Trigger Warnings: Abuse; domination/submission.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
That was the first thing Jesse had said to Rachel, upon learning her intentions to go back to McKinley House. She'd rolled her eyes, but he'd stopped her with a hand on her wrist. That had made her pull back and quirk an eyebrow at him, but he'd merely grinned. He was lucky they were friends. She knew he was a stronger Dom; she also knew they would never have made a good match. Though Rachel had toyed with the idea of switching, it wasn't in her nature. Jesse was really her equal, but with more experience and, usually, a more level head on his shoulders. When he wasn't thinking with the other one, every time his sub Noah came into the room. The young man sat the tea service down on the coffee table, and then took his place on his knees at Jesse's feet.
"Good boy," Jesse praised, and Rachel smiled. They'd been together for about as much time as Quinn had been with her Dominant, but the relationship couldn't be more different. Jesse was strong, a veritable rock for his boy, and though Noah could be a brat and according to his Dominant spent more time than necessary over his lap, Rachel knew he'd move heaven and earth to please Jesse.
"I didn't really ask for an opinion; I asked if there was anything that could get me in trouble by seeing her again." Catching the minute scowl on Noah's face, Rachel laughed. "Easy, Noah. I'm not yelling at Jesse, I promise."
Jesse clapped his hand on the top of Noah's head and wiggled it, playfully jerking the boy's head around. "What do you think, Noah?" he asked. "If you were at McKinley House and someone took an interest in you, how would you react?"
Noah considered this, finally looking up at Jesse, then at Rachel. "I wouldn't want to be there, Sir," he replied. "But if the person were you, or you, Ma'am," he added, glancing back at Rachel, "I think I would be okay. I think I'd realize that you weren't there to hurt me."
"See?" Rachel said. "Noah's a smart boy, he gets it."
"He also knows us," Jesse pointed out. "Quinn Fabray has no idea what or who you are. She doesn't know what your angle is. For all she knows, you could be just like Finn Hu-" Hearing Rachel's growl of indignation, Jesse held up his hand.
"For all she knows," he repeated gently, "You could be just like Finn Hudson. And she's not talking, Rachel. What do you think you're going to do, go in there and dominate her into speech?"
"Of course not."
Jesse rested the ankle of his right foot on the knee of his left, his blue jeans tightening with the gesture, and ran a hand through his mop of dark brown curls. "We don't know if the damage done to her is permanent, Rach. But we know that if everyone that comes into contact with her isn't extremely careful, they could make the damage permanent. You want her to talk again, fine. You want her to walk again, even better. You want her to be whole? You do it on her time, not yours."
"Jesse, I didn't come here for a lecture on-"
"Whose needs come first?"
Rachel rolled her eyes so hard this time, it hurt. It was just like being back at Lima Academy. But she answered anyway, since Noah was watching her intently.
"The submissive's," she answered, and she meant it. She'd known far too many Dominants who had their own best interests at heart and never once thought about the feelings of the person they had under their control. Clearly Finn Hudson had been one of them. "Everything we do, every action we take, should be for the safety and well-being of the person we're charged with. They're gifts, not playthings to be used at our leisure and then tossed aside when we think they've outgrown their usefulness."
Jesse blinked, surprised. "Wow."
Rachel grinned. "Why so shocked, St. James?"
He shrugged, saying, "It's not often you find a Dominant so willing to talk about the submissive's feelings. They sure do love talking about their own, though."
"Jesse. Is there anything that can get me in trouble, seeing her again?"
"No," he said, sighing heavily and shaking his head. "There's nothing in the standard operating procedures or in the laws that prohibit seeing her. But if you even think of making a claim on her, you'd better make sure all your t's are crossed and all your i's are dotted, because if not, it could get ugly. For her especially. She doesn't deserve being used twice."
She doesn't deserve being used twice.
It echoed in the back of her mind as Rachel made her way once more up the drive to McKinley House, again parking in the lot to the right of the brick building.
If there was one thing she'd refuse to let herself do, Rachel thought, it was use Quinn Fabray.
"Well?" she said to Director Beiste upon entering the house.
The director shook her head. "No change," she said.
Rachel sighed, the disappointment bitter, although she hadn't really expected anything else. She glanced over at Quinn and noticed that her hair seemed wet. She tilted her head, and then looked at the director in confusion.
"She has to have a bath," the director explained, a note of panic creeping into her voice. "She won't bathe herself, so one of the orderlies… she's very gentle and-"
"You've been forcing her to bathe?!" Rachel fairly shrieked. "She's been brought here because a man abused her and what, you're holding her down to wash her? What are you thinking?"
The common room had grown silent, then, and Rachel noticed that Quinn's hands were no longer both in her lap. One was clutching at the arm to her chair. The realization slid like ice over her, and Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
She'd scared her.
Taking a deep breath, she reopened her eyes and focused on Director Bieste. "It was just an oversight that you failed to tell me about her bathing routine, correct?"
The director nodded.
"And it won't happen again, will it?"
Shannon Beiste shook her head. "No, Ma'am. And she doesn't force her, anyway. My employees don't do that. It's not like Quinn struggles. She doesn't do anything, she just sits there."
"Who has been bathing her?"
"Brittany Pierce. She's our recreational dance instructor but I asked her if she wouldn't mind helping. I didn't feel right allowing one of the men to bathe her."
"Is she a Dominant?"
"… no. We're very short staffed, Ma'am, but I wouldn't do that to Miss Fabray."
Rachel took a deep breath and nodded. "Good. Just… don't force her, all right? If she doesn't want to, she doesn't have to."
With that, Rachel left the director and moved towards Quinn, who was still clutching the arm of her wheelchair, though her face was impassive. Rachel moved slowly, cautiously, dropping down onto the bench next to the young woman.
"Hello there," she said, gentling her voice. It pained her to see Quinn white-knuckling the chair; she could only imagine what was going through her mind.
"I'm sorry that you heard me raising my voice back there. I was upset about something, but that's no excuse, and again, I apologize. It will not happen again, I can promise you that."
There was no response, and Rachel nodded, pursing her lips. She settled against the wall behind her, and suddenly kicked off her shoes. "Ah, much better," she said, wiggling her toes. "Sometimes things get far too tense and I just need to relax; do you ever feel that way, Quinn?"
Again the young woman didn't answer. But that was fine, Rachel thought. She'd finished all of her reports for the day, and if she needed to, well, she'd just sit there.
"I heard that someone has been helping you bathe," Rachel said quietly. "That's good, I'm glad that you have someone. But know that if you don't want to, you don't have to. No one here is going to force you to do anything."
Her eyes were still glassy, still hard, still staring at nothing. But it seemed as if her hand relaxed, as if Quinn deflated in the chair, ever so slightly. But maybe Rachel was just hoping for too much, and imagining things.
"Have you been eating enough?" Rachel asked. "I told the director to make sure that you had plenty of choices; I know that sometimes the food in places like this can be... mediocre at best. Do you like to cook? I do." She knew that she was probably babbling now; Rachel tended to ramble when she was nervous, though she didn't get nervous often. It was a lie that Dominants never got nervous, but Rachel had spent enough time on the stage at Lima Academy for choir that she had gotten really good at not being nervous, or at least really good at hiding it.
"I cook all the time, so I have a really big kitchen in my house. It's probably the biggest room, even bigger than my living room or bedroom. It's good for when I want to entertain, which I don't… really do at all." Rachel laughed a little bit at herself, wondering what Quinn must think of her. "When you get better, you should do some cooking for yourself. I bet you'd like it, and it'll help your strength, like the apple slices."
Rachel fell silent then, thinking about her little house on the outskirts of Lima. It wasn't actually all that little; government employment might be stressful and rote, but it paid well. Both she and Jesse were set up in nice houses in even nicer neighborhoods. The houses, though in suburbs or cul de sacs, were usually situated a reasonable distance away from each other, so no one would be disturbed by any sounds or sights coming from the home. This had its advantages, and disadvantages. Advantages because it allowed the Dominant freedom to tailor his or her life, and the life of their submissive, in the way that they saw fit, without fear of too much outside intrusion. But it was also a disadvantage because, besides the monthly mandated home inspections and welfare checks on its tenants, it was also far too easy to disguise things that were actually going on. She suspected this was why no one had ever thought to intervene on Quinn Fabray's behalf. It was unreal to Rachel that the girl's situation had gone on for years, but she found herself asking if she'd been assigned to do the checks, would she have even noticed?
It pained her to admit that no, she probably wouldn't have.
She leaned her head against the wall and tried to relax, tried not to think about Quinn's life before she came to McKinley. This was the only real dangerous part of the job, Rachel knew, the part that Jesse had warned her about as she'd left his house after tea.
"You can't get too involved, Rach," he'd said.
"I feel like I already am."
"Do you really want to help her?" Jesse asked.
Rachel huffed and put her hands on her hips, but was unable to meet his gaze. "Do you really have to ask that question? Would I even be in this job if I didn't want to help?"
"Do you really want to help her, or are you just lonely?"
That had hurt. Jesse was well aware that Rachel was feeling the pressure of being twenty two years old and not having found her soul mate yet. There'd been a prospect or two, but none of them had worked out. The ache was always there; Rachel had been taught that the ache would always be there, until she found the right person to fill it. It was the way things worked; it was part of who she was. It was why she still wore the bracelet around her right wrist; Dominants weren't allowed to switch it to their left until they had collared someone. A silver band for her wrist, a silver band for her submissive's neck. A symbol of their unbreakable (if things went well) bond.
She'd lifted her chin up and looked at Jesse. "I can wait," she declared. "I've waited this long for 'The One.'" Jesse grinned, watching the air quotes with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I can wait a little longer."
"I just want to help her," Rachel had added with a sigh. "It's not fair what was done to her."
"No, it's not. But if you help her get better while also getting her hopes up about a relationship with you, and then you decide that's not what you want… that's worse," Jesse had warned.
The last thing she wanted to be was worse.
Rachel was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of cheering; opening her eyes she saw that one of the residents had apparently won a board game. She was holding her hands up triumphantly while her two opponents either pouted or grudgingly accepted the victory. Director Beiste high-fived the woman as she passed by, a smile on her face, and Rachel grinned.
"That looks like fun," she commented to Quinn. "I used to play board games all the time, when I was younger. And I always won, I must say." Her drive to succeed at Lima Academy had been well-known among her peers, and it had even garnered her some unwelcome attention. She hadn't ever really been bullied; the hierarchy of the school and of their society had prevented that, but Rachel hadn't had as many friends as she would have, if she'd toned down her competitive streak. But that, just like being a switch, wasn't in her nature.
"I'd be willing to learn how to lose, though," Rachel said slowly, a plan formulating in her mind. "If I ever found someone to bea- er, defeat me." Smooth, Berry, real smooth, she berated herself. Excellent choice of words to say to someone like Quinn. Argh. She tried to recover, and leaned ever so slightly towards Quinn.
"Do you think you have what it takes to best Rachel Berry at-" She glanced towards the game table. "Checkers?" No response. "How about Monopoly?" Nothing. "I think they have Chutes and Ladders?"
But there was still nothing. Quinn didn't alter her position, or her stare, or offer any indication that she was even listening to Rachel.
Rachel sighed. "All right," she said quietly. "No board games today." She squared her shoulders then, and looked at Quinn. "But eventually, we're going to play. So you might want to start practicing pretty soon, Quinn Fabray."
Rachel sat with Quinn for another thirty minutes or so, not really talking about anything. She made a few comments about activities in the room, asked Quinn if she liked the dance classes (or the instructor) that they had. Asked her what foods she liked to eat, what she liked to do in her spare time. Though that one was probably a ridiculous question; Rachel imagined that Quinn's former Dom hadn't given her much spare time to do anything. Did she like to read? Listen to music? What did she like on television?
"Do you like to draw?"
It wasn't much, and again Rachel wondered if it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, getting her own hopes up that things would change. But Rachel could swear, the second she asked that question, she saw a change. A muscle twitch in the jaw line, a brief flash in otherwise dim eyes. Fleeting, and then it was gone as quickly as it had come. But it was there, Rachel knew it was. She couldn't have just imagined it.
A slow smile made its way over her face, and she nodded, half in thought. She glanced at her watch.
"I have to go now," she said to Quinn. "But I'll…" She nodded again, making up her mind. "I'll be back again tomorrow, all right?"
She didn't know why she expected Quinn to answer, but she was still a little annoyed when she didn't. Rachel took a deep breath and simply offered Quinn a smile, then left her.
"Pencils," she said, going up to Director Beiste.
The woman tilted her head at Rachel. "What's that?"
"Pencils," Rachel said again. "Colored pencils, regular pencils, paint. Paper! She'll need paper." She nodded firmly at Beiste. "Make sure Quinn is provided with them, as soon as possible."
"Uh, residents aren't really allowed pencil and paper, they might contact their old-"
"Do you really think Quinn would try to make contact with the person who hurt her?"
"I tried a couple of times. I'm not sure you know what it can be like…"
Rachel turned, and gently placed her hand on Director Beiste's arm. "She won't try to contact him. If you want, you can supervise her time; just see to it that she gets those things, all right?"
"Do you think you got through to her?"
"I hope so," Rachel said, looking back at the girl sat in her wheelchair in the corner.
"I really, really hope so."
