Title: Zero Emotion, Muted Emotion (Love Pusher)

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

Summary: When the school year rolls around and Quinn is no longer in the choir room week after week, Rachel feels the loss immediately. Determined to preserve the friendship Quinn continually denies, Rachel embarks on a path to prove her loyalty to Quinn. But the result of her ambition may be more than either of them had ever expected.

A/N: Inspired by Frank Ocean's Novacane, the title is a mix of lyrics from that song and Justin Timberlake's Pusher Love Girl. Should be a two-shot. Rated R for descriptions of illicit drug use.

Quinn peeled her eyes open with a long cough that erupted in a series of rough wheezing until she sat up. Her eyes, wide as saucers, blinked as she looked around. There was a thick blanket of smoke coating the room that paled in comparison to the amount of smoke she could feel in her head. It felt like someone had crawled into her cranium and lit a match while humming a pleasant tune that subdued her as she scanned the room. Beside her on the couch was Mack, taking a drag of a blunt. On the other side of the room sat Ronnie in a La-Z Boy that she was reclined fully back on until her bare neck presented itself. Sheila was snoring loudly in the corner.

"Another hit?"

Lazily, Quinn dragged her eyes from Sheila to find Mack leaning toward her, with heavy lidded red eyes. The joint in her hand was almost completely gone and Quinn was sure Mack's fingers were burning though she was probably too gone to care. Quinn was too gone to care as well as she simply told Mack to, "Shotgun me."

Mack sent her a wink as she sunk back into the couch cushions. "You just wanna kiss me."

Quinn barely registered what Mack said but she laughed anyway as she slammed back into the couch. "Ronnie."

A grunt on the other side of the room was the only response she received along with Sheila's snoring in the corner. But Quinn didn't feel the need to care. She didn't feel anything, really, and she hadn't for a long time.

"Okay, come on."

She forced herself to turn onto her side, propping her right arm along the back of the couch as she leaned closer towards Mack who was currently busy taking a slow drag. "Make it good," Quinn heard herself say.

She could tell Mack wanted to say something back by the way her cheeks puffed out, but her mouth was full of twenty dollar smoke and it was probably best if she didn't lose it.

Mack pulled the blunt away with a small moan, holding it like she would a wolf by the scruff of its neck as she leaned closer. Quinn met her halfway, cupping Mack's cheek more for the high in her mouth than the kiss as their lips barely grazed. Her mouth hovered open, puckered as she sucked while Mack blew. The smoke that she felt in her head intensified to a warm and fuzzy feeling as she released Mack to fall back against the couch. "Damn," she sighed, smoke escaping her nostrils.

Mack nodded. "Yeah." She slumped back against the arm of the couch. "Hurry up. We've got one more."

Quinn turned to squint her eyes at the scrap of what was between Mack's fingers still burning away. She had quickly learned long ago that there was a difference between being high and being stoned. Being high made her uncontrollably giggly and bubbly, and she didn't like it. She much preferred being stoned to where she felt…nothing. Nothing mattered and not too much existed outside of what she was smoking and who she was smoking it with.

"Ready?"

She didn't even bother to sit up, just turned her head in time to see Mack stubbing out the last of what was honestly just rolling paper by now. Then Mack moved toward her, looking predatory like a shark as she rose up onto her knees, cupped the side of Quinn's face and leaned in.

It was a kiss, Quinn noted when she realized she was getting less smoke and more of Mack's bottom lip. It wasn't the first time they had kissed. Mack was known to steal kisses from those she was attracted to when the opportunity presented itself and every time they shot-gunned something along the lines of what was happening now would happen.

They pulled away, and Quinn wiped the back of her hand across her lips, licking them before tipping her head back against the couch. Her eyes slipped closed as she heard Mack sigh loudly. "Ready for school tomorrow?"

"No," Quinn answered plainly.

"Me neither."

She heard a flicking noise, then scrunched her nose as she smelled cigarette smoke. "Do you ever stop?" Her voice sounded nasally, even more so to her own ears which was kind of a downside to smoking.

"Go hard or go home," Mack answered.

Her breathing evened out as her mind completely bottomed out until there was nothing left. Not a single thought.

"Why do you hate everything so much?" Mack asked.

After a moment Quinn shook her head with a giggle. "I don't even remember why anymore."

There wasn't enough Clear Eye in the world to cure her bloodshot eyes.

Quinn rubbed soggy paper towels over her eyelids as she walked out of the bathroom. Her hair hung low, threatening to sink into her eyes, and she brushed the loose strands back to see as she walked down the hallway. It had been a week, yet people still parted like the Red Sea when they saw her as if she was a bad omen that would only bring about a plague.

A smirk touched her lips at the distance she was given as she strutted down the hallway. There was someone beside her locker who automatically slammed theirs and scurried away as Quinn sauntered up to her own. She spun her locker combination in and it opened with a clang. Her tongue rolled along the inside of her cheek indolently. There weren't many books in her locker; only an empty binder and a spiral single subject notebook rested at the bottom of her locker with pictures and a poster of the Sex Pistols inside. She grabbed a pen from inside and tucked it behind her ear before closing her locker to find Rachel Berry standing there.

Unconsciously, Quinn's gait widened into a slightly defensive stance as her hip cocked out. Her eyes raked down Rachel's body, more to put her on edge than anything.

It worked, because Rachel visibly stiffened, wringing her hands together as she took a step closer. "Hi, Quinn," she began tentatively. "I just wanted to check on you, see how you were doing…"

Quinn's face remained still as stone save for one eyebrow lift of incredulity. "Are you joking?"

Rachel's brow instantly furrowed. "Why would I be joking?"

She shrugged and scuffed her feet into motion to carry a snail's pace down the hallway. Her tone was light, conversational as she pointed out, "We aren't exactly friends."

Rachel's shoulders were tight with apprehension as she walked alongside Quinn with her head down. "Yes—but we were once."

"Barely."

"Okay, stop," Rachel breathed out in a reedy voice as she grabbed Quinn's arm. They stopped in the middle of the hallway, and Quinn ran a hand through her hair as her head lolled to the side in a show of boredom as blank eyes bore into Rachel's.

"Can we not do this?" Rachel continued in a strained voice like someone had cut her and left her to bleed.

"Do what?"

"Stop acting like we don't mean anything to each other."

"We don't." She looked down at the wounded expression on Rachel's face, then glanced away. Quinn was no longer with Finn, no longer in glee club, and contrary to popular belief, there was absolutely no reason why she needed to continue her obsession over Rachel. Those two things, and occasionally Puck, were the only reason why she honestly gave Rachel the time of day, and now that Quinn had literally nothing left in her life aside from a pack of cigarettes in one pocket and a lighter in the other, there was no reason for this 'friendship' Rachel kept insisting on to occur.

With that in mind, Quinn pried her arm from Rachel's grip and walked away.

Shock was evident on Rachel's face. Quinn had just left her. Quinn never left her. Her teeth gritted in rage as she spun on her heel. Hair whipping behind her, Rachel stormed down the hallway.

"Hey, Rachel, I was wondering if I could have a wor—"

Rachel gave Jacob Ben Israel the hand, unable to even form intelligible thoughts at the moment, let alone words.

Quinn Fabray had just left her standing in the middle of the hallway. It was perplexing and disappointing to say the least. Quinn had always stuck around to hear Rachel out, even when Quinn didn't want to hear what Rachel had to say, even when they weren't friends and antagonized each other in the hallway—it was always Rachel storming off, never Quinn.

When she finally made it to the bathroom, Rachel roughly pushed the door open and walked inside. She went to her favorite stall—the handicap one—and closed the door behind her.

Leaning back against it, she cried.

"Alright, guys, let's take a break!" Mr. Schuester called.

Mercedes huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she stormed away from the group.

Kurt gave Rachel a once over. "Girl," was all he said.

"Okay, hold up, Mr. Schue. We can't just keep stopping run-throughs because Berry keeps missing her mark," Santana insisted with a sneer in Rachel's direction.

"Twice I've missed my mark since you've even known me, Santana," Rachel defended. "Which is more than I can say for you."

Santana's upper lip quivered as she approached Rachel. "Oh, don't you dare go there, Berry. Q isn't here to hold me back this time." Brittany reached out to clasp Santana's hand before she closed in on Rachel.

Rachel sidestepped Santana and walked to Finn's other side. She crossed her arms and looked to Mr. Schuester in distress.

Mr. Schuester sighed. "Okay, everyone, have a seat."

Grudgingly, everyone walked back to their seats. Schuester grabbed a stool nearby and sat atop it. "Okay." He clasped his hands together. "What's going on, guys?"

"Berry can't carry a tune," Santana answered with a neck roll. "And I think we all know what that means. Berry's lost her touch. I vote we make me new glee club captain."

Rachel's head spun around so fast to gawk at Santana in the back of the choir room it nearly broke her neck. "Excuse me!?"

"Oh, hell no!" Mercedes cut in. "I've been here since the beginning. If anyone is going to be the new captain, it's gonna be me."

Finn raised a dubious eyebrow. "Uh, guys? I'm co-captain."

Santana continued undeterred. "Not for long."

"Guys, guys!" Rachel shouted. "There isn't going to be a new captain, thank you very much. I am perfectly capable of continuing this position by myself despite my most recent and brief distractibility."

Finn frowned. "But I'm co-capt—"

"Really, Mr. Schuester, it's getting annoying to have to 'start from the top' every two seconds," Mercedes piped up.

"I just want to get to my part," Kurt interjected.

"I ju-ju-just want to have a part," was Tina's snide remark under her breath.

Mr. Schuester nodded along with everyone's sentiments. "I understand that no one wants to keep starting over. But when something needs to be perfected, we practice to perfect it."

"Precisely," Rachel punctuated with a pointed look around the room.

"However, Rachel," Mr. Schuester hedged, "you have been uncharacteristically off this afternoon."

Her eyebrows bunched in disapproval at the comment.

"You seem distracted, Rachel," he tried again. "Anything you wanna get off your chest? Maybe the club can help."

"Uh, excuse me? When did glee club turn into group therapy?"

"Since you started crying over the lezzy duets you and Brittany perform together, Scissor Sisters," Puck quipped with a chuckle.

Santana flipped him off. "I'm surprised you even get that reference."

"Puck, Santana," Mr. Schuester called after them in a disapproving voice. "Knock it off, guys. Rachel—" he gestured toward her, "you have the floor."

With a gracious smile, Rachel stood and walked to the front of the room. She spun around to face everyone. "Fellow glee club members, as you all are aware, Quinn Fabray is no longer with us." She licked her lips, for once completely unprepared to give a speech. "It's just—doesn't anyone miss her?"

Brittany pouted mournfully at the mention of Quinn. Mercedes broke eye contact while Santana crossed her arms defensively over her chest and pursed her lips. "She made her choice."

Rachel nodded in agreement. "But that doesn't mean we can't miss her, o-or try to convince her to come back."

"Yeah, I mean—" Brittany shrugged when Santana shot her a look of betrayal. "All I'm saying is she left before and came back."

"And all I'm saying is that Quinn isn't gonna do something she doesn't want to do," Santana countered.

"Santana's right," Puck agreed. "Quinn doesn't do things she doesn't wanna…except that one time."

Finn's eyes widened in intrigue while Rachel's narrowed in suspicion. Santana cut Puck a look.

"Look all I'm saying is that my baby mama is her own woman now—a wild, hot woman—"

Rachel shook her head in disapproval. "I think we get it, Noah, thank you."

Santana raised her hand. "Who votes we adjourn this meeting because Aunty Tana has a pedicure appointment that costs an Andrew Jackson to cancel less than an hour beforehand?" She looked pointedly at Brittany. "Spa date, Britt-Britt?"

Unable to resist the allure of a date, Brittany grinned up at Santana and raised her hand.

Puck raised his hand as well. "Ah, what the hell? Sorry, Mr. Schue," he apologized when Mr. Schuester cut him a look for the swear. "But she's not coming back. And she looks wicked hot now. Why try to cramp her style, Jew-Baby?"

Rachel's fists clenched at her sides. "Please refrain from calling me that, Noah."

Mercedes raised her hand next. "They're right, Rachel. She's not coming back."

Finn avoided eye contact with Rachel while he raised his hand, and Tina followed soon after. "I-I-I like her new look."

Santana stood and walked down the risers with Brittany in tow. "That's majority."

"We didn't even count," Rachel replied snidely.

"I don't care. I'm not gonna sit here another moment. Mr. Schue, may we leave?"

He looked like a man caught between a rock and a hard place. Glancing at the clock, he nodded. "Sorry, Rachel. But glee club is technically over."

Everyone promptly stood to leave.

"However, I would encourage you all to have some compassion for one of our own," Mr. Schuester called out, raising his voice over the commotion of everyone talking and walking out. "Quinn was a very valuable asset to the choir room."

"Mhm, as I've stated before," Rachel offered.

"Once a member always a member!" Mr. Schuester continued.

"Unless you quit!" Santana quipped as she walked out of the room.

"Can it, Santana!" Rachel roared after her.

Once the choir room was empty sans Finn, Rachel pouted morosely and turned to rest her head on his chest. "Does no one care about her?" she whispered, more so to herself.

"You do," Finn offered with an encouraging smile. "Though I don't get why. I mean, she was kinda a bitch to you and stuff, but—"

Rachel sighed. "That's enough, Finn."

She had heard it all before.

"I'm just saying that maybe you're a little too invested in her," Finn cautioned.

Rachel balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder while she painted her baby toenail Strawberry Bubblegum Pink. "Someone has to be," she defended. "She's a person, Finn." And really, she was sick of constantly having to defend why she gave a damn about Quinn to just about everyone, even Quinn herself. She capped the bottle of fingernail polish for a moment and surveyed all ten toes. Alarm struck her when she found inadequacy within a nail on her other foot and she attacked it with nail polish.

"I know, I know," she registered Finn sigh out. "It's just—it's our senior year, our last year together before you go off to New York and I—I don't know." Rachel exhaled a slow breath and steeled herself because she was not going to feel sorry for Finn Hudson right now. He was her boyfriend and she loved him, but she had informed him two years ago when their courtship first began that nothing and no one would hold her back…including him. "And I want us to spend it, you know, together."

"We will," Rachel soothed. She capped her nail polish one last time and placed it beside her on the bed. "Finn, we will spend this year together. And we'll go out on dates and you'll come over to my house and I'll go over to yours—it'll be the way it's always been. Quinn's never gotten in the way of that before, has she?"

Grudgingly, Finn mumbled no, and Rachel smiled. "And she won't get in the way of us spending time together now. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Great." Rachel nodded. "Now may I have Quinn's number, so that I may text her in an effort to convince her to clean up her act."

Finn sighed and rattled off Quinn's number to Rachel.

She ended the call soon after, and bit her lip in concentration as she attempted to compose a text message that seemed caring but not too caring. She couldn't afford to show all her cards this early, not to Quinn Fabray, manipulator extraordinaire, of all people. Finally she decided on a simple text to get the ball rolling.

Hi, Quinn. This is Rachel Berry.

* Rachel Berry

"Come on, Rachel," she griped to herself at the idiotic redundancy of the text message. She quickly erased the second sentence and simply sent, Hi, Quinn, knowing Quinn would obviously know who the message came from, and pressed send.

No more than a minute later her phone sounded off and Rachel giddily picked up the phone to find a text message from Quinn.

The number you have attempted to contact is no longer in service.

Rachel's frown was instantaneous. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. Quinn no longer had a phone? How unfortunate for her. Her life must have been worse than Rachel had first realized. How was she to contact anyone when she needed assistance while living on the fringes of society? All of those thoughts came to an abrupt halt, however. "Wait a minute…"

Nice try, Quinn, Fabray, but I saw you using your phone today in school before you then exited the building.

* Rachel Berry

A part of her was absolutely livid. Quinn Fabray was such a-such a sneaky liar. Not that any of this was a surprise to Rachel. But she had thought that maybe she and Quinn had gotten past this point. It came as a shock when her phone buzzed again, and Rachel thought it was either someone else (a limited number of someone elses, but someone else nonetheless) or Quinn really trying to sell this phone being disconnected bit.

What is it, Berry.

Well, the good news was that it was Quinn, and a part of Rachel felt instant relief. The not so new-news was that Quinn didn't seem too happy to be talking to her. But Rachel had gotten past that before and she would again.

I am texting you to inquire about your well-being.

* Rachel Berry

Short, sweet, and to the point. Two years had taught Rachel that beating around the bush with Quinn often got her nowhere. Quinn was a direct person who appreciated the same approach right back. She unlocked her phone the second it vibrated against her hand.

I'm fine.

Rachel huffed. How incredibly rude.

That's good.

* Rachel Berry

Two minutes went by without a response, and Rachel panicked, fearing that Quinn had thought that to be the end of the conversation, put her phone down, and wandered off.

I am fine as well.

* Rachel Berry

She didn't have to wait too long for a response, which alerted her to the fact that Quinn was very much connected with her phone, and chose to not respond.

Great.

"What an insufferable girl," she muttered to herself as she shuffled around in bed to lie down on her stomach. Though a part of her did feel oddly rewarded by the fact that she was talking to Quinn. It was unhealthy, the way Quinn could alter her mood with a single text or lack thereof.

She was caught in confusion: a part of her fuming at Quinn's lack luster responses, and a part of her ecstatic that Quinn was responding at all. On impulse, she began typing whatever decided to come out, without any thoughts on censoring herself.

You know what? I am decidedly not fine.

* Rachel Berry

When thirty seconds went by and she didn't get a response, Rachel drafted another text message, incensed once more.

I am not fine because I have this friend who quit glee club cold turkey without so much as a warning. The same friend who had the nerve to walk away from me yesterday in school, and has ignored me ever since.

* Rachel Berry

And THEN when I showed concern or said friend in glee club, the entire club practically laughed me off the stage.

* Rachel Berry

Her heart was pounding beneath her breast after sending the third message. It felt like a bit of catharsis, finally being able to voice her frustrations to Quinn about their one-sided friendship and about how she couldn't seem to find anyone else who cared.

She collapsed onto the bed in despair when two minutes went by without a response. Maybe Quinn was just too far gone to care about her anymore, or anything, really. Rachel flipped onto her back. She folded her arms underneath her head and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps Finn was right. Maybe she was too invested in Quinn's well-being, especially since this was all apparently one-sided.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt when her phone sounded off.

From what I remember, the choir room doesn't have a stage.

"The nerve of that girl," Rachel mumbled to herself. Though just receiving the text message, confirmation that Quinn was in fact reading and reacting to her own messages, perked Rachel up. She went to draft a message when it was interrupted by yet another message from Quinn.

And that sucks. This person doesn't sound like a friend. Nor does it sound like they have any.

The message was sent before Rachel could even weigh in with a conscious thought.

She has me.

* Rachel Berry

The reply was Quinn's quickest one yet.

Noted.

Rachel bit her lip in uncertainty, unsure of what to make of that last message. Her thumbs hovered over her keypad in decision. All the thoughts that bombarded her head seemed too intrusive to ask Quinn at this delicate time between the two of them. Perhaps quizzing her in person would yield better results.

It was the first actual conversation they had had in a while, and certainly the first time they had ever texted. Rachel didn't want to send Quinn running for the hills this early. Instead, she ended their conversation with a simple goodnight, colon, closed parenthesis. And Quinn responded soon after.

Goodnight.

Quinn peeled her eyes open to squint at the ceiling. Instantly she was aware that she wasn't at home. Where was she? Too tired to move, Quinn attempted to come to a conclusion without moving. Her eyes scanned the walls for familiarity. This wasn't Mack's house. This wasn't any house she had ever been to.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself. This meant she had to move around. She lifted her head first and surveyed her surroundings. She was on a couch, which would explain why her spine felt completely stiff and misaligned. The house didn't look the least bit familiar, but Quinn was comforted by Sheila's presence on the other couch, and Mack curled up on the floor. She looked cold and Quinn tossed the throw on the back of the couch she was resting on onto Mack's body. It landed with a thump, and Mack groaned in protest, yet snuggled underneath it anyway.

Having found familiarity in her friends, Quinn collapsed back against the couch. Nothing about last night was coming to mind, and she fished out her phone from between her and the couch. That had been her method of remembering past nights' events for the past month or so. Whenever she didn't remember the night before, she would check her call logs and read her text messages from that night to get a general idea of what she had gotten herself into.

Clicking on her message icon, Quinn bypassed the random new, unsaved number in her phone to see texts from Mack, Ronnie, and Sheila last night. She scrolled through all of them and came to a general consensus of last night: Quinn was supposed to score booze with her older sister's ID she had taken the last time Frannie had visited, Mack would get the chronic, and they would all rendezvous at Ronnie's house—the only one of their houses Quinn had never been to.

Which would explain—she reasoned while she glanced around the room one more time—why this place felt so unfamiliar. Curious as to who belonged to the number at the top of her messages, Quinn licked on the thread of conversation. It only took a moment to realize it was none other than Rachel Berry. Quinn sighed in annoyance as she read over their conversation. "This is some bullshit," she muttered to herself. She bit the tip of her thumb while she used the other one to scroll through the conversation. She laughed at Rachel's concern. "Same old Berry."

She laughed carelessly on the outside, but felt conflicted on the inside as she always did when it came to Rachel. "No," she muttered to herself as months-old thoughts began to rear their heads. "I'm not doing this again."

Quinn slid into her car and closed the door. She slid her key into the ignition, and just as she went to lock her doors, the passenger side door opened.

Heart leaping out of her chest, Quinn instinctively leaned to the far left toward her car door as she trained her eyes on the trespasser. Once she realized who it was, her breath whooshed out of her in relief. Relief that quickly warped into anger. "Berry, what the hell?" she yelled.

Rachel settled into the car, sweeping her bangs to hang neatly once more. She turned to Quinn with a grave expression on her face. "I am accompanying you on your afternoon excursions in an attempt to fathom what about your current life is so significant that you miss school on a regular basis. And worse, quit the glee club."

Quinn's reaction was fiery and instantaneous. "Get the fuck out of my car."

Rachel swallowed back her nervousness. She had already been slapped once. "No. I can handle another if need be."

Quinn's eyebrows knitted in confusion before understanding dawned on her. She couldn't help the crooked smile of dark amusement that slithered across her face. "Well aren't you a regular old masochist?"

Rachel blushed both at the insinuation and the way Quinn was looking at her with a sly smirk. She looked down at her hands and cleared her throat before cracking a window.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. She gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead at the students in the parking lot for a solution. "I'll call the cops," she finally threatened.

"Call them."

She gritted her teeth. Rachel called her bluff. Quinn sighed. "Look, Rachel. You have a real talent in singing, okay?"

Rachel wasn't sure where this was going but the compliment from Quinn of all people sent her soaring. "Thank you for realizing my undeniable talent."

"And you're also really dorky and dramatic and I guess that's what theater wants."

In an instant she was frowning and Quinn cackled evilly.

"That wasn't very funny," Rachel huffed.

Quinn shrugged, turning the key in the ignition and shutting off the car. "My point is that glee club is definitely where you belong. It's for you. It's not for me."

Rachel turned to Quinn with imploring eyes. "But what about school?" she suggested. "You excel so well."

Quinn toyed with the skull head key ring attached to her car key. "Maybe I don't want to excel anymore."

A perplexed expression crossed Rachel's face. Quinn casted a sideways glance to see it and rolled her eyes. "I know that may be a foreign concept to you, but try to understand."

Now Rachel really wanted to know more than anything what Quinn did outside of school that would cause such atrophy in caring about her academic excellence. Maintaining full eye contact, Rachel reached blindly behind her for her seatbelt. It smoothly slid across her torso and clicked with finality as she buckled it. "Take me with you, please." Her voice was quiet, urgent.

Quinn turned away from her and twisted her key until her engine purred once more. She adjusted her rearview mirror and glanced behind her before placing her car in reverse and backing out of the parking spot.

"I should've just called the police," she grumbled to herself as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Incredibly giddy that she got to accompany Quinn after all, Rachel choked back a smile at Quinn's barely contained irritation.

As they rode in silence, she observed the car. It was very well taken care of and smelled divine—a combination of car freshener and Quinn's perfume. She suddenly felt foolish and guilty for thinking Quinn was no longer well off. Of course she was. She still had her phone and this car, and—Rachel discreetly shuffled closer to the center console—a full tank of gas!

"We're not going to run out," Quinn informed her in a blasé voice.

Embarrassed, Rachel leaned all the way over until she was practically out of the window. "Sorry."

"Weirdo."

She scowled and flicked her hair over one shoulder to glare across the car at Quinn. "I most certainly am not!"

Quinn made a noise of disagreement, but said nothing more. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Rachel contented herself with stealing what she hoped were subtle glances at Quinn. The pink hair was beginning to grow on her, she was reluctant to say. After all pink was her favorite color. And with the horribly tawdry red lipstick that adorned Quinn's lips, it actually went quite well. The eye liner she wore made Quinn look a little older, a little more mature, a little more dangerous, and Rachel's heart quickened at the thought. But this was Quinn—former president of the celibacy club for crying out loud! She couldn't really be dangerous. Could she?

Rachel turned away to cast a semi-worried glance out of the window. She had never been to this part of town. "Where are we going?"

Though this appeared to be an affluent part of Lima, she noticed.

"My house."

"Oh." Figures.

They pulled into a driveway soon after, and Quinn parked the car, turned it off, and got out without a word. Rachel stepped out of the car, unsure if she was supposed to or not. But curiosity was guiding her feet more than anything. She wanted to know what it was that had turned Quinn into such a delinquent. Moreover, this was Quinn's house. She had never been and had always been curious as to what her home life was like.

The house was silent as they walked through it, and Rachel acquainted herself with family photos on the wall before they made it to the kitchen. There was no sign of life in the house, yet Rachel thought she had seen a car outside. "Is your mom home?"

Quinn looked to a shut room at the top of the stairs. Her jaw tightened as she turned to Rachel. "Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. What's it to you?"

Rachel recoiled, feeling foolish yet again for her faux-pas. Her toes dug into her Mary Janes in uneasiness at the severe look on Quinn's face. "I'm sorry."

The tension in her shoulders eased at the wounded look on Rachel's face. Quinn pursed her lips and turned away to head up the stairs. "She's here," was all she said.

Confused as to what she was supposed to do, Rachel first glanced around the house and spied empty wine bottles in the dining room. "Aren't those going to get you into trouble?" she hissed in a quiet voice as she followed Quinn upstairs.

"Those aren't mine."

Foot secure in mouth as understanding dawned on her, Rachel said no more.

They ended up in Quinn's room. To Rachel's utter surprise, it was…normal. There were beige sheets atop the bed, a small bookcase in the corner, a desk across the room from the bed with a closed laptop on it. There weren't any Led Zeppelin or ACDC posters on the wall like Rachel had been expecting, no dark and emo color scheme. In fact the room barely looked occupied, and Rachel surmised Quinn didn't spend much time at home.

As Rachel's eyes worked their way back over the room they landed on Quinn half naked in the corner. Rachel's mouth went dry. With her back facing Rachel, Quinn had on a matching frilly pink bra and panty set. Feeling her face grow warm, Rachel turned away just as Quinn was unhooking her bra.

Across the room, Quinn smirked as she grabbed a black sports bra from her drawer. "If I knew you'd be a Peeping Tom, I would've made you stay downstairs, Berry."

Rachel stammered as pink spread rapidly across her cheeks. "It was an accident! I-I-I mean, I wasn't looking. Well, I happened to glance over at you—by accident! And really, why not warn a person?"

"Calm down, don't have an aneurysm." As a former cheerleader, Quinn often got dressed and undressed in the presence of others without much thought. It was a habit, she realized as she pulled her skirt up her thighs, that she probably needed to break soon.

Just seconds later Quinn was directly in front of Rachel with a blank expression on her face. "Let's go," she ordered without even waiting for Rachel's reaction.

Rachel followed behind her, mute only because she was surveying Quinn's new outfit. She was wearing a too big black shirt that had been artfully cut up, the sleeves missing, giving Rachel a glimpse of Quinn's sports bra and a sliver of pale skin that she had fully been privy to earlier. Shocked that her own thoughts had ventured back to that moment minutes ago, Rachel pried her eyes away from Quinn to stare up at the ceiling for a bit of clarity in the midst of her confusion. "Where are we going?" she asked as she grabbed the railing.

At that, Quinn cackled.

"Everyone this is Rachel," Quinn announced with an annoyed grumble to her voice. "You may or may not remember her—"

"The band geek who doesn't like The Bangles," Sheila cut in.

Rachel cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Well, it's glee club," Rachel corrected. "Also, it is not to say that I don't like The Bangles, uh—shank—"

Sheila stood to her full height, and Rachel leaped back to her original position by Quinn's side. "I have a name, School Girl."

"And I would have given your name had you not have interrupted," Quinn countered, her tone assertive. She was reminiscent of the head cheerleader she used to be and the memory of a Quinn before this transformation pained Rachel's heart.

"Well, I'm Sheila. Call me that," Sheila insisted.

Rachel nodded. "Hello, Sheila."

Snickering at Rachel's misfortune, Ronnie waved at her from the couch. "I'm Ronnie. Don't forget it."

"Hello, Ronnie," Rachel greeted in a quiet voice.

The brunette closest to them seemed to be the most outgoing, though she also seemed to have a chip on her shoulder as she sized Rachel up. "And I'm The Mack. People just call me Mack, though."

Rachel tried to smile as she looked around the room at all of them. "It's very nice to meet you all."

"Have a seat," Mack instructed. She turned around to find a table in the middle of the room. "Yo, Sheila, Ronnie, I told you bozos to move it like five times already!"

"You move it!" Ronnie yelled back even as she stood up. She grabbed one end and Sheila grabbed the other then the table was moved across the room.

Mack plopped down on the floor. Quinn sat down beside her and folded her legs underneath her even though she had a skirt on. Rachel eyed the fishnet stockings clinging to her like a second skin as she sat beside Quinn. Ronnie returned to plop down beside her, to Rachel's discomfort, and Sheila sat between Ronnie and Mack.

Mack reached behind her to grab something Rachel couldn't quite make out. Then they locked eyes. "So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

Quinn. That was it, really. Rachel certainly wasn't here for the lack of hospitality and uneasiness she felt. She tugged at the hem of her skirt, feeling exposed now that everyone's eyes were on her. "Well, I was just curious as to what about this new lifestyle is so bewitching to Quinn—"

The whole room burst into laughter.

Quinn sighed and rubbed at her temples.

Rachel looked from the laughing Skanks to Quinn who looked wholly disappointed. She frowned over at her, wondering what she had done wrong.

"Bewitching?" Ronnie repeated incredulously.

Mack nudged her side. "Where'd you find this one, Quinn?"

"Attached to my ex-boyfriend," Quinn drawled with a roll of her eyes.

Everyone laughed again and Rachel shot her a wounded look.

Quinn cut her eyes to Rachel. "What?"

"I thought we were closer than 'attached to my ex-boyfriend,'" Rachel explained. "I thought we were friends."

Seeming to sense the tension, Mack and Sheila quieted their laughter to better hear the conversation. Ronnie, who had always been a little slower on the uptake, continued.

Quinn shot Rachel a sobering look. "We've had our moments," she allowed.

"Okay," Mack punctuated. "Maybe you're friends. Maybe you aren't. I don't really give a fuck. I'm just here to match for a bit before I go get my mack on at Make-Out Point."

Quinn avoided eye contact with Rachel all together while she fished in her pocket for a small zip-lock bag, lighter, and—

"What is that?" Rachel inquired, pointing to what Quinn had in her hand.

"A bowl." Her tone was short and clipped, uncomfortable, and Rachel wondered if it was her. She wordlessly watched Quinn pack the bowl and wondered if it was her presence in the midst of illegal drug use that unnerved Quinn.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Rachel met Sheila's eyes briefly across the five person huddle before she looked away. "I-I'm sorry. This is all so…new."

"And it's a one-time thing," Quinn assured the group. Finally, after what felt like forever to Rachel, Quinn looked at her. "Right?"

Rachel just stared at her for a moment. She didn't know this Quinn. And by admitting that, Rachel had to also admit she hadn't known Quinn very well at all. Maybe that was what Quinn meant when she kept denouncing their friendship—because Rachel didn't know her. They didn't know each other. Crestfallen, Rachel slumped back subtly in an attempt to work herself out of the circle.

Just then her phone vibrated against her hip. She fished it out of the pocket of her skirt and looked down to see a text message from Finn.

Quinn had readied the bowl in her grip when she noticed Rachel by her side on the phone. "What are you doing?"

"Texting," Rachel replied as she answered Finn's inquiry about her whereabouts.

"Who?"

She turned to look at Quinn then, and that one look was all Quinn needed.

"I don't even want to know," she griped, though she knew, and suddenly she was very grumpy. With that in mind, she flicked the lighter and waved it atop her bowl while she sucked from the pipe. The crackling sound of marijuana burning had become music to her ears.

Rachel's thumbs hovered over the screen of her phone as she watched Quinn continue to suck from the pipe. She must have had a pair of lungs on her. Not ones that rivaled Rachel's by any stretch of the imagination, but a pair of strong lungs in their own right. She watched the way Quinn's cheeks hollowed toward the end as she attempted to inhale just a bit more. Then Quinn pulled away. She waited a moment, swallowed, and her eyes closed blissfully as she exhaled a cloud of white smoke through her nose. Finally, her lips parted the barest hint to release what was left.

And Rachel didn't know much about smoking, but she knew blowing out one's nose was not something for the novice, something she wouldn't be able to do on the first try.

Not that she was going to try it or anything.

Not even giving her the opportunity to turn it down, Quinn passed to her left.

Rachel watched Mack lift her hand up to deny the invitation. "I want a blunt."

Quinn gestured toward Sheila and Ronnie, but they all turned it down, preferring the blunt as well. "Guess this is all me," Rachel heard Quinn mumble to herself as she brought the bowl to her puckered lips once more.

Her phone vibrated against her hand and Rachel looked down, only just remembering that she was having a conversation with Finn.

r u ok

Rachel looked around the room as she wondered if the question was valid. Sheila and Ronnie were having their own conversation while Mack was licking and sealing the blunt. Quinn was on her third hit, and Rachel thought she should maybe send this text now and distract Quinn with conversation to get her to slow down.

I'm fine. We're with Quinn's friends. They're a tad offensive, but nothing I don't already deal with at glee club. :)

* Rachel Berry

She placed her phone back in her pocket and turned to face Quinn more fully. "So what's it like?" she asked in an attempt to keep Quinn from hitting that pipe so hard. Rachel's eyes fell to Quinn's lips as a cloud of smoke hit her in the face.

She inhaled it in on accident and began to cough uncontrollably. Quinn's glazed eyes regained focus instantly and she placed her pipe and lighter carefully by her side between her and Mack before she leaned forward and placed a hand on Rachel's back. "Hey, sorry." She patted Rachel's back a few times until the worst of her coughing subsided. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

Her voice was a raspy, lazy drawl—something Rachel had never heard before. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her skirt at the sound of it. "I'm fine," she whispered. Why was she whispering? She cleared her throat and spoke again. "I'm fine." She flashed a smile. "Really, I'm okay, Quinn."

Quinn's head bobbed up a down with a touch of exaggeration, and Rachel wondered how long it took for cannabis to take effect. Slowly, Quinn's hand traveled down her back, eliciting a surprising shiver from Rachel, before it fell away.

Rachel wondered what all of this meant, but as she watched Quinn fumble uncharacteristically with the lighter before she finally got it to spark, she realized what it was. Quinn was high.

She became a bit amused as she watched inebriation begin to rob Quinn of the suave sophistication that she embodied daily. Her phone sounded off and Quinn perked up and looked around with glazed eyes. "What was that?"

Mack giggled. "Maybe it's the cops," she goaded.

Rachel frowned. "Don't be silly. It was just my pho—"

"The police!?"

Rachel slowly cut her widened eyes to Quinn.

"The police are here!?" Quinn asked, voice increasing in pitch with every word.

Rachel placed a calming hand on her shoulder and glazed eyes met hers. "No, Quinn, the police aren't here."

Quinn took her bottom lip between her teeth, and Rachel tracked the movement before meeting her eyes again. "Are you—are you sure?" Quinn whispered.

Rachel smiled. She had no idea Quinn could be so-so cute. "I'm sure," she replied sweetly.

Mack sucked her teeth in annoyance. "If I knew you'd be such a fun sponge, I wouldn't have invited you."

Rachel bristled at the insult. "I am not a fun sponge."

"You need to take a hit," Sheila instructed. "Before you get kicked out. This is what we do. We get high and whoever gets paranoid gets their head fucked with for shits and giggles."

Oh. Rachel wasn't quite aware of the 'rules to getting high'. She nodded and reluctantly took her hand from Quinn's shoulder. "Very well. I'm sorry."

Quinn looked confused as she looked between Rachel and The Skanks. "I'm confused. What happened?"

"A cow just jumped over the moon," Ronnie snickered.

Mack blew out a cloud of smoke then passed the blunt to Sheila. She gestured toward Rachel. "Make her take a hit, Quinn."

Quinn blinked, instantly sobering up. "What? I'm not going to make her do anything, especially not drugs."

"Besides I wouldn't want to ruin my vocal cords," Rachel added.

"Either she smokes or she shuts up."

"Hit your blunt and mind your own," Quinn shot back.

Mack grumbled, but went back to the bubble of herself, Sheila, and Ronnie that Rachel had no idea the origins of its formation. But she did notice there was a divide between herself and Quinn, and the other three in the huddle. And Quinn instructing Mack to 'mind her own' solidified two things for Rachel: that there was in fact a divide, and that she was Quinn's—whatever that meant.

She wasn't too sure what it meant, but her stomach flip-flopped at the thought anyway. As Quinn went back to lighting her bowl, Rachel went back to texting Finn, content with the knowledge that they formed their own bubble. That had to be a start to the friendship that Quinn felt they lacked.

oh ok. when r u goin home?

Rachel bit her lip at the question. She hadn't even thought of that one. In fact, she hadn't even alerted her fathers to the fact that she was with Quinn. And it was probably time she called them. Standing up, Rachel smoothed down the back of her skirt. "Excuse me?"

Mack grunted in acknowledgement, as Quinn cracked her eyes open. "When did you start standing?"

Rachel smiled indulgently down at her. "Only a moment ago." She looked at Mack. "I'm just going to—" She gestured toward the hallway, "—make a quick phone call."

Quinn frowned. "You're calling Finn?"

Rachel didn't quite know what to make of the expression on her face, but felt compelled to assure Quinn anyway. "No, my fathers."

Quinn nodded, and Rachel traveled down the hallway to make the phone call. Once she was out of sight, Quinn reclined to lie back on the floor. She folded her arms behind her head. It was pretty shocking that Rachel was sticking around, if she had to admit. She would have thought that Rachel would have gone running the second Finn texted her and ask to go home. But she toughed it out with Quinn's friends—that Quinn admitted weren't easy to get along with.

But Quinn truly couldn't figure out why. Did Rachel really want to be friends that badly? There was nothing special about what Quinn and her friends were doing, certainly nothing that would maintain Rachel's attention. Yet she was willing to stick it out just to spend time together.

And that meant—wait, what was she thinking about again? She hummed along to the buzzing in her head and burning in her lungs as she just lied back and breathed.

"Quinn?"

When had her eyes drifted closed? Quinn attempted to open them but her lids were too heavy. "Hmm?"

Rachel covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. "How are you?" she asked, mildly concerned.

"Just peachy," Quinn replied with a slight slur to her voice.

She seemed just fine, but Rachel surveyed her body for any signs that something was wrong. She wasn't an expert on weed by anyone's standards. But she at least knew it took quite a bit to overdose, and that Quinn was nowhere near that limit. Her eyes fell from Quinn's closed ones and skated down her torso to find that Quinn was still breathing with a steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. The cut up shirt had risen to expose her belly button. Rachel stared at the taut muscles of Quinn's abdomen. They twitched periodically and led down to jutting hipbones that were only partially hidden by Quinn's black skirt.

Swiping her tongue over her lower lip, Rachel's eyes flicked up to find Mack, Sheila, and Ronnie paying her no mind. She glanced back down at Quinn's blank, peaceful expression to find darkened hazel eyes on her. Her pulse quickened in surprise as she wondered how long Quinn had been staring at her. "Hi."

Quinn sat up with little effort. "Not anymore." She reached for her bowl and lighter, and her more fluid movements along with her previous quip further alerted Rachel to the fact that she had sobered considerably. Embarrassed, Rachel attempted to cover up the awkward silence that had descended upon their bubble. "How does it feel?" she asked.

Quinn clanged the butt of her lighter against the bowl. "Cashed," she muttered to herself. Then much louder, "It feels like for once I don't have to care about anything." She gave Rachel a frank look.

The answer both intrigued Rachel as well as made her sad for reasons unknown. She watched as Quinn sat the bowl on the floor and began repacking it. The high didn't seem to last for very long. And it didn't seem too potent. The most side effects Quinn had exhibited were paranoia and a bout of laziness. Steeling herself, Rachel inhaled a deep breath. "I would like to try."

Quinn's head whipped around to her and the half bud in her hand fell to the floor. "Fuck!"

"Hell yes!" Mack piped up after having spent the better part of the last half hour ignoring Rachel. "Lay it on her, Quinn."

"I think she'll be fun high. The uptight ones always are," Sheila chimed in.

Rachel ignored her.

Quinn grabbed the bowl once she was finished repacking it. "Are you sure?"

"Quit babying her, Quinn," Ronnie told her, impatient. "Let her try. It won't hurt."

Rachel's eyes widened. "My voice." She had completely forgotten.

"It won't affect your voice," Mack informed her.

"It could," Quinn admitted. "If you were a chronic smoker."

Rachel looked baffled. "But isn't this chronic?"

Ronnie laughed once, then again, then Sheila joined in, followed by Mack, and pretty soon all three of them were laughing uncontrollably. Rachel's shoulder slumped.

Quinn waved them off. "Chronic smoker—if you smoke a lot. And don't pay them any attention. It's the weed…which again, you don't have to try."

"I want to experience this with you," Rachel admitted with a little, helpless shrug of her shoulders.

"But your voice—"

"You said yourself it would only affect me if I became a chronic smoker. This is a one-time thing."

It was astonishing. Since the moment she met Rachel, singing had been her life, and Quinn didn't see that changing anytime soon. And it was true one moment of smoking wasn't going to suddenly damage her abilities to sing. But the fact that Rachel was willing to risk it was unreal.

Quinn stared at her for a long moment, then handed her the bowl. She shuffled closer until their arms brushed as Quinn spoke against Rachel's profile. "Okay, I'm going to light it for you so you can just focus on inhaling."

"Holy shit, this is happening," Mack muttered as the three of them simmered down from their laughter.

"Quiet down," Quinn demanded.

Rachel swallowed and stared straight ahead toward the wall above Sheila's head. The sun was just beginning to set, creating shadows along the wall. The room fell silent, save for Quinn's instructions and everything felt so much more intimate. She felt her heart pound in excitement and chalked it up to the illicit drug use.

"You're going to inhale for as long as you think you can—through your mouth," Quinn stated. "Then pull the bowl away, keep the smoke in your mouth, then inhale through your nose a bit to pack it in your lungs. Swallow if you want. It's something I learned when I was a newbie and I've just been doing it ever since. Then once you feel you've sufficiently taken it all in, blow it back out."

Rachel blinked. Those certainly were a lot of instructions.

As if reading her thoughts, Sheila called to her from across the huddle, "It's not that hard!"

Quinn smiled, sheepish and apologetic, and Rachel couldn't help but find it charming. "Sorry. I just want to make sure you get it right."

"I likely won't," Rachel offered with a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm ready."

Quinn placed the bowl between her lips, and Rachel allowed the mouth piece to slip through, ignoring the silly school girl in her that informed her that this was an indirect kiss. Suddenly she was very thankful than the other Skanks preferred rolling papers because this could have gotten unsanitary very quickly.

"Hold this," Quinn instructed. The rasp to her voice made Rachel's eyes slip shut as she took hold of the pipe. She heard the lighter flick then suddenly her face felt warm as the flame was really no more than an inch from her face. "Inhale."

Eager to follow the command, Rachel breathed through her nose. The lighter flicked immediately and the warmth was gone. Rachel opened her eyes to find Quinn staring at her. "Di-did I do something wrong?"

Quinn chuckled a little. "You inhaled through your nose."

Rachel's eyes widened in alarm. "I did! I'm so sorry, Quinn. I just got distracted."

"By what?"

She blushed at the question, thankful that the sun was setting and it was likely impossible to see it.

"Shotgun her!" Mack called from Quinn's side. Suddenly there were three voices chanting, "Shotgun! Shotgun! Shotgun!"

It didn't sound too pleasant. "What is that?"

Quinn balled her lips up in indecision. Finally she shrugged with a devious little grin. "I'll show you." She made quick work of taking a puff with such little effort, Rachel felt foolish for screwing it up.

Then Quinn placed the bowl and lighter in front of them. One hand braced on the floor, Quinn grabbed the back of her neck and leaned in. Unconsciously, Rachel's lips parted, though the protests tried to make themselves known. She had a boyfriend; Quinn was exceptionally beautiful, but she had never really been into girls like that to her knowledge, and—oh. Quinn blew a stream of smoke through her puckered lips right into Rachel's mouth. Her proximity afforded body warmth that made Rachel squirm even as she remained firmly where she was. She wouldn't screw this up. She couldn't even find it in her to pull away from the sure grip Quinn had on her. Her eyes fell shut as her body went limp in Quinn's hold.

Sensing her acquiescence, Quinn sat up straighter to wrap her other arm around Rachel's waist as she exhaled her last breath into Rachel's waiting mouth. Quinn pulled back a fraction to see Rachel more fully. She looked almost wanton with closed eyes and parted lips in Quinn's embrace. Her eyes dipped down to Rachel's lips as Rachel exhaled. Slowly, her eyes opened. They were heavy lidded and hazy. "Wow."

Quinn nodded faintly. She heard whistling and catcalling from her side, and glanced over to find the Skanks staring intently at them. Defensive, she scooted back. "We aren't here to give you a show," she bit out.

Rachel's eyes squeezed shut as she tried to make sense of what was happening. All she knew for sure was that Quinn was now annoyed, and she hoped more than anything that it wasn't because of her because she really wanted to shotgun again. "That was really fun, Quinn."

"I bet it was," Mack said suggestively as she, Sheila, and Ronnie giggled.

Quinn eyed them all coldly. "Don't you have to go to Make-Out Point or something?"

"Actually…I'm hungry," she stated as if she had just realized.

Sheila perked up and placed a hand on her now growling stomach. "Food? I'm hungry, too."

Ronnie stood to her feet. "Kitchen."

Like a herd, they all stumbled into the kitchen and Quinn soon heard pots and pans. The sound mad her own stomach growl, but she remained seated.

Rachel shuffled closer until her index finger brushed Quinn's pinky. "Can we try again?"

Quinn trained her eyes on the kitchen doorway then to Rachel's glazed expression. She smiled in amusement. No way this girl was high already. Lightweight. "You're such a—" She cut her insult short and decided to light herself up.

This time Rachel leaned closer, and when Quinn pulled the pipe away, she tugged on her thighs, feeling the fishnets rub against her palm.

Quinn nearly gasped and lost all the smoke in her mouth from the unexpected contact. Her mind grew foggy at the sight of Rachel's hand on her nearly bare thigh right below where her skirt was riding up. Perhaps she should close her legs, but she wasn't going to. She felt Rachel squeeze her thigh and looked up at her.

The expression on Rachel's face was indescribable, and without warning, she leaned forward into Quinn and connected their lips. This time Quinn did gasp into the kiss, and Rachel sucked while Quinn blew, feeling warmth slide into her mouth. There was buzzing in her skull like nothing she had ever felt before as her skin prickled with goose bumps.

Quinn cupped the side of Rachel's face with one hand while the other snaked around her waist and pulled her close once more. She exhaled a ragged breath before meeting her lips again. Her chest felt warm with every press of their lips, and Quinn couldn't comprehend if it was because she was high or something else. She pressed light kisses to Rachel's upper lip before ensnaring her lower lip between her teeth.

Rachel groaned, the soft bite making her lips tingle as the feeling shot down her body and intensified between her legs, only to bounce back up again until she was positive her brain was feeling the same. She just knew she felt fireworks fire off in her head. She wanted more. She wanted to crawl into Quinn's lap and tug her face closer. She wanted lay Quinn flat on the floor and crawl on top of her. She wanted—her tongue snaked out of her mouth to run over Quinn's lower lip as she quite honestly forgot what she was thinking. Her stomach clenched when she heard Quinn moan and she slid her tongue inside.

"Told you she'd be fun stoned."

"And here I thought I was The Mack."

Quinn instantly pulled away. Dazed, Rachel was slower to react as she leaned back then peeled her eyes open. They landed on Quinn glaring up at Mack, Sheila, and Ronnie who were standing above them. "Hey, when did you join the huddle?"

Mack snickered down at her. "Well haven't you just been a naughty girl?"

"Leave her alone, Mack." Quinn stood, feeling out of sorts. She reached down and grabbed Rachel's arm to tug her up. "I think it's time we go."

"But why?" Rachel whined.

"Because I need to get you home."

Rachel pouted but said no more as Quinn grabbed her belongings from the floor and shoved them in her pocket. She placed her hand on Rachel's back and ushered her to the door.

"You're gonna meet up with us again tonight, right?" Ronnie asked as Quinn approached the door.

She practically shoved a halfheartedly protesting Rachel out of it. "I don't know. I'll call if I decide to." And then they were gone.