For a Little While

By: Mytay

Rating: T (for some grown-up issues and Puck's inability to keep it nice for the censors :P)

Summary: Sequel to That Bit in the Middle. Puck and Quinn are losing themselves to baby and family issues, spiraling downwards, but there's no way that any of the gleeks (especially Mercedes, Kurt and Finn) are going to let them go it alone.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related. The song It Only Hurts For A Little While (which shall by used throughout this story) has many versions, but I believe the original one belongs to The Ames Brothers.

Notes: If you don't want to go back and read That Bit in the Middle, you don't have to; just assume any references to things that didn't happen in the show, happened in that story :P

Warnings: There will be mentions of alcoholism and dealing with that – if this is a sore point for anybody reading, I'm sorry. There is also some dealing with the loss of a baby (I think giving up a child for adoption counts as a loss).

Apologies for the long notes above – on with the story!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chapter 1

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn Fabray was picking up garbage. It was disgusting and it was embarrassing, but she did it because no one else would. No one was going to pick up after her anymore.

Her summer, and pretty much the entire past year, had been a lesson in firsts and 'never-thought-this-would-happen'. Some of it had been good, a lot of it had been . . . not so great. Had downright sucked, in fact. But the good that she got from it all wouldn't have happened without the bad, so she tried to look at it from a more positive, mature perspective.

Quinn had come home in the early afternoon, after a morning spent running errands and a quick lunch with Tina and Artie, who she had been texting periodically throughout her grocery trip. She'd had fun with them; Tina had been telling some pretty unbelievable tales about Kurt, Rachel and their ongoing war at the community centre theatre . Her imitations of the epic throw downs had Quinn and Artie almost crying from laughter. The only reason why Quinn didn't call bull on Tina's stories was because she heard the same ones from Kurt – she was probably going to be getting an earful more of them later that night.

When she came through the door, groceries in hand, it had been to a quiet apartment. Quinn had gone to the kitchen to start unloading the food and seen the garbage on its side, spilling its contents all over the floor. After shoving everything that could spoil in the fridge, she'd slipped on some gloves and began cleaning up.

She made a face at something that may have at one point been a half-eaten sandwich. She'd have to wash the kitchen floor after this.

Quinn didn't mind living in an apartment for the summer while the house was completely overhauled and redecorated (something her mom insisted on doing – she wanted a fresh start, and re-doing the house and getting a job was her way of beginning anew, Quinn supposed). It was a nice apartment – not too small, comfortable and . . . clean.

"Hey, Quinnie – oh, what's . . . oh, I'm must've knocked that over last night, and I was so tired that . . . here, let me help you." Her mom bent over and in no time at all, the mess was back in the trash bin, and they were both sort of smiling at each other. Her mother was still in her dressing gown, but it was her day off from work, so Quinn couldn't blame her. The fact that she was just getting out of bed at almost one thirty in the afternoon – well, she'd been having a lot of late nights at the accounting firm. It was only natural she sleep in after that.

Her mom pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before clapping her hands suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot! I left you some great steak in the fridge – Mallory cooked it up and passed it along to me – it's amazing, you should have some for lunch."

"Sure mom, sounds good." Quinn didn't mention that she'd eaten with Tina and Artie, but what was the harm? She'd save it for tomorrow's lunch. Tonight she was going out with Mercedes, Kurt and Brittany for dinner. She couldn't wait – Kurt said their dinner location was going to be a surprise – Quinn was going to head over to Mercedes' first in order to pick out some Kurt-approved clothes so he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with them.

Her phone vibrated loudly on the counter, its shrieking, AC/DC ringtone echoing sharply about the quiet apartment. Her mom grimaced, a hand fluttering to her head, but she smiled brilliantly at Quinn after a second. "Go on, sweetie – and if it's anyone I know, give them my love. I think I'm gonna fix up something for myself. Ugh, and I'll deal with this floor later."

Quinn nodded, answering mid-guitar riff. "Hello, Puck." He'd chosen the ringtone that would announce him himself, and even though Quinn wasn't a huge fan, she'd let him do it. Besides, it was growing on her, the song; she'd have to ask Puck if he was willing to lend her an album or two.

"I'm coming to get you – I want you to see where I've been hanging, since you've been nagging me about it so much. See you in five." And he hung up. Quinn rolled her eyes at the phone; typical, self-absorbed, oblivious boy.

She glanced over at her mother, who was brewing up a huge pot of coffee and was putting away the rest of the food while humming to herself.

"I'm going to go out with Puck, I'm not too sure if I'm going to come back here or just head straight to Mercedes' house. I have that dinner with her tonight." She began to gather up her purse.

Her mother frowned. "You know how I feel about that boy, Quinn."

"I know, mom, but that doesn't change who he is. He's the guy who I . . . had a baby with, and we're both kinda . . . we kinda need each other, right now – trust me, I will not be making the same mistake twice."

Her mom studied her with bleary eyes before exhaling loudly. "Okay. I trust you, sweetie. You've gotten to be so grown-up, and I know that's mostly mine and your father's fault but I'm still so proud of you. You do know that, right?"

Quinn smiled widely. "Yeah, mom, I love you. I'll keep my phone on, okay?"

"Love you, too, sweetie." Her mom came over to hug her once, tightly. Quinn hugged her back – she'd been so determined, when this whole thing started, not to forgive her parents, ever. She was pretty sure she would never be able to talk to her dad again, or think of him without getting angry, feeling her heart clench and eyes sting. But her mom . . . the woman had apologized over and over, admitted that most of it was her fault and Quinn . . . she wanted her mommy, like any little girl would. Except that she wasn't a little girl anymore – far from it.

She broke away from her mom, opening her mouth, wanting to say 'take care of yourself and please, no Irish coffee when you've just woken up' but she didn't – she was still the daughter, a little wiser though she might be. Her mom could take care of herself.

Quinn smiled and turned to leave, heading down the stairs of the apartment complex, hearing the rumbling whine of Puck's engine. If her ears picked up on the squeaky creaking of the door to the liquor cabinet and the sound of glass clinking . . . well, she may have just been hearing things.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn sat in Puck's truck, looking up and down the street, feeling antsy and nervous. He was the complete opposite – calm, cool, and it was such a fake, such a front, that she was considering calling him out on it. She didn't want to be here, and she didn't want him here either. This was not what she needed, not now, not ever. Not when she was already feeling so breakable.

"God, Puck, why are you doing this to yourself? To me?"

Puck didn't look at her all, just kept shifting his eyes up and down the street, hunching down a little, and keeping that indifferent look on his face. Quinn felt a bit like slapping it off. But another part of her wanted to hug him because she knew exactly what was going on beneath the stupid macho façade.

"Aren't you curious? Don't you wanna know how she's doin'?"

"Every single day, you know that, we've talked about this – but what you're doing, Puck –"

"Just," his voice cracked, but he hardly flinched, "listen – we handed her off. They told us Ms. Corcoran was a good lady. And Schue vouched for her, and she's Rachel's mom, so we know she's probably crazy talented, and our kid is . . . cool – she's half a cheerleader, half a jock, and bein' raised by a kick ass Glee coach. She's going to be awesome."

Quinn nodded along to all of this and, unlike Puck, she kept her gaze fixed firmly within the truck, not on the street. "Okay – so if things are so great, then why do you keep doing this to yourself? Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm not here to talk, Quinn," he gritted out. "There's nothin' to talk about. I just . . . look, look at her!"

Quinn felt tears spring into her eyes, but she did as she was told. She turned to look out her window and there, walking down the street, pushing a stroller, was Ms. Corcoran. And Beth, almost completely hidden by blankets and dangling toys . . . but Quinn spotted a tiny hand waving in the air and that was enough.

"Puck," she gasped out, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, the saltiness reaching the corner of her mouth, her upper lip. "Noah, please, get me out of here, I can't do this, not now. Maybe not ever."

"But Quinn –"

"No! Please." She was sobbing. "Please, let's . . . let's just go, please!"

He looked at her and for a split second, the mask cracked. He was desperate – desperate for someone to understand without him saying the words, desperate for someone to help him deal with whatever was going on inside him. But Quinn didn't know how to be that person. Not when everything around her had fallen apart.

She'd thought things would slide right back into place once her baby was gone – that she and her mom could start over, and that she could forget about all this sadness and pain – but if anything, the world was a new place; too bright, too real, too sharp for her. She saw the same realization in Puck's hurt eyes, and she hated so much that she understood it.

Quinn didn't want to be a grown up anymore.

"Take me to Mercedes' house now, Puck."

Then the mask slipped back into place, the key was in the ignition, and they were gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The thing was, Quinn and Puck had been talking non-stop right since Beth was born. They talked about what a gorgeous baby they made, how the boys would be all over her when she grew up, but how she would be badass, like her father, and totally fend them off. They imagined her growing up to be a doctor, a teacher and even a singer (Quinn liked to think she would be a cross-over artist – singer and actress, whereas Puck preferred front woman in a non-selling out rock band).

But they didn't talk about what it did to them, how they felt watching her be put in another woman's arms. They didn't talk about how much they missed her even though they had only known her for a few hours (and nine months, kinda-sorta).

"And that's your problem, Lady Fab," Mercedes said gently, combing through Quinn's hair again, gathering it up into clips as she spoke. "You guys aren't actually talkin' about what's bothering you. And all this wishing and imagining – I guess you can't help it, but it isn't helping. Not unless you talk about the real stuff too."

"Mercedes, this is Puck," Quinn stated plainly. "He's not the talking kind. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to communicate without losing it halfway through and deciding he needed to punch something to orient himself."

"Okay, forget about Puck for a bit – let's talk about you." Mercedes held out a hand over Quinn's shoulder. Quinn dug around the array of clips and hair ties lying on the carpet next to her, and passed a few matching pins up to Mercedes, who was sitting on her bed.

There was quiet and Quinn closed her eyes, enjoying the soft, capable hands playing with her hair.

"Quinn? That was your cue – gimme something to work with here." Mercedes nudged her side with a foot.

She tilted her head a little in response. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"Well, tell me something you haven't told Puck."

Quinn frowned. "I . . . I . . . I don't know, it's . . . hard to put into words."

Hands came around to grasp her chin, turning her head so Mercedes could continue doing her hair. Again, there were no words. Quinn tried to find something to say, but she wasn't even sure she wanted to say anything. Mercedes was being great, and Quinn honestly thought that she would never have gotten through the last couple of months of her pregnancy if it hadn't been for her.

But she didn't think anybody could understand what she was going through right now.

"It . . . it hurts, that's the only thing I can tell you. It hurts, it feels like there's something missing – something that was ripped out of me, and . . . I can't get it back."

Mercedes stopped what she was doing and slid off her bed, down next to Quinn. She grasped her hand, and waited until Quinn was willing to face her. When she did, she found a warm smile and bright eyes waiting for her. "Look, I can't pretend to know what you're goin' through, or even offer you advice on how to deal. But people hurt all the time, people have things happen to them that they didn't plan, or didn't want. But they figure out how to move on, sooner or later. Eventually, they can deal."

"It only hurts for a little while," Quinn half-spoke, half-sang, with a sad smile.

"What song was that?"

Quinn shrugged. "Not sure. My mom had a ton of Anne Murray records and stuff – and I remember that song. She . . . she still hums it, around the apartment."

Especially if she'd had a few drinks, but she wasn't going to say that.

She'd hummed it while Quinn cried after finally telling her about Puck – that Finn hadn't been the actual father. She told her mom the whole, horrible story, and her mom had cried for a few moments herself, and then put the blame squarely on her own shoulders: if she had been around, open enough for Quinn to talk to, then Quinn wouldn't have felt the need to lie not only to her parents, but to that 'sweet boy'. Quinn had burst into tears soon after, and her mother held her close, half-humming, half-singing that song into her ear. Then they'd both cleaned themselves up, smiled those brittle smiles that they seemed to use far too often.

Quinn had gone to bed, and pretended not to hear the rattling of another glass of scotch being poured.

She jerked back to the present, though the song was still playing on an endless loop in her head, as Mercedes reached over to twirl a blonde strand of hair around her index finger, letting it bounce back to frame Quinn's face. Then she grinned. "All right, enough angsting for now. Kurt will be here any minute, and he says Brittany's coming with him."

Quinn pushed the pain and confusion back into its appropriate box, way in the furthest, darkest corner of her mind, and let a smile spread across her face. "Brittany, huh?"

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I know. You think Kurt's figured it out yet?"

Quinn unfolded her legs, wincing as pins and needles shot through them. She stood up, wobbling a bit. "Are you kidding? He's so caught up in that play with Rachel and everything else that I don't think he'll notice 'til Britt's got him backed into a corner with her tongue down his throat."

The diva snorted, holding up two purses. "I just hope we're there when she finally cracks and just jumps him. I keep my camera with me all the time – just in case."

Quinn laughed loudly and picked the green and turquoise purse for her friend – it matched brilliantly with Mercedes' gorgeous, shimmery off-the-shoulder purple shirt and jean pencil skirt.

"How come she hasn't just . . . kissed him or asked him to 'hit this'?" Quinn wondered. "I mean, that's how she usually operates."

"Oh, she has – but Kurt thought she was just happy to have him back, and safe, so he just told her 'thanks but no thanks.' I think she thinks he's playing hard to get, so she's trying to seduce him and stuff. It's great, 'cause Kurt just chalks it up to Brittany being Brittany."

"Are we bad friends for not warning him?" Quinn was trying to hold back a smirk.

Mercedes gave her a look. "If he's dense enough not to pick up on this, he totally deserves what he gets. And Brittany is not gonna take it personally – she's only in it for the kisses, trust me, there's no actual love or whatever. I double-checked with Santana. Brittany always has a pet-project or two for the summer, and it looks like this time, it's Kurt."

Quinn nodded, pursing her lips. "Awesome – then I'm totally carrying my camera around too."

She ran a hand down her own dark green top and black jean skirt; Mercedes tossed her a black and violet purse with rhinestones that matched Quinn's long and dangling earrings. Then the blonde was dragged over to Mercedes' mirror – she could barely see their reflection due to the scarves, pictures and glitter decorating it, but she saw enough to know that they both looked Hummel-fabulous.

"Hm, Kurt's definitely not gonna have anything to bitch us out about this time," Quinn said approvingly. "Though I still say our matching peasant tops were awesome. I can't believe he called us renaissance fair rejects."

"Hmm, whatever." Mercedes jammed one of her signature hats onto her head. "My boy may be the most fashionable thing in Ohio, but that doesn't mean he's the God of All Things In Season. Do you remember that T-shirt with that horrible print that looked like –"

Mercedes couldn't even finish the sentence – she made a disgusted sound, and Quinn cracked up, because she couldn't help it. Mercedes and Kurt really were two peas in a highly divalicious pod.

Mercedes' phone buzzed on her bed, and the girl reached over to snatch it. "That's probably him. Let's head on out."

They ran downstairs, giggling and shoving the entire time, yelling goodbyes to Mercedes' parents, who waved and shouted goodbyes back. When they walked out the front door, they paused in order to strike a pose. The windows of the SUV parked on the curb rolled down and Kurt stuck his head out, whistling. "Those are my girls! I am duly impressed. You may enter the vehicle!"

Mercedes and Quinn grinned at each other as they flounced down towards Kurt and Brittany. The slid into the back of the SUV and Brittany turned to smile at them as they pulled on their seat belts. "Hi! You look nice. Kurt says I'm not allowed to complain about the food anymore."

"That's right, because the restaurant I'm taking you guys to is above reproach – and because it was an unseemly habit."

Brittany nodded along to all of this, though Quinn was fairly certain she understood almost nothing. "You're so right, Kurt." And Quinn had to bite the inside of her cheek as she watched a hand sneak onto Kurt's thigh – which immediately jerked out from underneath the probing fingers.

"I often am – did you need something, Britt?"

"No." Brittany seemed to be holding back a sigh. She pouted and crossed her arms, tossing her hair in annoyance.

Quinn tried to keep the insane grin off her face, but judging from Mercedes' answering mirth-filled expression, she probably hadn't succeeded.

Kurt let them fight over his iPod, and when Mercedes won, she graciously allowed Brittany and Quinn to pick some songs to throw into the playlist she was making, and then let it all blast from Kurt's unbelievable sound system. Kurt was laughing as they screamed excitedly as the first song came on, acting totally obnoxious, rolling the windows down and singing out onto the streets.

When a quieter song filtered its way through the speakers, Mercedes stopped singing long enough to ask Kurt, "So, how's it going with the rugrats and the play?" Quinn perked up, her grin widening.

Kurt groaned. "Don't even get me started! I've succeeded in taking over the wardrobe department – and were those girls every grateful. They're just middle schoolers, about to be freshman in September, and Rachel had them working like sweat shop employees in the tiny backroom. But she still has the props department and the sound crew under her belt."

"I still don't get how this works – I thought she made you co-director?" Quinn loved this – hearing Kurt rant about Rachel was one of the most entertaining things ever. It was amazing what had come out of his nine hours of zero contact and all of them worrying themselves to bits over him – Rachel making him a 'partner' in the play she'd volunteered to direct at the community centre was one such amazing thing.

"Yes she did, the little charlatan! Too bad it was only in name! But I've got her now! All I need is to get Charlie, the stage manager, on my side, and I officially match her in power! Tina's in charge of lighting, and has been playing Switzerland this whole time, but she'll take my side over Rachel's if push comes to shove – which it has. That damn Berry'll have to listen to my advice on staging and vocal arrangements now! Not to mention choreography!"

"This sounds like a really weird war, that uses make-up and stage props instead of weapons of mass destruction," Mercedes said, sounding just as deeply amused as Quinn. Tina had not been exaggerating one bit at lunch earlier – Quinn debated dropping by the theatre one of these days just to witness the epic battles herself. Maybe help Kurt get one up over Rachel.

"I feel bad for those poor kids," Quinn pondered out loud. "Isn't the oldest actor like, thirteen?"

"Fourteen," Kurt offered. "And they're fine – Rachel and I make sure to keep them away from the bloodier battles."

Quinn mouthed the word 'bloodier?' to Mercedes, who just shrugged, leaning in closer to Kurt. "What about that guy and his wife who run the whole program – they're adults, so why don't you just –"

"Have I not told you guys time and time again that Rachel has them convinced she has everything under control? Plus, I'm pretty sure they're scared of being in the same room as her for longer than ten minutes at a time." Kurt growled, which had both Mercedes and Quinn snorting and holding back laughter because growling? So not something Kurt could do convincingly, incredible vocal range or not.

Then some more Lady Gaga came on, and everyone forgot to ask Kurt about his other summer responsibilities. It seemed like every day there were new stories – from the crazy routines Santana was teaching him, topped only by the insane routines Mike and Matt were choreographing, to the million and one paint and fabric samples scattered around the house as Finn and Kurt decided the theme of Finn's room, and Puck's complete and utter inability to understand anything about cars (though Kurt maintained that he would have the jock taught if it took him the next ten summers – he could not, he claimed, abide by such ignorance).

"We're here!" Kurt announced. "And please, everyone keep their wallets closed – this is my treat!"

Mercedes scoffed, probably ready to tear Kurt a new one, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of the restaurant name, her jaw dropped. Quinn blinked – she hadn't been to this place in years, but she remembered the fantastic food, the gorgeous décor . . . and the proud look on her father's face as she ordered for herself for the first time. A sharp pang resounded deep within her, but she smiled for Kurt, for her friends, because they didn't need to be weighed down by yet more of her baggage tonight.

They walked in, giggling nervously as a waiter took them directly to their table almost immediately, marvelously set with real lace and beautiful flowers.

"Kurt, honey, I know you ain't hurting for cash . . . but this –"

Kurt put a hand on Mercedes arm. "Hey, relax, this restaurant . . . my mom used to be the manager here, and . . . let's just say I get a special discount from the owner, okay? So, don't worry about a thing."

Quinn felt her mouth dropping. "Seriously?"

Kurt smiled. "Yeah. My mom . . . she did a lot of things, all around town. She worked here a few years before I was born."

Mercedes was sending Quinn warning looks from across the table, and Quinn took heed, dropping the subject. This was meant to be a fun night – no need to bring up lost mothers. Or anyone's mother, actually.

The evening was spent laughing and making up sordid stories for all the faux-rich and old money sitting around them – lots of lost heirs, drunken exploits and affairs. They got a few dirty looks tossed their way, but they just smiled at everyone in response and kept right on having fun writing their own soap opera. At one point her purse started rumbling, startling her and making Kurt and Mercedes laugh as she sheepishly reached into it, pulling out her phone. She bit her lip when she saw the number. She answered it, giving her friends an apologetic look. "Sorry – hi mom."

"Quinnie! Where are you, sweetie? It's getting late!"

"I told you I was going out to dinner with my friends," Quinn explained patiently. "And that I might be back late. We're still at the restaurant."

"Oh. Well, you know I trust you, Quinn, I just . . . wanted to make sure you were okay! Is darling Mercedes with you?"

"Yes, mom. And Brittany, and Kurt."

"Kurt? Oh, right, that adorable boy . . . Quinn, are you sure you're okay?" She sounded hazy and a little . . . tipsy. Quinn bit her lip. "Did you want to speak with Mercedes?" She looked towards the girl, knowing her own expression was probably pained, and Mercedes stretched out a hand for the phone.

"Hi Mrs. Fabray," Mercedes said cheerfully, belying the seriousness on her face. "Yeah, we're still at the restaurant. We're just finishing off dessert, so we'll be dropping Quinn off soon . . . Yeah, you too. Bye."

Mercedes hung up, staring at Quinn with far too much scrutiny, and Kurt was raising an eyebrow. Quinn had no idea what to say to anything they might ask her, so she quickly turned to Brittany, asking the girl what she thought about Mike and Matt's routines for Cheerios.

Brittany smiled happily, and proceeded to give them a blow-by-blow account of the latest in Cheerios' practise, which Kurt eventually joined in the telling of. He had them crying tears of laughter when he told them about his first Sue Sylvester spot check, the morning after his little disappearing act. His second visit went far better – he got wind of her from a neighbour down the street, so he was actually in his Cheerio's uniform when she banged on his door, all stretched and ready to go.

The night passed without any further drama, but Quinn knew it couldn't last – especially when they dropped Brittany off first, even though Quinn's apartment was closer to the restaurant. Kurt remained parked in front of Brittany's house, turning in sync with Mercedes, and they both waited patiently for Quinn to say something – which she refused to. But Kurt and Mercedes wouldn't back down. The staring contest continued on.

"What?" she finally asked, with a bit of snap to her tone.

Mercedes sighed. "C'mon, Quinn, don't be like that – we know something ain't right and we want to help."

"How?" Quinn tried to keep the fight out of her voice. "How could you guys help me? You know what's wrong with me, Mercedes – I thought you said giving it time and talking about it was all I could do?"

"For dealing with losing your baby." Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt so he could face her fully. "But not with whatever's going on with your mom."

Quinn opened her mouth, trying to play it off, but all that came out were a few incoherent sounds. She pressed her lips together, crossed her arms, and tried again. "Look, it's nothing I can't handle. We're both a little messed right now. She left my dad and she's trying to make up for not being there for me, but there's some fallout to deal with first, okay?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, but listen . . . you're the daughter – you're not suppose to be taking this much on yourself. Maybe she needs to straighten herself out first and then you two can try and fix your relationship."

"So, what, you're suggesting I abandon her?" Quinn asked incredulously.

"Quinn, listen!" Mercedes snapped back at her. "You can be there for her, but you're not suppose to be telling her everything's okay when it's not – or pretending that nothing's wrong 'cause you think that's what she needs. You need to tell her that it's okay for her to get help, and she needs to do it herself! Quinn, your mom has a drinking problem. And I know you know that. If I've noticed it, than you definitely have."

Mercedes' words were hitting her hard, right in all her soft spots, but Quinn had been Queen Bitch before Santana, and she knew how to give back as good as she got. She squared her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and prepped to give them a verbal tongue-lashing like nothing they'd ever experienced before.

Kurt crawled out from the driver's seat, managing to get himself seated next to her in a matter of seconds, grabbing her hands and bringing them up to his chest before she could even begin to formulate her insults. "Quinn, we love you so much, and it's killing us to watch you like this. You're putting up a front with your friends, you're putting up one with your mom – this has to stop. Please." Kurt's eyes were gleaming.

Quinn tried to get her bitchy mojo back, but it was gone – Kurt's watery eyed expression rendered her helpless again. She felt tears of her own begin to prick at the corners of her eyes.

"You don't understand. The whole time I was pregnant with Beth, I wanted my mom. I needed her so bad – needed her to hold me and give me advice and tell me she still loved me no matter what. But I didn't get that. Instead she started drinking more . . . even more than she normally did, and we barely talked because that's how we used to deal with problems in my house, okay? But now, now I have her. She's all mine, and she loves me, and she doesn't think I'm a whore or a disappointment. She wants to be there for me now, and she's honest with me . . . I can't give that up, I can't!"

A few tears escaped and she rubbed them away angrily. Kurt reached into his coat pocket, yanking out a handkerchief with a flourish that made her half-smile, and began gently pressing it against her cheeks, blotting carefully under her eyes.

"Oh honey," Mercedes breathed out. "Dontcha see you're fallin' back to the old way of doin' things? You and your mom, you're still not really talkin' 'bout things – you're pretty much just re-hashing what's already out there. And her drinking problem . . . it's only gonna get worse the longer you both ignore it."

Quinn stared at her lap for a long while, and then after an internal battle, she nodded haltingly.

She felt both Kurt and Mercedes breathe out sighs of relief and suddenly, the entire situation – with Kurt, with Brittany, with her mom, with Puck . . . it all hit her and she burst out laughing.

They stared at her as if she had lost her mind, and she tried to calm herself down enough to give her reason for the sudden bout of hysteria. "I'm sorry it's just . . . this is the second intervention we've had in a month, and it just seems . . . so weird . . . all year we've had to deal with insane crap, and now, on our vacation, we all crack? It's just . . . I know it's not that funny." She kept on laughing, belying her words. "I just . . . we're all so great at giving at advice to each other, and such morons with our own crap . . . I don't know." She shrugged helplessly, still trying to hold back yet more laughter.

But Kurt and Mercedes didn't make fun of her, they just smiled. Quinn's old friends would never have let this go – they would have called her crazy and . . . actually, they wouldn't even have gotten this far, talking about her problems as if they actually cared. Which they wouldn't have.

She wiped tears (of mirth this time) away, grabbing Kurt and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. Then she shared a sly look with Mercedes and gave him an even quicker one right on the lips, barely even a peck.

He jerked back a bit in surprise, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand like a disgusted little boy who'd just been kissed by a hated aunt, and Quinn and Mercedes were now both laughing their heads off.

"Okay – what the hell is going on now?" Kurt demanded – this time he was looking at them both as if they were in desperate need of a straight jacket or two.

Quinn shrugged, smiling happily. "Oh, nothing. Just practise."

"Practise?" Kurt said blankly. "I'm sorry, but that makes no sense to me."

"We know." Mercedes grinned. "But you're gonna need it."

Kurt stared some more before throwing his hands the air. "I give up. Apparently, being gay doesn't translate into understanding girls and their random bouts of insanity!"

This was so on the nose that Quinn and Mercedes were doubled over cackling while Kurt kept right on bitching and begging them to tell him what that whole thing was about.

They continued along in this vein until they reached Quinn's apartment complex. As they pulled up into the parking space that was just beneath her home, Kurt turned to her. "Look, I want you to come over tomorrow, at around lunch time. I'll feed you something both yummy and non-fattening, and we'll talk strategy, okay?"

Quinn was still feeling the high from a great night out with friends (mini-breakdown notwithstanding) and nodded. "Sure. I'll pick up Mercedes this time. It's my turn to be chauffeur."

"I hope you're not expecting a tip, especially considering the last time."

"I had to swerve!" Quinn protested. "I wasn't about to run over that little bunny!"

"Took years off my life and ruined a perfectly gorgeous silk shirt with spilled iced-coffee," Mercedes bitched, but she shot her a teasing side-glance.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'll pick you up at noon, and I'll see you guys tomorrow."

She hopped out the car, climbing the stairs up to her apartment, knowing that Kurt and Mercedes were waiting until she was safely inside. She opened the door and turned to wave over the railing of the balcony. They both waved back and then slowly pulled out.

Quinn tried to be quiet, closing the door behind her as silently as possible. A soft sound permeated the stillness, like a squeak, and Quinn squinted in the near pitch-darkness of the living room.

Then she just sighed.

Her mom was passed out cold on the couch. Quinn dropped her keys in the ashtray by the door, walking over and grabbing the nearest folded quilt off an armchair as she went. She unfurled it and let it drift down to cover her mother from shoulder to feet.

She stood there, staring for a moment or two, before heading off to bed. She passed by the kitchen and took solace in one thing: the floor was clean and smelled distinctly of lemon. That small act helped her find strength in the fact that tomorrow she was going to find a way to get both her and her mom back on track.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It only hurts for a little while,

That's what they tell me, that's what they say.

It only hurts for a little while

Then all your heartaches will pass away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: Yeah, this is long and angsty. It was also really hard to write and even harder to edit/proofread. And I'm still not completely satisfied with it.

As usual, I lack confidence in my ability to write anyone other than Kurt and Burt – hopefully Quinn comes across as . . . well, Quinn.

Next chapter we have some Puck-angst. Or, you know, as angsty as Puck can realistically get. I had a ton of fun writing him, so here's hoping that he's in character.

In advance, I'm gonna thank you guys for whatever you give me in terms of feedback, even if it's just the act of coming by to read! It is seriously encouraging, and it makes it a lot easier for me to write, especially when I'm unsure about how well I'm doing. Reading your comments is such great fuel for me. Thanks for stopping by!