A/N: I don't really know what I'm doing here with this storyline, or if I want to keep writing this, but I was pissed that they never brought Quinn (and Dianna) back for the memorial episode, or even mentioned her absense, seeing as she had so much to do with Finn.
So I wanted to write something, like an explanation for why she didn't go to Lima. Just to make myself feel better.
Rated M for language.

Chapter 1: The Yearbook

It only happened because she had gotten sick.
Quinn had her outfit for that night all planned out; she had wasted her money on hiring out a cheap, mock 19th century dress, she'd bought a pottle of white face paint, she'd spent hours on youtube finding a tutorial to show her how to fashion her hair. She was going to rub fake blood around her neck; et voila - zombie Marie Antoinette.
Quinn usually dismissed it as a stupid idea, but she was really excited about Halloween that year.

And then she'd gotten that fucking stomach flu.
And instead of partying with her friends, she was curled up in a ball at the feet of the toilet.
In between bouts of retching into the bowl, she found herself counting the mini tiles around the faucet until she thought she might actually go insane.
She groaned and found enough energy to sit up. Slowly. Slower.
Her messy, annoying, mouth breathing roommate, kept a heavy stack of newspapers and magazines in the bathroom. It was a habit that Quinn had always found really irritating, but now it seemed like the best idea Rosie had ever had.

She flipped down the lid of the toilet and sat on top of it, hauling the pile into her lap.

Three month old newspaper
Five month old newspaper
A yale newsletter
Porn

"Ugh," she mumbled, handling it gingerly, tossing it aside without touching it too much.

Circulars
Six month old newspaper

She tossed them all on the ground beside her before she came to the next item. Her breath caught in her throat.

William McKinley High Yearbook - 2009

"What are you doing with this, Rosie?" the feeble croak that came from her raw throat didn't even close to cover how furious she felt.

Quinn had tried to throw this away. She'd tossed it in the kitchen trash. Rosie must have found it and rescued it by placing it in the pile of bathroom reading material that Quinn had always insisted was disgusting and unnecessary.
With a gentle flick, the pages fell open, predictably, to the spread of her as head cheerleader. They had always been the pages that she visited most often.
Quinn knew what would happen if she flicked the pages again. The book would fall open to the pages she always visited next.
She held her breath, staring the book down, as if daring it to upset her.
She let the breath go and turned the pages until they opened to show her the glee club photo.

"No."

The word burst out of her before she could stop herself. With shaky hands, she shoved the book under the pile and back, where they all went, on the windowsill behind the toilet.
She slid off of the toilet and lifted the lid, retching a few times.
She tried to pretend that it was illness and not grief, regret, heartache, that gripped her stomach, but eventually, she sat back, pressing her back against the cool wall, and gave in to her sorrow.
She'd tried pushing him out of her head, but now he was all she could see; that handsome boy, a head taller than everyone else, standing behind her in the left corner of the photo.
She pressed a weak hand to her chest as she sobbed.

Rachel had called Quinn herself after it happened. It must have been unimaginably hard for her.

"What do you want, Berry?" was what Quinn said, a teasing smile in her question.

"It's about Finn," she sounded strained, so Quinn knew it was serious but Rachel was holding herself together so well that Quinn could never have guessed.

Rachel delivered her news, and Quinn sat in her chair, feeling her insides turn to stone.

She hadn't meant for it to happen. She didn't mean to harden herself so that she wouldn't feel the blow. But Rachel broke down on the phone and Quinn had to be the strong one so she stared into the eyes of Medusa and she stayed strong so that her friend didn't have to.
After Rachel hung up, Quinn's fingers dialled Mercedes, her brain and her heart switched off, but she answered so happily; so free of cares, chatting about her new songs, and Quinn couldn't do it - she just couldn't tell her.
So instead she hung up and ignored everyone's calls.
She had meant to go to the funeral, but things had come up. And she had even wanted to go to Shue's stupid memorial thing, but you couldn't just leave Yale to sing sad songs for a whole week.
But seeing his face for the first time since hearing the news - it had been a hard strike against Quinn's hard heart. And she could feel it shattering in her chest with such force she was surprised it wasn't snapping her bones.

Quinn had once been in a mess of twisted metal. The car had wrapped around her and she had been crushed in the force of it. It had been years since it had happened, but what she had felt after she had gotten hit came back to her now; that feeling of powerlessness, and feeling so small and helpless, and in so much pain.
But the car, eventually, stopped. And she was taken away and fixed up and everything was going to be okay.
Everything was not going to be okay here.
Because Finn was dead.

And nothing that Quinn could do would change that.

She took a lot of deep breaths before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, flushing the tissue paper down the toilet.

"That's enough," she told herself.

She stood slowly, peeling her clammy skin off of the cool tiles. She staggered dizzily to her room where she tossed things around until she found what she was looking for.
Months ago, Berry had sent her a train ticket to go and visit her in New York.
Quinn set the ticket down onto her work desk before she threw herself onto her bed, rubbing her puffy eyes.
Finn was dead; that much was true. And there was definitely nothing she could do about that.
But she could return her calls. She could face her friends. She could pay her respects.
Quinn swallowed hard, shutting her eyes against the waves of guilt and nausea.
It was about time she used that ticket.