When Quinn woke up it was to the sound of violent retching. She rubbed the slumber out her eyes and tiptoed down the hall to investigate.
It wasn't how Quinn envisioned their reunion, not that she envisioned it… much. Rachel was on her knees, hugging the toilet bowl like a life preserver. It was a deplorable sight, there before her sat her childhood hero, knocked off her pedestal and reduced to little more than an aisle 5 spill-up.
Quinn batted her own nauseous feelings down. "Rachel?" she said, taking a tentative step forward.
The brunette drew her head back to squint up at Quinn, "Who the hell are you?"
"Do you need help?"
Rachel sharply turned back to the toilet bowl and Quinn took the opportunity to advance. She closed the door and laid a hand on Rachel's shuddering back before delicately gathering her hair in a messy ponytail.
When it seemed like the brunette was finished, Quinn tied Rachel's hair up with her own red Cheerios-issued ponytail holder.
Quinn filled the rinsing cup near the sink with cool tap water, "You need to re-hydrate."
"I am more than capable of remedying this situation myself."
"Look, I'm not questioning your capabilities or whatever, I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need your help."
"But I—"
"Just leave me alone."
"I can't. I would if I could, but you kind of just totaled my car."
"You!" she seethed. "Where's the film?"
"Film?"
"The pictures you took, where are they?"
"I don't know you that well," Quinn lied, "so I'm going to assume that you're just really, really wasted— I've been there. One time, at the Cheerios' annual post-indoctrination party," she coyly mentions her Cheerios affiliation because she thinks it will impress Rachel, "I thought this foreign exchange student Sven was a Russian spy-"
"You would have me believe that I'm suffering from some sort of alcohol-induced paranoid delusion," Rachel panted. "Just give me the pictures!" Rachel tried to stand, to brace herself on wobbly elbows.
Quinn took a step back.
The brunette reached out, but only managed to haplessly bowl herself over so that she was now splayed before Quinn, even more helpless and pathetic than before. Quinn swallowed as she knelt down. "Let me help you," she said gently, "I'm not who you think I am."
"You're going to have to do much better than that."
"I…," Quinn licked her lips, "I just wanted to know if the rumors were true. I heard someone saw you in town. I was… curious."
Quinn offered Rachel the cup of water with an encouraging nod.
"And then what?" Rachel grudgingly accepted the water, "You Googled me? Pulled up some lame Lima Times article detailing my high school achievements? Stalked me in hopes of selling unflattering candid shots to sleazy, but well-circulated tabloid magazines? Or perhaps you were biding your time to burglarize my childhood home for eBay-worthy mementos? I believe they call that procedure "casing." Pawning off used undergarments and spent coffee grinds to the highest bidder will not get you far in life-"
"What?" Quinn frowned, "No, no, it isn't like that, I swear."
"Do you know what your reluctance is screaming at me? What your vagueness is spelling out? Guilty. I should call the authorities and have you carted to the gallows!"
"Gallows? I don't think they do that anymore—"
"That's beside the point!"
"It's not a good idea to call the cops."
"Says the criminal."
"If I'm a criminal, so are you. Do I have to remind you of the fact that you went rogue warrior on my car with an umbrella? Kind of like Brittany Spears. Actually, a lot like Brittany Spears…"
"You would have done the same thing," Rachel glowered, trying to refocus her bleary eyes.
"I don't know that I would have."
"You would have done the same thing."
"What happened to you?" Quinn uttered in bewilderment. "I'm not a wannabe paparazzo or even some celebrity-obsessed kid, okay?" Quinn rubbed at the back of her neck, blushing hotly as she said, voice wavering,"You used to babysit me."
Quinn waited for a response, a sliver of recognition or an outcry of denial, but none came so Quinn nervously continued, "Most days after school and every Saturday night. You helped me with my pirouettes and taught me how to tie my shoes and count to 100 in Spanish. We buried my guinea pig in your backyard because my mom wouldn't let me bury him in mine. You sang me to sleep and I still have the stupid gold star you gave me when you went away-"
Rachel's demeanor softened, "You threw it at me at the airport."
"I waited until you disappeared down the terminal and dove beneath the concession stand to find it. I stained my dress," Quinn swallowed, "My mom was so mad, but I didn't care."
"Quinn Fabray."
"You remember."
"Why wouldn't I?" Rachel hissed. She shut her eyes and circled her arms around her legs. "This isn't what it looks like."
"I'm a teenager. I have a social life. I think I'm pretty familiar with the symptoms of a hangover—"
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Right."
"I'm not," Rachel swallowed, "the next Lindsay or Wynona. This," she waved, "is a gargantuan misunderstanding."
"I never… That thought never crossed my mind."
"Yeah right," Rachel snorted. "It's okay. I deserve it. If it's any consolation I'm sorry about the car."
Quinn nodded, "I know."
"I'll have it towed to my dad's mechanic and have the damage appraised. I would appreciate it if you kept this happenstance to yourself. I'm prepared to match any and all tabloid-driven monetary incentives-"
"I told you already, I don't want your money, but you're probably not going to listen to me," Quinn snorted. "You should drink some more water. I have to get to sleep, I have school in the morning."