Title : Rear Window Faberry Style

DISCLAIMER : I don't own Glee and I don't own any of Alfred Hitchcocks movies.

Note : Every time I watch this movie I can't help but think that Jimmy Stewarts character is totally Quinn, and Grace Kelly's is totally Rachel. I tried to keep it as much like the movie's script just switching up things here and there to fit Glee. I actually have to original script to the film so a lot of the dialogue is verbatim. If you don't like that...don't read it. Like I said some of it's me some of it's the script. Let me know what you think and them maybe continue on with my idea of converting some of my favorite old films into some much needed Faberry!

Pairing : Quinn/Rachel other characters' Santana, Puck, Brittany, Finn, Mike, Tine, Artie, Sue, Will, and Emma (mind you most are playing small nameless roles but you should figure out who is who as time goes by, just from description.)

It's the middle of a very humid summer morning in Greenwich Village. The year is 1953. A sleeping Quinn Fabray sits in a wheelchair, her right leg cast up to her hips. It reads, "Here lie the broken bones of Q. Fabray" A gentle bead of sweat rolls down the side of her brow. Behind her are large open windows, looking out to the courtyard of a middle class apartment complex. The tenants all up to their own morning rituals. A very tall man stands shaving using a hand held mirror to see, while listening to the radio. Something the announcer says gets him flustered and he quickly changes stations until music fills his studio apartment. A man laying on a plane mattress sprawled out on his fire escape, wakes from a sticky slumber. The Asian man sits up and motions to stir his still snoring wife awake. The disheveled woman rises from the opposite direction he's in looking as though she's maybe had an hour of rest. Another apartment reveals a very tall blonde woman dancing around her very small apartment in only her underwear. She seems to be making herself toast while working her hips and arms in wild gestured rotations.

Back in Quinn's apartment she's still sleeping soundly. Her room littered in camera parts and photos of various places in the world. A picture of a race car hurling towards a camera is framed just above what looks to be a destroyed camera. Photos of battle fronts and Korean men. Another framed photo sitting on a relatively clear desk that is in comparison to the rest of the surfaces the room has to offer. Is a negative photo of a very beautiful young brunette smiling gingerly at the camera. Next to it lies the same image in positive light on the cover of a magazine.

Suddenly the phone rings, Quinn shakes herself awake before reaching for the just barely out of reach phone. She sighs and pushes herself forward knocking the ringing receiver into her lap.

"Fabray." She answers

"Congratulations, Quinn!" A woman says on the other line of the phone. A confused look graces the harsher features of the blonde woman's face.

"For what?"

"For getting rid of that cast!"

"Who said I was getting rid of it?" She says while shifting in her chair scanning her neighbors presentments from her window. Quinn's attention is drawn to the aforementioned dancing blonde in the apartment across from her. A smug smile sparks across her lips. The phone conversation continues.

"This is Wednesday." The other woman says with certainty.

"Sylvester, how did you get to be such a big editor with such a small memory?"

"Wrong day?"

"Wrong week. Next Wednesday I emerge from this plaster cocoon."

"That's too bad Q. Well, I guess I can't be lucky every day. Forget I called."

"Yeah. I sure feel sorry for you, Sylvester. Must be rough on you thinking of me wearing this cast another whole week."

"That one week is going to cost me my best photographer. And you a big assignment!"

Quinn sits upright in her chair, shifting uncomfortably trying to move against her sedentary tomb of a cast. She eagerly responds to the remark made.

"Where?"

"There's no point in even talking about it."

The events of the neighborhood continue on their way, not without going unnoticed by Quinn. She watches as a rather round older woman begins to sunbathe. Then the same tall man from earlier begins to play on a baby grand piano. Cars zoom past from the street just past the buildings. Again Quinn pushes the other woman for information.

"Where?"

A sigh rings on the other end.

"Indo, China. Got a code tip from the bureau chief this morning. The place is about to go up in smoke!"

Quinn can't help her excitement as she thinks of how much better that sounds than the hell she's been stuck in for the past few months.

"Ok, When do I leave? Half hour? An hour?"

"Not with that cast on you don't."

"Stop sounding stuffy. I'll take pictures from a jeep. From a water buffalo if necessary."

"You're too valuable to the magazine for us to play around with. I'll send Artie or Blaine."

"Swell. I get myself half killed for you, and you reward me by sending one of those two on my assignments."

"I didn't ask you to stand in the middle of that race track."

"You asked for something dramatically different and I gave it to you!" She spews with the slightest hint of distain.

"Goodbye Q." Before the woman can hang up Quinn states in a rushed tone.

"You've got to get me out of here! Six weeks, sitting in a two room apartment. With nothing to do but look out the window at the neighbors!" She sighs heavily as she glances at the usual daily scenes before her. "It's worse than being water boarded."

"I'm sorry Quinn."

"Ya gotta get me out of here Sue. If I'm here much longer I-I don't know what I'll do. I'll do something drastic."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know I'll, I'll get married."

"You should."

"Ha, I can't handle that. All that nagging."

"Wife's don't nag Q, they discuss."

"Maybe where you're from, but from these windows what I can tell is they still nag!"

"Ok Fabray, well. I'll talk to you later."

With that she hangs up the phone and stares with utter hatred at the cast she's grown to loath. Directly across the way she watches the man and his wife argue. She smiles to herself reaffirming what she just stated on the phone. The thin man throws his arms up in surrender as he makes his way out of the apartment and to the yard below. He begins to till the flower bed at the far end of the yard. His young redheaded wife lays back in her bed folding her arms across her chest grumbling to herself.

Quinn watches the scene unfold, when from behind her the sound of her front door closing causes her to turn her chair around.

"Ya know Ms. Fabray, New York State sentence for a peeping Tom is six months in the workhouse."

"Hello Santana."

"There aren't windows in workhouses Quinn."

Santana throws her things on a table and makes her way to Quinn. She hands her a thermometer which Quinn accepts and sticks in her own mouth.

"Years ago, they used to put out your eyes with a hot poker. Is that blonde bombshell over there you're always leering at worth the loss of your shooting eye?"

Santana reaches into her bag and grabs a few supplies before reaching for the thermometer.

"We've all become a race of peeping Toms. What people should do is stand outside their houses and look in once in a while. How's that for a little homespun philosophy?"

Quinn be the smart ass that she is.

"Reader's Digest, April, 1939."

"Well, I only quote from the best."

She reads the thermometer, seeing that the younger woman's temperature is fine she helps to lift her from the wheelchair and leads her to the bed. Helping the injured woman remove her pajama top, and laying her face down on the bed. She begins to run oil on the blondes back and massages out any and all kinks from being restrained to a wheelchair for so long.

"I should have been a fortune teller." Santana continues with or without Quinn's approval to listen. "Instead of just a nurse. I've got a nose for trouble. I can smell it a mile away. And you always looking out these windows, well can't be nothing but trouble. You see things you shouldn't see. I can see you now, in front of the judge. You're pleading, "Judge, it was only innocent fun. I love my neighbors, like a mother." The judge answers, "Congratulations Ms. Fabray, you've just given birth to three years in Dannemora."

Quinn smiles and shakes her head at the tanned woman.

"Right now I'd even welcome trouble." She grunts at a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder as Santana continues to rub unabashedly. "You know, there is going to be some trouble around here." Santana digs deeper causing Quinn to jerk.

"I knew it!"

"Don't you know how to be softer about this?"

"Soft doesn't work kinks out, does it Fabray? What kind of trouble?"

"Rachel Berry." She says dryly awaiting a response.

"You must be kidding. A beautiful young woman, and you a reasonably healthy specimen."

"She expects me to marry her."

"That's normal."

"I don't want to." Santana again squeezes hard on a tender muscle.

"That's abnormal."

"I'm not ready for marriage."

"Nonsense. A woman is always ready for marriage. With the right person. And Rachel Berry, is the right girl for anyone with half a brain, who can get one eye open."

"She's alright." Quinn says with a tone of indifference. Santana lurches Quinn up off the bed sending shock through the girls body. She roughly helps her into a fresh shirt and more or less shoves her back into her chair.

"Behind every ridiculous statement is always hidden the true cause. What is it? You have a fight?"

"No." Quinn again shifts uncomfortably.

"Her fathers loading up the shotgun?"

"What?"

"It's happened before, you know! Some of the world's happiest marriages have started under the gun."

"She's just not the girl for me."

"She's only perfect."

"Too perfect. Too beautiful, too talented, too sophisticated, too everything…but what I want." She says staring out her window again. Santana just listens intently hoping the usually very closed off girl with continue with her subconscious rant. "She belongs in Park Avenue, expensive restaurants, and literary cocktail parties."

"People with sense can belong wherever they're put."

"Can you see her tramping around the world with a camera bum who never has more than a week's salary in the bank? If only she was ordinary."

Santana combs out a crazy end of Quinn's hair making her look a little less dismantled.

"So are you ever going to marry then Quinn?"

"Probably. But when I do, it'll be to someone who thinks of life as more that a new dress, a lobster dinner, and the latest scandal. I need a woman who'll go anywhere, do anything, and Love it. The only honest thing to do is call it off. Let her look for somebody else."

"I can hear you now. "Get out of here you perfect, wonderful woman! You're too good for me!" She turns Quinn around to look her in the eyes. " Look Quinn. I'm not educated. I'm not even sophisticated. But I can tell you this. When two people see each other, and like each other, they should come together. Wham! Like two taxies on Broadway. Not sit around studying each other like atoms in a microscope. "

"Yeah well, there's a smart way to approach marriage."

"Ha! Baloney! Once it was see somebody, get excited, get married. Now, it's build walls, over think and psychoanalyze each other until you can't tell a pro from a con."

"Santana, people have different emotional levels that…"

"Ask for trouble and you get it. There's a sweet girl on my block who went with this boy for 3 years. And then she refused to marry him. Why? Because he only scored a 60 on a Look Magazine marriage quiz!"

"Would you make me a sandwich." She asked as if completely oblivious to the entire conversation. Santana huffs.

"Fine But I'm going to spread some sense on the bread. Rachel Berry's loaded to her fingertips with love for you. I'll give you two words of advice. Marry her!"

"She pay you much?" Quinn smiles as Santana makes her way to the kitchen shaking her head in disappointment.

Quinn turns back her wheelchair and watches the yard again and the different little windows into separate worlds than her own. A couple in a vacant apartment say goodbye to the landlord. The man lifts the slender woman into his arms and carries her over the threshold of the room. Setting her down her arms reach up around his neck. He dips down and places a gentle kiss on her lips before she breaks away and gestures to the shade of the window. He draws it down and Quinn sighs softly with an almost longing in her tone.

"Window Shopper." Quinn swats Santana as she accepts the sandwich.

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!