DISCLAIMER (Because I forgot): Own not. Profit not. Sue not.
Muir's Law - Everything is connected to everything else.
Everything should have been perfect, idyllic even. Quinn hadn't had any major, action-filled cases since Caleb had been born, Rachel's career was taking off, and the twins were becoming beautiful, bubbly mini-Rachels. Life was good - so good, in fact, that it was almost boring. They had routines and schedules and all the easy things that came with the bliss of domesticity, as much as there could be for them. Their life was still busy; the demands of Rachel's and Quinn's careers would always leave them running and fumbling. Having the twins just added to it.
Not that Quinn would have it any other way.
Except now. Now she wasn't feeling very peaceful at all.
Recently Quinn hadn't been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching her. At work, at home - everywhere she went she felt eyes on her. Normally she would shake it off, telling herself she was getting paranoid. There were the occasional photographers that would follow them to take pictures of Rachel, but this was different. Quinn felt annoyed, not fearful, when she saw paparazzi; even Rachel agreed that something felt off, and that was saying something. But with the past constantly haunting her and the memories of all the times she and Rachel had been in danger, it made it very hard for her to dismiss her instincts. History had proven to her that her instincts were not to be taken lightly, and so she now found herself on pins and needles, just waiting for all Hell to break loose and shatter her dream world.
It was different now, too, more so than ever before because before it had just been Rachel to worry about. Now she had three precious little lives depending on her to protect them, too.
She was going crazy.
As in tune with Quinn as Rachel was, she'd picked up on Quinn's jumpiness and done some Google research: hyper-vigilance was what she'd settled on to call Quinn's illness. Her wife couldn't turn herself 'off' and now sleep was becoming a serious issue. She would either have a hard time falling asleep or be incapable of staying asleep, and if Rachel's cat ran around the house and knocked something over or a car drove by she'd be up in seconds, gun in hand. Quinn had spent many a night down on the couch over the past few days, the TV on but volume low, sightlessly staring at the images on the screen. They'd tried sleeping pills but Quinn hated waking up feeling drugged, and Rachel's worry had skyrocketed high enough that she'd timidly brought up the much loathed word.
Therapy.
If there was one thing Quinn never wanted to do again it was therapy. She'd been in some as a teen and it hadn't been terrible, but the last time she'd seen a therapist it was a requirement and she'd hated every second of it. Waiting for the FBI shrink to tell her boss she was okay to return to duty... Quinn wanted to be in control of her own life, and having to wait for someone else to clear her had pissed her off to no end. As someone who'd studied psychology, being forced into therapy had grated against her. She was more than capable of knowing when she was 'stable' enough to return to fieldwork and fieldwork was where Agents like her belonged.
But Quinn wasn't thinking about therapy or really much of anything when she went to sleep - other than the joyous smile on Rachel's face when the twins presented them with macaroni art that evening. Bone weary as she was, she thought she'd gotten lucky when her head hit the pillow and Rachel curled into her; maybe she'd actually get the sleep she needed so badly.
She should have known better.
"Quinn!"
With a strangled gasp Quinn surged up from the blankets, cursing and flailing as she physically hurled herself free of her nightmare. Rachel fell away and Quinn bolted completely off the mattress, holding her nose and aiming for the bathroom. She blindly slapped the lights on and collapsed, shivering, down onto the toilet lid. Reaching out she ripped off a wad of toilet paper and crammed it up against her nose with a growl. Swallowing, she tasted the oily copper of blood at the back of her throat and felt the sick warmth of it leaking out onto the tissue.
"Quinn?" Of course Rachel had followed her. She stood in the doorway in Quinn's faded Georgetown t-shirt and a pair of underwear decorated with small blue elephants, leaving Quinn wanting to snort at how adorable her wife still was - always would be - all sleep rumpled and blinking at her in the harsh light. Rachel's hands toyed with the hem of the stolen shirt, twisting and picking at it as she licked at her lips and waited for a response. Quinn craved normalcy, craved the cuddles and songs Rachel used to soothe their children's terrors, but this was her wife at her most uncertain; she'd put the worry in Rachel's eyes and the hesitance in her stance, and it made her want to hang her head in shame. How could she not when her own wife looked at her as if she were a wounded animal, more likely to bite a gentle hand than accept it. Tired and heavy hearted, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
A soft hand on her thigh made her jump, eyes flying back open to find Rachel crouched next to her, dark hair mussed and plastered against her head in odd ways and her brown eyes hazy with sleep. Quinn sighed, and stretched her free hand out to sift through the dark strands, only to stall when she saw angry splashes of red on the tan skin of Rachel's neck and collarbone. She redirected her hand, already feeling guilt well in her chest as she gently tugged down the collar of her beloved shirt to reveal more reddened skin further down Rachel's chest. "I hit you?" she asked, glad for the lump of toilet paper against her face - it hid the quiver of her lip.
Rachel looked down at herself and shrugged one shoulder. "You were having a nightmare. I'm okay, just worried about you." She smiled and leaned up to gently kiss Quinn's forehead.
"I'm so sorry," Quinn whimpered around what felt like a mouthful of cotton-balls. She'd sworn to herself after that night at prom that it would never happen again. Swore that she would never hit someone - especially not Rachel - ever again. She wasn't her father, and yet the evidence was right in front of her, marked on the skin of the woman she'd promised to love and protect for the rest of her life. Self-loathing hit her in the gut so hard she thought she might throw up, and yet Rachel seemed so unaffected by it. She wasn't angry and she should have been; Quinn deserved anger, not the loving concern Rachel was looking at her with.
"Must have been some nightmare," Rachel said softly, and Quinn knew she was digging just from her nonchalant tone. She wanted to know and Quinn wished she could explain that it wasn't a just a nightmare - they were almost never just nightmares, but memories instead. Memories of violence doggedly remained in Quinn's mind, stalking her in the dark and waiting for the moment to strike.
It wasn't even the first time Quinn had been yanked from her sleep by the awful images burned into her memory. This time was simply worse than the others, striking when she was already tired and stressed. Rachel was always so understanding, so sweet and caring about it, but Quinn could tell that her patience was running out. Her wife wanted to know - to understand - but she just didn't know how she could let Rachel in. Quinn still couldn't tell her what she really saw, what it was that had the power to leave her nearly crippled with phantom pains and breathless with fear.
Quinn shuddered at her thoughts and pulled the blood soaked tissue away from her face. She threw it away, nose wrinkling at the sight of it, and checked to see if she was still bleeding. Sure enough she was, groaning when her finger came away with a smear of red.
"Hold on, baby." Rachel patted her knee and hustled out of the bathroom; Quinn watched her go and then tilted her head back, trying not to gag at the sensation of hot blood running down her throat. I am definitely not cut out to be a vampire, she thought with a wry smile. She heard Rachel return, her bare feet slapping against the tile, and then the sound of the running faucet. Still, it startled her when a cool and much appreciated washcloth came into contact with her nose. "Got it?" She nodded, and felt Rachel's hand slip out from under hers.
"You were screaming, Quinn." Rachel's words broke the silence, and Quinn squeezed her eyes shut against them; she'd expected as much. Nodding again she felt small hands slide against her skin, warm on her shoulder and thigh. "What were you dreaming about?"
"I don't want to talk about it," she muttered thickly, opening her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell Rachel – God, she did, she wanted to tell her everything - she just didn't know how she could. Meeting her wife's eyes, Quinn waited until understanding showed in Rachel's expression before she looked away again.
"How's the nose?"
"I think it's stopped." Tentatively, she pulled the rag away and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. No red. Smiling lopsidedly Quinn rubbed at the flaky residue as Rachel took the bloodied cloth from her and started to rinse it in the sink. "I used to get these constantly when I was a kid." Seeing her wife occupied, she tried to sneaking back into the dark bedroom, her plan foiled when a soft, but strong, hand closed around her wrist and tugged her back.
"Hey, wait a second, come here." Her wife - her sweet, fierce, tiny wife - turned her and pulled her into a tight hug. Her palm cupped the back of Quinn's neck, thumb tenderly rubbing lazy circles.
"I'm sorry you had a nightmare, baby."
Quinn blinked back tears as she looked down into earnest coffee colored eyes. Stooping, she kissed Rachel's cheek in thanks and grabbed her hand, pulling her along back towards their bed. She yanked down the tangled blankets and crumpled onto the mattress with Rachel following her. After the blankets were lifted back over them Quinn rolled her head slightly over her shoulder and Rachel responded to the silent request, pressing up against her and wrapping her arms snugly around Quinn's middle. Quinn fumbled for Rachel's hand and found it, dragging it up to rest against her sternum, holding on loosely. She felt the press of lips against the back of her neck and then the shell of her ear before hearing a whispered goodnight.
Rachel settled down behind her and Quinn lay there quietly, reveling in the safety and comfort she felt in their tangled embrace. She wondered if a day would ever come where she would tell Rachel about the things that stalked her dreams. Turning her face deeper into her pillow, Quinn closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.
The next morning Quinn was bleary eyed and crankier than normal. Caleb seemed to pick up on her mood and had thrown a fit at breakfast, splashing her with milk and Cheerios. There hadn't been anything to do but go change her clothes and hope that traffic would work out so she could get coffee and breakfast in the city.
By the time she got to her desk, all she really wanted to do was put her head down on the polished surface and sleep for a week. But duty called, and instead of drooling on her files she was standing in observation, sizing up the sleazy drug dealer they'd pulled in for questioning.
"Quinn?"
She pulled her eyes off the man on the other side of the two-way mirror to see Ryan standing in the doorway holding a folder out towards her.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, uncrossing her arms to take the offered item.
"Not long." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "But long enough to see that you're still not sleeping."
Bristling, she flicked her gaze back up at him over the top of the folder. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He stepped into her space, forcing her to glower up at him defiantly. "You forget that I know you, Quinn, and I know your tell." He looked pointedly down at her mouth and smirked. "You're not fine, and you're exhausted. You need to go home. I can handle things here."
She felt her lip start to curl, but quickly smothered her temper. Ryan looked smug enough, and she didn't need to help prove him right. Damn him. "I've got a job to do, Ryan, and a little sleepiness isn't going to keep me from doing it. So we're going to go in there, get what we need, just like always and then, just for you, if I can I'll take a nap. Would that be alright with you?"
His shoulders slumped, slight enough that nobody else would've noticed, but as he'd said, they knew each other. He nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, boss."
"Good. Great. Now back to asshole number five hundred and three in there…"
"You know, it's really easy to cause someone unbearable pain. Too easy, perhaps. And yet in movies you see all these elaborate methods. I prefer simple and excruciating. Maybe I'm lazy - do you think I'm lazy, Agent Fabray?"
Quinn glared up at him, the gag in her mouth keeping her from responding even if she'd wanted to, and struggled as best she could with her hands and legs tied to the table.
"I don't need you to talk. I don't need anything from you, so don't think I'll stop if you act like you've got something to tell me. This is purely for my enjoyment and revenge. You fucked things up for me, so I think we'll just see how stubborn you can be." He stepped up closer to her and smiled nastily, holding up a pair of pliers for her to see. "These are nice and heated now. Should I start with your cute little toes or those pretty fingers?"
Quinn bolted upright, nearly rolling right out of the bed as consciousness slammed back into her. For a moment she didn't know where she was. The room was dark, gloomy with predawn light, and nothing looked familiar draped in shadows. Her chest heaved painfully as she struggled to steady her breathing through the rising panic attack and urge to vomit. She choked on the whimper trying to escape the tight confines of her throat and pressed the back of her hand hard against her lips to keep it inside. The last vestiges of her flashback faded from her mind leaving her feeling hollow and still terrified. She knew she was in a bed and not strapped to a table; she could feel the softness of the mattress, the warmth of the blankets, but it wasn't a comfort. Even the sound of her skin sliding against the sheets was too loud in her ears, scaring her further. Tears ran from the corner of her eyes as she screwed them shut, trying to focus on silence – she needed silence. Her body felt like it was ramped up on pure adrenaline and a gallon of Redbull.
She could've sworn that her skin was actually vibrating with all of the energy.
A soft snort sounded behind her, alerting her to a presence at her back, and then it all came rushing back. Rachel. God, she was at home in their bedroom - in their bed - and her wife was still asleep behind her. She heard a groggy mumble and felt the bed dip as Rachel shifted. Quinn thought she heard her name and realized she must have disturbed Rachel when she woke up. Her heart continued to race, pulse pounding away in her ears, but it was slowing, the tension draining as she listened to quiet, stuttered snores.
The details of her dream came back in a flood of garish images, the sound of her own muffled screams so loud in her ears that she put her hands over them. She shuddered, and Rachel grumbled again. Not wanting to completely wake Rachel, Quinn peeled the blankets off her legs and swung them around, toes digging into carpet, freezing and eyeing the room as though one of the shadowy shapes might leap at her. Dropping her head into her hands she groaned quietly, peeking through her fingers over at the clock.
Two A.M.
Twisting around to look at Rachel, she was just able to make out a frown and wrinkled forehead. One of Rachel's hands slid over the mattress, reaching out towards the still warm space Quinn had just left.
"Quinn?"
"I'm here," Quinn licked her lips and softly touched Rachel's fingers. "I'm here, Superstar. Go back to sleep."
Rachel hummed, and pulled her hand back into her body. "'m asleep."
Quinn carefully stood from the bed and stumbled out of the bedroom as quietly as she could. Making her way down the stairs, she shivered as her eyes darted around searching for anything out of the ordinary, her whole body still buzzing. It took her a minute to find the remote but as soon as she turned on the TV she felt herself calming, just enough that she no longer felt like she might hyperventilate. Turning the volume down until it was barely a whisper she sat down on the couch, watching the images flicker, splashing the room with different colors. She didn't even know what show was on and she didn't really care. Sinking deeper into the cushions she exhaled hard through her nose, eyes drooping shut. They burned, almost ached, with need for rest, and a couple of tears escaped from under her lashes to runn in thin lines down her cheeks. She was so tired. It wasn't long until she allowed herself to fall, slumping down further and further until her cheek hit the cushion and she stretched out fully, blearily staring at the television.
She didn't even know that her eyes had closed again until they were flying back open with the press of something warm on her shoulder.
"Oh, baby," Rachel whispered, rubbing her palm along Quinn's spine. She sighed, still half asleep and unsure of what she could possibly say to make this better. Instead of even attempting anything verbal, Rachel decided to go with option B. Gingerly, she climbed up onto the couch and laid down, covering Quinn's body with her own. Nuzzling against her wife's shoulders she slipped her arms underneath Quinn's, squeezing gently against her ribs. "Go to sleep, I've got you."
With Rachel's comforting weight keeping her grounded, Quinn all but passed out within a couple of minutes, releasing another long sigh as she dropped off.
Rachel fought off sleep for a little longer, waiting to see if Quinn would stay asleep this time. She turned her head, smiling sadly when she saw fluffy baby seals on their television. "Monsters aren't real," she mumbled and squeezed Quinn again.
Despite the fact that Rachel had told her to stay home and nap while she took the kids to the park, Quinn had refused. She had the day off and she wasn't going to spend it trying to sleep – not when she could be with her family.
Unfortunately, once they arrived at the sunny little park, Quinn wished she'd stayed behind. It should have been relaxing, watching the twins clamber on equipment and Caleb squeal happily while Rachel pushed him in a swing, but with her senses on high alert Quinn couldn't allow herself to enjoy it. She resorted to watching them all from a nearby park bench, within a couple of steps of Rachel and Caleb, where she could scan constantly, taking note of the other parents and kids. That slimy feeling was creeping down her back again. Someone was watching them. She could feel it.
Her head snapped around as a red dot appeared on Rachel's forehead as she bent down to kiss Caleb's head, and Quinn's entire world narrowed down to that one point of light as her heart leapt into her throat. Reacting on instinct, she threw herself off the bench and slammed into Rachel, driving them both into the yielding playground sand. Rachel groaned from the force of the tackle, but Quinn was already shooting back up, pistol out and trained unwaveringly on their attacker.
Only to nearly collapse when she saw a child with a toy gun gaping up at her.
"Quinn!" Rachel shrieked, climbing to her feet and rushing to soothe a now screaming Caleb.
The little boy took off, crying for his mother, and Quinn slumped onto a nearby swing as her knees wobbled. "I thought he was going to shoot you." Rachel glared at her as she scooped Caleb out of the swing and cradled him to her chest.
"Mommy!" Olivia called, racing over to them with Eliza hot on her heels. "What happened? Mama okay?"
"We're fine, Monkey, it's time to go home though." Rachel said and reached a hand out for Olivia to take.
Eliza watched, just a step away from her parents, then slowly moved forward and encased Quinn's leg in a tight embrace. "Mama, you look scared."
Quinn set her hand against Eliza's dark hair and stared down into wide brown eyes. She looked helplessly back at Rachel, saw those same concerned eyes, and shook her head. "I'm sorry."
By the time they got home, put Caleb down for a nap, and sent the twins off to play in their room,
Quinn was shaking and Rachel was still quiet. She'd been silent the whole ride home, sitting in the passenger seat with her head propped up on her hand, staring at Quinn.
"What is going on?" Rachel blurted and dropped the coffee scoop she'd been holding. "This is – something different than normal."
"I don't know," Quinn sighed, rubbing at her scar with a frown. It had become something of a nervous habit, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I just feel like someone's watching us."
Rachel nodded and abandoned her coffee making endeavors completely, stepping over to Quinn's side and pulling her head against her stomach. She ran her hand over blonde hair absentmindedly and bit her bottom lip, wondering how to say what was on her mind without angering Quinn. "How – have you considered talking to the FBI therapist about it?"
Quinn jerked out of the embrace, "They'll take me out of the field, Rachel."
"Would that really be so awful? Maybe a break is what you need."
"No," Quinn said sharply and stood up from the table. "They'll take me out and then I'll have to fight to get back. Again."
"Then talk to me," Rachel pressed, "Please."
"I can't, Rachel."
"Damn it, Quinn," Rachel snapped, throwing her hands in the air. Nothing was working, not gentle coaxing, not patience, nor physical comfort. She was angry, she was tired, and she was hurt – so very hurt. "Stop pushing me away when I'm trying to help you! You're not sleeping. You're barely eating – I can't just watch you fall apart! Talk to me."
"I can't. You know I can't."
"Bullshit," Rachel growled. "Bullshit! You know better than that. You know I would never tell anyone, so what this comes down to is the fact that you don't trust me."
"That's a hell of an accusation," Quinn snarled back, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Well what else is it? Quinn, you pointed a gun at a child today. You could have killed him. What happens next time when it's me, or one of the twins, that startles you? Do you have any idea what kind of damage you inflicted on that boy? He'll probably never go to the park again! You need to figure this out. We need to figure this out before you permanently scar our children with your... whatever it is!"
"Oh yeah, because I'm sure hearing us screaming at each other is great for them, Rachel!" Quinn shouted, clenching her hands into fists. The exhaustion she was battling overwhelmed her, making it that much harder for her to keep a lid on her emotions. Anger and fear warred inside of her, creating a desperation she couldn't keep a handle on. "Don't you think I know that I fucked up? Do you think I like what's going on? I feel like I'm losing my mind, Rachel. I was just trying to protect you!"
"From a child with a toy!" Rachel spun around, wiping furiously at her traitorously crying eyes, and wrenched open the fridge. She reappeared with a bottle of Vitamin Water, and slammed the door shut, lips in a thin line. "A toy! It's all in your head! Nobody is trying to sho-"
The bottle in Rachel's hand exploded, spraying them both. Rachel screamed and Quinn didn't hesitate, throwing herself at Rachel for the second time in the span of an hour. She tried her best to cradle Rachel's head, to soften the landing, to keep her from any further injury, while the space above their heads turned into a war zone. Bullets rained through the window, destroying their kitchen. Using her body to shield Rachel as much as possible, Quinn pinned her to the floor, covering her head.
"Quinn!"
"Stay down, Rachel," Quinn ordered, tightening her grip on Rachel's slender form and pressing her harder into the tile.
"The kids!"
"Just stay down!"
The shooting stopped just as suddenly as it started, the room eerily quiet in its wake. Quinn heard the screech of tires and was up and out the door, gun in hand, before she even thought about it. She tore down the driveway and turned the corner, pistol up and ready, pointing at the retreating car racing away down the street.
"Fuck."
Running back to the house she winced as she saw their shattered window and hurried into the kitchen. Rachel was still on the floor, sitting against the island with her legs tucked up to her chest, cell phone clutched in her hand.
"Quinn," she whimpered.
"Are you – did you…?"
"No." Rachel started crying and Quinn quickly dropped to her knees, throwing her arms around her wife. "It – they hit the bottom of the bottle."
Thank God, Quinn thought, as she sat down and dragged Rachel into her lap. "Okay, shh, did you call the police?"
"You were right... you were right... I'm so sorry," Rachel sobbed, face firmly hidden away in Quinn's chest. "No, I – my hands are – I couldn't push the buttons."
"Here's what's going to happen: you go upstairs, take Caleb and the girls, and go into our room. Stay there until I come get you."
Rachel nodded rapidly, struggling to stand back up on trembling legs. Quinn stood up with her, keeping contact until she absolutely had to let go. She rushed back into the kitchen and plucked up Rachel's abandoned phone, hastily dialing Ryan's number.
Running a shaking hand through her hair, she stared at the ceiling to avoid seeing the mess in the kitchen. "Ryan? Get over here, right now, someone just shot up my house."
TBC...