It's New York. It's sky scrapers and littered streets and Nationals. It's Quinn Fabray, crying her eyes out on a park bench in Central Park. The park where rapists and murders are as common as joggers. She doesn't care. Not tonight. God can't punish her more than he already has. Her life can't get any worse now.

God works in mysterious ways. She's sick of that phrase. She's sick of everyone telling her that the baby and the part where she gave her baby away, was a part of God's plan. God works in mysterious ways. She tired of telling herself it. Like it would take away the pain and the hurt and the crying. It doesn't.

"They're all looking for you" he says.

She doesn't look up. If she keeps her head down, he might go away.

"Q" he says. "Q, everyone's worried."

She finally meets his eyes, dark and kind and light. The eyes that she used to stare into when it hurt too much. Now, she doesn't even have them to comfort her.

...

"You'll get killed if you sit here" he says.

She shrugs, he sits down beside her. Like he cares about, which he doesn't. No one cares about her.

"I don't believe in God anymore" she whispers.

"Who does?" he asks, which is strange since he does and always will.

"You" she replies.

"Yes" he says. "But I also think that there are greater things."

"Like what?"
"Like love."

She bites her lip. She doesn't believe in love either. How can she? She has three relationships behind her (Finn, Puck, Sam and Finn again) that all ended in pain. Her parents are divorced.

"Love is an even bigger letdown than God" she whispers.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks.

She doesn't answer. There's no point. There's no point, he wouldn't understand.

...

"Quinn" he says and puts his arm around her. "We're in New York. Smile!"

"She's here" she whispers.

He tenses. She turns to look at his face. It's frozen.

"How do you know?"

"Rachel told me."

"She's one soon" he says.

She doesn't want to hear. She wants to be alone. So she gets up and tries to run away. He catches her though, his strong arms pull her in. And she breaks. She finds his chest and cries. He whispers in her ear and strokes her back and she cries.

...

"Love is worse than God" she whispers against the soft fabric of his shirt.

"How so?"

"God doesn't hurt."'

He smiles and kisses her forehead.

"Well, love is better than God too."

"How so?"

"Because it can make you happy" he says.

She exhales.

"I miss being happy."

"I miss you" he says.

She looks up.

"I'm here" she whispers, feeling confused.

"Are you?" he asks.

What kind of question is that?

"Yes."

"You sure?"

He tilts his head to the side and just looks at her. Not at her pretty hair or beautiful eyes or expensive clothes, but at her.

"No" she whispers. "I'm not here. I don't know where I am."

He laughs and stands up. He extends his hand and for some reason she takes it.

"Let's find you then" he says.

She laughs too now.

"Where should we look?" she asks.

"Everywhere."

And he starts running down the green hill and she follows and she laughs. And she thinks that she found herself, right there, holding his hand. But she doesn't tell him, because if she does, he might let off her hand. And she doesn't want that.