An alternate ending of sorts to fate wrapped in paper or plastic and/or snapshots in reality. What if Quinn had stayed? What if she couldn't leave?

All I can say is, my mind goes strange places when I'm trying to fall asleep. I just wish it would give this plot bunny a rest… nevertheless, enjoy!

She stands behind the big oak doors, staring at the rafters, waiting for a sign.

Please Lord, forgive me for my sins. Save me from this evil-

Her father takes her arm. She clutches the bouquet against her four thousand dollar gown.

"Ready?"

The music plays. She takes a breath and dives in, breathing in and out deep enough to fight back the tears.

He's waiting at the end of the aisle. He takes her hands. She looks at him and she's in love. Really, she is.

But there are still monsters underneath the bed, behind the tinted glass, monsters she'd never wish on anyone.

It's better then, to keep them all to herself. To suffer. To weep in silence.

He kisses the bride. Her wedding band is a handcuff around her finger, tied to him. I now pronounce you husband and wife.

They ride off into the sunset like all good fairytales do, and she sees the man with a crumpled tie watching from the sidewalk, eyes boring into her.

She waves. He nods, frowns, turns away. She swallows, says no thank you to the wine, and climbs into the limo, hands clenched into fists.

…

She and Michael are very happy. They're always happy. They're the perfect couple, the epitome of rich, settled, and wonderful. No one would bat an eye at them. Of course not. They're simply perfect, the envy of the town, the upper end with all the fancy houses with expensive drapery to pull down at precise moments.

Everyone pulls back their curtains, peeks out their windows. The curtains are drawn, and they pretend they can't hear the screams.

She opens the door, gets the mail, pats her stomach, chats with the neighbors. Oh yes, we're expecting soon. I'd like a girl you know, but Michael says he needs a boy to watch baseball with. We're so excited, of course. Couldn't be lovelier.

She closes the door, puts the mail on the table, clutches her stomach and wonders if the baby will die before he's born.

Of course, the baby isn't his, and she sees all those times she retreated to a former flame's apartment, looking for something like true love, like safety, like a real fairytale without the secret panels and trap doors.

Once upon a time, Noah Puckerman was a mistake. Somehow he showed up again, chapters later, but this time maybe he wasn't a mishap.

He was a golden opportunity. She refused to take it. She banished him when he asked for her love, asked him to leave her alone and tied her own bandages. He left obediently, saddened and jaded, wondering where she'd go without someone to help her lick her wounds.

She did just fine before he popped back up again. She'll do fine now. She doesn't need a protector.

She should call him. Tell him she's pregnant. He's a father. Again.

The baby could be Michael's. Could be, but isn't. She can feel it.

Michael can't know. He'll kill both of them.

…

Her stomach swells. Her husband doesn't make any attempt to control his hands. She locks the bathroom door and holds a washcloth against her split lip, caking on the foundation to lessen the bruise.

No one asks because they don't want to believe it. She smiles because it can't be true.

You forgive people you love for their mistakes. She'd be a terrible wife if she asked him to stop hitting her.

She names the baby Aiden, and goes sick with worry every time she places him in Michael's hands. But no, he isn't a child abuser. Not yet, anyway.

She stays home, throwing everything she has into taking care of her child. Michael continues working and living like nothing's changed, just another mouth to feed, another cry to silence. In the middle of the night she sleeps in Aiden's room with the door locked, staring at the smiling giraffe on the wall, counting each and every spot, waiting for the sun to rise.

It comes like always, but nothing else changes. Aiden accidently smacks the bruises on her arms while he's fussing and she cries. Michael tells her to shut up as he pours another glass of whiskey, eyes fixed on the game flashing across the television.

She bites her lip and feeds the baby, kicking the counter with her bare feet.

…

Something comes over her when he's gone and she picks up the phone.

"I want you to meet someone."

He shows up, looking around at her well-to-do home, whistling lowly.

"You made out, sweetheart. This good enough to let him beat you?"

"Shut up."

She leads him up the grand staircase, taking him into the baby's room where Aiden sits gurgling, playing with his toys.

"This is Aiden. Your son."

He stands there, numb, as she picks Aiden up and places him in his arms.

And for the first time in her life, she watches Noah Puckerman cry.

…

"How do you know for sure?"

"I don't."

"You didn't take a test?"

"I just… know. He's yours."

He ponders this, staring at the sleeping baby on his chest.

"Then let's leave."

"You know I can't."

"You can."

She doesn't answer him, only takes the child back and places him in his crib.

"Michael will be back soon. You should go."

…

She lands on the floor with a dull thud, the picture frames quaking on the walls.

Michael kicks her in the stomach again. She coughs, sputtering, biting her tongue.

He stomps away, taking another drink.

Aiden cries.

…

He keeps an eye on her from afar, visiting now and then.

They tell Aiden that he's his uncle, but it's a secret. Don't tell Daddy. Daddy doesn't want to know.

Somehow, it works out. Somehow, no one ever knows, but he can't stand watching her body be marred with scars and have no say about it. About anything-

…

Four years go by and she's on the local news.

She's smiling, hair tucked behind her ear, telling the interviewer about how safe she feels now, the woman's shelter is a wonderful place, they'll learn to live on their own soon enough.

An address flashes across the screen, a hotline, an exposé on the horrors of domestic violence and what woman's shelters do to help.

He shuts off the TV, gets into his car, and drives.

She looks up from where she's folding laundry as a staff member tells her she has a visitor. It seems to take ages to reach the front desk and she's crawling out of her skin. It could be her parents, it could be her sister – they're not supposed to know…

It's Puck.

Falling into someone's arms never felt so good.

"You left."

She nods into his chest.

"I'm proud of you."

She might just be too proud to stay away.

They find Aiden in the play area, climbing up the slide with the other children. He lights up when he sees them.

"Uncle Puck!"

He twirls him around, holding him at his hip as Aiden jabbers on about his friends and all the pictures he drew for him while he was gone, leaving again to tell the other kids that his uncle his here. His uncle's nicer than Daddy.

"All these kids and their mothers… they all live here?"

She nods, staring off at the battered toy box and rocking horse, "All of us."

"Saw you on TV."

She grins, "Did I look nice?"

"Of course. Beautiful as always."

"You don't have to say that."

"Yes. I do."

She grabs his hand, unsure, watching Aiden laugh as he plays pass with another child.

"We're going back home soon."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I have to go."

"You don't. You don't need him. You never needed him."

She frowns and turns towards him, squeezes his hand.

"I'm sorry."

…

She's too proud to stay away for more than two months. Proud little girls face their problems head on. Fabrays never back down. Power through the pain. Deal with it.

She loves him too much, whatever the hell love is, to stay away.

They had packed up one afternoon. She filled a single suitcase with their clothes and any cash she could find. Aiden asked why he couldn't bring all his toys as she strapped him into his car seat, driving fifteen minutes to the shelter.

It's close enough for him to find her but he doesn't care enough to try. They live there, but it's uncomfortable. She worries about her parents calling, looking for her. She hates therapy, hates using quarters to do her laundry, hates Aiden always asking her why they only have one small room now, one bed.

It comes to an end and everyone waves goodbye as she packs up. They're worried. She smiles. They'll be fine. They're always fine.

Michael takes them back, asking few questions, promising she'll never have to live like that again, he'll take care of her. Life eventually falls back into it's old pattern. Her wrist throbs as she straightens Aiden's little tie and they drive out to Michael's office party at the country club, sipping wine underneath white pleated tents.

Her friend Sarah approaches her in the middle of someone's speech, eyebrows knitted together, "Quinn, we have a problem."

She leads her over to where the kids are playing underneath the food table. Josh is crying, sniffling next to his mother while Aiden stands a few feet away, kicking at the grass with his shoe.

"Aiden hit Josh."

"Aiden!" she says sternly, grabbing his shoulders, "We never, ever hit someone! Did you apologize?"

"Sorry, Josh…"

"I'm so sorry, Suzanne…" she says, blushing, "I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Oh, it's fine, Quinn. Kids will be kids. Aiden has quite an arm on him…"

"But mommy!" Aiden protests, pulling at her skirt, "Daddy hits you all the time!"

She feels time freeze as she swallows hard, smiling wide. The other mothers are looking at her, eyebrows raised. Josh stops crying and crawls back under the tablecloth. She clenches her teeth, patting Aiden on the back, air of sympathy in her voice, "Oh honey, don't tell stories like that!"

She gently pushes him away as he goes back to play with the other children, a little confused. Sarah follows her as she walks towards the flower garden, losing herself among the daises.

"Quinn! Quinn, slow down!"

"What, Sarah?"

"What was Aiden talking about back there?"

"Nothing. He's four, he likes to make up stories. Kids do that."

"But… why would he say something like that?"

"I don't know. He knew he was in trouble, to lessen the blow, maybe? It's really not a big deal."

Sarah brushes against the flowers as she approaches Quinn slowly, "It is a big deal if Michael hurts you."

"He doesn't. I promise."

"You'd tell me if things weren't okay, right?"

She plucks the petals off a flower she doesn't know the name of, watching them flutter to the ground.

"Of course."

…

Her mother comes up to her after she leaves the garden. Michael invited her parents, though she doesn't know why. He likes them. Likes being on their good side…

"I heard what happened with Aiden."

She stares straight ahead.

"Is everything alright, Quinnie?"

She locks her jaw, "It's fine, mom. Perfect."

"I just know that ever since you met him, you've been… distant."

She doesn't want to talk to her mother about this. Her mother, of all people. Doesn't she realize she's being a hypocrite?

"I'm just busy. Michael and I are fine. Aiden's fine."

We're all fine.

…

A few days later, her parents invite them over for dinner. Three hours before Michael gives her a black eye. The two men of the house elect to go ahead, but Quinn stays home sick.

The next day Michael's at work, Aiden's in his room, and her mother shows up on her doorstep, gasping as Quinn opens the door a crack, eye swollen purple.

"Oh, Quinnie-"

"Hi mom…"

"What happened to you?"

She lets her in as her hair falls into her face, "I ran into a door. You know the swinging one to the kitchen? Aiden was coming in just as I was going out and bang, right in the eye. It doesn't hurt so much anymore. I can barely even feel it."

She says this as she busies herself making tea, placing two mugs on the coffee table and waiting for her mother to sit down on the couch.

"I assume you're feeling better, then."

"Much better."

"You didn't happen to cancel last night because of your eye?"

"Of course not! I think I had a stomach bug. You know how it is…"

She tries to smile as her mother only stares harder.

"Yes. I know all too well how it is."

She takes a sip from her mug, trying to be nonchalant. Her mother only keeps staring.

"Quinn, if he's hurting you-"

"He's not, mom. Michael wouldn't do that to me…"

"Then explain all your absences, please. Explain all your injuries, all of your moods!
Tell me why Aiden would think it's okay to hit another child because Daddy does it if he doesn't hurt you!"

Her lip quivers, "We… fight sometimes, maybe. It's nothing I can't handle."

Judy reaches up to lightly touch her daughter's bruised eye, but she recoils enough for her to draw back, "You call this handling it? Please honey… please, just talk to me…"

"What do you want me to say? That he hit me? Yeah, okay mom, he hits me! Does that make you happy?"

"No! No, I want you to leave him! Come take Aiden and live with us!"

They're both standing up now, screaming, and she softens her voice as she looks away.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You stayed with Daddy."

"Your father never hit me!"

"He cheated on you. He always cheated on you!" She yells with tears in her eyes. Her mother sighs, arms falling to her sides in defeat.

"I was too proud to leave him. I thought… I had to stay. But Quinn, you don't. You-"

"What do you expect? I learned from the best! I'm just as… proud as you. I…"

"There's nothing shameful in walking away from someone who doesn't respect you."

A car pulls into the driveway. She wipes her eyes.

"That's him."

Her mother prepares to leave as he strolls through the front door, whistling.

"Judy! Good to see you again! What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was just checking up on my daughter, Michael. Nice seeing you."

Quinn dumps the cold tea down the drain and crosses her arms as he places his hand on her shoulder.

"What was that about?"

She scowls, "Just my mother being nosy."

"Of course. You and your family…"

"Yeah," she laughs, "Of course…"

…

It's late at night. Michael's well into his whiskey bottle and the world has shut the door.

She can't remember why, but the first blow comes. And another, and another, and it's getting hard to see straight, and another and another, and she can't move.

Maybe mommy had a point.

And another, and all there is is searing pain through every inch of her, and her mouth must be bleeding or the rug just tastes like copper, and she turns her face sideways so she doesn't choke on the blood sprouting from wherever.

There's more and she manages to curl up tight enough to protect herself somewhat, but soon it's useless and she can't feel anything except pain. Her body goes limp and she can't even cry out anymore as he kicks her in the head, neck snapping back and forth.

He steps on her fingers as he picks her up and somewhere far away she hears her baby screaming at her. How'd he get out of his room? He wasn't supposed to see this… Stop it.

The last thing she sees is Aiden's mouth form a perfect O, tears streaming down his face as Michael flings her down the stairs. She feels herself tumbling, like rolling down a hill except the hill is filled with land mines, and hears a crack as she hits bottom and then-

Nothing.

…

She wakes to a flurry of noise and movement, squinting in the bright light. It must be morning or evening or afternoon, and there shouldn't be this many people in her house…

Except she's not at home. She's in a hospital bed with needles in her arms and her whole body feels like someone tossed her down a flight of stairs…

Well, that isn't funny anymore, considering someone did throw her town a flight of stairs…

There are bright yellow flowers on her bedside table. Machines are hooked up to her, but they look like they're all off except for the heart monitor. Is that a good sign? She reaches up to touch her head and feels gauze. So he cut her head open, perhaps that's where the blood was coming from… The rest of her body just hurts, so maybe it wasn't serious. Maybe they'll let her go home now; it couldn't have been that long. Where's Aiden? He better not have missed preschool because of this… And how did she get to the hospital? Would Michael have brought her? No, he couldn't… did a neighbor hear and finally say something? Where is Michael now? Surely, he's angry that she isn't home. Angry that she's slandering the family name…

At that moment, she notices none other than Puck sitting in the chair next to her bed, grinning from ear to ear.

She goes to ask him what happened, but she can't move her tongue. There's a giant, saturated cotton ball stuffed into her cheek – she's surprised she didn't choke. What is that doing there? Would that be why she tasted blood last night?

She reaches up and pulls the cotton from her mouth, finding it soaked with spit and blood. Yes, definitely why she tasted blood. Tentatively, she pushes her tongue into her cheek and feels a distinct gash. At least it isn't bleeding anymore…

"He cut the inside of your mouth," Puck says slowly, gesturing with his hands, pointing at his own face, "They were going to see about giving you stitches, but I guess it stopped bleeding?"

She nods slowly and then stops. It makes her head hurt.

"You shouldn't move much. Want some water or something?"

He pours her a drink and she takes the paper cup, sipping slowly to wash out her mouth.

"I'm on Quinn duty," he smiles, putting the cup back down for her once she's finished, "Finally convinced your mom to go home and get some rest. Your dad's been in too, and your sister, some of your friends… Aiden's staying with your parents. No one's seen Michael since he… hurt you. The cops are looking for him."

"Well…" she coughs, voice scratchy with sleep, "It hasn't been that long, has it?"

"It's been… a little over a week. You have some swelling in your brain, so you were in a coma."

Coma. Over a week. How could she be out for that long? She has a son to take care of… her injuries aren't that bad…

"How's Aiden?"

"He's a little shaken up, wants to see his mom. Judy didn't let him visit much. She thought it would be best for him not to see you…"

"Oh. Well… that's good."

"She brought him once to convince him that you weren't dead. He was having nightmares from… that night."

"He saw me," she says slowly, "He saw us. I didn't… he shouldn't have seen that."

"He's the one who called 911."

"Did he tell you… what happened?"

"Not really."

"He was… hitting me. And then he… pushed me down the stairs."

He winces. She stares at the wall, noticing there's a dark purple bruise on her wrist. How many more could there be?

"You can't stay with him. If not for you, then for Aiden. He can't grow up like that."

As if he as any right to tell her what to do, "Why?"

"You almost died Quinn, do you get that? He threw you down the stairs. You're lucky it wasn't any worse."

She knows that. She's always known that. How does someone not know that? How does someone let someone else hit them in front of their child? How could she ever let Aiden live there?

But where was she supposed to go? To the women's shelter again? To Puck? To her parents? They wouldn't understand and she doesn't know how to leave. She can't leave. If she leaves she's a quitter and quitters never win…

"I know, Puck. But I can't just… walk away."

"Says who?"

She sighs, "I don't know."

…

They wait for her mother to get there.

Of course when she sees her all she does is cry, and all Quinn can do is whisper "I'm sorry" over and over again.

"It's not your fault. I should've never pushed him on you. I should've helped you…"

"You tried."

Her mother wipes her eyes, "I brought someone with me."

She smiles as Aiden comes around the corner, screaming "Mommy!" at the top of his lungs.

…

Two days later she's released from the hospital. They move in with her parents. By that time they find Michael and he's placed under arrest for domestic abuse, evading arrest, and threatening law enforcement. She avoids looking at her reflection in the mirror.

They return home once to pack up a few essentials. Aiden runs straight to his room to gather as many toys as he can carry. Puck follows him, glancing over his shoulder as he leaves. She stops and stares at the bloodstains on the crisp, white carpet.

Gently her mother nudges her along. She makes sure to grind her toes into each drop on every stair.

…

It's not easy, but it was never supposed to be.

She hates being so dependant on her parents. She was dependant on Michael, now she has to be dependant on them. It's not like she knows what else to do. She's been a stay at home mom since Aiden was born – with the family money and Michael's income, there was no need for her to work.

She finds herself sitting and staring out the window, waiting for something. She doesn't know what. She just wishes it would hurry up and get here.

Puck pulls in the driveway and takes Aiden to the park. They play games in the front yard and she watches in the window. Why couldn't she have left with him in the first place?

After Aiden's in bed, Puck comes to her side and gently places his hand on her shoulder. She only flinches a little.

They stand there, staring at the moon and stars.

"Why are you still here?"

His grip tightens. She turns and looks at him, at the worry constantly creasing his forehead, at the hands she's always longed to hold.

"Because I want to be. I want to… protect you."

She doesn't know why, but she slowly falls into him, arms limp at her sides. He folds himself around her, and it feels safe. For once in her life, it's safe.

"I'm sorry I ever left you."

"It's okay. We'll be okay."

And for once, maybe she will be.