Title: It's Not Like I Wanted This to Happen

A/N Ratings and disclaimers from Chapter One apply.

Eric and Jacob took a seat on the side of the tub as Quinn grabbed the second bottle of water before sitting on the floor in front of Rachel. She twisted it open and took a look sip before she spoke. "Okay. Why I call Rachel a hobbit, by Quinn Fabray."

Rachel scowled at her but Quinn only grinned. "I bet, and for understandable reasons, you think I'm suggesting you're an unnaturally tiny creature with hairy feet?"

Rachel nodded.

"You saw the movies, right?"

"Of course."

"Okay. Well, as you know the Fellowship of the Ring came out when we were too young to watch it and because my parents are a little…let's call it zealous…about movies that have themes that aren't necessarily Christian, I didn't get to watch it until I was twelve and at a sleepover at Santana's. I was super excited to see it but I promise you, I swear to you, from the second I saw Frodo, I was completely hacked because I couldn't believe I'd been waiting to see a movie about Rachel Berry."

She took another sip of water. "When I was twelve, I couldn't have told you why that was without sounding just as rude and stupid and childish as I usually do with you but I watched it again just last week and I think I can express it a little better now. Actually, I've given a lot more thought to it than you'd imagine. So. Frodo is tiny and beautiful, sweet and gentle and good."

Quinn dropped her eyes from Rachel's, stared at her bottle of water and picked at the label on it as she continued. "But although he's also almost powerless, life gives him a destiny much, much bigger than he is, something golden and precious he knows he has to give the world."

She took a sip of water. "That means he has to leave his safe and happy home and fight his way through a world that's mean and vicious, petty, jealous, spiteful and hurtful. Every day he lives through what life throws at him and sometimes it's so hard, so brutal and he's hurting so badly, he doesn't think he can make it. But he looks at his ring and he knows his purpose and that it's more important than his feelings. So he lifts his head up and keeps moving forward even though he knows the next day won't be any better and probably even worse. He keeps going because he's incredibly brave and because he's a hero." She looked up and met Rachel's eyes. "A metaphorical hero in Tolkien mythology. You do like your metaphors, don't you, Rachel?"

There was a long pause before Rachel said, "Yes."

Quinn placed her bottle on the floor and pulled herself to her knees in front of the smaller girl. "We're all living metaphors, Rachel. Most of us are just stand-ins but you're a hero—and that means your life is an adventure. That movie showed me something I didn't understand when I was twelve. I didn't understand it—or you—at all until I had my own nine month adventure with Beth."

Quinn put a hand on Rachel's knee.

"It's really, really hard to be a hero and adventures aren't necessarily fun. Sometimes they're sad and painful and scary and lonely."

Rachel blinked and tears fell.

"It's no surprise that there are people trying to stop you, Rachel. They know what you are. You're special and they're not. They can feel it. And as someone who's known you and am deeply ashamed to have hurt for ten years, I can promise you that's the truth. So when I'm watching TV five years from now and I see you winning your first Tony or Grammy or whatever and I totally know that will happen, okay? I'll be so grateful that you fought for it and that nothing and no one, especially me, kept you from being the hero you were meant to be. So….that's it. You're a beautiful, incredibly brave and amazing person I'll always feel deeply honored to have known. That's why you're a hobbit to me."

Moments passed then became two incredibly awkward and silent minutes. Quinn felt herself begin to sweat and glanced toward the tub. Jacob was frankly crying and Eric was dabbing at his eyes. She turned back to Rachel, whose face was blank. She hadn't wiped her tears, something Quinn felt nearly desperate to do because the last thing on Earth she'd wanted to do was make the girl cry.

She ginned up the courage to whisper, "Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"You're awake and not talking. Did I break you?

Rachel gave her a strange and very sweet half smile, "No, Quinn. If anything, I think you just fixed me."

Having Rachel say that to her brought up emotions that were all way too heavy for Quinn to process in front of anyone else so she replied, "That's what she said."

The spell was broken. All of the Berrys laughed and Rachel beamed at her, "Perfect."

"Alright. Time to get to bed, Frodo."

"Are you going to carry me, Legolas?"

"Ah. So I'm an elf?"

"Of course! You're tall and beautiful and blonde. Brittany can be an elf too. I think she'd like that. But Santana definitely has to be the ugly hairy dwarf."

"Excuse my language, but Santana would SO kick your ass for that. Well, she'd want to but I wouldn't let her. You think you still need carrying?"

Rachel, who was rapidly sobering, said, "No. I just think that this was my first real blow-out high school party where I got drunk and danced with strangers who I now seem to remember were fondling me rather aggressively. Evidently, despite their advances, I was picked by a cheerleader. But the head cheerleader wanted me more so she took me home. As I've said, I don't remember these things. I'm in massive trouble with my parents they're being kind enough to delay until tomorrow. That will be unpleasant. If I don't remember the only truly interesting or fun part of my evening that would be a shame."

Quinn shook her head. "A—you're talking in paragraphs again so I think you'll live. B—you're still drunk because your filter is really way—wait. What am I talking about? You never have a filter."

Eric added, "She hasn't had one since the day she could talk, Quinn. And no, you're not carrying Rachel. Baby, Quinn's a very strong young athlete but she's already dead-lifted you out of a car, carried you up a flight of stairs and held you in her arms for about ten minutes. She's done her work for the night."

Rachel popped to attention. "How thoughtless of me! Have I injured you? Have you pulled or strained yourself in any respect? If so, we have extensive first aid supplies and you are welcome to—"

Quinn gently put her right index finger on Rachel's motor mouth, "Simmer down, Frodo. No pulls. A little strain. I'll be sore but I'm fine. I'm weight-tested to 104 pounds. You only weigh 102 but I'm used to catching and doing assisted lifts, not hauling hobbits around."

"How do you know how much I weigh?"

"Maybe because I catch Carrie Greenstreet six days a week and she weighs 102 pounds?" She smiled mischievously before she added, "Because I'm the captain I could choose to catch Santana every time but that would makes her nuts."

"Why?"

"She's the lightest person on the squad, she hates being reminded of it and that would be sort a big burn for her. "

"How much does she weigh?"

Quinn actually flinched at that question, "If I tell you, you can't ever, ever tell."

The Berry men both sighed as Rachel smiled. Nobody loved a secret more than their daughter.

"I promise I won't say a word."

"Rachel, look at me. You can't even remotely suggest anything about her body size. You can't say something like 'As another person of a petite nature, I believe blah, blah blah,' which is something that you SO would do. And even if she calls you midget, you can't call her out."

"Why not? Are you saying she's smaller than I am? Because she makes fun of my height all the time. She's at least two inches taller than me."

"How about this. She's prone to violence? That said, she does make fun of you and she is taller but she is smaller. The difference is that what she says to you only stings you a little. Being small, for Santana, nearly kills her because how would you feel if you only weighed 97 pounds and had to take care of Brittany? How mean would you have to be and how much attitude do you think you'd have to have to keep people so scared of you they'd never make fun of Brittany? And Rachel, please. You know exactly what kids would say to Brittany if Santana weren't so scary."

Rachel tilted her head to one side, "I must say I've never considered that. That explains a great deal."

"When you think about Santana—and it personally keeps me from strangling her nearly every day of my life—filter everything you know about San through Brittany. She's Britt's hero."

Rachel took a really deep breath. "I can't remember how much Santana Lopez weighs and it's time to brush my teeth!"

Quinn pointed at Jacob and Eric and said, very brightly, "Because oral hygiene is a vitally important part of a healthy lifestyle!"

They smirked. Rachel snorted. "Ha! You do listen to me."

"I hang on every word."

"I don't like being made fun of."

"Is that what you honestly think I'm doing?"

"I'm uncertain."

"For God's sake. Brush your teeth, Rachel."

"Did you know we have three bathrooms and I have a toothbrush in each one?"

"Of course you do."

"Although I deeply wish to floss, that is a private activity and I don't think skipping that procedure will impair my dental health."

As Rachel began to brush her teeth, her parents saw Quinn watching her with undeniable, obvious amusement and fondness. Who was this person? Before Rachel spat her toothpaste into the sink, Quinn stopped her, turned to face her in the mirror. "Rach, here's my one big secret. Have you ever played mad dog?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Right. When you brush your teeth, you sort of look like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. So mad dog!"

Quinn grabbed the toothpaste, poured a string of it on her finger and ran water over it. She used that finger as a toothbrush, ferociously worked up a bit of foam and said, "Now growl, mad dog!" She let the foam fly from out of her mouth as she growled at the mirror.

Rachel growled and laughed. They both growled and laughed as Eric and Jacob watched.

Jacob said, "That was the most insane yet true thing I've ever seen in my life."

Quinn smiled. "I aim to please."

As Rachel got into bed, Quinn looked around. It was pink and there were stars everywhere.

"Okay. And wow. This is a very, very, very Berry bedroom."

"You can't make fun."

"Is that like a mantra at this point?"

"Do I have complete and probable cause to ask that you not make fun of me?"

"You know what? If you're going to be logical, I have nothing to say. And that's a little joke, by the way."

"Dad, Daddy, late as it is, I believe I need to talk to Quinn privately. I'm fairly certain it won't result in fisticuffs."

"Rachel, can you even feel the crazy? You're sixteen and you just used the word fisticuffs for talking to a person who is, putatively, only your frienemy."

"Can you feel the crazy? You just used the word putatively."

Quinn smiled at her. "What can I say? I have a great vocabulary."

Eric pulled at Jacob's arm, "We'll be downstairs. Do you need to call home, Quinn? It's really late."

"Thanks but no. My mom won't notice I'm not there. I had a question for you before I talk with Rach."

Jacob said, "Of course. Shoot."

Quinn looked into Rachel's eyes and said, "I don't know if your parents will let you have visitors tomorrow but I'd like to come over and watch a movie or have lunch or something. Because when you get drunk and you have a hangover and stuff you feel dumb and embarrassed the next day sometimes. I don't want you to feel that way."

"You mean I may feel emotionally vulnerable and you want to obviate that?"

"Nice rephrase, Berry."

Jacob snorted then said, "She'll be free for a visit, Quinn, and we'll be downstairs."

They closed the door as they left the room and Rachel frowned as she nestled into her pillow. It took a few moments before she said, "I don't understand…" she waved her hand between herself and the other girl…"this."

Before Quinn answered, Rachel said, "And it's really, frankly, hard to believe."

Quinn dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I know. We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? "

She took Rachel's hand. "Close your eyes, Frodo, and I'll sing you to sleep."

Rachel stared at her for what seemed like a long, long time, then said, "You can't tell my dads, okay?"

Quinn nodded.

"I've always wanted a woman to sing me to sleep."

"Close your eyes, then, and I'm sorry for the selection but…"

What Rachel always appreciated about Quinn's voice was its sweetness. She could be pitchy and drift sharp but Quinn's voice was incredibly gentle and soft when hers, so strong, could not be. She knew the song—both of her fathers and she adored it. And she recognized immediately that Quinn was changing the lyrics.

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem

She is a special one, she's never seen the sun

She only comes out when the moon is on the run

And all the stars are gleaming

She's growing in the street right up through the concrete

But soft and sweet and dreamin'

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem

With eyes as dark as coal that look down in my soul

And starts a fire there and then I lose control

I have to beg your pardon

I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows…in my garden

Rachel didn't move because the moment was all too frightening and perfect to disturb. She felt the slightest, softest kiss on her temple.

"Sweet dreams, Frodo."

Song: Spanish Harlem (youtube) watch?v=OGd6CdtOqEE