Quinn couldn't remember the last time she'd walked through a grocery store. It must have been a while because while she could tolerate the sight of food in small convenience stores, the thought of a building this large containing just as much food made her stomach turn unpleasantly. Their relationship had always been on and off again, but Quinn felt mature enough now to conclude that she was simply neutral to it. She didn't love food, she didn't hate it. It was just there. She ate when she felt hungry and it was enough to sustain her body even if it failed to in Rachel's eyes.

She'd fallen asleep so late that when the devil —cleverly disguised as a five-foot-two woman with brown hair and such a crippling impatience to be noticed that her words had a habit of making Quinn dizzy— asked if she'd fallen asleep late, she didn't lie when she said no. She had fallen asleep very early in the morning.

Now she was somehow on her feet and walking down aisle seven with Rachel, making sure to keep to the side of her at all times. Quinn had been witness to the three heels Rachel's cart had slammed into (and the profuse apologies afterward) and was not going to be a victim. She wasn't going to fall for any of it, especially the bullshit, and she didn't care if Rachel had a problem with the way she looked.

Rachel was reading the ingredients list of yet another can of something, utterly oblivious to an impatient exhale next to her.

Their cart was angled to the side, blocking part of the aisle so that when a middle-aged woman came to switch lanes to avoid an oncoming cart, she had nowhere to go. Her blue eyes narrowed as she scowled, staring at the ignorant piece of trash who was violating some sort of market code.

"Excuse me," the woman bit out rudely, using the end of her cart to push Rachel's out of the way. Rachel didn't hear her. "Ignorant bitch, just like the good magazines say."

Quinn's hearing was still excellent. She watched the woman disappear around the corner. "Are you done?" she asked Rachel. "Can you eat it?"

Rachel put the can back on the shelf. "Yes. I can eat any animal product, Quinn. I simply choose not to. I find it helps me get through an entire meal without crying."

"By all means, give me the vegan lecture every time I ask a simple question."

"Is it annoying?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Annoying like the way that lady was smiling at you at the deli counter, asking which animal's flesh you'd prefer to eat for lunch?"

Quinn didn't respond. She'd only put several items in the cart so far, and one of them was from the deli. Rachel had refused to trust her to walk there alone and so she'd stood at the counter beside Quinn, looking like she was standing at a loved one's graveside.

"Sorry," Rachel said. "And I know most people in this store don't care. They probably found her friendly attitude lovely. But people take things personally, don't they? And personally, I think all deli counters are gross. When someone smiles as they're selling meat, it offends me. I can't help it. But I can sit and eat dinner with people who eat meat —I don't sit there and give them a lecture on a lifestyle choice that everybody is free to make, so... please, start picking out things you like to eat, okay? You can't live off cereal or sandwiches and I don't know what you want."

"Have you asked me?"

"No, I have not," she admitted with a small smile. "What's your favourite food, Quinn?"

"Why, are you thinking of setting fire to my kitchen tonight?"

"Humour me for one point five seconds."

"I've been humouring you for days," Quinn said.

"Tell me."

"I'll tell you on one condition."

Rachel saw it a mile away and carried on down the next aisle as she picked up cans of tomatoes and remembered that she'd forgotten to pick up fresh ones from the produce section. They'd have to go back. "I guess I'll have to figure it out for myself."

"I want my key," Quinn stated, letting Rachel pass her cans to put in the cart.

"I know you do."

"I want it, you have it; I see a solution somewhere in there, don't you?"

"I see it."

"Then what's the problem? Am I doing something to make you not trust me?"

"On the contrary. I'm seeing a big change in you the past few days," Rachel said as they slowly moved forward. "But I'm still not giving you the key until I believe you're in the right state of mind to handle that amount of responsibility." Rachel knew how frustrating Quinn would find that and she considered relenting a little until she looked at her face and, for a moment, saw Quinn as the terrifying vision from her nightmare. She had to look away.

"I think I can handle it."

"I don't. Not yet. And I know you can't stand it; my butting in like this, and maybe being around like this is not the perfect thing to do, but neither is what you'll do as soon as I leave, if I were to go right now. It's not a perfect situation, Quinn. There are no perfect moves here. You're going to have to deal with me the same way I have to deal with you. It's only been a few days, you're not strong enough to be alone yet."

"I should start charging you rent," Quinn said testily. "Every day you stay, I want a thousand bucks. You're down four so far."

"That's pretty steep considering I don't get a bed."

No, she was just replacing a non-descript scent usually found on Quinn's couch and blanket with her own. The demand was anything but steep. "You should be so lucky. And every time you say something annoying, I get to add on an extra grand."

"I'm guessing you'll be a rich woman by the end of the week," Rachel said.

"I'll make Forbes."

"You really find me that annoying?"

"I do," Quinn replied.

"Are you going to be an adult and tell me why? If it's anything other than my efforts to help you, you can tell me. You're making an effort to be a better person, I should do the same."

"I would, but I don't want to cut into your interview time."

Rachel had forgotten all about that. An outing to a new grocery store always turned out to be more than an hour's affair, especially when the person she was with refused to put anything in the cart to have for the rest of the week. They'd have to hurry through the rest of the store. "Oh, I almost forgot!" she said, speeding up to send the wheels dangerously close to unsuspecting ankles as she manoeuvred the cart down the aisle as quickly as possible.

Quinn had chosen pasta from the take-out menu so Rachel made sure to pick up several kinds to go with a chicken fillet that had been hidden considerately underneath a magazine Quinn had thrown in there. Antonio would have to cook it for her but at least Quinn would be getting protein.

Rachel's phone rang and her stomach plummeted at her uncharacteristic and unprofessional lack of time-keeping.

"It's not even nine-thirty," Quinn said calmly at the look on Rachel's face. "You said they were calling at eleven. If it's them, refuse to take it. Tell them you have a life."

Rachel's face relaxed as she pulled her phone out of her purse. "That's going to look good. You won't know this because of your refusal to read a newspaper or get an internet connection in your apartment, but I put even one toe out of place and I'm done for months. Every article describes me as a diva. Please." Her eyes rolled. "Like people know the meaning of one these days."

"Let me take it."

"With your passion of dropping or throwing my phone?"

"I won't throw it, I just want to answer it."

"So you can trash my reputation?"

"If I wanted to trash your reputation, Rachel, we'd be walking around a very public grocery store together." Quinn mustered enough emotion to gasp. "Oh."

"That's funny, because I recall you having concerns about our outing." Rachel checked her phone. "It's just Kurt." It was silenced and put away. "We still need to hurry this up if you want to go to the dry cleaners to drop off your work uniform."

"The laundromat is fine. It doesn't take that long." Quinn peered at the side of Rachel's face as they turned the corner. "Are you homeless? Is that why you're freakishly clingy? I'd get it." She remembered moving in with Mercedes for those couple of months in sophomore year of high school. The first night there had been horrible. She felt uncomfortable intruding so much on a family she barely knew and followed Mercedes around the house like a puppy until it was time for bed and she went to her new bedroom. She cried herself to sleep.

Rachel looked halfway amused. "You remember the reason I wanted to contact you in the first place, right? I'm not sure every homeless Joe is recording an album right now."

"You could be buried in loans."

"I'm happy to be debt free, thank you."

"So why don't you go home?"

Rachel was beginning to look distracted by food again but she made the effort to look at Quinn properly. "Do you want to go to my place? A change of scenery might actually be good for you."

"Willingly step foot in the devil's lair? I'm thinking no."

"And you're saying?"

Quinn arched a brow. "No."

Rachel groaned and turned away. "Your loss. My guest bedroom is spectacular."

"It can't compare to my couch."

"You haven't slept in my guest room. Sometimes even I sleep in there. It's very comfortable. If you ever get serious about wanting to get out of the dump of a building you live in, let me know. There's always one apartment available to rent upstairs from me. We could haggle the price down; I'm fantastic with that. I don't really know why nobody will stay there longer than six months but Alice —I'll tell you about her another time, she'll change your life— could help you out if there was a gruesome murder committed in one of the rooms."

Quinn watched Rachel pick up a jar of the same instant coffee in her cupboard and put it in the cart. "If you don't stop insinuating that I live in a shit hole, I'm going to cut off all of your hair while you sleep."

"I did no such thing. I stated a fact."

"Hope you like a crew cut, Rachel."

"I said your building was a dump, not your apartment. It's not exactly what I would call homey but I don't hate it. It almost has...charm. I don't know if I think like that just because it's yours, or what."

"Wanna trade?" Quinn asked idly.

"You know, if you did the album with me and actually let the world know how talented you are, you wouldn't need to ask me that. It could open so many doors for you. All the interviews and offers I'm sure you would get afterwards… You could move in upstairs, or I don't know, any of the other dozen of apartments I've mentioned to you."

"I don't want to live upstairs from you."

"And the other places? I can set up viewings. What can it hurt to look around some of them?"

Rachel's tone held too much expectancy, as if she believed a change of scenery was the cure to all of her problems. "Look, I realise your head orbits Planet Rachel but can you drop it? I don't want to look at apartments, but I do want you to stop talking. I know you can't do that, so I'm willing to compromise on you just dropping the subject."

Rachel looked at Quinn curiously. It had been a long time since she'd had to make heads or tails of why Quinn did the things she did. She was rusty. "If you don't want to discuss bettering your living arrangements, then why don't you tell me why you won't do the album with me?" she asked. "You say you don't care about the victims, which I actually do believe. You clearly haven't cared much about yourself for the past few years, so why would you care about other human beings yet? But it could open doors, not even to just music, and I just... I can't understand why you'd deny yourself the opportunity. Don't you want that? You don't have to… to settle anymore, Quinn."

"I just told you what I wanted. I prefer the simple things, Rachel. All it consists of is you shutting your face."

"No, I won't. You can't love your job, Quinn. Most people don't. There's a whole world out there, away from the stupid menial tasks you have to do eight or nine hours a day. You used to love performing. Did that change, because I can't understand why you're not biting my hand off? The door is literally being held open for you. You can change your life. You're already changing it, but make it radical and unbelievable. Forget starting the next chapter, start a new book."

"I have my reasons. Imagine that, right?"

Rachel stopped walking and left her cart sticking out of the aisle, turning away to again leave Quinn as the only witness to a familiar middle-aged woman whose blue eyes hardened at the back of Rachel's head as she avoided another collision.

"Whatever reasons you think you have, I feel like you're just avoiding."

"The only reason you're pushing this is because I said no. You don't know how to handle that."

Rachel moved forward. "I don't know how to handle watching you throw every bit of potential you have down the drain! And maybe I miss you. It's weird being back together with our friends and not having you there. It wasn't right at the start of senior year and it's not right now."

"Your friends, not mine."

"Quinn..."

"What?" Quinn looked around to see if anybody was in earshot. There was a man halfway up the aisle glancing down at them like a fight was about to break out, so she made an effort to lower her voice. "Do you think I'm going to be some sort of role model for those sad girls in Florida? Do I really look or act like one?"

"You're starting to," Rachel said sincerely.

"You're seeing what you want to see in me, Rachel. You always have. It's just going to get you hurt."

"I believe in you. I've always thought that underneath everything you were an amazing person, Quinn."

"I threw you against a wall four days ago."

"I know."

"No, listen to me, I threw you against a wall."

"I know! I remember," Rachel insisted upon seeing the vaguely shadowed expression on Quinn's face. It wasn't that she was afraid to say things to rile her up —quite the opposite. It was because she couldn't stand Quinn thinking of her as an idiot. She knew what had happened in the kitchen and she wasn't going to forget that morning any time soon but there was a time and a place for everything and so far it hadn't come up. There were more pressing issues to tend to, like counting the minutes that Quinn had been clean and pretending that the time she was spending in the studio was close to enough.

"And you still think there's something in me that's worth saving?"

"I do."

"You're an idiot," Quinn stated. It was the truth.

X

Rachel had been so caught up in her own head after that, trying to juggle meal ideas to suit both of them, keep an eye on Quinn who had, in her opinion, tried to storm off, and figure out a way to get her in the damn studio just once that she walked her cart right into some poor woman's heels. How unfortunate that her victim had also been wearing sandals.

The shrill accusation of her being a menace was accepted with a deep level of sympathy. Rachel could understand how much wearing any other type of shoe would cause the other woman a considerable amount of pain for at least the following few days, but to have a finger wagged in her face and shrieked at that it had been intended, that she'd been deliberately trying to harm the other woman ever since aisle seven? Well, Rachel was no saint, and she'd had little to no patience, but a civilised person she was. After the offer to call for medical attention was rejected, another repeated and sincere apology was uttered and she continued on.

"You're a fucking bitch!" the woman yelled after her, red in the face with pain. "You know what else is a bitch, bitch? Karma! Good fucking luck!"

Rachel chose to ignore those not so pleasant parting words from her middle-aged, blue-eyed casualty and was more than happy to bark a verbal prompt towards Quinn when she wasn't instantly at her side during her own storm off. Quinn had caught up several seconds later and Rachel was so relieved that she had listened to her that she didn't question why Quinn's hand was free of chocolate when she'd found her wandering down the candy aisle with a bar in hand. But considering the reason why she was all but handcuffed to Quinn these days it wasn't important and she didn't think of it again until they had gone through the checkout.

They didn't speak to each other for the remainder of their shopping trip, not when Rachel saw Quinn whisper something to a nearby security guard or when they loaded their items onto the checkout belt to be rung up. Not even when Rachel added the same bar of chocolate to it that she'd seen Quinn with several minutes earlier.

They spotted Rachel's victim at the store's exit but before she could leave the premises she was stopped by a security guard. Along with everybody else close enough to gawp, Quinn and Rachel stopped to watch, on their way out of the store themselves. Rachel turned her nose up at the woman, practically levitating with the burst of superiority she'd felt. And when a chocolate bar was pulled out of her victim's bag, Rachel didn't know how her feet stayed on the ground.

X

They'd made it back to the apartment with enough time to spare for Rachel to eat a banana and half complete a crossword in the paper before the phone call came.

Quinn had watched a smile touch Rachel's mouth as she was acquainted with the interviewer and was all too happy to wipe it off when Rachel had attempted to go into her bedroom for privacy.

Such a luxury could not be afforded.

Rachel was relegated to the floor, placing a cushion between her back and the wall. She didn't like to sit on the sofa very often being as she slept there. It always made her feel restless. She could never sit around in her own bed at home, either. An exception could be made if she wasn't alone, or doing something other than reading or watching TV, but anything less and she would be anywhere but her bedroom.

Quinn picked up the newspaper and sat on the couch with her legs folded underneath her as she surveyed the crossword, looking at the questions that had been answered correctly. She filled time by sipping instant coffee and filling in the blank boxes until there were only a couple left. She'd always possessed the gift of selective hearing but, to her dismay, Rachel's voice was rarely quiet and every word came through loud and clear. The only time Quinn found herself truly curious was when Rachel was clearly asked about her feelings on Hurricane Fay and then if she had any upcoming projects.

Rachel went on to describe her devastation and sympathy towards the victims and then to talk about her project. "I do, but I can't say too much! Very soon. All being well, we'll have the announcement up in the next day or so." Rachel smiled. "See, I already said too much! Just...brace yourself, I'm warning you. I'm not tooting my own horn but I would gladly spend all day tooting my friends'. I'm working with some amazingly creative and talented people and I'm so excited to see how you guys are going to react."

Quinn wondered how her old friends had turned out, how they'd been spending their days to end up in a studio with each other. She wondered how together each of them was and if it had taken a very long time to get there. Did they wake up one day with a head full of new answers and self-discoveries, or were they still learning every day, trying to place bits and pieces of their lives together into some semblance of a shape that they were comfortable with?

She didn't imagine it took all that long for them. Most of them had been focused and happy during senior year of high school; they all had direction, even Finn.

"You are not asking me about my personal life." Rachel was smiling to interject some kindness into her voice but she didn't like to be harassed about her love life. "No, come on, I'm talking to you about a new project and you want to know if I'm dating anyone?"

Quinn always thought it would be easier to grow up and be grown up if she was nowhere near her parents. Whichever way she thought about it, they'd taught her a lot of things about life and adulthood and which direction not to go in. The problem was there was more than one wrong direction. She never lay awake in high school and pictured her life turning out this way. Even during her darkest time, her imagination was never this cruel.

She looked at Rachel and nothing had changed with her in years. She still knew exactly what she wanted and getting there was as easy as retracing steps.

"No, I like that people are curious, I do. I'm flattered that people are interested enough to ask. It's just that I always find it difficult to react to these sorts of questions when I was always under the impression that my voice and my music is what I'm known for, not who I'm sleeping with." Rachel was looking down, tracing patterns into the carpet and then wiping her hand back over it, erasing the evidence. She was smiling only seconds after. "Apology accepted, and yes, I think it's best if we cut that part. Ask me something relevant; not personal, or how many rumoured physical altercations I had with paparazzi the week after my record came out. Start by asking me who's producing the new album, and we'll go from there."

"You attacked the paparazzi?" Quinn asked, giving away the fact that she'd been listening.

Rachel smiled and held up her finger. She remained on the phone for another ten minutes to make sure they had enough information to pick and choose from and the best cut of airtime as she answered the questions that were relevant to her career and current project. She told her fans to keep an eye out on her website and social media sites tomorrow for the official announcement but not to bother trying to suppress excitement until then; it was worth getting excited over. When asked if she was currently in the studio working on this big surprise project, she lied. Rachel's filter was non-existent a lot of the time but she didn't think it would be appreciated by anyone if she was to start talking about how little time she'd actually spent in the studio so far, and the reason why. She was thanked for her time and told what time later in the day the interview would be aired —five-fifteen p.m. It was a good time slot. Hopefully it would attract a lot of attention.

As soon as her phone call was finished, she looked up to see Quinn actually reading a newspaper. "You're reading that?" she asked tentatively.

"Just looking at the pictures," Quinn said, and folded the newspaper in half as she turned to face Rachel. "So, how did you end up beating a pap?"

"I'm not a menace," Rachel said with an underlying tone of exasperation. "I didn't beat him, I slapped him. It was hardly worth reporting; it barely stung my hand, but it was on the gossip websites within a few hours. No evidence, I'll have you know. No photos, just a rumour. It's why I still have all of those fans."

"But the rumours were true?"

"One was."

"Why'd you hit him?"

"His face got too close to my hand."

Quinn looked like she believed that as much as she believed in flying pigs. "Right."

Rachel was still sat on the floor. Her legs were pulled up so that her arms were crossed over and resting on her knees as she held her phone firmly in her hand. She deliberated her response for a second. "He mentioned my Dad."

Quinn knew which one. The summer she'd spent a large majority of her time at Rachel's taught her that Leroy was Dad and Hiram was Daddy. "So he was homophobic? Tell me you didn't lose your head over that. I'm not saying it doesn't suck, but you dealt with it well enough at school. You save public outbursts of violence for better things than that."

"It was homophobic, yes, but it was more than that. He was an ass. I didn't regret it then and I don't regret it now. Dante, he was my bodyguard during events at that time, took care of him before I could inflict any real damage, anyway. But I still had to pay out to avoid any serious fall out."

"For the big career?"

"My work was definitely a factor," Rachel replied a little vaguely.

Quinn waited for an elaboration but it never came. "But it wasn't the main one?"

The question brought forth emotions long since buried in the deepest part of Rachel's mind. It had been a long time since that day where she had lost control for all of the wrong reasons, and being forced to remember that time of her life while her present was so screwed up felt like the split-second panic experienced directly after being winded from a blow to the stomach. It caught her off guard. The last time Quinn had appeared so interested in her life had been the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school.

"I thought you didn't care what I had to say. Now you're interested?"

Quinn shrugged and held a hand up, flicking her wrist to the side. "What else is there to talk about?"

It was said with such candid flippancy that Rachel laughed, but it was a while before she responded with anything more than that. "I used to talk to my Dad about everything. Both of them. So I told them everything that happened, including how much I was not sorry and would never in a million years apologise for the way that I acted, or respond in any other way should it happen again. They had a different opinion. I mean, they thanked me for defending them, of course. They weren't ungrateful. But they didn't think it was worth tarnishing the image I'd made for myself on the stage. It took a heated and highly emotional conversation for their words to really sink in. I got a little hysterical, looking back."

"So you paid that guy for your parents?"

"You know my Dads have always been the world to me," Rachel said. "They were my friends when nobody else wanted to be. They've always had my best interests at heart. And if they thought that I should do whatever I could to get the story, complete with a picture, not to print in the main press and avoid everything that came with negative media, that's what I would do. So, yeah, a million years passed in the space of twenty minutes."

Quinn was looking at her contemplatively. "Do you regret it?"

"The only thing I really regret is that I didn't hit that guy as hard as I could have."

"Maybe he'll stalk you during the peak of your new album promotion."

Rachel nodded. "So, ah, speaking of the album, do you want to come to the studio with me this afternoon?"

"No."

"Not even if I say please?" she asked hopefully.

"If it's the same question you're asking, my answer isn't going to change."

Rachel decided that she would drop the question in to every conversation until Quinn caved. Surely it was only a matter of time. All the same, being shot down after sharing something about herself stung as much as ever. She got up and walked over to the couch, sitting a seat away from Quinn. "It was bad. That day with the paparazzo, it was bad. I told you about a bad day because you asked and seemed interested. The least you could do is indulge my one request of the day."

"How did you wake me up this morning?" Quinn asked, almost conversationally. "Your exact words."

Rachel rolled her eyes but tried to remember, anyway. "Quinn, get up, we're going to the market."

"And then you left the room."

"So?"

"So, I didn't go back to sleep. I got up and walked around that stupid store with you while you read the packaging to every single item on the shelves, and made sure that we were back here in time for your interview. Seems to me like I've already indulged you for today."

"Food is essential to our survival."

"You should update Twitter with that gem."

In Rachel's favour, she didn't bat an eyelid. "I just meant that it was an important task. And you act like you had a choice, but we both know you didn't."

The dark circles under Quinn's eyes looked harsher when she was frowning. "I do what I want to do."

"So what you're really saying is that you wanted to get up early to go shopping with me? Quinn, that's so sweet."

"That's another grand."

Rachel smiled. "I'm annoying you now? It wasn't a couple of hours ago that you were planting evidence to stage an arrest on a woman who was rude to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. You put that candy bar in her purse when she wasn't looking," she said confidently.

Quinn didn't look particularly affected by that accusation. Her face remained impressively impassive, even with a self-satisfied smile being beamed her way. "Did you see me do it?"

"Well, no, but I know you did."

"Is that your sixth sense talking?"

"No, it's my gut."

"Your gut is full of shit," Quinn said.

"Or you are." Rachel's phone buzzed on the seat between them. Her smile only dimmed when she saw the e-mail with an attachment of a new song. It was from Artie; a new arrangement of his solo on one of the tracks. He wanted her opinion.

She didn't listen to it. She didn't even download it to listen to at another time. Decisions like this shouldn't be made over the phone. It was quarter-to-twelve and the studio was booked from two to six. Rachel chose a spot on the wall to stare at while she attempted to convince herself that if she tried —really tried— to persuade Quinn to join her for an afternoon and evening of fun, without specifying where exactly, that Quinn wouldn't leave the second they got there.

Every scenario sounded weak, even inside her own head.

Quinn was looking to the phone. "Who's that?"

"It's nothing."

"Is it Kurt? I saw you avoiding his call earlier."

"It's just Artie. He sent me a recording of his solo for this one song and wants to know my thoughts."

"Aren't you going to listen to it?"

"Not over the phone."

It took a mere second for Quinn's face to lighten with possibility. "Are you going home for your computer?" she asked.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"No, I would love that."

"I'm not leaving." Rachel shrugged. "I can listen to it tomorrow, it's fine. I'll be at the studio when you're at work, so."

"It's a long time till tomorrow. Are you sure you can wait?"

"I can wait."

"Yeah. It's Artie, right? His performances were always worth waiting for. Head and shoulders above the rest, if you think about it. He didn't need to do anything but sit there and sing and everyone would be blown away. No gimmicks." Quinn leaned forward and picked up the newspaper again, opening the crossword back up. "I doubt his voice has gotten anything but better after all these years."

"You're right about that," Rachel said. She was not going to bite and leave Quinn alone so that she could hear Artie's track, but in spite of her stubbornness she did feel the sharp claws of impatience on her insides. It was indeed a long time until tomorrow.

"And it's not like he doesn't have other friends he trusts enough for their opinion on his music," Quinn continued. "He can wait for you. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Shut up."

"I just said he's not going to mind."

"I know what you said," Rachel responded. "And I know what you're trying to get me to do, but it's not going to work. I'm not leaving you."

Quinn stared at one of the last remaining questions left unanswered on the crossword. "Fine, you stay here."

"I will."

"Outstaying your welcome."

"I will," Rachel said irritably.

"While your actual friends need you."

"You need me."

Quinn looked at Rachel and smiled; teeth and all. "No," she said slowly but surely. "I've never needed you, Rachel."

Rachel swallowed heavily. "Well, I disagree."

"You know the sad part of turning away? You miss everything that's right in front of you."

"I haven't missed anything. In case you've forgotten, we're in this predicament because I didn't miss those craters in your arms! What sarcastic retort do you have for that, huh? Come on, I'm waiting."

"You haven't missed anything?" Quinn challenged. "Anything at all?"

"That's right," Rachel said sharply. "I've known you a long time, Quinn, and I know part of you that hasn't recovered yet is finding that difficult to accept."

"Four days is a long time?" Quinn's humoured tone was replaced with a more serious inflection. "Although being stuck in here with you has felt like a lifetime."

"That's why you cut everyone out, isn't it?" Rachel asked, her eyes feeling clearer than they had in a long time. This was one of the answers she'd been waiting for. "You didn't want to be known by any of us anymore because you knew that if somebody knew who you were, they'd have to care. And you still can't stand that, can you? You can't deal with knowing that you're hurting people who care about you, and that's why I'm still here."

"You've had a lot of therapy, haven't you?"

"I've had a lot of time to think," Rachel said. "You barely talk to me. This is probably the longest time we've sat and had what could pass as a conversation, as civil as it is not."

Quinn looked like she was having trouble finding the right words for Rachel to finally understand. "Things happen," she shrugged. "Life happens, shit happens. Sometimes you're too busy holding on for dear life to really map out intricate schemes to cut out people from your life. Sometimes it just happens."

Rachel nearly jumped up from her seat. "That is crap!"

"No, it's just what it is."

"You don't send everyone who ever cared about you into a state of—of blind panic and confusion and hurt without meaning to. That's calculated and it's selfish, and it's a cry for help."

"Is Kurt still your best friend?" Quinn asked calmly.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Rachel demanded.

"It's a simple question."

"Yes, he is still my best friend."

"And you're close? You love him?"

"Of course."

Quinn watched Rachel glare and felt her lips curl in triumph. "So why are you avoiding his calls? Don't you think that's hurting him? That's selfish, Rachel." She looked back down to the crossword to focus her energies on answering seven-across.

Rachel ripped the newspaper out of her hand. "Don't think for a second that what applies to you applies to me. Nothing about those situations is the same."

"Yes, it is," Quinn retorted fervently.

"No, I am angry with Kurt! I'm angry with a lot of people, actually. But Kurt is my best friend, he should have told me. He should have trusted me."

"With what?"

"With you! When it happened, when he knew that you'd done a disappearing act, he didn't tell me. None of them did." Rachel's face hardened against the oncoming rush of tears. "None of them thought I was important enough to know the truth. They thought that little of our relationship, Quinn, that they didn't say a word. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"Do they know about me?" Quinn asked quietly.

"That I found you? Of course they know. How could I ever hide—"

"No, do they know that I'm..."

"A recovering addict?" Rachel finished for her. "No, they don't know that."

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Because I couldn't. Because either way I feel like I'm betraying friends and feel guilty," Rachel admitted. "I don't tell them anything and I'm betraying them. But if I tell them everything, I'm betraying you. Or at least, I feel like I'm betraying you. And they're okay. They'll be okay. I'm just not sure you would be, and I wasn't going to take that chance."

Quinn felt relief cool the fire that had broken out inside of her. She didn't want anyone from school knowing anything about her life. It was bad enough Rachel knew. She couldn't handle the lectures and tears from anybody else.

"So you didn't plan any of it; avoiding the calls, lying?"

"No, Quinn, I didn't plan on you ever turning into a drug addict just so that I'd have a reason to lie to our friends."

"Then I rest my case."

Rachel scowled. "What case?"

"When something terrible happens—"

"There is no case for you to rest, Quinn!"

Quinn raised her voice to be heard over Rachel's. "When something terrible happens, you deal with it the easiest, fastest way possible. Sometimes that means acting like a selfish bitch."

"Don't you dare call me selfish."

"Stop being so naive."

"If I'm hurting our friends, I don't mean to! I don't want to!" Rachel insisted, leaning forward as if her closer physical presence would convince Quinn of her sincerity. But she needn't have bothered wasting her energy because that was exactly what Quinn was waiting for her to say.

"Exactly. Everybody does things they thought they'd never do. They do things they said they'd never do. All that ever matters is in a single moment, and you don't think, you act. That's all you have time to do. It can either work for you or against you."

"That's not true," Rachel said sceptically. "You don't always have to be rash."

"No," Quinn conceded, "but most people are. We're all impatient."

"Is this you justifying your actions?"

"Just stating a fact, Rachel. You need to stop thinking of things as so black and white. Look at the bigger picture."

"I need to stop thinking of things as either right or wrong?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," Quinn said, hoping this conversation would actually stick. It would be one of the ones that mattered most. "Don't be a lost cause. I'm a selfish bitch but maybe I'm actually trying to save you some pain."

"Are you?" Rachel surveyed her closely for any outward signs of dishonesty but Quinn never gave away much if she didn't want to. Her gaze, however, did seem to be open for the time being.

"Find out. Step into that big grey area. You'd be surprised at how different everything looks from there."

"I'll try," Rachel agreed. "If you come to the studio with me, even just once, then I'll try."

"I told you I'm not going."

"Is it because everyone will be there? Because our friends are not mad at you." She relented at a suspicious scoff. "Okay, they're mad, but more than that, they miss you. They miss you, Quinn. All they want is to know you're okay and to prove how much they still care. Please don't deny them the chance for that. Don't deny yourself the chance to get to know them again."

Quinn was shaking her head over and over again. "No."

"Why not? You hate being alone with me. You said it yourself: I annoy you. If you come to the studio with me, you won't have to look at me or talk to me for hours. As long as you choose."

"I can do that here," Quinn contested, unintentionally proving her point by looking away from her.

"It's not the same."

"No, it isn't, because here I have to deal with you constantly pointing out how wrong I am, lecturing me, trying to control me, judging me, and you think I'm going to walk straight into a room where eleven of your friends will do the exact same? I don't think so. It's going to take a hell of a lot more than you asking me nicely to agree."

Rachel's hand came to rest on top of Quinn's. It was cool to the touch. "What? Is that what you think?" she asked as Quinn's slipped out almost immediately, pulled away from hers. She chanced a blow to the face by reaching up to her cheek, turning it to look at her properly. "Look at me," she said softly, only continuing when Quinn kept her eyes on hers long enough to make out the reluctance in them. "I don't judge you."

"Yes—"

"No, listen to me. I want you to know something. I want you to know that I accept this part of you. I do. I just don't accept that it has to define you for the rest of your life. You're more than this, Quinn. You can be so much more than this."

The earnestness being directed at her made Quinn feel uncomfortable. Her eyes darted away and she moved her head, breaking all contact. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew."

"Knew what? The things you've done in the past? I don't care about that. I'd like to know; I'd like you to feel comfortable enough not to hide that stuff from me, but I understand if it's too hard for you to talk about yet. I can wait."

In spite of Quinn's actions, it was always effortless for Rachel to believe in her. At first she thought it was somehow easier because, drug habit aside, at least Quinn never made the same mistake twice, and God knows Rachel appreciated not having to put up with an inordinate amount of stupidity, but it always went deeper than that. She could never understand why people called Quinn shallow when she could always see more to her. People called Quinn selfish for thinking about keeping Beth and they called her selfish after she gave her up for adoption. Rachel thought she was one of the strongest people she'd ever met.

She remembered the way Quinn used to sit with one hand over her stomach when she was feeling particularly upset or vulnerable at school, as if she was trying to shield her unborn child to the harshness of life. The first few nights where Quinn had shown up at her house that summer after giving birth, Rachel had watched Quinn sit holding her stomach for hours as they spoke about Beth. It was the fourth night where Quinn had said, suddenly, after being quiet listening to music for a long time, that she still couldn't believe that Beth was no longer with her. She'd been a part of her for eight months, two weeks, and five days, never apart, and now it was likely that she'd have to wait at least eighteen years to see her again. It was all too difficult and weird to think about but Quinn did little else for a long time.

Rachel was happy to help her in any way she could, so she'd acted the way she imagined a best friend —or at least a good friend— would act; she listened, offered her own view to Quinn's concerns and tried to interject humour where appropriate to make Quinn smile but it didn't work as often as she'd have liked. And when Rachel realised that no matter how much humour there was out there, it would never be enough to take the pain away, she'd sat there and held Quinn's empty hand.

Rachel had watched the grimace appear on Quinn's face as a thought formed in her mind, but it worsened as the question was voiced. Hers was an entirely different situation but when Rachel answered that she'd never hated Shelby, Quinn's relief had been so strong that tears had dripped from her face a mere thirty seconds afterward.

Believing in Quinn was about a lot of things, but a large part of it was about private moments between the two of them that nobody else knew of. They never spoke of those nights again directly, not unless they counted that time in the auditorium when Rachel mentioned the summer, but it would always be there.

There would always be a time where Quinn had needed and trusted Rachel above anyone else in her life.