A/N:

Okay, so I've had this idea brewing for ages, now. I actually started this way back in December with the intention of it becoming completely different than what I intend now.

As far as I'm concerned I'm going to scrap everything after the Thanksgiving episode that's happened in canon, aside from Bram getting together cause that's kind of necessary for the plot.

If you might be interested in being a beta for this story I'd be extremely grateful if you dropped me a message - trying to keep these two in-character is difficult, at times, and I'd love some help in that respect.

I don't own Glee, obviously, and the title comes from the wonderful Evanescence song, which I also do not own. Sadly.

Aside from that, I don't think there's much else to say - this is my first multi-chapter Quinntana fic, so be gentle with me ;)

Quinn Fabray sighed heavily, re-reading the same line in her psychology textbook for the fourth time before slamming the cover shut heavily, annoyed that she couldn't concentrate, even though the essay wasn't due in for another four weeks.

It was ten o' clock on Friday night, and she was sitting in her room alone, working. It was such a far cry from what she could have been doing a year ago when she was back in Lima that it would have been laughable had it not been so pathetic.

College was supposed to be her big break into the world, she'd thought that leaving behind her parents, starting anew, would have been the greatest time of her life, but the reality was decidedly… less.

She didn't really fit in at Yale, not as study-crazy as most of the student body, and not really fitting in with any of the clubs and society's here. She had a handful of friends, sure, but not ones that invited her out often, not even tonight, to celebrate the arrival of the Christmas holidays.

Most of the students that lived in this building with her would be moving back home for the holidays, but not her – she was staying here for as long as possible, only heading home on the 21st December. She'd tried her best to get away with staying at Yale for the entire four weeks, but her Mother had eventually persuaded her to come back at least for a few days.

Part of the reason she was so hesitant to go back home was the slightly disastrous time she'd had at Thanksgiving. Somehow she'd managed to piss off her best friend, Santana, at the same time as making up several fantastic lies about her wonderful her life at Yale was.

Like the one that she was sleeping with her Professor. Definitely a lie – he was approaching sixty years old, and just the thought of him touching her made her want to vomit. And it was all because she'd been jealous. Everyone else had been living it up, having an amazing time out of Ohio, and she was just drifting along here without anyone even noticing her.

How far she'd fallen since graduation. If the class of McKinley high could see her now, they'd probably laugh – their Queen Bee, reduced to nothing. It made her blood boil.

Deciding that she wasn't going to get any further work done that night, the blonde retreated to her bed, booting up her laptop as she settled under the red comforter, trying to keep warm – the temperature in New Haven was dropping every day.

The blonde logged into Facebook as soon as her laptop was on, wondering what all her old friends were up to this weekend. She studiously ignored the pang she felt when she saw Rachel's name on her newsfeed – the brunette clearly had enough time to update her status, but not the time to reply to the blonde's fortnightly emails.

Another lie she'd told when she'd been back home. Rachel wasn't the one begging her to come and visit her – Quinn only wished she would. Not that she would ever admit that aloud to another soul, though. Those thoughts were for her mind only.

The blonde's eyes widened slightly in shock when she read Brittany's name – and change in relationship status. Apparently the blonde was dating Sam now, and Quinn felt another pang, praying that she'd told Santana before putting it online for the whole world to see. Surely the cheerleader couldn't be so cruel.

Quinn itched to grab her phone and text the brunette, ask if she was okay, but she couldn't do it. She was ashamed of the way she'd acted towards her during that fateful meeting in the choir room, disgusted that she'd taken out her self-hatred on the one girl who probably understood her better than she even knew herself.

Sure, they fought like siblings, had screamed that they hated each other countless times, and had ended up in physical fights on more than one occasion, but through it all they remained friends. They always patched things up, but something told Quinn that she'd gone too far this time. She'd stepped over a line, and she didn't know how to step back.

The blonde closed the window hastily, her nostalgia already running high – there was no need to further it. She decided instead to shove a movie into the DVD drive, curling onto her side on the bed and pressing her back into the wall, laying the laptop on the bed beside her so she could watch while she was lying down.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she was being awoken by a desperate pounding on her bedroom door, and when she opened her eyes the room was dark, the laptop screen long ago gone black.

Disorientated, she scrambled to her feet, running a hand absently through her bedhair, and made her way cautiously over to the door, which was reverberating from the force being applied from the other side.

Taking a deep breath and telling herself that it was very unlikely that there would be a serial killer on the other side, she pulled the door open warily, her expression changing to downright shock as she saw who was on the other side.

"Santana?" Her voice expressed her disbelief, and she wondered if she was dreaming, because surely after their slapping match just a few short weeks ago there was no way that the Latina would be turning up at her door, unannounced.

But then Quinn's blurry eyes registered the tears falling down the brunette's face, the way her arms, no longer pounding on the door, had wrapped around her body, as though she was holding herself together.

And when the brunette's eyes raised to lock with the blonde's hazel ones, Quinn almost stopped breathing, because never, in her whole life, had she ever seen someone look so utterly and completely broken.

Especially not this woman, the one who had been through so much, but who had stood tall through it all. Who had dealt with being outed to the entire high school, but managed to rise from the ashes even stronger than she had been before.

"C-can I come in?" Her voice was quiet, but Quinn still heard the anguish, the pain, and stepped hastily aside, allowing the brunette across the threshold and into the tiny room. She stopped in the middle, arms still wrapped around her torso, and let out a choked sob that broke the blonde's heart.

She let the door fall shut and crossed the short distance over to the brunette, pulling her wordlessly into a hug, feeling her stiffen at the contact and just squeezing tightly. Eventually, Santana gave up trying to fight the blonde, and Quinn felt her sag into her, nearly falling from having to hold the other woman upright.

The Latina's head rested against the blonde's neck, as her hands dropped and fisted in Quinn's white tank top, and she cried. She shook from the force of her tears, and Quinn had absolutely no idea what to do, no clue how to comfort her friend, so she just stood, her arms around the brunette's waist and her forehead resting ontop of Santana's lowered head.

She lost all concept of time as they stood there (not that she had any idea what time it was anyway), but it must have been several minutes before the brunette started to quiet, and when she eventually pulled back her eyes were red, and the blonde's shirt was soaked from her tears, but Quinn didn't care. She was just relieved that Santana had stopped crying.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," the brunette murmured after a few seconds of heavy silence, and tried to crack a smile through the pain, but it ended up as more of a grimace.

"It's fine," Quinn whispered back, unsure why she felt the need to keep her voice down. She reached up with one hand to gently wipe away the tears that still lined the brunette's cheeks, wishing she knew how to make it better.

"I didn't know where else to go." There was the agony again, lacing her every word, and Quinn felt her heart break for her – she couldn't imagine what the brunette was feeling. Sure, she'd gone through break-ups before, but… Santana had been in love with Brittany for years. She had never felt anything nearly as strong as what the two of them had had.

"How did you even get here?"

"I drove."

"What? Are you insane? That's like, an eleven hour journey!"

"I didn't know where else to go," Santana repeated, her head dropping to the blonde's collarbone again, content to just stand there for a moment, and Quinn's arms wrapped more tightly around the brunette's waist.

"You're crazy," she breathed into her friend's hair, even more worried about her now that she knew how she'd gotten herself to New Haven – considering the state she was in it was a miracle that she hadn't been in an accident.

"I couldn't stay at home. Not when… Not when I could run into them. What does she see in him?"

"I don't know, S."

"What did you see in him?" Dark eyes lifted to lock with her own, and Quinn it her lip, unsure how to answer the question. What had drawn her to Sam? It was a difficult question for her; she didn't like talking about her relationships as a general rule, and Santana certainly never asked.

"I… Honestly? I dated him because he was there. He wanted to be with me, and I didn't want to be lonely anymore."

"That doesn't help," Santana muttered, frustrated, finally looking away from the blonde's eyes and focusing her gaze on the wall behind her.

"I'm sorry." It was the best Quinn could do, and she hated that she couldn't do more. She still didn't know how to help, but maybe she was just by being here. "And I'm sorry I slapped you, too."

"I kinda deserved it." The brunette cracked a genuine smile then, even though it didn't reach her eyes. "So did you, though."

"Never said I didn't."

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can, you can stay as long as you want. I'm just going to go to the bathroom; I'll be back in a minute. Make yourself at home." Santana nodded and the blonde slipped out of her room, heading for the bathroom at the bottom of the hall.

It was quiet, eerily so, which made her think that it was the early hours of the morning. The bathroom was completely empty, unsurprisingly, and she paused for a moment at the mirror, eyeing herself critically – taking note of the smudged make-up under her eyes, the way her hair stuck up in every direction after she'd fallen asleep. Every imperfection amplified under the horrible lighting.

With a sigh she turned away, knowing from past experience that staring at her reflection for long periods of time only ended up making her feel worse about herself. Insecurity was a constant in her life now. It had always been there, hovering beneath the surface of her 'perfect' persona, but now… Now, here, surrounded by nothing but cruel reminders of the life she'd used to lead, it consumed her.

When she returned to her room a handful of minutes later, Santana was sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor, hands twisted in the red comforter. She didn't look up as the door opened, and Quinn hesitated, uncertain, on the threshold of her own room, wondering how everything had gone so awfully wrong for the both of them in just a few short weeks.

"Are you planning on standing there all night, Q?" Santana's head finally lifted, her eyes, now dry but still tinged with an aching pain that the blonde could only imagine, meeting hazel. Quinn had to fight a smile at the nickname – she couldn't remember the last time she'd called her Q.

Too long ago. Another era entirely.

"No," she strode forward, the door falling closed with a soft click behind her, and moved towards the closet, pulling out two sets of pyjamas and throwing one set wordlessly over to the brunette on the bed. "Did you bring any clothes?"

"No. I… I didn't even think about packing anything before I was on the road."

"That's okay. You can borrow some of my stuff or we can go shopping tomorrow." She didn't turn around as she stripped off the tank top and shimmied out of her jeans before tugging on the patterned shorts and matching top, unhooking her bra once it was on and putting the clothes she'd been wearing in a neat pile on her desk chair.

"Neat freak," she heard Santana mutter from behind her, but she didn't comment on it, didn't have the energy. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, from the week she'd had, and all she wanted to do was sink into bed and sleep the night (and following morning) away. "You can turn around, you know. Not like we haven't changed in-front of each other before."

Biting her lip delicately, the blonde spun to face the room, leaning back against the desk so that the back of thighs pushed against the wood. The brunette was already half-dressed, and she forced her eyes away, knowing that her gaze was likely to linger at slender legs, toned abs and perfectly formed (even if it was man-made) chest – and not wanting Santana to notice. That was the last thing she needed.

When her fellow ex-Cheerio was finally finished changing, they both slid under the covers of the blonde's tiny single bed wordlessly, trying and failing to make the atmosphere less awkward. Quinn turned so that she was facing the wall, her back to Santana's. It had been so long since she'd shared a bed with someone, be it innocently or otherwise, that she was now completely unused to it – it was strange, to feel the body heat of another person against her back, to hear someone else's soft breathing.

And then, a moment later, a choked sob.

"Santana," she whispered, wanting desperately to take the other girl's pain away but having no idea how to do it. She rolled over so that she was facing the brunette's back. "I'm sorry you're hurting."

"Fat lot of good that does me, Quinn," came the scathing reply, and even though the venom in the brunette's words made the blonde flinch, she thought that at least maybe being a bitch to her might made Santana feel better.

"I'm just trying to help," she muttered darkly, unable to stop herself from answering even though she didn't really want to, wasn't in the mood to spar with her old partner in crime.

"Well you suck at it." Quinn sighed, all of the fight going out of her as she sagged against the pillows, pressing her back against the wall, leaving as much space as physically possible between the two of them. She had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

"I'm sorry, Q." Quinn wasn't quite sure how long had passed before she heard the quiet apology from the brunette – so quiet, in fact, that she wondered for a moment that perhaps she'd imagined it. "I know I'm being a bitch."

"It's fine, S." It wasn't, really, but she wasn't about to ruin the temporary truce by admitting that. Only Santana was able to wind her up like this, to drive her insane by the way she acted – and she was also the one person that the blonde was never able to tell to back down. Sure, she'd tried, in the past, but not hard enough – not as hard as she would try for anyone else. Santana was the only one in high school that had dared to stand up to her, and maybe it was that destructive part of their friendship that made it work, fucked-up as it was.

"No, it's not," the brunette sighed, but said no more. Quinn's eyes closed, trying again to fall into that elusive, blissful unconsciousness, but sleep wouldn't come. Her mind wouldn't keep quiet – she kept wondering if Santana was crying silently beside her, of what she should do to try and be a better friend – of how she'd been a horrible friend.

She was always haunted, at night. When she should have been sleeping she lay awake, wondering, musing over the past, her regrets, her failures, her faults. She wished she could fall asleep as easily as she before, distracted by a DVD.

Frustrated, she rolled over yet again, resting her forehead against the wall this time, one arm curling underneath her pillow, the other lying at her side. "Jeez, Q, can you stop fidgeting?" But there was no malice in Santana's tone, only weariness.

"Sorry," the blonde muttered back – she was apologising a lot today, she noted. Probably more times today, in-fact, than at any other point in her life. She wondered if Santana had noticed that, too.

She felt movement beside her, and was about to tell her to stop fidgeting, when she felt the brunette's body against her back, a source of immeasurable warmth. Her body was taut, unable to relax now that Santana had moved so close, and she had no idea how she was supposed to react – when had everything become such a source of confusion, taken so long for her to agonize over?

"Will you just relax?" She felt Santana's breath, hot on the back of her neck, and her own breath caught in her throat.

"I am relaxed," she whispered back, but they both knew that was a lie.

"Why are you making things so awkward?"

"I'm not trying to." Her voice was more of a hiss then, irritation shining through, and she felt rather than heard Santana's amused chuckle from behind her. "Just go to sleep."

"I would, but a certain blonde ex-cheerleader is making that impossible."

"You're impossible," she breathed, but she wasn't sure if the Latina heard her – she stayed silent, and Quinn stretched slightly, already uncomfortable from the awkward position she was lying in. Single beds were definitely not made for two people - especially two people who wanted to keep some space in-between them.

"Are you ever going to sleep?"

"I'm not used to sharing a bed with someone else, okay?"

"What, your sugar daddy professor not down for sleepovers?" Quinn flushed, face flaming in the darkness, anger running through her veins at the snark in Santana's voice, her hand curling into a fist at her side, nails biting into her palms.

"Shut up, Santana," was the response that came to her lips, spat through gritted teeth.

"Oh, wow, you're so eloquent, Q. Yale is doing wonders for your vocabulary."

"I said, shut up!" She rolled over so she was facing the brunette, with fire burning in her eyes, the smirk on the brunette's mouth only serving to amplify her anger.

"Or what, Q? You'll set him on me?" A low growl escaped Quinn's lips as Santana's lips curled further, and without even thinking, she shoved the brunette backwards, hard. She hadn't been expecting it, and it sent her toppling off the edge of the bed, landing with an undignified oomph of surprise. "What the fuck, Quinn?" She snarled, as the blonde peered down at her from where she was still lying, fuming.

"Don't act like you didn't deserve it." The brunette stayed where she was, sprawled across the floor, glaring up at the blonde. Quinn stared right back, not intimidated in the slightest.

"Is it my fault that you're so ashamed of yourself for fucking a guy that's what, twenty years older than you, just so you can trick yourself into thinking that somebody, somewhere, feels something for you that isn't disgust?"

Quinn flinched at the brunette's words, tears springing to her eyes as she recoiled against the wall, sitting on her haunches now, back pressing against the cool surface. She felt winded, as though someone had punched her, as hard as they could, right in the centre of her chest – and, she supposed, that was the equivalent of what Santana had just done.

"Shit, Q, I'm sorry." The brunette scrambled onto her knees, hands resting lightly on the surface of the bed as she tried to lock gazes with the blonde. "I'm sorry. I'm such a jerk. I… I shouldn't be taking everything that I'm feeling out on you; you didn't ask for me to be here. I should just go."

"You always do that." Quinn's voice cut through the silence of the room, stopping Santana in her tracks – she was at the door, hand resting on the handle, but at the sound of the blonde's voice she paused, turning around slowly.

"Do what?" Her voice was quiet, contrite, and Quinn wondered whether that was caused more by the regret she felt for the things she'd said or a direct result of the tears that Quinn knew were running freely from her eyes.

"Run away when things get rough. You're a coward." She saw the muscle in Santana's jaw twitch, the one that let Quinn know that she was a second away from speaking her mind – usually angrily. "I know there's something you want to say, S, why don't you just spit it out? You had no trouble doing it before. After all, how hard can it be to be honest with someone who disgusts you?"

"Quinn, I…" She trailed off, taking three steps forward before pausing, biting down on her bottom lip roughly. "I never meant that."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because it's what I think of myself." The honest, frank answer surprised the blonde – the Latina rarely spoke about her feelings, if ever. And certainly not so openly. "And I shouldn't be taking things out on you. I just…"

"It's what you're used to." Silence fell, then, both of them just staring, trying to figure the other out. Quinn was exhausted, and Santana looked like she was, too. Quinn could hardly blame her – after all, it was a killer journey to get here. "Just… get back in bed, Santana. We can talk more in the morning."

She didn't wait for a reply, just rolled over so that her back was to the brunette once more, and wiped hastily at her eyes, appalled that she'd let herself cry in-front of someone else. It wasn't the first time, of course, but it still didn't make it any less humiliating.

The bed dipped behind her a few moments later, under Santana's weight, and then there was a warm body beside her once more, but she still felt empty. Had been, now, for a long time – what she'd give, just to feel something again.

Anything, other than the anger and the bitterness and the hate and the self-loathing. Anything was better than that.

She felt Santana shift, trying to get comfortable under the covers, and a leg brushed against her own as she did. The blonde didn't move, tried to even her breathing in an effort to get herself to sleep quicker, and didn't even react when the brunette's leg slid fully between her own, and a warm arm slid across her waist, and a chest pressed against her back.

She was too exhausted to question it.

x-x-x

It was blindingly light when the blonde woke the next morning, the sun filtering easily through the shitty drapes that Yale supplied, and threw an arm over her eyes in an attempt to block it out. It was too early for sun, she decided, even though she had no idea what time it was. Didn't even really care what time it was, either.

She could feel Santana behind her, breath brushing against the back of her neck with every fall of her chest. There was no longer an arm slung across her body, but Santana's leg was still tangled up in her own, and she couldn't bring herself to care about that, either.

It wasn't long before the brunette was stirring behind her, but she still didn't move. She was practically pressed against the wall, her forehead resting against the cold plaster, staying there even when she felt Santana roll off the bed, the door shutting a few moments later.

Quinn hoped that she was going to the bathroom and not leaving, but she doubted that the brunette would go anywhere in her pyjamas. She moved to lie on her back, stretching her arms over her head and letting out a satisfied sigh when the joints cracked, and grabbed her phone to check the time.

It was ten o' clock, which was usually a lot later than she'd wake up, but considering the fitful night sleep she'd had it was hardly surprising. She decided that she may as well get up sooner rather than later, and regretfully slipped out of the warm bed and over to the sink that stood in one corner of her room, brushing her teeth before grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt for the day ahead.

She'd just pulled on her bra and underwear when her bedroom door opened and Santana re-appeared, faltering a little in her tracks as her eyes took in the blonde's state of undress, and unless Quinn was imagining it, definitely lingering at her chest.

"Are you ever gonna shut that door, S? Can't say I really want the whole floor to see me in my underwear."

"At least they're an appropriate age to be seeing you naked," the brunette replied flippantly as she shut the door and strode back over to the bed without another glance in the blonde's direction. Quinn rolled her eyes, unable to even be surprised that her comment had brought Santana out on the offensive.

"Whatever," she sighed, turning away to pull on the rest of her clothes. When she was done she perched on her desk chair, gaze finally returning to the brunette who was sat with her arms crossed on the edge of the bed, watching her.

She didn't look quite as broken as she had last night, but the echo of that pain was still written across her face, and it was clear to the blonde that it wasn't going to go away any time soon. And she still had no idea how to help her.

"Still want to go shopping today?"

"Sure. I can't be dealing with your shitty clothes for much longer, anyway." Quinn bit her lip to stop a scathing remark in return, and ignoring the challenge in Santana's dark gaze as their eyes locked. "You're a lot less fun now, you know."

Still, she didn't answer, though she couldn't say any longer if it was just because she thought Santana was only lashing out because Quinn had seen her so wrecked the night before, or if she was just simply too exhausted to.

She was too old for this, she decided as she watched Santana sigh at her in frustration before standing and rooting through the blonde's closet, probably searching for something that she deemed appropriate to wear.

"I'm ready to go whenever you are," Santana muttered a few minutes later, looking anywhere but directly at Quinn as she leant against the wall beside the bedroom door, hands jammed in the pockets of the pair of insanely tight black jeans she'd found.

"Okay, then. Come on." She stood and held the door open for the brunette, locking it behind them before they fell into step beside each other and headed down the stairs, eventually emerging out into the cold Connecticut air.

"Did you have to pick somewhere so cold?" Santana was the first one to break the stony silence they'd found themselves in, as they were crossing the road that led towards the nearest row of shops. She had no idea what Santana wanted, but she figured she could let the brunette take the lead when they got there.

"It's not so bad."

"Are you kidding? It's fucking freezing, Q."

"You were the one that didn't bring a coat." Santana just made a face at her in response, and Quinn smiled, the first genuine one for a while. If it was going to be like this, easy like back in the old days, then she could get used to them spending time together.

Silence fell between them again, but this was more comfortable than the last. It was broken by the sound of Santana's phone ringing, insistently in her pocket – when she retrieved it and glanced at the screen, her face fell, and Quinn didn't need to ask to know how it was.

"It's Brittany," the brunette murmured, voice anguished, and Quinn's hand automatically went to the small of Santana's back, as though to steady her. "What do I do?" She looked to the blonde with grief-stricken eyes, the pair having come to a stop halfway down the street.

"I… I don't know. Do you want me to answer it?" The only answer she received was a nod, so she pried the cellphone out of Santana's hand and lifted it gingerly to her ear. "Hello?"

"Quinn?" Brittany's voice came through, sounding awfully confused. "Did I dial the wrong number?"

"No, Brit, you didn't."

"Oh. So you're with Santana?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Can I talk to her?"

"No."

"Why not? I need to, Sam said I should tell her that we're together otherwise she might be upset."

"Uh, Brit, I think it's a little late for that."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I have to go. Don't… don't try and call this number again." She hung up without waiting for the other blonde to respond, handing the phone back to Santana without another word. The brunette looked a little astonished as she took it back, wordlessly. "What?"

"Nothing. You just sounded really angry."

"I was. You never told me that she didn't outright tell you." Quinn crossed her arms across her chest, ignoring the dangerous flash of Santana's eyes that told her to drop this topic of conversation. "You don't deserve that."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't deserve. I was the one that broke it off. I was the one who told her that we should see other people. So yeah, I do deserve this. If I hadn't broken up with her then she would never be dating him now."

"Okay, yeah, you broke up with her, but you did that for her. So she wouldn't be hung up on you while you weren't able to be there for her." Santana's eyes widened a little bit in surprise at that, even though she tried not to show it. "Don't look so shocked. I know you, Santana. I know how you work."

"You have no idea how I work, Fabray." That dangerous glint was back, and she took a step closer to Quinn, so that they were practically pressed together. It was supposed to be threatening, Quinn knew that, but it didn't stop her heart rate from spiking a little at Santana's closeness.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you fucking don't. So don't try and tell me that you do." Her voice was low, laced with a fury that only Quinn seemed to be able to bring about in her, but still, the blonde didn't flinch. She was used to this – she could deal with this angry, defensive Santana much more easily than she could with crying, emotional Santana.

"Give it a break, S. We've known each other since we were freshmen, of course I do. I know that right now, you're pretending to be angry at me, to hate me, even, but really that's just because you're so fucking annoyed that Brittany forgot about you and moved on, and you can't bear to take it out on her so you're using me as a substitute instead."

She saw the brunette flinch, but that didn't stop her from speaking her mind. She knew it was true, and knew that Santana knew it was true, too. This time, when she felt the sharp sting against her cheek, she'd been expecting it, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. It was harder, this time, than the last, and she could almost feel a bruise forming, but she didn't react.

"Do you feel better, now?" Quinn asked as Santana looked at the hand she'd used to slap the blonde as though it didn't belong to her, a tinge of horror in her eyes as her gaze lifted to lock with Quinn's. And then, without another word, she turned and practically ran away, leaving Quinn stood alone in the middle of an empty New Haven street, gazing after the rapidly retreating form of the brunette and wondering if this time, she'd pushed her too far.