say. The text is so unexpected, completely out of the blue. And, given the way everything was left after the disaster of a Nationals, hearing from Quinn is definitely the one thing she didn't see coming.

She already feels awful about the part she may or may not have played in their Nationals' loss, and this text brings up something else she feels awful about. That entire Prom debacle is something she wants stripped from her mind, and she can't help wondering why Quinn would choose tonight to bring it up.

In the end, Rachel can't decide on what to say, so she resolves to talk to Quinn at school in the morning about it.

Only, Quinn isn't in school.

Rachel searches for her before homeroom, even risking asking Santana and Brittany, which is a danger all in its own, given the way Santana glares at her as if she's still plotting her murder.

"Haven't seen her," Santana clips. "What do you want with her, anyway? Want to rub it in her face you're now with the ogre?"

Rachel blinks in surprise, because she really hasn't even thought of Finn this morning. "No," she says. "I just need to talk to her about something."

"Well, we don't know where she is," Santana says, and then frowns. "Have you tried texting her?"

Rachel presses her lips together, not answering. "Never mind," she finally says, and then spins on her heel and walks away. Sure, she could text Quinn, but she doesn't want her reply to Quinn's initial text to be asking the girl where she is.

She does it anyway.

Rachel Berry: Are you in school today? I thought we could sit and talk about your text. If it's still bothering you after all this time, then it might be a good idea.

In her search for Quinn, she successfully evades Finn until he manages to catch her at lunch, and she really isn't sure what to say to him.

She suspects he wants answers to questions he's repeatedly asked, but the only thing Rachel can think to say to him is: "Have you seen Quinn today?"

His shock is almost funny, and he actually sputters at the unexpected question. "What?"

"Quinn," she says. "Have you seen her?"

Finn frowns, clearly thrown. "Are you seriously asking me about Quinn?"

Rachel nods, turning her head to look into her open locker. "I've been looking for her."

"Why?"

"I need to talk to her about something."

"What could you possibly need to talk to her about?" he asks, a certain edge to his voice.

"Something," she says, glancing at him. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Not."

"That's all you needed to say," she says, motioning to close her locker. "Aren't you going to the cafeteria for lunch?"

He takes a moment, catching up. "I was wondering if we could talk, actually."

"About?"

"What happened in New York," he says. "What it means for us."

Rachel sighs, because this is the absolute last thing she wants to be talking about right now. She knows deep in her heart that she's going to be in New York next year, and she's not going to let this boy get in the way of that.

She just doesn't know how to tell him that, and actually have him believe her.

Before she can reply to him, her phone buzzes, and she immediately reaches for it, grateful for the distraction.

"Excuse me," she says, and then turns away from him, surprised and relieved to see a reply from Quinn.

Quinn Fabray: No, I'm not at school. Some things have come up, and I don't think I'm going to be back before school lets out. We don't really have to talk about it. Please don't feel obligated to.

Rachel frowns at her screen, unsure what to make of that. It feels hollow and unfeeling, and the mere idea of Quinn missing the last few days of school fills her with some foreign feeling that she's not willing to unpack.

Ignoring Finn, she types out her reply.

Rachel Berry: Oh. Is everything okay? Are you okay? I think we do need to talk about it, Quinn. If not for you, then for me.

She feels a little uneasy when she sends the message, as if she's asking questions she really doesn't want the answers to.

Provided Quinn actually gives her answers.

With a sigh, Rachel turns back to Finn, who is looking expectantly at her. "Finn," she starts.

"Wait," he interjects. "Before you say anything, just remember that I love you."

Rachel can barely look at him because he just looks so hopeful, and she doesn't know if she'll be able to keep avoiding his advances when he doesn't seem to be listening to her.

"I remember," Rachel says, deflating slightly. "I just - I - "

"What?"

Rachel's phone buzzes again, and she's going to use it to get out of this conversation with Finn. "I'm sorry, Finn," she says. "I already told you what I wanted, and that still stands. Right now, I really need to take this." She gestures to her phone. "I'll see you in Glee."

And then she walks away, her main focus getting to a secluded place to deal with whatever Quinn is and isn't telling her.

Rachel makes her way to the Choir Room, knowing it'll be empty at this time. She ducks inside, drops into a chair and looks at her phone.

Quinn Fabray: Everything is fine. I'm fine. There's no need to worry. It's doubtful we'll be able to do it face-to-face then. What exactly would you like to talk about?

Rachel can't shake her unease, and Quinn isn't really helping.

Rachel Berry: You're not really helping with my worry when you say things like that. Why do I get the feeling something is actually wrong? Why wouldn't we be able to talk face-to-face? Are you not in Lima?

Rachel bites her bottom lip in worry, thinking she might have gone overboard with the questions. There's a part of her that just wants to lay eyes on Quinn in this moment, and she doesn't know what to do with that.

Right now, the image she has of Quinn in her head is one of sad, hazel eyes and lips pressed into a thin line. She sees pales cheeks and hands that are always still, resting elegantly in her lap.

Quinn Fabray: I'm sure you have better things to do than worry about me. Something like that, yeah.

If that isn't a non-answer, Rachel doesn't know what is.

It's the reason she does the unthinkable and dials Quinn's number. She almost doesn't expect the blonde to answer, but she sucks in a breath when she hears a hesitant voice speak.

"Hello."

"Quinn," she breathes. "How are you?"

There's a clearing of a throat, and then a soft voice says, "I'm fine, and how are you?"

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you whispering?"

"No reason."

"Where are you?"

Quinn sighs, and then audibly winces. "I'm at home."

"I can tell something's wrong," Rachel says. "Why are you at home?"

Quinn waits a moment. "I'm moving house," she eventually says. "Packing up and all that. My mother kind of sprung it on me, and we kind of fought, I guess. I'm not a fan of change."

It's definitely more than Rachel is expecting to get, and it catches her off guard. "I can't imagine what that must be like."

Quinn lets out a soft, humourless laugh. "I'm actually quite used to bouncing around," she says darkly. "Being told to pack my things and leave isn't exactly new to me."

Rachel feels her chest tighten at the sound of those words. She's never really thought about what it must have been like for Quinn, mainly because...

Well, she really can't say why.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says.

"Please don't be," Quinn says. "The last thing I want is pity. Least of all from you."

Rachel lets out a breath, oddly disappointed.

"What I mean is that I'm the last person you should be pitying," Quinn tries to explain, because the last thing she wants to do is hurt Rachel even more. "With how awful I've been to you, anyone but me should be on your brain."

"If I didn't think about everyone who's ever done me a wrong, I would have nobody on my mind," Rachel finds herself admitting.

"Like I said, you should probably look into that."

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh. "It's not an ailment, Quinn."

"Seems to me it causes you more pain than you deserve," Quinn says, and her voice is so, so soft.

"I'm not going to stop caring, you know," Rachel informs her.

"You confuse me."

"You're not the only one, I can assure you."

Quinn hums in acknowledgement. Then, carefully, she says, "I'm sorry."

"You've already apologised, Quinn."

"This apology isn't for the slap, even though you should know how deeply sorry I am about that."

"I've already forgiven you," Rachel interjects.

"I'm apologising for everything else," Quinn says, as if Rachel hasn't even spoken. "Freshman year, sophomore year, and this year." She sighs. "I don't think I could apologise enough, and you're far too good at heart even to consider forgiving me."

Rachel isn't sure what to make of this melancholy girl on the other end of the line. She's so unlike any other Quinn Rachel has encountered before, and she can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong. "I think I'd like to make my own decisions about that," Rachel says.

"You are one of the most frustratingly stubborn people I've ever met."

"It's a talent."

"And, you are very talented, aren't you?"

Rachel feels a small smile spread across her face. "Finally, she notices."

"I've always noticed, Rachel."

At the sound of her first name, Rachel has to look at her phone's screen to make sure the caller ID actually says Quinn Fabray.

It does.

Rachel's voice is shaky when she asks, "You have?"

"Oh, don't go shy on me now, Berry."

Rachel clears her throat. "I just like to hear it," she manages to say.

"Because you live for applause, huh?"

Rachel, honestly, is feeling overwhelmed by this entire conversation. She's really convinced she's talking to someone completely different to the person she's encountered on various occasions.

Why does Quinn even know that about her? How?

"I do," Rachel confirms.

"Well, I'll be - " Quinn starts and suddenly stops. "Shit, shit, Rachel, I have to go. I'll talk to you soon, okay? Bye."

There's a lot of shuffling on the line, something gets shouted, someone screams, something shatters, and then silence.

Rachel feels her heart jump into her throat, from fear and from something else entirely. Almost on instinct, she redials Quinn's number, only to have it go straight to voicemail.

She tries again.

And again.

She can feel her panic building, and she can't be sure why.

All she knows is that scream... that scream sounded frighteningly like Quinn.

It isn't as if Quinn expects anything different, but she's eventually going to run out of painkillers with the way she's been drinking them.

They're supposed to be for headaches and period pain, but they're now being used for bruised - she hopes they're not broken - ribs, split lips and swollen cheeks.

God, she's a sight.

Even if she wants to leave, she physically can't, and that's probably by design.

Quinn knows what this is. It's Russell stamping his authority, putting her in her place, so they won't have problems in the future.

She's not going anywhere.

Quinn can, maybe, accept that, if the man stays as far away from her as possible.

And, you know, buys her a new phone to replace the one he smashed to pieces.

It's been three days since that incident, and she's barely healed since then. Her mother brought in a fresh first aid kit, smiled sadly, and then left her to sort out her own injuries.

Mother of the year, people.

Right now, Quinn can do nothing more than read and write and try to plan for the moment she can actually get out of here.

She knows she'll have to pretend to submit to Russell's brand of parenting to be given any chance of seeing daylight. Calling the police is out of the question. She doesn't even have friends to call that could help her. What could they do, anyway? What could their parents do?

Quinn's on her own.

She's always been on her own.

The one good thing is that she's no longer locked in her room. She has the freedom to move around.

If she could move.

The best she can do is this:

Her laptop is propped on her legs as she reclines gingerly on her bed, pillows piled behind her to help keep her ribs steady, and she has Facebook open to Rachel's profile.

Her latest post is staring at Quinn, almost mocking her.

Finn Hudson is with Rachel Berry at Garden Thai Cafe.
What are you doing for the rest of the year?
THIS.

It's odd, Quinn thinks, that this girl can still do this to her.

Whatever this is.

All she knows is it hurts, and she's not sure she likes the reasons why.

Rachel feels... odd when Finn drops her off after their first dinner together of this latest attempt at a relationship.

No.

They're not in a relationship.

They're not even actually dating.

Rachel isn't willing to commit and, really, she thinks she deserves to play her cards close to her chest this time around. She knows she has to protect her heart, because Jesse, Finn and Noah have all treated it poorly.

There's also Quinn to think about, and Rachel doesn't know when or how the girl even dropped into the mix of her endless worries. The blonde has been on her mind a lot lately, and it really doesn't help that she hasn't been able to get through to her over the phone.

When it hits her, she feels like a complete idiot, because there are other ways to contact people.

Slipping through the front door, Rachel intends to rush up the stairs to log onto her computer, but her fathers catch her on her way, and she's forced to slink into the living room to answer their questions.

"So, how was it?"

Rachel drops into an armchair. "It was fine," she says.

Hiram and LeRoy exchange a look. "Just fine?" Hiram asks, curious.

Rachel sighs. "It feels different this time around," she carefully admits. "Like it's... dirty, somehow. Tainted." She shakes her head. "More than the last time, anyway."

"Why do you think that is?"

The first thought that comes to mind is Quinn, and her brow immediately furrows, because she never had any qualms about pursuing Finn before, even when he and the blonde were dating sophomore year.

"Honey?" Hiram ventures.

Rachel snaps to attention. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"What's really on your mind?" LeRoy asks her.

Now, Rachel can't realistically tell them she's got another girl, her former bully and nemesis, sitting on her brain. She can't. She honestly can't.

What she can say is only this, which may or not prove to be her downfall: "A girl."

Neither man seems to react at first, but then LeRoy clears his throat and says, "Oh."

Hiram looks deeply uncomfortable. "Are you thinking about this girl for a specific reason?" he asks.

Rachel nods. "I'm worried about her," she confesses. "She's been sounding sad, lately, and she's missed the last days of school, and I can't get through to her on the phone."

"Have you tried Facebook?" Hiram asks, and Rachel flushes at the question, because she just thought of it tonight. "Maybe something happened to her phone."

The explanation is reasonable, but there's still something that feels off about the whole thing. "Probably," she says anyway, and she allows herself to submit to the directions her father has given her to contact Quinn.

"Is that all you've been thinking about this girl?" LeRoy asks, his tone careful.

Rachel wants to tell them the truth about her own confusing thoughts about a girl she really shouldn't be thinking about, but she needs to make more sense of it herself before she can.

So, she nods. "At the moment, yes," she says, leaving the door open for further discussion in the future.

"Okay, Sweetheart," LeRoy says, picking up on the dismissal.

Rachel just smiles at them both, grateful for their collective presence in her life, and then she excuses herself.

When she gets to her bedroom, she still feels unsettled, but less than she did when she first got home.

Maybe it's because she has a plan.

She immediately sits at her desk, logs onto Facebook, and moves to compose a message to Quinn Fabray.

She's worried.

She's beyond worried, actually, because the questions she's asked of the Glee Club have proven that nobody has heard from Quinn.

Nobody has bothered even to check on her.

Rachel Berry: Quinn. Do you remember when I told you I'm going to worry, regardless of what you said? Well, this is my worrying, because your phone isn't going through and nobody's heard from you since we got back from New York. Please tell me you're okay.

The message, itself, doesn't really help with her growing concern, but it's the best she can do at this moment.

She gets up and sees to her nightly routine, trying not to think about Finn or Quinn, which is easy once her muscle memory kicks in.

What's twenty minutes later, she crawls into bed with her laptop to find a reply from Quinn, and her heart starts beating a little faster.

Quinn Fabray: Rachel. I remember, though I still don't know why. You continually confuse me. Oh. Well, yes, my phone is currently out of commission, so it's not okay, but I am. Have you been trying to reach me? Is something wrong?

Rachel wants nothing more than to talk to her; just call her up and hear her voice to be sure she's really okay.

But, this is the best she's going to get.

Rachel Berry: Are you still awake? Go online?

She waits three minutes and fourteen seconds before Quinn's chat window pops up, and she sees hazel eyes and blonde hair looking at her from a tiny thumbnail. She's surprised this is really the first time she's even paid any attention to Quinn's Facebook profile.

She doesn't even remember when they became friends, and she makes a mental note to go through the girl's profile in the future.

Quinn Fabray: Hey.

Rachel sucks in a breath. Quinn hasn't said anything at all, really, but there's something oddly comforting and exciting to be found in knowing exactly what Quinn is doing at this very moment.

Rachel Berry: Hey, back :) How are you? What happened to your phone?

Rachel Berry: And, yes, I've been trying to reach you. You missed the last days of school. I didn't get to wish you a good summer in person.

Quinn Fabray: I told you I'm okay, Rachel. Why won't you believe me?

Quinn Fabray: My phone kind of broke during the move. I'm still working on getting a new one. You're the only person who's bothered to check in with me, anyway. Why is that? God, why do you care?

Rachel almost expects Quinn to say something more, but she's obviously stopped typing when no new message comes through for a full minute.

Rachel Berry: Would you believe you if you were me? I can't help my worry, Quinn. I just get the feeling something isn't right, and I want to help. Please let me.

Rachel Berry: Oh, no. I'm sorry about your phone. This is just a wonderful start to the summer for you, isn't it?

Rachel Berry: I care about you, Quinn. Of course, I care about you, and I'm definitely going to check in on you. Do you not want me to?

Quinn Fabray: I probably wouldn't believe you, no. I just don't need anyone in my business. I have it all under control. You'll be the first person I tell if I don't, okay? You're probably the only person who cares.

Quinn Fabray: Thank you.

Quinn Fabray: I don't know. Sometimes, I don't think I deserve it.

It's odd, Rachel thinks, that Quinn is being this... open. She's being... kind. Self-deprecating. Grateful, almost.

Something.

Rachel isn't sure what to make of it. It's as if she's speaking to someone who isn't Quinn, and she wonders just how much this year has actually affected Quinn.

Goodness knows it's affected her in ways she doesn't even really yet know. She's still trying to figure it out.

She's still trying to wrap her head around a lot of things, and Quinn Fabray is one of those things.

Rachel Berry: Well, then, you can't fault me for worrying. I promise I won't pry. I just want you to know you don't have to do it all by yourself, you know. You never have to thank me for checking in, Quinn. But, you're welcome, anyway.

Rachel Berry: Well, regardless of whether you think you deserve it or not, I believe you do. So, I'm going to keep asking after you, whether you like it or not.

Quinn's replies take a few minutes, and Rachel wonders if she's pushed too far. She has a habit of doing just that.

She's tempted to start pacing, but then Quinn is there again, her words causing a strange feeling in her chest that she's really not prepared to unpack at this point.

Quinn Fabray: I think I'm done faulting you for anything, Rachel. You've proved to be a far superior person than I am. Who am I to tell you what to do? I think I'm done with that, to be honest. Nobody listens to me, anyway.

Quinn Fabray: So, basically, I don't have a choice in the matter, huh?

For her part, Rachel actually sucks in a breath at the sight of her first name. Obviously, it doesn't have the same effect as Quinn actually saying it, but the fact she typed it out at all is doing weird things to Rachel.

Rachel Berry: You always have a choice, Quinn. And, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You've tried to turn things around. I know it hasn't been easy, and you've faced some obstacles along the way, but you should be proud.

Rachel Berry: I can't even pretend I'm one of those who listens to you, because I'm not. I can be awfully stubborn. Still, you should know, if ever you just need to talk, about anything at all, I'm here.

Quinn Fabray: You're ridiculous, did you know that? How can you be so forgiving, so nice? I hurt you. I SLAPPED you. How do you even look past that?

And, for the first time, Rachel realises Quinn is asking very specifically about the violence behind her action. It makes something ugly twist in her gut, because it's as if Quinn is almost desperate for the answer; the path to forgive the one who has hurt her.

Rachel Berry: I can assure you I've been called far worse things. I can forgive you, because I can see how sorry you are. You're torturing yourself over this more than enough for the both of us. I can forgive you, because you obviously regret it. We were caught in a moment, and I've been known to say and do spontaneous things, in the moment. You didn't see your face, Quinn. I did. I can forgive you, and I have. Please, please forgive yourself.

Rachel wishes they were having this conversation in person. For a crazy moment, she wishes she were able to hug Quinn right now, and reassure her that she doesn't blame her for anything. They're okay. She's forgiven.

Quinn Fabray: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Rachel Berry: I know you are. I know, Quinn. Say it as many times as YOU need to, but know that I've forgiven you.

Quinn Fabray: I should probably get to bed. It's getting late.

Rachel glances at the clock. It's just past nine o'clock, and she really doesn't think Quinn goes to bed that early. Still, she allows the girl this reprieve.

Rachel Berry: Are you sure you're going to be okay?

Quinn Fabray: Maybe some sleep will do me good.

Rachel Berry: Okay, then. Goodnight, Quinn, sleep well :)

Quinn Fabray: Ditto, Berry X

Rachel can't help smiling to herself, because that's the Quinn she knows all too well. It's a relief to know she's still in there, even if that Quinn has been responsible for some really horrible moments in Rachel's life.

Still.

Rachel will take any kind of Quinn she can get, and that's one of the most terrifying thoughts she's ever had.

While she's in the house, Quinn doesn't bother hiding her injuries. She walks around in denim shorts and a tank top, maybe to remind her father what he's done, as well as to show her mother just what she's let back into their house.

They're slow to heal, and Russell constantly glances at them. Quinn wonders if he's proud of his handiwork.

Judy barely even looks at her.

It's... whatever.

Obviously, Quinn isn't going anywhere, but her bags remain packed.

This isn't her home.

It'll never be, so long as he's here.

"Here."

Quinn glances up from the book she's reading, to see her father set a small white box on her desk.

"It's a phone," Russell says. "Be careful with it."

Quinn just stares at him.

"You're my daughter," he says. "It's my job to watch out for you, and I've obviously failed you in the past. I intend to keep a closer eye on you."

It's a thinly-veiled threat, but she hears it.

"I want to know where you are at all times," he says. "You are not to spend time with any boys I have not approved. In fact, it's preferable you not spend time with any boys, at all. Your focus should be on school and church. You're going to get into Harvard, and you're going to carry the Fabray name from where you flushed it down the toilet."

Quinn clenches her jaw.

"Do we understand each other?"

Quinn waits a beat, and then she nods once.

"Good," he says, and then he leaves the room as silently as he entered it.

Quinn focuses on her breathing for a moment, trying to get her head wrapped around the reality of her life. She could probably get through the next year, maybe, but what happens after that?

What happens when she doesn't go to Harvard?

What happens when she does talk to some boy, and actually manages to fall in love... for the first time in her life?

What happens if she doesn't check in on time?

What happens to Quinn, then?

With a sigh, Quinn gets to her feet and moves towards her desk. It's obvious the phone has already been setup. Her father asked for her Apple ID, just for this purpose, and he went in to get her service provider reinstated for her.

The first thing she's going to do is change her password.

Quinn doesn't really know what to expect when she finally connects. For some reason, she has this thought that she'll have texts and missed calls from several people, but she doesn't.

Well, only from Rachel, which makes her feel an entire host of confusing feelings that make her heart rate rise.

Quinn doesn't want to deal with those feelings, so she just changes her password, locks her phone, and then returns to her book, doing her very best not to focus on the fact the only person who even cared she was M.I.A. is Rachel Berry.

It's two days later that Rachel's fathers ask her about the girl again.

They bring it up at the dinner table, both of them noting how distracted she seems, even as she pretends to eat the vegetable bake on her plate.

"Did you manage to get in contact with her?" Hiram asks.

Rachel presses her lips together, visibly thinking. "I did," she finally says.

"And?"

"It really hasn't helped with my worry," she confesses, keeping her eyes on her plate. "Something is wrong. She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

Rachel sighs, because she really doesn't know how to explain it. "Sorry," she says.

"Excuse me?"

"She's never been... sorry before," Rachel says.

It's obvious her fathers don't understand what she's saying, but she doesn't bother to clear it up. Quinn is too... apologetic for any of this to be okay. She's not okay, and Rachel gets the feeling something is forcing these feelings out of her.

LeRoy clears his throat. "And, how's Finn?" he asks.

Rachel winces. "He's... fine," she says. "We're taking things slow, I guess. I'm still on the fence about whether I actually want to date him again."

"Because of this girl?"

Rachel's eyes snap up. "What?" she asks. "No. What? Nothing like that."

LeRoy holds out a hand to calm her. "Sweetheart, it's okay," he says. "We're not saying anything. We're just trying to understand; trying to help."

Rachel shakes her head, because her hesitance has nothing to do with Quinn, does it? She doesn't owe Quinn anything. They're - they're not even friends.

The two of them have been fighting over Finn for so long, and Rachel has finally... won.

Only, the prize is... unsatisfactory. Not what she thought she wanted.

Rachel didn't really think past getting Finn back, and being in New York shifted things into perspective.

That's what changed.

New York was presented to her, and she wants it. She's not going to give it up for anyone.

Especially not Finn.

"It's not about her," Rachel finally says, and, God, she doesn't even believe her own words as she says them. "It's not."

Even if it is, she reasons, it's not because - because -

It's not what her fathers think, obviously.

Rachel doesn't like Quinn.

She doesn't even like her in, really, any way. They're not friends. They're barely acquaintances.

But, God, Rachel cares far too much about a girl she claims she doesn't like in any way.

She sucks in a breath. "Dads," she whispers, because this isn't happening.

It's definitely not happening.

LeRoy gets to his feet, and moves to hug her, because she looks as if she's having one of those realisations that might result in tears.

It does.

Rachel starts crying moments later, and she doesn't even know why. This entire year has just been so difficult, and her emotions have been on a roller coaster, and now Quinn is being nice to her, and it's just confusing everything.

Why does Quinn get to do this to her?

LeRoy eventually pulls back to look at her face. "Are you okay?"

"No," she says. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

LeRoy kisses her forehead. "You don't have to do anything, Sweetheart," he says. "You don't have to say or do or be anything, okay? Sometimes, you can just care about another girl."

Hiram nods. "I care about girls all the time," he quips.

Rachel lets out a watery laugh. "Dad."

"What?" he says, all innocence. "It's true. The ladies love me."

LeRoy swats his head. "Shut up," he says. "Your daughter is having a moment, and here you are with your idiocies."

Hiram pouts, even as Rachel reaches out to pat his hand.

"Thank you, Dad," she says, and then looks at LeRoy. "I think I'm fine," she offers. "Or, I will be. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I don't have to do anything," she says. "Right?"

"Absolutely nothing," LeRoy assures her. "Do you want to talk about it some more?"

"No."

"Should I make an appointment with Dr Ramsay?"

"God, no," she says. "This isn't some kind of crisis, is it? I don't need a therapist, Daddy. I just need some... time to wrap my head around it."

"Around what?"

And, really, the fact that Rachel can't say it out loud tells them all something very important.

Rachel sighs. "Okay, I think I'm going to have to talk to Dr Ramsay."

It doesn't help with Rachel's own confusing feelings to get back to her bedroom to find a series of texts from Quinn that throws everything into the forefront of her mind.

Quinn Fabray: Hey. So, I got a new phone. We don't have to talk on Facebook anymore, like we have the past few days. I mean, we can, or we can't. If you want to talk at all. It's not like a necessity. I'm sure you're busy.

Quinn Fabray: God, I sound pathetic.

Quinn Fabray: Forget I said anything. Please ignore me.

Before Rachel knows what's happening, she's smiling. Her fingers start to type a response immediately, but she doesn't really know what to say.

So, she dials Quinn's number, and then holds her breath.

"Hello," Quinn answers, a little hesitant.

Rachel lets out the breath she's holding. "Hey," she says. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, and how are you?"

Rachel smiles to herself, because she's really not okay. Not at all, in fact, because she's been dealing with some very intense revelations. About herself, and about her life. Her wants and desires. Her comforts.

It's been a complicated few hours.

"I'm good," she lies.

Quinn is quiet for a moment. "Have you been crying?"

Her eyes widen. "What?"

"You sound as if you've been crying," Quinn points out.

"How could you even know that?"

"I think, out of everyone in the world, I would be the one to know how you sound when you've been crying," she says. "I've made you do it enough times, haven't I?"

"Quinn," she breathes. "You're really not the monster you believe you are."

Quinn ignores her. "Why have you been crying?"

"I - " she starts, and then stops. "Have you ever just had a moment, when the entire world kind of just shifts, and you're left with this new reality, and it's frightening and you don't really know what to do or how to deal with it?"

The silence that follows is charged, and then Quinn very quietly says, "Yes."

Rachel sucks in a breath. "Really?"

Quinn sighs on the other end of the line, and Rachel has never actually felt closer to Quinn than in this moment. "It just - it makes sense to me." She pauses. "Especially now."

"What does that mean?"

"Rachel?"

She closes her eyes, because Quinn is using her first name, and the way it sounds in that voice is... well, she doesn't really know how to explain the quickening of her heart rate or the way she suddenly can't catch her breath.

"Rachel, are you there?"

She clears her throat, snapping to attention. "I'm here," she says. "Sorry."

"I know I'm probably the last person you'd even want to talk to about what's bothering you, but, um, I'm kind of here, too."

"Kind of?"

Quinn lets out this amused breath that makes Rachel squirm. "Over the phone, at least," she says.

"I don't get to see you?"

Quinn hesitates. "Uh..."

"Aren't you going to Kurt's pool party?"

"No."

"Oh?"

Quinn hums. "I'm not really feeling up for it," she says. "Too many people."

And, Rachel understands that.

"Also, I'm pretty sure everyone would have more fun without me there to dampen the mood."

"That's not true," Rachel immediately counters.

"Be serious, Rachel."

She takes a breath. "When did you start calling me Rachel?"

"What?"

"You're calling me Rachel," she says. "I can't quite pinpoint when it started."

"Neither can I," Quinn confesses. "Is it a big deal?"

"Huge."

Quinn lets out a little laugh. "Would you rather I not?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I thought you were the ridiculous one here."

"We can be ridiculous together," Rachel offers, and she almost rolls her eyes at herself.

Quinn just breathes for a moment, and Rachel has never been so fascinated by the sound of someone breathing before. "I'd like that," Quinn whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Quinn can't explain it.

The more she thinks about it, the more it doesn't make sense to her.

All she knows is that, when she wakes the morning after her phone call with Rachel, she feels calm. Settled. Even a little happy. She's smiling.

God, what is wrong with her?

It also really doesn't help that Rachel sent her a morning text. An actual good morning, Quinn, I hope you have a great day (being ridiculous).

Even though Quinn rolls her, eyes, her smile is wide as she types a reply back, absently dragging herself out of bed and gingerly getting to her feet.

Quinn Fabray: Good morning to you, too, Rachel :) I don't really have much planned for the day, to be honest. What are you up to? I need some ridiculous ideas.

She definitely can't explain the way her heart literally pounds as she sets her phone on her nightstand and starts to get ready for the day. She has to see to her injuries, changing dressings and applying salve to the areas that need it.

Quinn puts on a dress because she can. It's not as if she's going to be going anywhere today.

Even as the thought crosses her mind, her phone sounds, and she has to stop herself from leaping for it - because she's calm, and she's a little bit in pain.

Rachel Berry: Well, Quinn, I'm planning on putting together a scrapbook of the year as a whole. It's what I do at the end of every school year; kind of a little project of mine. Would you like to help me?

Quinn bites her bottom lip, because that sounds like something she would actually like to be doing. With Rachel. It's a desire that catches her off guard, and her palms start to sweat, because what is happening?

She glances at her arms, wincing at the green bruising. Her legs aren't any better, and she wouldn't even know how to explain this all to Rachel if they were to see each other in person.

With a sigh, she begins to type.

Quinn Fabray: That doesn't sound all that ridiculous to me. It's pretty cool, actually. I can't really do today, though. Maybe next week, some time. Unless you're a superwoman, I assume scrapbooking is time-consuming?

Rachel Berry: I AM Superwoman. How did you know? Who revealed my secret identity?

Quinn laughs to herself, because this is a side of Rachel she didn't even know existed. She's a little mad at herself for never actually taking the time to get to know Rachel this way, earlier.

There's less pressure now, she thinks. She's not Head Cheerleader anymore, and she's not desperately trying to hold onto some boyfriend or even hide some life-altering secret.

Right now, Quinn is just a girl.

Talking to another girl.

What it means, Quinn can't explain. She's never really had friends to talk to. She tried texting Santana, but it went unanswered. She doesn't think Brittany knows how to work her own phone most of the time, and Mercedes' two responses were enough to let Quinn know she was being a bother.

There's nobody else.

Just Rachel.

And, for some reason she really can't explain, Quinn is oddly okay with that.

Rachel glances at her phone for the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes, and she tries not to look disappointed when her screen is blank.

While she knew Quinn wasn't coming to Kurt's pool party - Finn might also live here, but it's really Kurt's party, and they all know it - she was kind of hoping the blonde would surprise her.

Or, them.

It's not really about her, she likes to think, but she likes to believe she and Quinn are... building something.

A friendship.

That's what it is.

They've talked on the phone every night this week. It's been hours of endless conversation, and Rachel hardly believes she's been talking to Quinn Fabray.

This Quinn on the phone is funny and playful and witty, and Rachel just wants to lay eyes on her to be sure she's actually real. She wants her to be real. It frightens her, because this is Quinn and there's no way she would even -

Rachel's phone buzzes in her hand, and she almost spills her drink from the surprise. She chuckles softly to herself, glances around to see nobody has noticed - not even Finn, who's been watching her since she arrived - and then looks at her phone.

Quinn Fabray: Are you having fun yet?

Rachel rolls her eyes as she sets her drink on the patio table. There's conversation going on all around her, but she's not really interested in what anyone other than Quinn is saying.

Rachel decides to bite the bullet, because Quinn hasn't really shied away from anything they've talked about so far, which includes topics such as adoption, homosexuality and religion.

So, she's only a little nervous when she starts to type.

Rachel Berry: Not really. I would be if you were here.

She means it. God, does she mean it.

Quinn Fabray: What would we be doing if I were?

Rachel Berry: Well, I would definitely be talking to you. Face-to-face. And, then, I guess we would eat something. Maybe catch a swim. Noah and Mike are currently trying to convince Tina that there's an alligator in the deep end of the pool. I shouldn't admit this, but it's always been an irrational fear of mine.

Quinn Fabray: Rachel, there are no alligators in the pool. I promise.

Rachel Berry: That actually makes me feel a lot better.

Quinn Fabray: I thought it would.

Rachel Berry: Aren't we smug?

Quinn Fabray: Maybe we can hang out tomorrow? I don't have anything going on, and I'm quite keen to see your scrapbooking progress.

Rachel perks up for a beat, until she remembers she already has plans to go into Columbus with Kurt and Mercedes. She's sorely tempted to cancel with them, because she needs to see Quinn, but -

With a sigh, she starts to type.

Rachel Berry: I can't do tomorrow. God, this sucks. Sunday?

Quinn Fabray: Church.

Quinn Fabray: Don't worry about it. We'll find another day.

Rachel wants nothing more than to tell Quinn she'll happily drive over to her house right now. Laying eyes on Quinn feels like a desperate need, and she has to satisfy it soon.

Rachel Berry: Monday?

Quinn Fabray: Sure, Berry, we'll do Monday. Now, stop talking to me, and actually try to have some fun.

Rachel Berry: Impossible without you here, but I'll try.

Quinn Fabray: X

Despite what she tells herself, Quinn still goes through Facebook to see how much fun her supposed friends did or didn't have at Kurt's pool party. The invitation, itself, came through as a Facebook Event, and Quinn clicked 'Not Attending.'

Nobody commented on her absence.

It's sobering, she accepts, to be popular but have no friends. She doesn't think she's at the levels of popularity she once was, but it's lonely wherever she is: top or bottom.

It's just lonely.

She shudders to think of what the first few weeks of her summer would be like without Rachel. The girl is kind of like her saviour, at this point, and Quinn isn't shying away from it.

Which is why it makes things like this hurt.

While Quinn convinces herself she wanted Rachel to have fun at the pool party, there's a selfish part of her that wishes the brunette actually didn't. Quinn wants to be missed. It's childish, she knows, but the pictures tell a tale of a very enjoyable afternoon and evening.

It's really one picture of Rachel in denim shorts and her bikini top, with Finn's arm around her shoulders, that makes Quinn want to throw her laptop across the room.

For several reasons, really.

The first is to do with Finn. The jealousy is so misplaced, that Quinn is surprised by how visceral it is. She doesn't want to be Rachel in the picture; she wants to be Finn.

The second is to do with Rachel, and the moment the thought has Rachel always been that hot? crosses her mind, Quinn slams her laptop closed and has an actual, bona fide panic attack.

And, the third, which terrifies her to no end, is that she ends up answering her own question - yes, Quinn, she's always been that hot, but you haven't really noticed until right now - and then she bursts into tears.

Because -

Because, this can't be happening.

But, it is, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Especially not when Rachel does things like this:

Rachel Berry: Good morning, Quinn, I hope you slept well. I can't even explain to you how excited I am to see you tomorrow. I even asked my Daddy to buy those bacon-flavoured crisps I remember you inhaling while you were pregnant. It's going to be awesome! Enjoy church, and I will talk to you later :*

Quinn can't really remember when Rachel started using the kiss emoji, but it always makes her heart rate pick up, and she's starting to realise why.

No.

She's just confused, surely.

Rachel is the only one paying her any attention, and it's almost expected she would develop... some kind of affection towards the girl. Right?

It's what she repeatedly tells herself as she sends off a quick reply, and then proceeds to get ready for church. It's really the first time she's even going to be leaving the house, because she's now able to wear summer clothing without attracting unwanted attention.

There's still a lot of discolouration on her abdomen and back, but her arms and legs are... fine. She knows her parents expect her in her Sunday best, and she manages to focus on that until her mother knocks on her bedroom door to call her down to breakfast.

It's tense.

Quinn is distracted, mainly because she's coming to realise some very sobering truths about herself, but also because she just realised she's gong to be spending the entire next day with the apparent object of her affection.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour," Russell suddenly says, and Quinn's head snaps up. "Both of you."

Quinn glances at her mother, who is sitting primly in her seat, hands perfectly still.

"Speak only when spoken to," Russell instructs. "Don't embarrass me more than you already have."

Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes, because he's embarrassed himself enough already.

"We've been invited over to the Woodward home for lunch," Russell says. "Am I to assume you still remember how to behave in esteemed company?"

Quinn realises he's asking her the question, and she nods. No use angering him so early in the morning. Maybe she'll even be able to have a conversation with someone other than her parents or Rachel.

Church, itself, isn't the problem.

They arrive with moments to spare before the start of the service, slip into a pew near the back, and sit quietly.

Despite everything, Quinn still believes in God, and she still has Faith. It's the one thing getting her through, really - and Rachel - and she likes to think all the world has thrown at her is just a test.

A never-ending, soul-crushing test.

She thinks, maybe, she's failed, but she's still here, and that must count for something, right?

Quinn is astutely aware of people staring from time to time, but she's so focused on the Reverend's words and her own prayers to pay attention to them. It's a talent she's picked up over the years, and she uses it to full effect.

So, being in the church is the easy part. It's what comes after that is... horrible. She can tell that people are judging her, and there are not-so-subtle glances at her flat stomach, where a baby once lived. Nobody is actually saying anything, but their eyes are loud.

Russell places a strong hand on her shoulder. "Let's go," he says, and then leads her to the car.

The drive to the Woodward residence is made in silence, and Quinn wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole, so that she won't have to deal with what's to come.

She has just enough time to check her phone to see a text from Rachel, and she's forced to hide her smile by ducking her head, her breathing quickening.

Rachel Berry: Don't laugh. I just had to take out the trash and, when I lifted the bag, the bottom fell apart completely. Trash, trash everywhere. God, it was gross. I think I need a shower after all of that. Hope your morning's going better than mine :*

Quinn has the sudden urge to see her. Just, to see her face, maybe touch her, just to be sure she's real. These... feelings are threatening to get the better of her, and she thinks she needs to spend time with Rachel, maybe get annoyed with the girl, and then everything will be fine.

Everything will go back to normal.

They'll just be... kind of friends. Who talk endlessly, and who share all sorts of secrets and who say things like this:

Quinn Fabray: I'm not laughing, I promise, even though I want to. Look at how I've grown ;) I think that kind of thing can happen to only you, Rachel. You're very special.

Quinn Fabray: Well, I'd say my day just got better :P

Quinn lets out a breath when she sends the messages, and then blanches when she reads them over, because there's something just so innocently teasing about the messages.

It's almost... flirtatious.

Well.

Without waiting for a reply, she pockets her phone and tries to get into the correct headspace to put on the right kind of show for her father. For Russell.

Who's to say what'll happen if she ends up saying the wrong thing?

A lot, apparently, because the answer to the question what are your plans for after graduation? is seemingly not I'm still not sure, Sir, and rather Harvard for Pre-Law, Sir.

Quinn won't be making the mistake again of thinking anything she would have said throughout the meal wouldn't have resulted in this... outcome.

Any answer to any question could have triggered this response, and Quinn really should know better.

She just can't seem to get anything right.