Unfortunately for Quinn, finding out anything about what was going on with Rachel was proving to be difficult, because the hulking football player was always around. It had begun to be somewhat of a school joke: if you couldn't find Rachel, find Karofsky, and vice versa.

Quinn hated it, telling herself it was just because she didn't like to see anyone being hurt – even though she didn't know that was what was going on. Still, something had to be going on, because ever since Rachel had quit glee, the formerly effervescent (to everyone's annoyance) 16-year-old had slowly turned into a shadow of herself.

The students of WMHS were used to seeing Rachel Berry walking with her head down, slushie dripping off her face and hair; Quinn knew she had been to blame for that. But this time, it was different. As an "experiment," Quinn told herself, she put a moratorium on the slushie facials of Rachel Berry. (Every other loser in the school was fair game; Quinn hadn't totally lost her inner bitch quite yet.) She had hoped that Rachel would be able to walk through the halls with her head higher, as she had done just before the end of last year, but it didn't happen.

Rachel walked to all of her classes with Karofsky's hand circling her arm, and her eyes glued to the linoleum below her.

Glee club felt Rachel's loss keenly, at least talent-wise. Tina and Mercedes were amazing, of course, and Finn and Puck were able to hold their own as far as male vocals were concerned. But there was something that Rachel had brought to the club that wasn't just her singing, and now, for some reason, despite the fact that all of them had at one time wanted Rachel gone, their morale was low.

"Remind me again why we care, though," Santana said over lunch.

Quinn tore her eyes away from Rachel, who was smiling – only a little – as Karofsky teasingly fed her a french fry. She had been trying to figure out Santana's question herself: why did she care? She thought she could attribute it to her screwed up hormones of the last year; first she'd started out hating Rachel, then Rachel was really the only one who treated her normally, once "babygate" had broken wide open and tore Quinn's life apart. They'd forged an uneasy alliance, born more out of two misfits needing an ally than actually wanting the other's friendship.

And then the summer had come. Summer, fresh with the loss of Beth, Quinn trying to figure out how to adjust to that and moving back into her mother's home. For all her mother's words when Quinn had gone into labor and subsequently given her daughter up for adoption, Judy Fabray was notably absent from her house on a daily basis. There was always some function or another to attend to; she had explained it to her daughter as needing to "keep up appearances" of normalcy, even though Russell Fabray was now (temporarily, at least) residing in the Hampton Inn downtown. Quinn guessed that keeping up appearances didn't include appearing to care about her 16-year-old daughter who desperately needed her mother more than ever.

It had happened gradually, really. She'd be sitting at home, bored out of her mind but too depressed to call any of her friends to go out. Santana and Brittany did come over every now and then, but Quinn knew that only Brittany was really glad to visit, Santana only going because her… friend insisted on it. Still, she was grateful, because when Santana and Brittany were there, she didn't have to think about Rachel.

Because on the days when she was bored and sad and there was no one in sight to give a damn about Quinn Fabray (because she had never given a damn about them), she'd find herself thinking about the petite obnoxious diva with the huge nose and horrendous clothes.

And Quinn would miss her. She'd pick up her phone and scroll through the contact list, stopping on Rachel's number, and contemplate calling her. But she never did, because even though they had been sort-of friends during the school year, Quinn was intent on regaining her status for the new year, and that status would not include Rachel Berry.

But she couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Because Quinn likes her," she heard Brittany say, and Quinn snapped back to attention.

"What? No, I don't," she said, flustered.

Brittany smiled wisely, and Quinn wondered how the usually dim cheerleader always had the power to unnerve her with her perception. She leaned across the table, sliding her hand on top of Quinn's. "Think about Karofsky hurting Rachel," she said simply, and Quinn growled low in her throat before she could stop herself. Brittany sat up, satisfied.

"If Karofsky is hurting her, what are you going to do, Q?"

Quinn answered without even needing to think. "Whatever Santana wants to do to the fucker."

Santana grinned, a malicious glint to her eyes. "I like that answer."

"See?" Brittany said. "You do like her, Q."

"Okay," Quinn admitted. "She's a… she's a good person." It sounded lame, even to her ears. "I don't like to see anybody hurt."

Brittany shook her head. "You want to be Rachel's girlfriend."

"I do not!" Quinn said hotly.

"Oh my god." Santana's eyes went wide. "You do. What the fuck, Q?"

"I do not want to be manhands'… girlfriend," Quinn hissed.

She leaned over to the two girls, glaring at them. "I do not like RuPaul, got that? I just know that we need her for sectionals, because we don't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning without her. We've got to figure out how to get her back into glee."

"Uh… huh," Santana drawled, smirking. "So, your sudden interest in Berry is just because you're looking out… for glee."

Quinn stared down at her hands, hoping she'd sound convincing. "For glee, that's all."

Santana and Brittany shared a look, and Brittany asked, "Okay, but… how are we going to do that? I mean, everybody made it clear that they… we don't want her."

Quinn sighed. "I have no idea."

"Let's kidnap her," Brittany suggested.

Quinn could only stare at her.

By some stroke of luck – perhaps God finally decided to forgive her for being a bitch, and send a little help her way – Quinn found out a week later that Karofsky was out of commission due to swine flu (oh, the irony), and would be for two weeks. Perfect.

She cornered Rachel just before lunch, finally. It was like the girl was a damn enigma; even though she and Quinn had three classes together, there was no way to talk to her then, and she always seemed to disappear into thin air right after. So she figured it was yet another sign from God – or the pending apocalypse – that Rachel was still at her locker when the lunch bell rang.

"Hey, Rachel!" Quinn said, a little too cheerfully. Tone it down, Fabray, she ordered herself.

Rachel, for her part, looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, hi, Quinn," she said, trying to find some of her usual bravado, and failing.

"You okay?" Quinn asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, I'm fine," Rachel said unconvincingly. "It's just… Dave's not here, so it's a little weird."

Quinn arched an eyebrow in understanding. Rachel had no idea how to behave with Karofsky not right beside her. Leading her by her arm to every class, opening her locker for her, carrying her books, deciding what she would eat for lunch (She'd noticed that once when she ended up behind the couple in the lunch line.) It was… sickening. She took a deep breath, and managed a smile around the fury that was welling up in her – and the confusion about why she was furious.

"Why don't you come and eat lunch with me and Brittany?"

Rachel regarded her warily. "And Santana."

"Well, yeah," Quinn laughed, the sound seeming too loud. "Santana comes with the package that is Brittany."

"Santana doesn't like me. And neither do you."

Neither do you. Quinn sighed. Rachel was right. She'd never really liked her, and she couldn't understand why she all of a sudden had this overwhelming urge to find out if the brunette girl was okay, to make sure she was okay. She shook her head, deciding to level with her.

"Look, Rachel," she said, and was surprised when her voice was calm, and even gentle. "You left glee, and you pretty much shocked everybody. We're… " She sighed again. "I'm worried about you."

Rachel pursed her lips and looked down at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet Quinn's. "I'm fine," she said, a little bit of the old Rachel coming into her voice. "Nothing's wrong. We just—I decided that quitting glee was a good thing for me."

Quinn crossed her arms and glared at Rachel, the use of the word "we" not escaping her. To her surprise, Rachel automatically ducked her head under her intense gaze.

"Please, Quinn," and her voice was again so soft Quinn could barely hear her. "I'm fine. Don't pretend to care when you really don't. I can't take that again."

Rachel walked off, leaving Quinn to figure out why that again stung her heart, in some place that she had thought was long dead.

She took a deep breath. On to phase 2. There was just one problem.

What the hell was phase 2?

She decided to text Rachel, still having the girl's number in her phone from their time together at glee. She scrolled through her contacts, wincing when she saw the entry. RuPaul. She narrowed her eyes and deleted the letters, replacing them with Rachel. Loading up the screen, she typed quickly, fingers flying across the buttons with all the expertise of a teenager nursed on technology.

Sorry, Rachel. Just want to make sure u r ok. I do care. Want 2 hang out l8r?

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed and Quinn opened it eagerly.

No. Will be at Dave's after school. – R

Quinn slapped her locker in frustration.

There are times in every person's life, just when they think that everything is going wrong, that fate somehow lays a hand, or the stars align, or chakras are equal… whatever it is, things happen and a person is never the same, for better or worse. For the rest of Quinn Fabray's life, she will thank God for a Wednesday afternoon, a stupid freshman football player, and an extra-large cup full of grape slushie.

It was between fifth and sixth period, and Quinn had given up on ever finding out what was going on with Rachel Berry. The girl was increasingly distracted, had stopped answering questions in any of her classes (her teachers were at the same time worried and grateful for the silence), never looked anyone in the eyes when they spoke to her, and a couple of times, Quinn had caught the girl startled, jumping when someone slammed a locker door particularly hard. And she knew that Rachel spent at least two out of the available four minutes between each class calling and checking in with Dave.

But there was nothing she could do, save keep an eye out and hope that nothing overt would happen, because she didn't really have a game plan about what she would do then. Though she lay awake in bed after dark and imagined being Rachel's knight in charming Cheerios uniform (and she would deny it to her grave that she imagined that), it never went further than sweeping Rachel up in her arms (walking next to her… walking. Definitely walking) and carrying her… where? There was nowhere they would be able to go, and besides, she was Quinn Fabray and she did not think about Rachel Berry all the time.

Quinn had the distinct impression that she was up a river in Egypt without a paddle, where Rachel was concerned.

The moratorium on Rachel's slushies still held strong, and Quinn was grateful for it. But sometimes freshmen are too eager to impress, too eager to take their place in the hierarchy, and they make mistakes. Mistakes that resulted in Quinn rounding a corner on her way to her locker, flanked by Brittany and Santana, just in time to see a wash of purple reacquaint itself with Rachel's face.

Immediately Quinn's eyes swept the crowd and found the culprit, a thin, pimply-faced redhead who was laughing, until he caught her eye, and the smile faded immediately. Oh yes, she still had it, and Quinn smirked, striding up to him.

"Name," was all she said to him.

"Uh, uh, Robertson," he swallowed hard.

"Tell me, Robertson, do you know what the gauntlet is?" she asked, referring to the football team's "initiation" of new members in the locker room, which meant running naked through a line of wet, snapping towels – ten times.

"Uh… no?"

She leaned in to him, letting her breath catch his ear, and he shivered, whether out of fear or arousal she didn't care. She played them both to perfection. "You're going to find out," she murmured, and then she snapped her fingers, literally snapped her fingers, and instantly Robertson was surrounded by the football team, a look of horror on his face as he was ushered off to the locker room.

Quinn turned her attention to Rachel, who was standing stock-still in the same position she'd been in seconds ago, mouth open and ice dripping into her eyes. Quinn shook her head and grabbed a towel out of her locker. She told herself she kept that towel for practice, but it was really because she remembered the one time she had been slushied, and even Quinn Fabray had a little fear of it happening again. All it would take was one shift of the hierarchy, and she could be back on the bottom. Best to be prepared.

Rachel, in her shock that a slushie had occurred after such a respite, didn't seem to register any of the three Cheerios approaching her, Brittany cooing over her, until Quinn stepped over and very gently brought the towel to her eyes, wiping away the slushie. Rachel's head jerked up and she backed away, her hands out in front of her.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't touch me…." Her voice trailed off when she saw Quinn staring at her.

Quinn glanced down at the towel, at the bright purple of the slushie, and the softer, muted tone of concealer, then looked back at Rachel. There was still purple around her eye… vague purple that wasn't colored corn syrup.

Purple that was a barely visible bruise because of all the makeup, a bruise that looked deep and… fuck, fist-shaped… and next to her, Quinn heard Santana breathe "Oh, hell no," and Brittany's soft whimper.

Quinn didn't know what to say. Her hands were twisting the towel, her teeth were clenched and she honestly had no idea what to say.

Thank God there was Brittany. Ever-so-slowly, the girl sidled herself up to Rachel. She waited for what seemed to be a long moment; Rachel seemed to be shell-shocked, and so Brittany slid an arm around her shoulders.

"Rachel?" She said quietly, and Rachel blinked, focus coming back into her eyes. She looked at Brittany and tried to pull away, but Brittany held fast. "Rachel, baby, what did he do to you?"

Quinn's hand flew out to clutch at Santana's arm, and to her surprise, Santana covered Quinn's hand with her own, as Rachel slid to her knees with a moan, one hand over her eye and the other over her mouth.

"Don't look at me, Brittany," she said. "Please…"

They were attracting a crowd, and this woke Quinn up out of her horror-induced stupor, and she whirled around. "Move it," she barked. "Or I swear to God I'll slushie each and every one of you personally for the rest of the year."

It was an empty threat; she knew it, Santana knew it, but the crowd didn't, and dispersed quickly – either because of her words, or because there was only 1 minute left until 6th period. Quinn turned back to Rachel, who was still in a huddle on the floor, not letting go of her face, as if she could block out their knowledge of the bruise, or somehow make it go away of her own volition. Quinn knelt down in front of her.

"Rachel," she said quietly. "Are your dads home?"

This terrified Rachel, and she launched into a patented Berry babble. "They don't need to know anything, I can explain, it's not his fault—"

Quinn caught Santana, out of the corner of her eye, tightening her fists.

"Later," she murmured, and her second in command nodded, grateful for the promise of inflicting damage.

"It's not his fault," Rachel was still saying. "He loves me."

Quinn shook her head. "Rachel, that's not love."

This time Rachel did tear her hand away and Quinn winced, not just at the angry bruise, but at the angry flare in the girl's brown eyes. "How do you know what love is, Quinn Fabray?" She demanded. "Have you ever loved anything but yourself in your life?"

Almost unconsciously, Quinn's hands drifted to her stomach, cupping the emptiness there. "Yes, Rachel," she said honestly. She had once loved something… she still did.

"Rachel," this time the voice was Santana's. "Look, Berry, the three of us might not have been the nicest to you—" Rachel snorted, and Santana sighed. "Okay, fine. We're bitches. We've treated you like shit since we were 12 years old. You don't have to trust us if you don't want to, but I'm telling you, that bruise on your face? That is not cool, Berry. It's just not."

Once again Brittany surprised Quinn and Santana, and Rachel squeaked when she found herself hoisted into the air, cradled in Brittany's arms like a baby. She strode forward purposefully, Quinn and Santana in pursuit, until they reached the front doors of the school. She lifted one flexible, well-toned leg, and kicked the door open, maneuvering her and Rachel outside.

Brittany turned, seeing Santana and Quinn standing behind her, confused expressions on their faces.

"We're going to Rachel's house," she said quietly, "And we're getting to the bottom of this."

Santana made a mental note to get to the bottom of why Brittany seemed to be so affected by it all.

"Brittany, this is really unnecessary," Rachel protested weakly.

"Tough shit," Brittany said, and Quinn's mouth dropped open. "Quinn? Your car or Santana's?"

"Mine," Quinn said immediately. "You and Santana can follow in her car."

"I'm not going!" Rachel tried to extricate herself from Brittany's grasp, but Santana knew full well (and Quinn knew exactly how Santana knew) that the tall girl was freakishly strong.

"Don't worry, Rachel," Brittany said gently, stroking her hair. "We're going to take care of you."

Rachel closed her eyes. "I don't need you. Dave takes care of me."

Quinn opened her passenger side door, and Brittany bent low, tucking Rachel into the seat and fastening the seat belt. She squatted down and looked into the girl's brown eyes. "My aunt used to have eyes like yours," she said, and everyone knew that Brittany wasn't talking about the color. "My uncle, you see."

She smiled a little sadly, feeling Santana's hand on her back. "We're going to your house, Rach, okay?"

Rachel paused, biting her lip, then nodded. Brittany smiled wider and kissed the girl's forehead.

Once in the car, Quinn started it and pulled out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of Rachel's house. Rachel didn't ask how Quinn knew which way to go, and Quinn was glad she didn't have to explain that she still remembered Rachel's address from a sleepover four years ago.

She tried not to remember that by the time Rachel had woken up the morning after that sleepover, Santana, Brittany and Quinn were already gone, having left a note.

Thanks for the lousy time, tranny. We hope to never do it again. Loser.

Quinn sighed. Breaking a girl's heart, the result of a stupid game of Truth or Dare during Cheerios camp. She hated herself at that moment.

"Rachel—" She began.

"No. I have no interest in anything you want to say. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for Brittany."

Quinn nodded, chastised. "Okay." She tried not to think about the fact that Rachel's phone had buzzed at least four times since they'd left school, and they'd only been in the car for five minutes. She glanced down at the bejeweled phone, held tightly in Rachel's hands.

"Dave," Rachel said, in response to Quinn's look. She rested her forehead against the window, not saying another word for the rest of the drive.

When they got to Rachel's house, Quinn pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, unfastening her seatbelt. She waited, but Rachel made no effort at moving.

"Rachel?" Quinn said, softly.

Rachel glanced over at her. "Why?"

Quinn looked down at her hands in her lap. "I know you don't believe me, but… because I care." She raised her head and met Rachel's eyes, hoping that she could see the sincerity.

Rachel stared at her for what seemed to be the longest time, then unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the car, walking up to the front door and unlocking it.

"Welcome to Chez Berry," she said flatly, ushering the other 3 girls in. "My room's upstairs and the second door on the right. I'm assuming that's where you want to go?"

Quinn saw that Brittany's eyes were reddened and tearful, and she arched an eyebrow at Santana. Santana smiled and nodded sadly, rubbing the girl's back and propelling her into the house and up the stairs. Quinn followed behind, a little uneasily.

Rachel's room was still as she remembered it, and Quinn allowed a little smile to play about her lips. Nothing but pink, but… wait, something was different. She scanned the room quickly, and then it hit her.

Every single remnant of Broadway, or Rachel's past performances, was gone.

She turned to ask Rachel, but the girl was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking down at the floor. Brittany came to stand in front of her, clearly in charge of the operation. It was a weird feeling for Quinn, but she let it go.

"Rachel?" Brittany's voice was tender. "Do you have any makeup remover?"

Rachel shook her head. "No."

Brittany nodded. "Santana? Go into Rachel's bathroom and find her makeup remover."

Rachel winced. Taking the risk, Quinn went to sit next to her, slipping her thumb and middle finger around Rachel's wrist. Rachel didn't pull away.

Santana came out of the bathroom, holding a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of clear remover. "What's with all the lotion, Berry?" she asked. "Must be like 20 bottles in there."

"I don't want manhands," Rachel snapped then, and Santana recoiled from the anger in the smaller girl's voice.

Quinn fought the revulsion welling up in the deepest pit of her stomach, trying not to think of all the times she'd called Rachel that, all the times she'd seen Rachel standing at her locker, working gobs of lotion into her hands, over and over…

"Okay, Rachel," Brittany soothed. "It's all right." She wet the cotton ball with the remover, and Rachel whimpered when the coldness touched her skin.

A few small, tender swipes, and Quinn could only stare as the extent of the bruise encircling Rachel's left eye came into view. It was obviously fresh, black and purple, barely tinged pink around the edges.

"Oh, god," she breathed.

"Don't you dare!" Rachel screamed suddenly, knocking Brittany onto her rear end and pointing a shaking finger at Quinn. "I want you out of my house. All of you!"

"Rachel," Brittany tried.

"No!" She shook her head violently. "You think I don't see this for what it is? Just a joke to you."

"It's not a joke, Berry."

Rachel balled her fists at her sides. "My name is Rachel," she hissed. "Rachel. Not Berry, not RuPaul, not manhands, not Treasure Trail. Rachel. I don't want your pretend concern, I don't want some false sense of pity, and I don't need any help. Dave loves me. This," she gestured towards her face," proves it."

"You can't honestly think he hits you because he loves you!" Quinn said, shocked. "Rachel, that's sick."

Rachel smiled then, a triumphant, almost evil smile, and it chilled her. "No, Quinn, what's sick is you wasting three years of your life tormenting me, and then being jealous when I finally found someone to love me for who I am. Dave's right, you know. Everyone just wants to use me. I didn't believe him at first, but he was right: no one will ever love me, except him. He's all I need."

"Rachel, he's taken everything away from you," Quinn said, scarcely able to believe the words that were coming out of the girl's mouth. "He won't leave you alone in school, he won't let you have friends, and he made you leave glee…"

"Friends?" Rachel said, the same smile on her face as she tilted her head and regarded Quinn. "Tell me, Quinn, what are the names of my friends?"

Fuck. Quinn looked towards Santana for help; the Latina just shrugged.

"Are any of the members of glee my friends, Quinn? Did they rush after me when I quit? Are you my friends?" She glanced at Quinn and Santana. "The closest thing I've ever had to a friend since seventh grade has been Brittany. And even she had to do what you two wanted her to do: torture me."

"Rachel…"

"Leave, please?" Rachel said, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I have to call Dave, he's going to be upset that I'm not at his house. Please, just leave."

"Rachel, I'm not leaving you here alone," Quinn said. "Not when you're going to call him." She practically spat the word.

"Why do you even care?" Rachel whispered. "Did you care when I was with Finn? Puck? Did you care when Jesse threw egg all over me? Did you care when you helped my mother reject me?"

Quinn hung her head, feeling Brittany's arm wrap around her and hug her shoulders.

"You've never cared, Quinn. I've just been a blight on your high school existence, and you've never ceased to remind me of that fact. I'm done, Quinn. I'm done letting you destroy me. Everyone I've ever loved in my life, except for Dave, has left me. Everyone, Quinn. Especially you. I want you out. Out of my house, out of my life."

"Rachel…"

"Out!"

They fidgeted, looking at her, but Rachel's face was resolute.

"Come on," Santana said, taking first Brittany's hand, then Quinn's. "If she doesn't want help, we can't do anything for her."

"Rachel." Brittany stopped and turned.

Rachel looked at her.

"Rachel, this isn't love. It isn't. Please… try to be safe."

Rachel folded her arms over her chest and looked away, her lips trembling.

Once outside the house, Quinn leaned against her car with her eyes closed. "I'm going to kill him," she said.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea."

"Maybe it is," Brittany said, and once again, the other two Cheerios were reduced to staring at her.

Brittany chewed her lower lip, lost in thought. "Did you hear what Rachel said up there?"

"Which part?" Santana said. "About what bitches we are? About how Dave 'loves' her? What?"

Brittany shook her head. "Rachel said to Quinn," she drew out slowly, "that every person she's ever loved has left her. She said," she turned to Quinn, "'especially you.'"

Quinn's mouth fell open, while Brittany beamed. "Rachel… loved me? What the hell, I never knew that."

"Like she'd tell you, Quinn," Santana scoffed.

Quinn pursed her lips, and then glanced up at the window that she knew was Rachel's, even if the curtain was drawn. Had Rachel really loved her? It only took her a second to make her decision.

"That bastard is going to regret ever laying a hand on her."