Hello?

And Happy Belated Holidays everyone!

I apologize for not having updated for two years, and for leaving my characters and you like that. I'm alive, thankfully. But life and work got in the way, I was unable to write fiction for quite some time due to writer's block and an array of technical writing stuff, and I stanned some other things. You know, just the usual stuff.

I'm thankful that I sort of regained my ability to write fiction. I miss writing and I miss Faberry and although it pains me to admit this, I miss Glee. I have come to the conclusion that despite my ups and downs with the show, there is no other spectacle that can take place in my heart the way it did. I believe it's only fitting that I make it a point to work on this story again.

For those who are still reading and PATIENTLY waiting for updates, and asking questions thru PM, thank you so, so much and you may want to skim the earlier chapters as it's really been a while.

Behold, a chapter of 15000+ words. Almost 40 pages in Word. My longest yet. My fiction writing may be a bit rusty because I got accustomed to technical writing at work so I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Please take note of the warnings in the summary. Also, this chapter will briefly deal with grief. Flashbacks in Italic.

/

Here's one fact Rachel wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone: if the Berry men weren't the ones to have adopted her, she would have loved to have been adopted by the Pierces' instead.

Brittany's stepfather, Mr. Pierce Pierce (bless his parents), who isn't home tonight (a bummer) is a funny and sweet man. His light demeanor and humor is mirrored by his chinky eyes that crinkle cutely when he smiles, his awkward movement somehow indicating lightness of spirit. There is an urgent matter in his workplace where his presence was "severely needed." Rachel would have loved it if he is here but even with just Mrs. Pierce available, things could never be bad.

Julianne has been nothing but perfect, and Rachel is beyond grateful. Brittany must have had briefed her about Quinn, because as the four of them enter the main door, the usually over-hospitable and giddy Julianne has been nothing but gentle and welcoming smiles and hesitant but genuine hugs to them.

Earlier, she ushered them in with loose embraces and quick kisses on the cheek, making sure she does them first to Rachel and Santana before she can do the same to Quinn. The latter was as usual too shy and nervous to really react other than to stand there shakily and blush to the tip of her ears but at least she didn't completely freak out upon meeting and hugging a new face – an adult at that.

It must be on the Pierce blood – the charisma that can make anyone feel homely.

(Sure, Julianne gave her and Santana a warning look as she hugs Quinn that said something along the lines "I know how bad you have been, but I'll give you a chance to make this right," which made the both of them squirm a bit, but they both deserved it and she is thankful they didn't get more scolding.)

But Rachel is still utterly worried about Quinn who is still looking like she's on the verge of breaking down but desperately trying to hold herself together. Dani and the dog's distraction was a good one, but during the car ride to the Pierce's she was mostly shaky, silent and distant.

Even now, as they go inside Brittany's house, she is guarded and tense, way more than she usually is. Once again, Rachel is plagued with what happened last night, and what's happening with Quinn all in all.

What she knows is this: she will get her answers sooner than later. She just has to.

/

The Brittany S. Pierce bedroom is the gayest, most colorful and most unicorn room in Ohio, if not in the whole United States of America. The walls are pink and yellow, her equally pink bed is adorned with gold animal patterns and on top of it are sheets in the color of rainbow with pots of honey, flowers, bees and all other cute stuff. There are toys neatly placed in different racks all around – from dolls to Legos formed into amazing structures (Brittany is some sort of a Lego Goddess) to stuffed versions of every animal known to mankind. There are books, too, lamps, Disney memorabilia, Britney Spears portraits, candles, miniature tables, jars, mother-friggin' carpets and just about all things in the world.

For the normal person, just the thought of having that much stuff would be like living in a dump site, but the Pierces are no normal people. Somehow, all of Brittany's stuff are organized neatly so her room doesn't look like a giant clutter. It also helps that all of her stuff are either pink, white or yellow, so they blend in nicely.

In short, Brittany's room is frigging Wonderland and for the many times she's been here, Rachel doesn't mind. She never did. Her and Santana's adorable bubble of a blonde is the most unicorn person to ever exist and they take pride in that.

And she will especially never mind now as she looks at a mesmerized Quinn who's taking everything in. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes although still sad are wide and her cheeks are abnormally bright, and Rachel wonders if too much wonder can cause seizure. Hopefully not.

However, images of Quinn's own empty, bland, dark room suddenly flashes in front of her and the familiar sinking feeling in her gut makes its appearance for the nth time, the unfairness of it all hitting her square in the chest.

It's incredibly unjust how, sometimes, it hurts to just even think about Quinn.

The impossibly over-clingy Cheerio wants to hug the girl. Ask her what's up with her family and get to the bottom of this all but she knows it's not a good option right this instance. So she just turns to Quinn, who's still not taking off her hat, and entertains her. "It's pretty, isn't it?" she asks, and her eyes unconsciously wander directly at Quinn's face (and stays there a few seconds too long) as she says the words.

Really pretty.

"Very," Quinn breathes out. "I love it."

"Well, you can use everything you want. Although I really don't have to say that, do I?"" Brittany says giddily, outwardly pleased that her new friend likes her room. She has decorated her room by herself with only a little help from her family, and it's another thing about Brittany that Rachel is proud of.

"Brittany designed and maintains most of this," Rachel explains, to which Quinn shakes her head in a very much impressed fashion.

"A design and maintenance genius," Santana chimes in.

"Y-you have so many books," Quinn breathes, still looking like she's in some treasure world.

"Yes! I love them! Books are awesome even if you, like, don't read them! And since you're my friend, I'll let you borrow everything you like."

Quinn lets out a very pleased breath and gives Brittany one of her dorky smiles. If you ask Rachel, the smile a bit too sad considering it involves books, but it is a smile nonetheless.

"Really?"

"Really."

That makes Quinn's smile grow a bit wider. Brittany is absolutely beaming, delighted that she was able to make her friend happy. "Now here comes my biggest surprise for you, Quinn."

Then Brittany hollers like a cowboy, and two cats – one blonde and one a combination of black and -white – marches out with their heads held high from their hiding place in Brittany's bathroom (which the dancer insists to be the cats' secret drug den). Their grace could rival all the models'. Their arrogance could rival the president's.

Quinn's face lights up as her mouth forms an elated "o". She is locking her hands together barely able to contain herself as she jumps on her feet. She's the picture of absolute delight, and Rachel couldn't help her own smile as she simply watches her. Both cats stop in front of Brittany to lick her slippers-clad feet. But Mel and Lord Tubbington aren't Brittany's only cats.

"Evil Lau, we're here with the evil food," Brittany calls loudly, waving a lettuce she took from her bra. The words were enough to coax a tiny kitten to come out from one of the clothes cabinets.

Evil Lau – who isn't at all evil but for some weird reason only responds to that name – stops just before Brittany's feet. Lord Tubbington, who isn't at all fond of little Evil Lau purrs wildly at her then glares at the guests.

Quinn gasps and her smile turns into a slightly scared frown. Rachel rubs her back and glares at Lord Tubbington. What a bad cat.

"Now, I don't want you having that attitude, Lord Tubbington," Brittany scolds her. Rachel smirks at her. Rightfully so. Bloody cat deserves it for making Quinn sad. "I have brought Quinn with me today. Look at her. She is a friend of mine. She's very nice and sweet so I expect you all to be in your best behavior when you're around her."

Mel and Evil Lau stares at Brittany resolutely. Lord Tubbington licks his paws, then sneaks a guilty look at the guests. This is a totally normal occurrence in the Brittany S. Pierce room, promise. Rachel swears her cats are creepily human-like.

Brittany gestures for Quinn when the cats are tranquil enough to be touch and that's when heaven started to make its appearance. Quinn giggles everytime the cats do something like rub their heads on her leg or turn around or just walk like cats do. Rachel swears even the cats' breathing pattern can make Quinn so jumpy and chuckling that she turns red.

Rachel can't help but sigh contentedly. Quinn is the poster child for sadness, but when she's happy, it's a brand new experience. Rachel gets this indescribable feeling in her chest, like the crappy world suddenly becomes a more tolerable place somehow.

As someone who finds some of the online trends as things which do not make any sense at all, she now understands what people mean when say soft.

Soft is Quinn Fabray. Soft is Quinn Fabray in every conceivable way and Rachel's heart just skips another beat at this realization.

"What's up with you," Santana says at her, looking mildly disgusted. "You look so…"

She goes on defensive mode. By instinct. "So what?"

"So…soft."

Rachel is absolutely dumbfounded. Are her thoughts reflected in her eyes as she thinks them? Because that was just frankly freakish.

"Shut your face, Santana. I'm not soft."

This isn't helping her reputation at all, even if it's just between her and Santana. Rachel is having a déjà vu of the moment between her and Puck during the whole…situation with Dani and Rachel doesn't want to think about what this means right now.

"If you say so," Santana singsongs in reply.

"I'm not."

"If you insist so."

"I do."

"If you desperately claim so."

Rachel tries to snort back in reply. Her friends are weird overthinkers, and that's coming from her. She is just fond of Quinn, Rachel thinks. No, she knows she is just fond of Quinn and perhaps extremely guilty of how she treated her. Nothing more.

Right? Right?

/

Brittany and Quinn spend the next few hours playing with the cats and watching animal videos from YouTube, and Rachel and Santana spend the same span of time contentedly watching (adoring) them.

This is only cut by Julianne calling them down for the dinner.

Now this may sound weird but the cats share the dining table with the Pierces. And not just because it's evil Lau's birthday. It is a daily occurrence. The humans take one side, and the cats on top of the table on the other. This is for the reason that Brittany and her family treats cats as equals, perhaps even of greater superiority.

Julianne has prepared carbonara, fried chicken, vegetable salad (for Rachel), chocolate cake (to celebrate Lau's birthday) and an assortment of fruits. And then there's bacon. Rachel would still listen to Noah's theories about that Mario game something rather than touch that sinful thing, but she can hug Julianne right now for that new light on Quinn's face.

The mother is already sitting at the head of the table when they get down. The cats automatically take their spots, like trained armies that would make Sue Sylvester almost proud. Santana and Brittany take both sides beside Julianne, as what have been customary during their previous sleepovers. Rachel takes the seat next to Santana while Quinn hovers nervously near the seat next to Brittany, facing Rachel.

"Sit down, Quinn," Julianne urges kindly. "You're Brittany's friend, so this is pretty much your home now, too."

A pale Quinn takes a relieved breath and does as Julianne says. She doesn't have her hat anymore, but her bangs still covers most of her forehead. The mother smiles to her and takes the pasta plate in the table to hand it to Quinn. "Since this is your first time to eat here, you have the pleasure of taking the first scoop."

There's fear and unease in the utter surprise that fills Quinn's face at Julianne's gesture, but she quickly does as told. Rachel watches as Quinn unsurely and rigidly transfers too little pasta – not even a quarter of what anyone would usually put in their serving - to her own plate.

Sensing Quinn's nervousness, Julianne takes the serving plate for chicken and bacon and pours an adequate amount of them on Quinn's plate.

"Brittany said you love bacon. Don't hesitate to add more later if you'd like."

Quinn looks overwhelmed (and maybe a bit pleased) as she takes a deep breath and stares at her plate with widened eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pierce. And y-yes. B-bacon is the best," she says, grinning shyly at Julianne.

"A true gift from the Gods," Julianne confirms with a wink and Quinn nods resolutely.

"How are your fathers, dear?" Julianne's question is now directed at Rachel.

"They're good, but terribly busy lately," Rachel answers as she helps herself with the pasta, a meatless one that Julianne prepared especially for her. "And still loud."

"Like fathers, like daughter," Santana remarks with a good-natured eyeroll as she picks another piece of bacon. Normally, Santana and Rachel are picky with their food, what with Santana's father's and coach Sylvester's constant reminder about gaining weight, but it's always an exception when they're at the Pierces'.

Oh, the magic.

"I'd argue with that if I could," Rachel says nonchalantly. "Recently they were wondering if they should send me to an institution because I haven't been arrested yet and it isn't normal for kids my age. They are waiting for their dramatic jail-related moment with me as they are tired of having it with Noah."

Mrs. Pierce lets out a chuckle but Quinn gapes at Rachel, looking like her whole life has been a lie, so Rachel is quick to add, "They were joking, of course."

"Well, it's good to know that the Berrys are well," said Mrs. Pierce. "I miss them and their attempts to be cool and funny. Maybe I could swing by sometime, make up some really good stories about shenanigans concerning you and Santana."

"I'm sure they'll love that," Santana says. "Ring me up if you need some original ideas."

No matter how hard she tries to conceal it, a shot of sadness crosses over Santana's face and voice as she says that – a sadness that Rachel easily reads like a bible. Even during past dinners at the Pierces', Santana's parents are seldom mentioned. Everyone knows not to do so. She nudges Santana's feet a bit too strongly, their own gesture of comfort. Santana just rolls her eyes at her. That's some normalcy, at least.

Thankfully, Julianne turns to Quinn. "Brittany showed me the drawing you made for her. I've got to say you've got real talent."

A proud-looking Brittany smiles at Quinn who in turn blushes and stares consciously at her plate. "T-thank you, Mrs. Pierce. It's r-really only pretty because Brittany's pretty."

Rachel frowns. Self-deprecating words like that always hurt a tad more when they come from Quinn, because Rachel knows by now how little Quinn thinks of herself.

"Just Julianne, dear. Also, don't be modest. Everyone here is allergic to that word."

Rachel looks at everyone in the table except for Quinn. Then to the cats – Mel and Lord T and Laurie. Come to think of it, nobody in here is modest. "True," she agrees with a little snort. Or a full-on snort. Really, she just made an ugly sound, and she blames Brittany's cats for also being non-modest.

Santana regards her disgustingly, "Yuck, Berry."

"People snort when they're amused, Lopez. Suck it."

"Except they don't sound like some dying hippopotamuses when they do."

"I didn't sound like a dying hippopotamus. You probably don't even know what a living hippopotamus sounds like."

"I knew just now."

She levels Santana with a death glare and her right hand just laughs at her.

"L.O.L," deadpans Julianne, then exclaims, "what? It's what you Millenials do all the time, typing LOL when really you're just staring expressionless at your phone," when the Unholy Trinity looks at her funny.

Julianne notices that Quinn's pasta is almost gone. Mostly because she barely put some on her plate in the first place. Not hesitating one bit, Julianne reaches her hand out to give Quinn more pasta.

However, Quinn flinches visibly as soon as she moves, prompting Julianne to send Rachel a concerned glance. They are going to have a talk about it later, for sure. With a much more measured movement, she fills Quinn's plate. "Here, honey, have some more."

"T-thank you," Quinn manages to answer, shame for having reacted like she did evident on her face. Her eyes are a bit wet as she sends Brittany an apologetic look before looking down her lap. The taller blonde just rubs her back and whispers something along the lines of "Don't worry. You got startled."

"You're very much welcome, Quinn," Julianne says. "Don't be conscious. We love having you here, okay?"

"T-thank you… The f-food taste great. All of them," she expresses shyly.

"Well of course," Julianne answers confidently, giving Quinn a gentle smile that the younger blonde reciprocates shyly but sincerely.

Rachel just smiles. See? Modest.

/

After the delightful dinner, which almost became a bit of a riot by the middle because the cats started fighting, Rachel and Santana volunteer to help Julianne with the dishes so Quinn and Brittany can go on watching animal videos. When they are done with washing, Rachel prepares to go back to Brittany's room, but Santana urges her to stay in the kitchen for a while longer with an "I have to tell you something."

Rachel knows whatever Santana wants to tell her is deathly serious because: (1) Santana doesn't like saying "I need to tell you something," she likes to pummel Rachel with information that oftentimes render her unnecessarily dumbfounded or grossed out, and (2) she doesn't normally look THIS nervous during the rare times when the things she tells Rachel are actually of sense and importance.

"What is it," she asks, leaning against the island.

Santana licks her lips. "I told Brittany I love her. Not in the weird, sappy way friends do, but in the romantic way."

"Oh my God," Rachel exclaims, and she isn't able to stop herself as she steps forward to hug her friend. They don't normally do this cute hugging thing as it grosses both of them out when done with each other but such development is too good that pretending to not be happy for her friend simply would not do. "Oh my God, Santana," she says again as they let go of each other, utter wonder on her face. "W-what happened? How did she take it?"

Rachel watches as a bit of sadness washes over Santana's eyes, before the other girl looks down on the nails she's playing with in front of her, and her excitement level sags to the floor.

"She, uhm, she has always loved me too, but she…she said she just doesn't know right now," Santana says, sounding sad and defeated. "Not that I can blame her. I've been seasoned to be a bitch. Or I just am. Especially recently."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I had it coming."

"Well you do," Rachel answers. Honesty has always been their thing. "But I'm still sorry. I was looking forward to this, in all honesty."

Rachel was the first person Santana came out to as gay. It didn't really surprise her though. All the signs led to Santana loving Brittany. The stares, the smiles, the dorky blush in the face whenever their hands brush. Every single one of Santana Lopez' body language screams "I LOVE YOU BRITTANY!" and Rachel would be brain dead not to notice.

Santana still looks down so she tries to cheer her up. "You know Brittany. She seldom gets mad, so you know that when she does, it's reasonable and deep. It'll take her some time to really and completely forgive you. But she eventually will."

"Right. She said now's just not the right time after all that has happened recently but it's not like her heart doesn't only belong to me. Her words, not mine."

"Well I guess it's safe to say that we'd just have to trust Brittany and her wisdom."

"Boo-yah," Santana agrees.

It's true. People call Brittany stupid, but she's wise in so many ways. Perhaps the wisest person Rachel has ever met.

"For all it's worth, I'm proud of you," Rachel exclaims, smiling a bit.

"Bitch, what?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Language."

The other girl just shrugs. "Can't help it."

"What I was saying is that, and let me say this without you saying anything snarky in reply, I think it's really brave of you to open your heart like that."

"And it's really creepy of you to open your mouth like that."

Rachel ignores her Santanism. So much about expecting her friend to not say anything snarky in reply. "I said earlier that I have been looking forward to this day. I always knew you love her and that Brittany loves you, too. That's what I've been most sure of all those years I watched you idiots generously give each other heart eyes all day."

Santana has once gotten into an actual fistfight with a guy who kept on bothering Brittany for her "weird" nuances. Brittany tried to stop the fight, but ended up having to go to the doctor's office then face detention, too, because the guy turned to Santana and called her slut.

Santana kisses Brittany's cats even if she hates them and vice versa. She patiently tells Brittany simple things like the direction to the bathroom or how to cross the street or how to enjoy overcooked eggos.

But the most obvious indication above these all is that Santana allows Brittany to have a bite of her breadstix without even a groan when she actually growls everytime other people does the same. If that isn't indication that Santana is head over heels in love with Brittany, then she doesn't know what is.

"For years, I watched you. You look at each other like you're meant to be together."

She leaves out the part that she dreams of having someone who'll look at her like that, too. She certainly didn't feel the same connection with Jesse, the first and only guy she dated.

"You don't say," Santana replies, smiling with her head down.

"So don't worry. It's all going to be okay. Just trust the stars and let me hug you again because I'm just so happy for you that I can pretend to be able to stomach two hugs in a span of five minutes," Rachel says, already opening her arms invitingly for her friend. After a playful eyeroll and dramatic sigh, Santana acquiesces.

"I didn't know hippos can be so sentimental," Santana comments as they break contact.

"Shut your face."

"I always knew I chose the right hippo to brainwash to be my friend," Santana adds, undettered.

"Ugh. Let's just go up."

"As the hippo wishes."

/

Since she has not really personally apologized to the girl, Santana is secretly hoping for a lone moment with Quinn. She gets that around 9 p.m. when Brittany goes to the bathroom to wash up and Julianne calls Rachel down to ask her a few things, most probably about Quinn and her worrying actions.

Quinn is looking at the sky in Brittany's balcony, hands on the railings and back against Santana. Evil Lau is silently sitting near her feet. Santana thinks the small cat, which is usually tame and shy, looks eerily…protective? She even stands up, tail standing as if on alert, when she notices Santana approaching, as if sensing some danger.

She should really ask Brittany where in the world she got her cute but creepy cats. She's starting to believe what Brittany has said about them being from the Catusus Galaxy which she still isn't sure exists.

Quinn senses Evil Lau's actions, and turns to face her.

"It's okay, Evil Lau," she soothes the cat, bending a bit to rub her head. "It's just Santana."

"Hi, Quinn," Santana says. How lame is she being?

"H-hi," the blonde manages to say. But she hovers there nervously and her eyes dart around and over Santana's shoulder, most probably searching for an easy escape route in case Santana shits on her over again.

It's a punch to the Latina's gut, how she isn't considered a safe person to be with, nor will she probably ever be, and it's because of her own doing.

"Easy, sugar. I'm just here to talk," the Latina explains, though she understands Quinn's terror, especially since the two of them were never alone in the same room since Santana's idiotic blowup last week.

Trying to act as casually as possible, because damn, she actually feels nervous, she nudges one of the tea she's holding to Quinn's direction. The flinch that escapes from Quinn takes Santana's mind back to how she offered water to Quinn the first time and she tries to ignore the crippling guilt that consumes her. "It's uh, peppermint tea. You were coughing a bit so I thought that might help," she offers kindly. "Works for me all the time."

Quinn takes the cup from Santana's hand and stares at it unsurely. "T-thank you."

"Don't worry. Poisoning others is so overrated so I don't do that. At least not anymore. But it's kinda hot so you might want to wait awhile before sipping."

The poisoning part of her statement seemed to have bothered Quinn, but after a while the blonde understands it as a joke and just does something that is supposed to sound like a nervous chuckle. It sounded like some super nervous undiscernible noise. She's not meeting Santana's eyes. The latter understands why.

Santana clears out, "Don't think I'm just doing this as a gesture of apology or something. I just really wanted to make you tea."

The other girl gives her a nervous smile and nods again.

"But I'm also terribly sorry about everything I've said and done to you. I really mean it. From the bottom of my nonexistent heart."

"Y-you have a h-heart. Everyone h-has one or they won't be alive."

Santana, a bit surprised, doesn't know what to say to that, so she looks at Quinn like…well, like she doesn't know what to say to that.

"If a hard heart that hurts people counts then maybe I do have one."

"Uhm, I was j-joking," Quinn says nervously, then swallows.

A second of silence follows before the brunette processes Quinn's recent statements. She couldn't help but let out an authentic chuckle, amused in a good way.

Oh well, their new girl is entertaining, she thinks.

Then she shakes her head. She doesn't think they deserve to be calling her theirs but the idea of it – working for her friendship, protecting her like she's one of her own – actually warms her heart. Santana always was the one with the protective instinct.

"I-I'm sorry," the other girl says, eyes darting around.

"No, no," Santana reassures her, still chuckling a bit. "I like that you're learning our dynamics fast and joking around us now."

Quinn, now blushing in the dark, just bites her lip and smiles shyly at her cup.

Santana stares at her for a while, before continuing with her apologies. "Seriously though, forget everything I ever said to you since the beginning. It was just me being a stupid and paranoid bitch," Santana says, then quickly catches herself when Quinn flinches. "Excuse my language. Habit."

When Quinn doesn't answer, she adds, "This will make me some sappy loser but the truth is that I think you're a disgustingly cute and amazing human being, and that you deserve to be friends with who you want to be friends with. Don't let anyone's words, especially mine, get to your head."

Quinn just looks down at her shoes and plays with her fingers a bit. A nervous habit, Santana notes. There is no indication that the other girl believes her.

"How are you feeling tonight," Quinn whispers awkwardly after a while.

"Like shit to be honest," she tells her. "Not like I don't deserve it but everything pretty much sucks right now."

It does. She has called home earlier. Her sister told her their mom continued crying, and slept only out of exhaustion. She'll go home really early tomorrow to help her family out, but she needs to be with Brittany tonight.

"I'm s-sorry."

Santana looks at a genuinely sad and remorseful Quinn. Such is a bad idea, because it just tunes Santana's guilt a notch higher. How the girl can still sympathize with her after all she's done to torture her is beyond her, but she swears that alone almost makes her want tear up.

Not that anyone would know. Ever.

"Oh sweet Lord," she exclaims, "It's okay. I think it's for the best. People fall out of love. It happens. Literature says it, true life proves it. I've seen it coming a long time ago. My father's…well my father's…different and I think it'll be good for him to temporarily be out of our lives.

"It will be okay," she tells Quinn, though she's trying to convince herself more. She's not some optimistic shit but she doesn't want to worry the girl with her home life either. "And even if it doesn't then to hell with it."

"I'll pray it'll be okay."

Santana shrugs. "As long as I have Brittany, everything will be okay anyway."

Quinn smiles at her tea. "Brittany is amazing."

A smirk graces Santana's face. Amazing won't even begin to cover it. "She is. She's the best damn thing in this stupid, stinking, Godforsaken world. That's why I'm so in love with her."

Her eyes widen, a bit shocked of how open she's being with Quinn. The girl's just too understanding and kind; perhaps that's make sharing these things easier. But wow, that feels really good to say out loud, even if she feels her face heat up. Quinn is still too nervous to really look at her though, so the blush in her face and reputation is safe.

"I mean, how can I not? Like you said, she's amazing, she's the most unicorn person there is and the sex was great," she jokes.

Something about what she said makes the blonde gasp loudly, and when Santana looks at her she's beet red.

She wonders what the matter is. So, observing Quinn, she just continues, "Who doesn't lovez sex and unicorns?"

Quinn's eyes widen in time with the word "sex."

Oh. So that's it. Ha. Santana promised never to bully the girl ever again but well, this one is actually entertaining and she can't help herself.

"What? Not used to hearing the word sex being thrown around casually, Little Miss Sunshine?"

Quinn gulps and out of having no idea on what to do, mindlessly and nervously sips on her tea then jerks and winces at the most probably still scalding heat.

"Geez, careful there, Sugar Pops," Santana warns, then almost snorts at her own ridiculousness. She wonders where this weird nicknames for Quinn are coming from. Of course it's out of the effort to stop calling her mean names. She can call her Fabray but she hates Russel far too much to do that.

Maybe she's trying too hard. Maybe she needs to calm her amazing tits down. She's never really made an effort to get close with anyone – or saw the need to for that matter – since Brittany and Rachel, so this is new to her, but she needs to stop embarrassing herself, too.

But apparently embarrassing herself should be the least of her worries around Quinn, because it's the awkward blonde that mutters a teary "s-sorry," as she recovers from the tea incident.

"No, don't be."

But Quinn's hands are already shaking badly and her eyes are unfocused. Something inside Santana's chest shifts as she looks at the girl with growing concern. "B-but I s-spilled some. I-I'll l-l-look f-for…"

"There's no need to, really," she says, hovering near Quinn but not daring to touch her lest she worsens the situation. She rakes her brain for something to distract the girl with because Quinn's eyes are darting around in a panicked way and her breathing is starting to get erratic. "The spill was too little…"

Praying to Gods she never believed in that she'll get to Quinn, she continues, "Forget about the tea. The Pierces' have lots of it. I know, because influenced them with this shit."

She winces at her potty-mouth, darn her pottymouth, then continues with the next random topic that came to mind. "Can I talk to you about this whole gay thing? I mean, the thing between me and Brittany. This doesn't bother you at all, right?"

Quinn is trying her best to focus, she can tell. "W-what?"

She manages to take the teacup from Quinn's hand before she breaks them or something, then puts both cups on the ground below so she can focus on distracting her.

"I was asking if us unicorning is okay with you."

A slice of confusion gets through Quinn's panic and Santana holds on to that. "I-is it a real w-word, u-unicorning?"

Santana lets out a laugh even if she actually feels like crying. "No, it's not. So…uhmmm… yes…I love Brittany."

Quinn nods. Her breathing is getting better, Santana notices, so she goes on with her weird rant.

"And as I said, I wish to be your friend so I have to make sure that this thing between us doesn't bother you or anything."

Quinn swallows hard and starts breathing more evenly.

"Y-you love her; i-it's okay for me. P-people who love each other s-should be together."

Santana admits she was scared that Quinn will say otherwise, basing on how much of a bigot Russel seemed to be during their brief encounter. Quinn is way too different from her father and that warms Santana's heart. "That really means a lot to me, you know," she says, freaking out a bit less because Quinn is starting to really calm down. "Friends accept each other no matter what."

"F-friends," Quinn murmurs.

"Yes, Quinn," Santana admits, feeling unusually coy. "I'm really hoping I can make up for how horrible I have been to you. Feeling better now?"

"Y-yes. S-sorry."

"Don't worry about that. I'm just glad that you're okay," she assures her, before bending down to get their cups. "Are you still up to drinking this?"

The other girl nods nervously. "I-I like it."

"Okay, then," Santana replies, a bit surprised with how happy she feels about Quinn liking her tea, as she hands it again to the girl, this time with a small, sincere smile.

/

Rachel is worried. They're in the middle of watching Meet the Robinsons in Brittany's room, and she's very worried. In fact, she has been for the past five minutes, so she excuses herself out of the couch she's currently occupying with Brittany and Santana to get down the stairs to the kitchen.

Quinn hasn't been back after she asked permission to get water downstairs. It was 10 minutes ago, and Rachel figures she needed to check on her. That, plus her Berry senses are tingling, not so subtly telling her that something is definitely wrong.

And as it turns out, something is definitely wrong.

She sees Quinn hunched near the sink, moaning softly, arms around her abdomen and eyes tightly shut. It's not hard to tell she's in pain, if the slight shaking of her scrawny stature is any indication. These are enough to put a lead weight on Rachel's heart and she finds herself swooshing to the counter to check on the other girl.

As always, guilt and sympathy creep swiftly to her heart. How long has she been here? How long has she been hurting? How come Rachel hasn't even noticed or saw the signs?

For somebody who's "striving" to prove to want to be friends with someone, she sure sucks so badly.

"Hey," she says softly, putting a comforting and supporting hand on the blonde's back. Now in close proximity, she can feel that her skin is slightly hot and clammy under her touch and see how dangerously pale she is, which just makes her fear escalate further.

However, what causes an even stronger pounding in her heart is the bruise she notices on Quinn's forehead when the blonde turns to her slightly. It's visible now that Quinn's sweat-wet bangs are sticking to the side of her head. The bruise is black and purple, a bit deep, and the source of which could have caused worse consequences considering its location.

She closes her eyes tightly to calm herself down even if she wants to throw up. First things first.

"Here, let me help you sit down," she merely offers, shakily, deciding that she'd ask her about the bruise later. Right now, she has to take care of Quinn's current pain. "How bad does it hurt?"

Euphemism. She knows she's probably going to get one in reply but she has to know anyway.

"It's o-okay. This happens s-sometimes. It will g-go away soon," Quinn reassures Rachel weakly, as the latter slowly leads her to one of the dining set chairs. The way her voice wavers and her fingers shake as she finds something to hold on to give away how she truly feels, though.

"It doesn't look like it is okay, Quinn," Rachel pushes honestly, but gently too as she knows still has to walk over glass when it comes to the blonde. "You're shaking."

Quinn shakes her head and takes an unstable breath as she sits down. Rachel grabs a chair, and scoots close to her. Noticing that Quinn is swaying from side to side, she gently guides her head to her shoulders to steady her and allow her to relax. The blonde stiffens at the first contact but Rachel rubs her forearm and whispers, "It's okay," so Quinn gradually relaxes.

The smaller girl counts the possibilities. Was it something she ate? All of them ate the same food so that's unlikely, unless she had some sort of an allergic reaction to some of them? The singer thinks about bringing her to the hospital, but her mind flashes back to how Quinn reacted when she suggested the same on the day she brought the blonde home, so maybe that's something she should think about later, depending on the situation.

With the girl resting on her shoulders, Rachel takes her phone out and sends Santana a short message. "Quinn's having a stomachache. Can you ask B if they have painkillers?"

Santana's reply is almost instantaneous, a thing she is most thankful for. "Yes they have. Were r u?"

Quinn moans in pain again and Rachel bites her lip as she types even faster, "Dining table."

Usually, Rachel will be damned is she texts in incomplete sentences but right now is an exception. She puts the phone back in her pocket and focuses on Quinn again. "Brit and San are coming down here to give you some medicine for the pain, okay?"

The blonde nods her thanks, then whispers, "T-thank you, Rachel."

"It's nothing, Quinn. Always happy to help you. You should have told us you weren't feeling well."

"I-I was feeling o-okay earlier," Quinn replies. "I'm sorry, R-Rachel."

"No, don't be. I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't feeling well," Rachel counters. "Just know that we're more than willing to help you, because, hard as this may be to understand, we still want to be your friend. Now more than ever."

When Quinn's only response was an unsure nod, Rachel rubs her back, hoping Quinn would feel her sincerity. She thinks about the bruise. The doubts about Quinn's home situation is getting slimmer, and she decides that they have no other choice but to get Quinn to confide with them. She doesn't think tonight is the right time to do so, but it has to be soon.

A worried Brittany loosely hugs Quinn when she and Santana arrive a few seconds later. She gently fusses over her friend, asking if she's okay or if she needs anything, and gasps lowly as she notices the bruise on her forehead. Rachel can tell that she's trying her hardest not to cry, and she feels a tighter pang in her chest.

A sad Brittany never fails to do just that.

Santana proceeds to the refrigerator to get some water to go with the medicine they're giving Quinn, and assists her in taking the drug in.

The three of them bring Quinn to the guest bedroom as Rachel suggested (mostly because she wants to be alone with Quinn should she decide to ask her anyway) and watches with heavy hearts as Quinn curls around her stomach once she's settled on one of the bigger beds. The medicine is clearly taking some time to work. Brittany jumps on the bed and worriedly hovers over her friend.

Rachel lets them fuss over Quinn as she thinks about what to do next. She could try asking her tonight; the medicine could help the girl be more honest. However, the same doesn't seem like a good idea because Quinn is in pain.

It takes about five minutes of Brittany gently rubbing Quinn's back before the smaller blonde's breath evens out, indicating that the medicine has finally worked. Rachel reckons she should be alone with the girl so she could better make a decision. She gently nudges Santana and gives her a look that tells her what she wants. Santana understands easily like she always does.

"B, I think we should let Quinn rest," Santana says. "If it's okay with you, can we let Rachel take care of her? She has done it before so it would be easier."

Brittany looks at Quinn, then at them, extremely hesitant. "But I want to stay with her."

"I want to stay here, too, but let's not crowd her tonight."

The taller blonde wants to argue some more but she must have had sensed that Rachel and Santana are into something serious because she eventually acquiesces. "Okay. But no funny business. Prove to me that I made the right decision by giving you both a chance to let you be her friends."

Santana and Rachel give her solemn, guilty nods.

"Just call us if you need anything. We'll be in the guest room," Santana offers Rachel.

"Okay. Can you please get Quinn's inhaler for me? Must be in her bag."

Santana gives her a look that says 'I know what you're planning' but doesn't make any gesture that could tell she is against whatever Rachel is planning. She wholeheartedly trusts her captain.

"I will."

/

With a breath she isn't aware she was holding, Rachel lies down next to Quinn, facing her. She watches the girl closely, noting how the painkiller slowly lulls her to relaxation. Her eyes move to the bruise on the blonde's forehead, heart pounding so loud she thinks it might explode. Once again, she finds herself conflicted. Perhaps now is not the right time to ask the girl about the bruise but, on the other hand, she might as well take advantage of Quinn's drowsy and drugged state.

"Quinn," she begins carefully, waiting for Quinn's eyes to open and meet hers. She needs to be looking at her through this, at least.

With a quick yet gentle release of breath, Quinn opens her heavy eyes and tries to stare back at Rachel. Hazel orbs look exhausted and slightly cloudy courtesy of the drugs, but (and it may be just due to the medicine) she's staring right at Rachel's eyes and the brunette figures this actually is a good enough time to do the asking. The earlier they can confirm what has been going on, the better. Plus, should Quinn react adversely, she could just coax her to sleep and deal with the rest when she wakes up.

"Is the medicine working well? Do you feel better now?"

The girl nods, so Rachel gives her a relieved but sad smile.

"That's really good. Do you think it was because of something you ate?"

Quinn looks thoughtful for a second, but then shakes her head. "I don't t-think so. The f-food tasted nice."

Rachel nods and licks her lips. "Quinn, uhmmm…this isn't connected with the food, but I need to ask you something."

Despite the hazy effects of the painkillers, worry begins creeping on Quinn's face. Rachel braces herself; she has to be tough and persuasive but gentle enough for this. The first two qualities, she exemplifies as virtues, and she can be very gentle when she wants to. She gathers all will in her as she continues, "And I know it's hard after everything that has transpired between us but I need you to trust me enough to tell me the truth."

She doesn't expect the blonde to agree, but Quinn surprised her with a small, nervous nod. "I-I'll try, Rachel."

That is a way better response than she expected. However, she still feels the loud thumping of her heart as she asks, "That…that bruise on your forehead, where did you get that, Quinn?"

As predicted, terror immediately consumes Quinn's face and that alone almost breaks Rachel's resolve. This is even harder than she thought. The poor girl probably hasn't even realized that the bruise is now exposed. Quinn starts breathing heavily, eyes leaving Rachel's and she swiftly closes in on herself. She looks even smaller now, her body language showing how she's seemingly ready to dart the first chance she gets.

But before she can do or say anything, Rachel, very gently, very carefully, puts a palm on her check to placate her and coaxes her to look at her again. Her heart breaks even more when Quinn closes her eyes, evident shame all over her face.

Rachel hates Quinn's face for being so, so expressive.

"Quinn, please. I need you to tell me the truth. I'm here to help you. I-I promise, whatever it is, this time I'll be your friend and I won't hurt you or ever think any less of you."

Quinn's chin trembles slightly but she shakes her head. "I-I bumped it…"

"Quinn," Rachel swallows, pressing on, even if she isn't sure she will be strong enough to take Quinn's answer. "Please, tell me, is anyone…" She wets her lips. "…is anyone hurting you?"

The blonde continues shaking her head, eyes still shut. "N-no. No."

Rachel's heart is breaking with the terror covering Quinn's face. Her "no" seems to have been said to convince herself more than Rachel.

The smaller girl ploughs on, trying to stay as calm and gentle as possible despite the anger and hurt that's slowly building in her chest. "Is everything okay at home? Is somebody hurting you?"

This time, Quinn doesn't nod or shake her head. She just closes her eyes tighter, opting not to respond. Her chest raises a little too heavily to be normal, but Rachel has the girl's inhaler in her hand and now that she has started questioning, she couldn't stop. She doesn't know if she can start again if she does stop. Her chest tightens at the idea that Quinn's reaction could mean that the worst of her and Santana's theories may be right, and she feels the tears stinging her eyes.

"It's okay, I promise. It's okay."

Quinn's only response is to curl on herself further. "I w-want to s-sleep. Please…"

"T-that bruise on your shoulder the last time Santana and I came to your house – did – you didn't really trip down the stairs, did you?"

Quinn remains quiet, closing her eyes tight.

"Quinn, tell me please, as a - as a friend, is it your father?" Rachel's voice is hoarse as she says it, feeling exhausted even without hearing the answer yet. "Is he…is he hurting you?"

Her own tears, which she has been desperately trying to keep at bay, stubbornly, finally, falls down her cheeks when the blonde lets out a mournful sob at the question. Looking at Quinn's face, all crumpled up and filled with tears hurts more than she has ever prepared herself for. Quinn's shoulders are shaking uncontrollably as she weeps and she puts both hands on her ears, covering them forcefully. Rachel's chest is almost breaking in half now but she has gone too far – she couldn't go back.

"Quinn, please… I know it's hard, but you have to tell me so we can help you."

It takes a few agonizing seconds but Quinn answers her.

It's not with a "yes," but with a choked, deeply regretful "I'm s-sorry."

Rachel once again suddenly gets the urge to vomit. There goes the confirmation she never wanted to hear. It's not a yes. It's a more than that. She has forced herself to be ready for the worst, but a part of her has been hoping that they were just overanalyzing everything, and now that all her fears are slapped straight at her, she can confirm that this is the worst feeling she has ever felt in her entire life.

But Quinn, who is full-on sobbing now, is feeling ever worse and she is her priority at this moment, so as hard as it is, her own feelings could wait.

Hands still covering her ears as if she's hearing things no one is saying, Quinn, looking so, so small, mutters repeatedly, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

It's like watching Quinn's world tumble around her and Rachel, also crying openly now, reaches for her and gently wraps one hand around the one that's tightly covering Quinn's ears, attempting to take it off so she can offer assuring words.

"Quinn, listen to me. Nothing's your fault. You have nothing to be sorry about."

The blonde ignores her. Or doesn't hear her at all as she continues to mumble a series of almost incoherent sorrys. The helplessness and shame that come with those words feel like a knife straight to Rachel's chest. But if she thinks this couldn't be more tormenting, it does when Quinn eventually breaks.

"I-it's my f-fault why h-he d-disciplines me. W-why he has to h-hurt me. He d-doesn't like to b-but I make him do it. I m-make him do it! I should have been b-better! I should have b-been good! I'M A MISTAKE! I d-deserve to hurt!"

The anguish is too much that Rachel can almost feel it herself. The pain she feels for Quinn is crippling. She doesn't deserve to be hurt. Her heart is breaking for Quinn, and she can only feel her throat constrict at the heartbreak that the blonde is having now. God, if she could just take all the pain away from Quinn, she would.

"That's not true, Quinn. Nobody deserves to be hurt like you were. Especially not a good, sweet person like you. You didn't make him do it – it was all him."

She is a jumbled mess of emotions, but Rachel has never felt self-loathing like the one she feels for herself at the moment. The guilt that has constantly plagued her flares up. She's the worst person alive. She would bend the earth in order to turn back time if she could. She should have been kinder to the girl; she should have tried to have known her better instead of alienating her for her "differences" like everyone else did. She should have been more observant, more sensitive. Russel may have abused Quinn, but the hurt they caused the girl is just as damaging.

She could have rescued Quinn before it led to this. Anyone else can, but nobody did. They all just hurt her more.

Quinn doesn't even seem to hear her assurances as she continues with her ministrations, eyes now open but lost, chest heaving worse. "I t-try to be a good child but I couldn't. I-I'm not. I c-can't do anything right. I'm a f-failure," she continues to sob out in dangerously quickening breath. "I swear I'm t-trying…God, I'm trying…B-but I'm just bad! Bad! Worthless! Nothing! Garbage!"

Quinn punctuates every bad word she associates with herself with a hard hit to her head, making Rachel wince and immediately spring into action. She adds a little more force to the one hand that's already covering Quinn's own so she can prevent the girl from hurting herself further.

It takes a while for Rachel to stop her. Quinn, who must be feeling so weak, is being surprisingly strong and Rachel hates the fact that self-loathing is the driving force behind this.

Quinn only stops struggling against Rachel when she weakly coughs, once, twice, before slightly turning away from the smaller girl, struggling to breathe. She tries to suck in air but Rachel realizes that she couldn't, and she watches with a sinking feeling in her gut as Quinn keels over to the other side at the severe inability to inhale and exhale.

Asthma attack.

The brunette acts fast, scrambling to find the inhaler she has absent-mindedly let go when Quinn started punching her head, and gets off the bed so she can kneel in front of Quinn from the other side. The blonde is fisting the sheets as she struggles, veins in her neck popping with the effort to breathe.

"Here," Rachel urges, pushing the inhaler to the other girl's mouth.

However, Quinn turns her head to the sheets and away from the medicine. Rachel feels the tears prick at her eyes once more.

Quinn doesn't want to be well.

"Quinn…"

"No. D-don't please," the blonde pleads tearfully, clutching the sheets tighter as her wheezing worsens. "I-I d-don't deserve t-that."

"Quinn, you need this," Rachel persists.

"I don't… w-want t-that. K-keep i-it," she gasps. "L-et me d-…"

The blonde catches herself before she can finish her sentence but Rachel knows what she wanted to say and her heart shatters right at that exact moment.

Quinn is giving up. The kind, sweet, adorable blonde wants to die.

She feels physically ill with guilt. Her throat is closing up. Her mind once again flashes back to all the times she has been horrible to Quinn and if she could just punch herself right now she would.

"I'm h-here for you," she sobs brokenly, meaning it so much. "I'm here now. Me. Santana. And Brittany… Brittany won't let me let you suffer like this. I can't let you suffer like this. Seeing you like this hurts so much. Please, Quinn, let me help you."

"I am a s-stupid c-child and I d-deserve to s-suffer."

Due to the asthma attack, Quinn says the words weakly but also resolutely, like an anguished prayer engrained in her head, muttered over and over again.

"Shhhh. That's not true. You're not any of those things, Quinn."

"S-stupid c-child…D-deserves to s-suffer…"

Rachel is desperate now. "Quinn, hun, if you don't take this, I will be forced to bring you to the hospital."

That takes Quinn's attention, not in a good way, as she freezes and stares back at Rachel with wide, terrified eyes.

"P-p-please don't bring me to the h-h-hospital, Rachel," she pleads. Quinn's voice is heavily panicked, sorely trembling. The terror in her eyes is cutting through Rachel's core. Quinn has always been fearful, but the absolute horror on her face at this moment is something else. "T-they will know. P-p-please don't l-let anyone know," she pants. "I s-s-shouldn't have t-told you."

"Quinn - "

Her wheezing is getting worse now so every word that Quinn mutters sounds so painful. This, however, to Rachel's chagrin, does not stop her panicked warnings.

"P-p-please. H-h-he will- he will do something bad to m-m-mama. S-she is with h-h-him. H-h-he will k-k-kill her. P-please d-don't bring me to h-h-hospital. P-please. I-I don't want to kill m-mama, too."

Kill Judy? Too?

Oh my God, Rachel thinks as she fits two and two together. Like this couldn't get any worse! Does Quinn think she killed her sister? Did that bastard blame her? She doesn't know what happened, but no matter how her sister died, Quinn should never been allowed to live with such deep guilt.

"Shhhh… I won't, don't worry." Quinn stops struggling as much, thankfully. "But if you don't accept the medicine, I will be forced to. And I really don't want to take you to the hospital Quinn, but you have to help me, please." She offers the inhaler again.

Quinn sobs and pants, anguished eyes trying to read Rachel's face, trying to see if she could trust her. Rachel swallows as Quinn coughs painfully and fists the sheets. She is a bit calmer than she was a few seconds ago, but her asthma attack wouldn't magically go away.

"Take this and no hospital, okay? I won't tell."

She doesn't say "I promise" because she knows she can't.

When Rachel offers the inhaler again, Quinn doesn't pull away but accepts it with a sob. Rachel hates that she had to sort of blackmail Quinn but she had no other choice. She lets her take in four puffs before pulling away, then stays by the blonde's side to soothe her back until her breathing becomes better.

"Thank you for telling me," Rachel tells her, resolute despite the moan of anguish that leaves Quinn's lips at that. The regret for telling Rachel is obvious. "It might not seem like it is right now, but I promise you, you did the right thing."

Quinn shakes her head, unconvinced. "D-don't let him hurt m-mama."

"I will do what I can. He's not going to hurt Judy, or you ever again. I won't allow it."

The broken girl just closes her eyes tightly and cries, the guilt in her face becoming so overwhelming. Every sob that leaves Quinn's exhausted body is a jab to Rachel's chest.

"We'll figure this out, Quinn," she soothes, reaching to wipe Quinn's tears. "But for now, I need you to rest and sleep the stomachache off. And then when you wake up, and you're okay and better, we'll figure out what to do. Together. I will not leave you."

This time, she's keeping this promise. She'll die before she breaks it.

"I-I'm okay, R-Rachel. My h-home life…i-it's not as b-bad as you think."

It's a lie, Rachel can tell. Quinn can't be the way she is if her home life is not as bad as she thinks. It could even be worse.

"Just try to rest, please. I'll be here when you wake up."

Quinn looks completely depleted, but sleep isn't on her mind as she just stares catatonically on a spot beside Rachel, too ashamed to meet her eyes. She's shaking, paler than ever and her eyes…God, her eyes. The regret and emptiness is sucking Rachel in and so she closes her own for a while, not able to bear to look.

She wonders how long he's been a-abusing her. When was the first time? How often? How bad? They saw a nasty bruise on her shoulder that one time, witnessed how she seemed pained everytime she moved a little too fast. The flinching. The fear. She wonders how the rest of Quinn's body looks like - the parts that she was able to successfully hide.

She can't do this alone. Not even with Santana's help. Just the thought of it breaks her, but she'd rather betray Quinn and totally lose her chance for friendship than allow her to go back to her father's abuse.

Rachel knows when the need comes, which eventually will and which is eventually soon, she will have to tell somebody else. Her parents. Other adults that might help. The authorities. She will also have to seek all sorts of medical help for Quinn. God knows what kind of pain that bastard has been inflicting on her, how extensive was the damage he left.

/

"Quinn," Holly Holiday states, gently pressing two fingers against cold forearms to rouse the 6-year-old, now 7, from her slumber. They're at the hill near the Fabray's. Judy has told her she might be there and she was right. Holly volunteered to get her since both Fabrays, aside from being anguished, are already too preoccupied with other stuff.

The child is sleeping when they get there. It's 8 p.m., not a good time for any kid to be outside alone, even if the moon is bright. The incident was 5 hours ago. On Quinn's birthday. She has probably fallen asleep while waiting for her sister, and Holly is suddenly overpowered by the want to not be here.

But she knows that Quinn needs her, so hard as it may be, she will be here.

"Wake up, little lamb."

Small eyelids fluttered open, but their owner doesn't immediately recognize her surroundings. "Frannie?"

The breathy question only squeezes Holly's chest tighter. There's no cushion for the pain she feels at having to deliver such horrible news to such a good child. She shoots a glance at Carl, her husband, who gives her a solemn nod.

Quinn pushes herself up and focuses her stare at the older lady by her side. "Miss Holly?"

The tutor manages to give Quinn a sad smile. "It's late now, Quinn. Carl and I will bring you home."

Confusion and worry clouds Quinn's small face. "But we…Is Frannie back? Did she – did she ask you to get me," she continues, looking past Ms. Holiday to regard her husband, then past him to perhaps search for her sister. "Is she okay?"

Once again willing herself to not cry, Holly cups the girl's cheeks and looks her straight in the eye to keep her focused, conveying nothing but sympathy and love.

Quinn accepts the touch as she's comfortable with Holly, but her smile slowly dies as her confusion turns to worry. It was a painful sight that's sure to only become even more painful, and while no amount of comforting touches can save the kid from the impending heartbreak that's about to smash her whole, Holly knows she has to try anyway. Watching earnestly at large, innocent, nervous eyes and with a break in her voice she doesn't mean to commit, she whispers, "She's not coming back, tonight, Quinn. I'm sorry."

The child just gapes at her for a few moments, before rubbing at her face, still seemingly lost. She looks around her blankly. At the abandoned food. At the abandoned cloth. At Frankie who's still sitting on it.

Holly knows Quinn is smarter than other kids her age, and she understands, but she's just a child.

She's just a child.

The thought breaks Holly's heart even more.

More so when, as Quinn looks back at her, her lips are quivering.

"B-but she said she's coming back. She always…she always comes back. I-I'm going to wait longer," Quinn answers resolutely, but the determination in her scared voice is shadowed by the wetness gathering in her eyes. She understands what's happening now, and that's the worst part of this all. "Y-you can go ahead, Ms. Holly, I-I will wait f-for Frannie. W-we will continue the p-party."

"Honey, Frannie's not coming back." She takes a breath. "She's g-gone. There was – there was an incident at the mall and she got caught in the middle of it. It didn't end well for her. I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Despite her pledge to stay strong in front of the child, a tear stubbornly falls from Holly's eyes as Quinn's searching eyes fill with pain. Frannie was a beautiful, smart, sweet, amazing girl. She had so much in store for her. And some idiot robbers had to take away all that she is meant to become.

Quinn squats Holly's hand away and shakes her head, still in denial. "N-no. I'll-I'll wait for her Miss Holly."

"I can't let you do that, Quinn. It's cold here; it wouldn't be good for you," Holly says through the lump in her throat. "Carl will gather all these things up and then you'll come with me, okay?"

"I don't care if it's cold!" Quinn is breathing heavily, eyes desperate. She has never seen the gentle child get angry before. "Frannie said she will come back and I know she will!"

"She wouldn't want you to stay here. You might get sick."

"I DON'T CARE IF I GET SICK! SHE PROMISED ME SHE'LL BE BACK! I WANT TO BE HERE WHEN SHE COMES BACK! YOU DON'T KNOW MY SISTER! SHE WILL NOT LEAVE ME! SHE WILL NOT LEAVE ME ON MY BIRTHDAY! GO AWAY!"

Quinn tries to push her away but Holly holds her in the arms and pulls the girl for a much-needed hug. Her student struggles at first, angrily begging her to let go, weakly punching her in the chest and brokenly muttering words like "I don't believe you," and "you're lying," and "she will be back," and "why are you doing this to me" and "she will never leave me," and "she can't go; she's the only one I have."

And the grief is clouding Holly's own heart that she couldn't mutter anything else than a tearful "I-I'm so sorry, Quinn."

"No, no, no," Quinn sobs repeatedly.

"She will be okay. Wherever she is, your sister will be okay. It's too early, she's too young, but she knows she has been loved, especially by you. That's how I know she will be okay. That's how I know she was ready for this."

Quinn's "no" and sobs get louder and Holly continues to hold her until they turn to whispers, then to whimpers, and finally Quinn sags against Holly's chest tiredly.

"I-it hurts too much," Quinn mutters, the pain in her voice cutting through Holly.

"I know, Quinn," she answers through her constricting throat. "And it will be very hard, but it will also get better someday."

The little girl shakes her head. "She p-promised me she's coming back."

"You know she would have come back if she could."

"I-I need h-her, Ms. Holly. S-she can't leave."

She knows, but she doesn't know how to answer that - perhaps there is no answer to that - so Holly just hugs her tighter, absorbing Quinn's immense grief and praying in vain that she could just soak in some of the child's suffering.

"I'm sorry, angel. I'm sorry."

/

Blue lights. Red lights. Everything is making her lost, dizzy and confused.

There are several people outside their house. It's very loud and she fights the urge to cover her ears. Men in police uniform are talking to Father, who looks distraught. His hair is unkempt, which is very unusual. Their neighbors are speaking in hushed whispers. She feels them look at her with a look akin to sympathy when they notice them coming. Father sees her, too, but there is no sympathy on his face. It's the opposite. In fact, the monstrous anger in his expression as he looks at her is something she hasn't seen before.

He is very, very mad at her.

Quinn whimpers in terror and clings tighter to Miss Holly, who rubs her back softly. She isn't used to people, or loudness, and the look on Father's face is terrifying her.

She needs Frannie.

Please come back, Frannie.

Tears leak from her eyes again. She refuses to believe everything. She has been trying hard not to cry but she can't help it. It feels really bad – like her heart and stomach are being cruelly ripped in half, like the world is ending. Maybe it is, because Frannie is her world and now they're saying she's "gone."

As simple as that. How can something as simple as that feel this hard?

Her chest is terribly aching, pounding so loudly from a horrible feeling she doesn't think she will ever be able to explain. Her stomach feels so heavy but at the same time empty like it's nothing but a hole. It's hard to breath. Or see. Even her hearing is muffled. Her head feels hot, like she might get sick, and she does her best not to throw up on Miss Holly's shoulders.

She knows what they mean when they say a person is "gone." It means they're dead. It means they're not coming back. Like granny Julie and grandpa Robert – Judy's mama and papa who were "gone" a year ago from a car accident.

It means Frannie – the only good thing in her world – is not coming back. It means Frannie – beautiful and caring Frannie – is dead, and she will never see her again.

It was a blur to her earlier but now she understands clearly. All these people, and the look of Father's face make it all real.

Frannie is dead.

The thought makes her very dizzy. Suddenly she's freezing and while just a few seconds ago everything is hot and everything hurts, it rapidly begins feeling inexplicably cold and numb.

Her body sags against Miss Holly and she has only enough consciousness to hear a few words as she suddenly can't hear anything clearly. Like she's in a vacuum. Or underwater.

She blinks. Everything is going too fast. Miss Holly is saying something about "shock" but everything is jumbled so she isn't really sure. Her face is worried. She doesn't like making Miss Holly worry.

"Frannie," she manages to whimper before everything goes black.

/

When Quinn wakes up, she's still very cold. There's a pounding in her head and a twist in her chest that at first she doesn't understand. For a moment, she doesn't remember anything.

Until she does, and she wishes she remained unaware. Now she remembers everything and instantly grows dizzy.

Frannie.

Just remembering her sister's name rattles her insides. She thinks she's literally going to throw up. She sits up slowly just in case she needs to use the restrooms.

Her father, who is standing next to the coats hanger, just preparing to go out, notices her movement and glares at her direction. Quinn looks around. Miss Holly is not here anymore.

Russel's domineering presence and furious glare are enough to make her fear escalate and her nausea worsen. She covers her mouth as she dry heaves.

This isn't good.

Her whole body feels like jelly but she does her best to stand up albeit shakily, haphazardly throwing the blanket on the sofa. She has to get to the comfort room or it will be even worse.

But the dizziness is making her slow and she doesn't make it. She tears up helplessly as she falls on her knees not even halfway to the comfort room and empties the contents of her stomach on the living room floor.

"YOU WORTHLESS RAT!"

Her father's reaction is instantaneous and expected but she flinches anyway. She tries to crawl away but Russel is faster. He always is. He roughly grabs her by the back of her shirt – the very same one Frannie gave her, the very same one that says "Best Little Sister" (turns out she's the worst) – and drags her to the study.

She closes her eyes tight and prepares herself for harsh words. Perhaps some shaking. Maybe some swats in the bottom like the ones he gives her when he's especially angry.

So, when she is pushed harshly against the hard wall, hard enough to make some picture frames shake and cause a shattering pain in her small back, she isn't prepared.

And when Russel punches her on the stomach, she isn't ready still. Her tiny body collapses and she writhes in agony on the floor.

She lies their dazedly, in unbearable pain. Her father has hurt her before, but not like this. He'd smack her bottom with his hands when Frannie's not around and call her mean names, but he has never physically hurt her this much.

When he delivered two more remorseless kicks against her tiny body, she still isn't prepared. The burning pains in her back and stomach are merciless, and she squirms, desperately covering as much of her body as she can from the towering figure of her father as she mumbles jumbled, almost incoherent apologies.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" Russel all but bellows, the tremor in his voice and the veins popping on his neck conveying the extent of his wrath. Quinn continues to shake in fear. "IF YOU WEREN'T SO PATHETIC AND NEEDY, WE'D STILL HAVE FRANNIE WITH US! YOU KILLED HER!"

All of the blood seem to leave Quinn's head, and the pain the throw and the kicks and punches are temporarily forgotten, as a crueler pain cuts through her chest, and more sobs wrack her tiny frame.

It's her fault. Frannie is gone and it's because of her.

"FROM NOW ON YOU DESERVE TO SUFFER," Russel yells, sobbing. He looks like a madman. "YOU HAVE BEEN A BAD CHILD – YOU ARE A BAD CHILD – AND YOU DESERVE TO SUFFER! DID YOU HEAR THAT?!"

Still squirming from the pain and the knowledge that such is true, Quinn dejectedly whimpers, "y-yes, sir."

The next kick to her stomach makes her gasp for air.

"LOUDER!"

Everything hurts and it is getting harder to focus. "D-daddy …"

Another kick to her stomach, even stronger this time.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT! I SAID LOUDER!"

"Y-yes, sir," she sobs out as loud as she could, then harshly coughs. Her stomach is burning. There's a weird, coppery taste in her mouth.

"REPEAT WHAT I SAID!"

Desperately, through her flailing vision, she recites what he said, because the honesty of everything he says always gets to her head at least. "I am a b-bad child and I d-deserve to suffer," she sobs out shakily, meaning every word. She wishes it isn't the truth, but it is.

It wasn't loud enough for him. A harsher kick is delivered. Quinn coughs out more blood, but Father isn't deterred. His anger is getting the better of him.

"LOUDER!"

"S-Sir, please…"

"I SAID LOUDER!"

"I am a b-bad child and I d-deserve to suffer."

"Again."

"I-I'm a bad child and I d-deserve to suffer," she says through her tears. "I am a bad child and I deserve to suffer."

"That's right," Russel confirms, panting and smirking. "Now stay there and think about what you said. All the bad things you've done, the disappointment that you are to this family, what you did to Frannie."

Quinn closes her eyes, thinking of all the times she has been a disappointment. An inconvenience. An unworthy garbage. Father's words are right.

Smirking at the defeated look on Quinn's morose face, Russel mercifully leaves Quinn alone and locks the door on his way out.

As Quinn lays in the dark, she curls herself into a ball. It hurts to move, but she's feeling too small and there's no one to hug but herself. Closing her eyes tight, her mind goes back to Frannie: her warm and beautiful smile and how her eyes crinkle and her dimples come out with it; her pretty hazel eyes that look at Quinn with such love; her hands that are always kind and comforting; her voice that is always so soft and beautiful.

But they're all gone.

They're all gone with Frannie.

Everything in Quinn hurts. Her stomach is burning and her back is pulsating with pain. But nothing beats the unforgiving throbbing in her heart at the thought that her Frannie is gone. There will be no one to repeatedly read her books she loves, no one to wake her up with tickles in the morning, no one to tell her that she's not some garbage even if she is, no one to cuddle with when she's scared, no one to tease her and dance weirdly just to make her smile or laugh.

She already misses Frannie, who's gone because of her.

"I'm sorry, F-Frannie," she whispers with so much regret. This is all her fault. "I'm sorry y-you didn't h-have a b-better s-sister.

"I'm sorry, I'm s-s-such a b-b-bad child. I-I'm sorry you're d-dead because of m-me."

She keeps repeating the same mantra as her eyes finally start to close due to pain and exhaustion.

"Bad, bad child…deserve to suffer… bad child…deserve to suffer."

/

Santana's sure this shouldn't be happening but she's alone in the balcony of Brittany's room having some vodka concoction that she experimented on a few minutes ago.

At the same time, just the thought of her doing this here makes it somehow right.

You see, the Pierce parents are lax. The alcohol cabinets are not locked up. There are no curfews. No rules except there are no rules. Everyone in the family are allowed to do whichever they want as long as they aren't disrespectful or causing harm to others or themselves in any way.

But what the Pierces' lack in firmness, they make up with observation. Somehow, the parents always know when their children are abusing the freedom they are giving. At the same time, the children are mindful when their parents are being unreasonable or out-of-bounds. In such cases, appropriate interventions are done.

Santana loves Brittany but sometimes she couldn't help but envy this life.

It's because her father's the opposite. He's more on the strict side, less on the observance side. He'll create a long list of rules, impose his beliefs on his children, make them feel bad about their own and treats them cold when they make a mistake or does things against his beliefs. But he clearly isn't observant – he didn't notice how he has slowly broken his family until everything led to this moment.

His father has always been a puzzle to her. Even now, Santana is wondering what he's thinking. Who does he blame in the fallout? Her mother? The kids? Santana? Is he blaming himself? He is the one to blame, isn't he? Or so she convinces herself.

Santana knows she is at fault too, for not being a good enough daughter.

She closes her eyes, and enjoys the gentle sting of the drink as it passes through her throat. She needed this moment of solitude and silence after a crazy couple of days.

Her thoughts are disrupted by Rachel, who chooses that moment to show up. She is about to give her friend hell for barging over her emo moment but one glance at Rachel makes her stomach churn and instantly turn her annoyance to protectiveness and worry.

Rachel is in some sort of a shell-shock. She doesn't seem to notice that Santana is there, too, as she walks dazedly to the railing.

"Rachel?"

Her friend turns to her, still in a daze. "I just…I just need some water."

This confirms Santana's suspicions. When Rachel asks for water, things aren't good. She hurries Rachel and tries to get her captain to catch her eyes, urges her to focus. "R, what happened up there? Is Quinn okay?"

Rachel just shakes her head, blinking hard to keep her tears at bay, but miserably failing.

"What's wrong?"

Rachel takes a deep breath. Santana watches closely. Despite being squeamish, her friend is stronger than people give her credit for, but she knows Rachel. She knows that if she bottles what she feels inside she will break.

"Tell me, please, Rachel. You know you can confide in me and trust me."

Her friend is unable to look her in the eyes as she mutters her next words shakily. "I a-asked Quinn. Y-you were right. It's Russel. He's been... He's been ab-abusing her."

And just like that, the dam breaks. Rachel lets out mournful sobs, shoulders shaking with the extent of her despair. Santana wants to know more, ask the whens, hows and whys of it all, but not now, not when Rachel is falling apart in front of her.

"Shhh," she hushes the girl and pulls her in for a hug. Santana only does hugs with a few people, which includes her two friends and she does it more often with Brittany. This is the kind of hug she hates the most – the kind that's filled with despair and guilt and pain and all that's bad in this bad world.

Santana's is surprised to feel tears falling down her face too. She knows it's not just because Rachel is sobbing into her chest - it's also because of the reason why.

Her tears are out of anger, she knows that. Wrath. It's always her initial reaction when people she cares about are hurt, and Quinn is one of them now. All these fuel the almost beastly want in her to find Russel right now and strangle him, smash a trophy into his head, throw him under a moving bus then set him on fire. She wants to re-watch the entire Game of Thrones so she can pick the most torturous death scenes and see how many of them can she use on that monster.

"I'm going to kill that bastard, I swear to God."

Rachel's head swivels up to her. "S, promise me you won't do anything rash right now."

Snix, her heartless alter-ego, practically wants to claw out of her but she knows Rachel is right. Violence is no good. At least not for now. That bastard will get his dues later. Santana closes her eyes and does her best to rein her anger in and be of actual help to Rachel.

"We need to at least alert the authorities on him," she says tensely.

"I know. But it's complicated. We don't know where he exactly is. And he, uh, he's been threatening Quinn. He said he'd kill Judy if she tells anyone about the..." She can't form the word again. "We have to be careful. If something bad happens to Judy, I can't even imagine how Quinn would take it. Please don't let on that I told you, at least while we don't have a proper plan."

Santana rubs furiously at her face. "FUCK THAT BASTARD. Fucking piece of shit. Fucking stupid arrogant asshole. I should have fucking stabbed him when I saw him."

Rachel winces with each curse Santana is saying, because she's never heard her utter them with such intensity before, but she lets her get her anger out. "Quinn's parents won't be back until Wednesday," she says as calmly as she can. "We can't risk this getting out too early and Russel knowing he's been exposed. He could really go through with his threat. I will consult with my dads or maybe Julianne tomorrow and seek the necessary help."

Santana takes a deep steadying breath. Now that her fury is sinking in, rationality is taking over. Unfortunately, rationality in this situation means guilt, too, and she clenches her fists as she feels a burning, deep, excessive wrath at herself.

She can be furious at Russel all she wants, but she knows in her heart that she was just as horrible. Maybe worse. She's the worst human being in this goddamned world. Tearing up, she replies with a barely concealed tremor in her voice, "That's not…that's not a bad plan."

The look that Rachel gives her tells her that Rachel is privy into what she's thinking.

"I know what you're thinking, S."

Right. On. Fucking. Cue. She clenches her hands tighter as she feel her anger escalate.

"And I know it's hard but now is not the right time to be hard on yourself."

"The fuck it isn't!" How dare Rachel lie to her?! "It's the best time to feel like what I truly am - an absolute shit!"

"San-"

"NO! You can't just stand there and placate me pretending that you aren't angry with me too!" She is aware that her voice has escalated but she couldn't help herself as she cries out her anger. "You can't just stand there and lecture me about forgiving myself when you're looking like you want to bash your head on the floor, too!"

"I'm furious with myself, okay! I am furious with you! Like I should! And I am not going to stop you from getting angry at yourself or telling you that you did nothing wrong because we both were absolute pieces of shit who could have done better!"

Rachel pauses with a deep sigh and when she utters her next words, she sounds calmer. "But I need you to not pick a fight with yourself or with me right now just because you're angry. I need you to think about Quinn and Brittany who need us to be thinking clearly! I need you to be as okay and as present as you can. Can you please do that no matter how hard because I need you to?"

The defeated and sad tone in Rachel's voice does so much. Santa's tries to control her anger. That, she can do. The self-loathing on the other hand is another story.

"I'm sorry," she breathes out guiltily. "Me and my stupid bitchy outbursts."

"It's okay. You needed it."

"How bad is it?" Santana inquires. "I mean, what did she tell you about the abuse?"

"She hasn't really provided me with details yet, but it's bad, S. The way she looked and sounded. The trauma... The self-loathing..."

The knife of the guilt only digs in deeper.

"W-We'll do everything we can to help her."

Rachel just nods decisively.

"I'm going to get you some water."

"No, it's okay. I'll pass by the kitchen before I go back to our room. She just slept but I don't want her to wake up alone."

"Okay. I'll just be at Brittany's if you need anything."

"Thank you."

Rachel turns to walk away. Santana lets her have a few steps before calling for her.

"Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"Be a good hippo."

Rachel half-laughs, half-cries. Santana would have laugh-cried with her if it didn't sound so much like despair. "Fuck you, S."

/

However, the world is really testing Rachel and her plans, and it is proven once again when she is awakened around midnight. At first she isn't sure what has disturbed her sleep, but as she slowly focuses on her surroundings, she realizes that it's because of Quinn.

The girl' back is on Rachel. She is trying to be silent, but her whimpers are audible. Curled tightly in a small ball at her side of the bed, she's clutching forcefully at her stomach, moaning in pain.

Rachel's chest instantly clenches. Quinn is still hurting. The painkillers must have worn off.

Panicked, she stands up and walks to the other side of the bed to examine the girl. There's already some vomit on the floor, and even some on the sheets. It appears that Quinn couldn't even stand up and get to the nearby restroom. Despite her sensitivity to such things, Rachel finds herself at the tiniest bit bothered by the puke.

She's more concerned by how ill Quinn looks as she uncontrollably shakes on the bed, seriously pale and bathed in cold sweat. She's shamefacedly staring at Rachel's direction, tears of pain leaking from her eyes.

"I-I'm sorry about t-the vomit. I'd clean it u-up, I p-promise."

"Don't worry about that."

She's in tremendous pain and she's worried about vomit stains. Rachel would be amused if this isn't so heartbreaking. Her eyes moisten as she kneels beside Quinn and gauges her appearance: the tight line in between her lips as she purses them, the black spots surrounding her half-lidded eyes, the way her lips and skin are almost grey.

They should bring her to the hospital.

"Quinn, listen, I think we need to let you get examined by a medical professional," Rachel gently explains, hoping against hope that Quinn will understand. "This is serious."

As expected, the other girl panics. "No, p-please, R-Rachel," she begs. "Y-you promised no h-hospital. I-I'm okay. I j-just need m-more m-medicine. Y-you promised."

"Y-you're far from okay, and we all know in our hearts that you need and deserve to be okay. As much as I want to adhere to your wishes and keep you here for the night, I don't think the painkillers can help anymore."

The blonde shakes her head and tries to sit up, but as soon as she does, she falls back down, moaning and panting. The pain must be excruciating. Rachel wants to dash to Brittany's room to seek her friends' help, but she's afraid that if she goes out, Quinn might once again attempt to stand and accidentally hurt herself. So she just runs toward the phone on the table by her side of the bed and shakily dials Santana's number, praying that the girl's awake.

Thankfully, Santana picks up after a ring. She probably doesn't plan on sleeping, instead staying alert should her family at home or Rachel need her.

"R?" She sounds anxious.

"S-San, I need your help. P-please get here."

"I'm coming."

When Rachel gets back to Quinn's side, the girl's eyes are closed. But her face is almost relaxed, still deathly pale, like she just isn't sleeping, and Rachel's heartbeat picks up as a cold feeling rises to her nape. "Quinn?"

There is no response. She gently nudges Quinn's cheeks repeatedly, but the girl doesn't awaken. She winces at how cold Quinn feels to her touch. The blonde's head is sagging without the support of Rachel's hands.

All blood leaves the brunette's face.

Quinn is unconscious.

She's running to her phone again when Santana and Brittany appear, confused, but faces already scrunched up in worry. It's like they already know what's wrong, as they both approach Quinn's bed, with Brittany kneeling beside Quinn to wipe stray hairs off her face and Santana standing behind her, touching Quinn's hand, gently calling her name.

A tearful Brittany says Quinn's name repeatedly, asking her to wake up. No response still.

"She needs to…" Rachel swallows fearfully, unable to even finish her sentence. "…hospital."

Santana looks at Rachel, her own face pained, and nods. "Call an ambulance. I…I'll go wake Julianne and contact my f-father. He's on shift tonight. He can help with this…."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She just had to look at Rachel's eyes for the latter to understand. Santana has been meaning to say "…thing with Russel."

Rachel nods and closes her eyes tight, thankful for Santana, who's willing to deal with her father despite everything. It's enough to know that her friend is really trying to make up for her past behavior.

Clutching her phone like a lifeline, she watches an unconscious Quinn, then a quietly crying Brittany. She doesn't want to betray the sweet blonde and endanger Judy, but at the same time, she is left with no choice. Quinn's well-being comes first.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Rachel whispers as she dials 911. "I'm sorry. We'll figure this out, I promise."

/