Disclaimer: I don't own glee or any of its characters.

A/N: So I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that. But real life gets hectic pretty fast. Thanks for the patience. Thank you to mhmonkeygirl, conventgirlvampire, WolfAlpha13, kiarcheo, heyalove, and Blantantly Anonymous for their awesome support. I added some band terms for you guys at the end, for those of you who aren't familiar with the band world. Oh, and the show links are up on my profile page! Which shows do YOU like so far? :) Let me know in a review! ...So that I also know this story isn't totally dead :P

Chapter 6: Understanding

"You're ruining the band experience for the students!"

The weeks that followed the spy session at Carmel spelled a serious change in direction in the running of the marching band.

Practices were more heavily capitalized. A single crescendo out of place resorted in several sets of arduous sectionals. A terrible horn angle or a twitch in muscle at the end of the set was punished with laps, pushups, and any sort of physical torture that the sectional leaders and Drum Major could fix up.

The first week following practice, I quickly climbed up the ladders in the Sax section and became the undisputed section leader. My year at Carmel had paid off. I was much quicker at music and drill memorization than my peers. I drove my section harder than anyone else in the band… In fact, the section became a tight, cohesive unit, as I used Carmel principles to whip every last player into shape.

The dangerous glint that I had seen in Rachel's eye that day as she stared upon Jesse St. James and Carmel became apart of her Drum Major bearing. On the podium, she became untouchable, stern, and a downright drill sergeant. No longer would she let anyone get away with a missed practice or set.

But off the field, she was still the same old Rachel. Fun-loving, kind, and beautiful. Sister, father, mother, and brother to every band member who needed a shoulder for support.

But unfortunately, the new, harsh methods drew the scrutiny of the very lax, pacifistic nature of our director, Mr. Schue.

"Pushing students to achieve the best quality of performance is ruining the band experience?" Rachel intoned, crossing her legs and folding her wrists over her lap. Behind her, the whole of the leadership team stood in silent support, facing the furious director.

"Punishing them," Schue slammed his hand down on the desk, "isn't going to help anything, Rachel! It's going to make them hate you, and then the whole band will be disjointed beneath your leadersh-."

"Mr. Schue, I don't mean any disrespect," Mercedes stepped forward, hand on her hip, "but what you're saying is whack."

"The band kids haven't had enough of a challenge," Kurt continued. "During practices we spend at least two hours on drill, then the rest of the two hours we have left resting or playing games. Bonding is important to a certain extent, but we're behind the other High Schools in the area by a HUGE margin."

"We're good enough," Schue argued weakly.

"We're good enough for a 2A band, Mr. Schue," I interjected. I felt dark browns looking up at me, sending a chill down my spine. I fought to regain control of my mouth. "But honestly, if you ever want to climb up in ranks, we're going to have to pull some serious miracles before the end of the season."

"Right now Carmel's kids are on a five hour a day rehearsal schedule. Their Drum Major is a World Class DCI prodigy. He's been the Drum Major of his Corps for two years running, and he's had enhanced music tutelage," I hesitated for a moment, "he could crush us into the dust."

"I still don't believe that all this is the answer," Schue closed his eyes, running his hands through his ridiculously greased (sorry, it's true… it had an unnatural glint to it when the fluorescents hit it) hair.

"Well I think it's about time that your geeks came up with the right answer," a loud, frank voice carried from the doorway.

Against it, dressed in a red track suit, stood the Colorguard Coach, Sue Sylvester.

Sue was famous across Lima for her nationally ranked Winterguard teams. She drove them to absolute excellence through the use of scare tactics (at least, that's what was said at Carmel) and a rigorous workout regimen.

"What do you want, Sue?" Mr. Schue sighed, planting himself in his leather office chair.

"Besides you shaving those ridiculously buttered locks off your scalp?" the Colorguard coach swaggered toward the desk, taking a seat against it. "I want you to pick up the pace, Schuester. My girls… and my fruity gay captain have been ready to take their place in the show for a solid month."

Kurt huffed angrily, muttering angrily under his breath. 'Blaine is not fruity.'

"We need to run the routine," Sue carried on, not listening to Kurt's continued ramble, "so that we can make your team of unisex drones look less lame. And that's… that's just not going to happen if you keep preaching about the power of love and being kumbayah."

"It's hard to learn four movements in two months, Sue."

"Hard?" Sue's face contorted into a mask of rage that had Rachel smiling in amusement. "My Colorguard team has been practicing in snow, sleet, and hail each day for at least five hours each day to perfect their routine and you think that getting your drones to walk some ridiculous geometric shapes and blow on hunks of metal at the same time is hard?"

Schue cowered slightly against the desk as Sue slammed her fist on the desk. "William Schuester, you will learn the show within the month… Or else I will have the dogs on you."

After that interesting talk, Schue had little problem letting us take over the lesson. And apparently, it had nothing to do with that fact that that very night, a pack of rabid dogs banged and snarled at his door the entire night.

Uniform fittings were soon upon us, which meant the first game of the season (as well as testing grounds for our new show) were close at hand.

Each band member was given an assigned time to come, so the band parents could work individually upon the fitting of that particular kid. It was the only time once a year that I especially dreaded, since band parents had no consideration for your personal space.

I came to my fitting five minutes early, wearing a long sleeved UnderArmour HeatGear shirt with blue PE shorts and a pair of white joggers.

I walked into the band room, fully prepared to see a full legion of parents armed with measuring tapes and pins come rushing toward me (that's how it had always been at Carmel).

Instead, to my absolute horror, it was Rachel Berry that stood near a rack of blood red uniforms and pure black bibbers, measuring tape about her neck and pins in her mouth.

My mouth instantly went dry.

The petite Drum Major wasn't wearing her usual casual, loose-fitting clothing that she parade about on campus in. Nor was she wearing the pair of sweatpants and white t that she donned during rehearsal.

No, God hadn't been merciful in what Rachel Berry, of all people, wore underneath her Marching Uniform. Well… merciful to me, at least.

Rachel's finely muscled arms lay uncovered by the sleeveless, red v-neck tank that lay hugging every. damn. curve of her taught abdomen. Impossibly long, taut, tanned legs were revealed to my viewing pleasure due to the obscenely small black gym shorts the brunette wore. A red bandana tied up wavy brown locks, showcasing a delicate, deliciously slim neck that begged for kisses to be placed against the column of it.

Oh Jesus Christ.

God must have wanted to send me to the innermost depths of Hell.

Reddish brown eyes peered over at me, full lips curling in a smile that sent the ever familiar fire burning in my belly, my mouth suddenly drying.

The Drum Major carefully placed the iron in her hand down, pulling the pins from her mouth. "Hey, Quinn! You're just in time. Get over here! The sooner we get you fitted, the sooner you can go back to your life!"

For a while I just stood there, watching as Rachel scrambled over to the closet, sorting through several uniforms. Hazel eyes flickered across her arms, watching each individual strand of muscle slide deliciously across the other… observing a delicate bead of-

'Oh God… is that sweat dripping down her throat...?' I mentally growned. My fingers twitched as I felt familiar guilt and shame bubble within my chest.

"Uhm, Quinn. I think the fitting would be done faster if you came over here." A dark brow had gone far up into perspiration drenched bangs as she held up a uniform.

I inched forward till I stood before her, grabbing the bibbers numbly from her as she rested against the cheap plastic table where dozens of other uniforms lay marked, sipping an iced coffee nonchalantly.

"No offense," I said, trying to start some sort of conversation so that I wouldn't ruminate over her amazing figure, "but I would have figured that Band parents would be doing the fittings. Not the Drum Major."

Rachel chuckled musically, sending another fresh bunch of shivers down my spine. "Well, you see, we don't have that many band parents that come to help. I know how to fit things, since my Dads are pretty amazing at sewing. So I figure it'd save time and money to at least get me to fit 'em."

I slipped the suspender straps over my shoulders, pulling the zipper and clasps up as Rachel held out the dark red jacket for me to put on. I slowly pulled it over my shoulders, ignoring the shocks of electricity from contact with Rachel's soft fingertips as she started to button up the various zips and clasps of the heavy material.

"These bibbers are kinda..." I trailed off.

"Stupidly high? Yeah," Rachel chirruped, snapping the last button into place. "They're more overalls than anything. What's usually your Shako size?"

"Medium," I answered, clasping the neck brace together and pulling on the black pair of gloves that the brunette handed me haphazardly.

"Here ya go," the Drum Major pulled out a shako as red as the uniform, putting it gently on my head and locking the buckle securely under my chin. "Playing position, please."

My hands went to Sax position, Rachel fiddling and pinning the sleeves down several centimeters so the fabric came away cleanly. She fell to her knees, folding up the bottoms of the bibbers and pinning them in place.

Hands came to my shoulders, and as they pinched the fabric, and in turn, brushed against the cuts beneath the fabric (that I had made earlier that day, no less), sending a cry of pain from my lips.

Rachel froze.

Brown eyes looked up at me in confusion as dread filled every pore in my body.

"R-Rachel… I-It was nothing," I desperately sputtered out, moving back several steps, hoping to get away from her.

Tentatively, she unbuckled the jacket of my uniform, pulling it gently from my body and hanging it up on the rack beside me. Suspenders fell from my shoulders and her fingers played with the edge of my sleeve.

"R-Rachel…"

She pulled the sleeve up slowly, earthy brown eyes never once leaving my own as inch by inch, skin appeared.

Lulled into security, I was only once more called into reality as rich brown eyes fell to angry looking gashes on my arm.

"Th-they're not wh-what you th-think," I scrambled for some sort of explanation as I backed away. "I-I just f-fell."

But Rachel didn't speak, she simply stepped closer to me, pulling me away from the door as lithe fingers traced each cut with absolute care.

In the short time I'd known Rachel Berry, I'd learned those fingers… those hands could do many things.

They were the hands of someone who could destroy bone and break flesh, the hands of a talented Saxophone player that dexterously played melodies without fault, the hands of the impassioned singer as they grasped the microphone with emotion, and the hands of a friend and Drum Major that would face the greatest Hells for any friend.

And now they were the hands of the girl I loved… my best friend as she looked at me with eyes that were unclouded with pity or contempt. Without a single judgment.

They were merely… sad.

Filled to the brim with some knowing melancholy that I had no idea existed in the soul of this amazing person. Filled with sadness that seemed to age her far beyond her young years.

And I could feel myself break. Break ever so slightly beneath that sad gaze.

Rachel's hand gently found its way to my cheek, wiping away an errant tear I hadn't even known I shed as she gave a sad, knowing smile.

"Oh Quinn."

Her voice was filled with such compassion and understanding… the likes of which I'd never seen displayed by any being…

Not even my own parents.

That I broke.

I sobbed, throwing myself into Rachel's arms, shoulders quaking as I felt strong arms surround me and pull me closer to a warm chest.

That day, I cried as Rachel Berry held me, letting out all my shame and sorrow.

That day I felt more safe than I had ever felt before, just standing there in McKinley's crummy band room, wearing uncomfortable band clothing.

And that day I started to truly… madly…

…Fall in love with Rachel Berry.

A/N: Read and review guys! I hope that you all haven't given up hope on me!

Band Dictionary (For those who are unfamiliar with the band world):

1.) Drill: The papers (as well as the movements) that the Marching band performs. Each student is represented by a number on a sheet of drill paper (it looks like the football field) which tells them where they must be on the field.

2.) Set: A set is a sequence in a drill. The next page of the drill, sort of.

3.) Colorguard: The group that performs intense dance and acrobatic routines and works in harmony with the marching band in visuals. They usually use sabres, rifles, flags, or some other form of prop (I've seen some bands even use hammers). Very athletic.

4.) Winterguard: The winter form of Colorguard made up entirely of visuals without the band.

5.) Section Leaders: The best marcher or player in the section. They have the right to do physical discipline and call meetings to work with their sections.

5.) Bibbers: A pair of pants with a waistband that covers part of the torso till the chest, and held up by suspender straps. This helps keep the band member's pants from falling to the ground, as well as helps to keep undergarments from showing. The jacket that goes on top of this is made of heavy material (think of winter jacket thick) that makes the marcher appear 'sexless' (the performer has to look like his band mates).

6.) Shako: The hat usually worn with a plume (or feather). It usually holds a medallion on the front with chain across the brim.

7.) Drum Major: The person in charge of the band, who runs rehearsals, keeps the section leaders in order, and interprets the music. During a field show, the Drum Major is responsible for setting the tempo through conducting. Is usually garbed in a color opposite to the band or distinguished in some other way (in most bands, the Drum Major is garbed in pure, blinding white). The Drum Major is elected by a board of peers, the colorguard director, as well as the band director. Must be strong musically, academically, and extremely professional.

8.) Marching shoes: Marching shoes are different than the average dress shoe. Some of them are specially made with a sloped heel so that the Marcher has a better 'glide-step' (heel-toe) that allows the bandie to play more smoothly.