If you're still reading, thanks for sticking with me. *I don't own Glee or Glee characters* I hope the chapter is enjoyable.
No Good Deed
The schoolhouse had not been saved and the smell of smoke and charred wood still lingered heavily in the air. Rachel wished it would rain and wash away some of the grime and stench. Quinn's singed dress still lay crumpled in the corner of her room; the girl had borrowed one of her dresses and returned home quickly. Mr. Fabray had even stopped by to thank the Berrys' for their help; though, the brunette swore she could still hear his seething dislike for them in the undertone of his grateful speech. However, Rachel still counted herself lucky to have a second chance at a friendship with the blonde now—not that she wouldn't have helped her otherwise.
The townspeople had nearly decided that classes would have to be canceled. With no place to hold lessons, it had been suggested that perhaps the courthouse could be used, but it was decided that students scurrying around would be too much of a disruption to legal matters. After a few hours of discussion, LeRoy and Hiram had decided to offer two of the empty rooms on the second story of the Inn for classes; the rooms had stairs on the outside of the building leading to them, so after assuring many of the parents that the students wouldn't have to enter the bar level of their establishment, it had been quickly agreed. Some of the townsfolk were still wary of the students being taught there, most of all the sheriff, whose dislike of her family seemed to grow a little each day, but they had no other options. Whatever issues people had would blow over in time—Quinn's father had already sent word that he was looking for a builder, and various business owners of New Lima were chipping in to help pay the costs.
Rachel couldn't help but wonder—if it had been anyone else but Quinn Fabray, would the town be so forgiving? The blonde had insisted on helping Miss Pillsbury organize the two moderately sized rooms and the brunette decided to help as well. She was enjoying spending time with the other girl when it didn't end in her crying or covered in fizzy beverage. As she watched her work and enjoyed light hearted conversation with her, the petite girl remembered why she had wanted to so badly to befriend her in the first place.
The two rooms were connected by an open archway; it was meant to be a suite for high paying customers. Since her fathers hadn't had the opportunity to decorate or even fully furnish the room yet, there wasn't much clutter to clear away before the few spare desks from the shed, along with several long tables and chairs, were carried in for them to arrange. By sunset, the bulk of their work was completed and Emma was shooing them out of the room, insisting they get enough sleep before tomorrow's class. Rachel made her way downstairs, to the office, and returned quickly with a spare key to the outer doors for her teacher.
To be honest, the brunette didn't expect Quinn to still be there when she came back into the hall. One day hadn't quite erased two weeks' worth of torture, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the blonde leaning against the railing as she looked down into the restaurant and bar area.
"You're still here," Rachel said brightly.
"I promised to practice with you for tomorrow," Quinn replied softly.
Rachel suddenly felt self-conscious; she'd never been afraid to sing in front of anyone, but, abruptly, butterflies started to flutter around in her stomach. The brunette wondered if maybe she had over worked herself today. The girl's hazel eyes were slightly red rimmed and it occurred to her that after the fire and today's work, on top of a possibly restless night, the blonde could be ill. After all, if she was feeling a little faint, what must Quinn be feeling?
"Are you sure you want to?" the petite girl asked. "You inhaled quite a bit of smoke last night. Do you feel well enough? Because you can damage your voice terribly if you're not careful about these things."
Quinn smiled as she straightened up and turned to answer her. "I feel fine. It's the least I can do. Really, if I were you, I'm not sure I would have risked my neck to save me."
"I think you would have," Rachel assured her with a smile.
The blond shrugged. "I can't help thinking…that maybe…you shouldn't have…"
"Don't say that!" The brunette gasped.
"But it's kind of true," Quinn insisted sternly. "Listen, if we're going to be friends, then you should know I don't apologize often so you should let me now. I've behaved awfully with you and the worst thing is…I'm not even completely sure why. I've been thinking about it since it happened and I still can't imagine why you would help me…let alone be so nice to me now."
Rachel stared at her intently; she was surprised. Two days ago she couldn't have imagined them being friends, let alone dreamed that the girl would be apologizing to her. She was equally taken aback that she wasn't enjoying it; one would think that watching the beautiful, and at times brutal, blonde agonize over her mistakes would be sweetly satisfying. All the brunette could think now was how much she wished Quinn felt better.
"Well, obviously you're worth saving," the brunette stated. "Please don't worry so much about it. If we're going to be friends, then it's best we simply start fresh."
The blonde gazed back at her as though she were speaking another language. Rachel gently patted her on the shoulder and gave her a bright smile.
"I insist on it. While it's true things were bad between us before, I truly want to be your friend," she said. "I forgive you and I really wish you would forgive yourself as well."
The other girl smiled and nodded. "I'll try then. Where should we practice?"
"I was thinking in the classroom," Rachel chirped. "That way we can really visualize what it will be like and get a feel for the acoustics of the room."
"Sounds good." Quinn chuckled.
The blonde glanced back down to the bar and Rachel saw her eyebrow arch and then furrow before she looked back up and backed away from the railing. The brunette peered down to where Quinn had been looking but nothing seemed odd. As she scanned the customers, she noticed Kurt standing next to his father at the bar; he waved excitedly and she waved back. Kurt was here pretty often, either visiting her or keeping an over anxious eye on Burt. The delicately featured boy motioned to Quinn, who now had her back against the railing, and made an expression and gesture that clearly meant - what's she doing here?
It's ok, Rachel mouthed to him before turning to follow the blonde into the makeshift schoolroom.
"You two did well today," Kurt stated casually from the ottoman.
"So did you," Rachel complemented back. "I really wasn't sure if yours and Santana's voices would work well together, but they did. Obviously Mr. Schue has very discerning instincts."
"I don't think instincts had much to do with it," the boy confided. "I think Miss Pillsbury asked him to pair certain people up."
Rachel frowned, pushed her sheet music aside, and rolled over on the bed to face him. "Why would they do that?"
"To help us accept each other through the magic of music," he said with a flourish. "Music is a powerful thing. but I doubt any about of singing will make Santana be nicer."
The brunette gave him a sympathetic smile. "How bad was it?"
Kurt shuddered and waved his hands as though trying to shoo away the bad memories. She giggled and he fixed her with a dramatically venomous look before laughing as well.
"Nothing worse than any other day." He shrugged. "Except louder and longer."
They hadn't known each other for long, but she could already see that, despite his theatrical antics, the boy was becoming deeply scarred by the constant bullying—not to mention the hiding. Kurt didn't exactly blend in, but most people in town attributed it to a combination of his mother's coddling treatment of him when she was alive and her untimely death. No one seemed to look far beyond that for answers; perhaps out of respect for Burt or perhaps because they didn't really want to know. Everyone knew he had taken over keeping the house in order and assumed that, if not for that, he would be learning his father's trade as a blacksmith—an image Rachel couldn't even imagine for him. That didn't stop the boys, or Santana, from torturing him daily in one way or another. She traced the stitching of the quilt she was laying on and pondered whether or not to broach the subject with him. After all, she was pretty sure, but didn't want to assume, and though she'd never confided in him about her fathers, she was fairly sure he knew.
"So how bad was it for you?" he asked, jolting her out of her daze.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "What?"
"How awful was Quinn when you were practicing?" Kurt asked. "I saw you together Thursday. I gave her quite the scowl for you."
"Oh!" Rachel sat up quickly. "You didn't!"
"I wasn't alone," Kurt laughed, "your father did as well."
"Oh no." The girl moaned. "It was actually quite nice. She was nice. I really think we are going to be good friends now that we have a second chance."
"Ah," he responded with his quick little acknowledgement that had come to mean he thought she was being crazy.
"I mean it," the brunette stated. "Things really are different now."
The boy shrugged dismissively as she turned back around to face the mirror. She continued to stare, trying to watch his face in the reflection, before lying back on the bed with a sigh.
"I don't think you're right about Mr. Schue pairing us up that way. Lots of the partners get along perfectly fine. Finn and Puck are best friends; they don't have any issues with each other," she insisted—mostly because if he could be wrong about that, he could also be wrong about Quinn.
"They will if Finn ever catches on to the way Puckerman feels about Quinn," Kurt pointed out. "It's ridiculously obvious."
"Yes." Rachel sighed. "They were both definitely singing to Quinn today."
"Ridiculously obvious." He nodded.
"Did you sing to anyone in particular today?" she asked.
Kurt tensed before meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Maybe."
Before she could ask him anything else, the boy was up and walking to her wardrobe; as he opened the doors he asked, "Were you singing to anyone during your song?"
Rachel paused for a moment before answering. "Of course. To all my adoring fans."
He glanced back to give her a quizzical look.
"That I will have someday," she added.
"What is this doing in here?" Kurt inquired, pulling out Quinn's dress.
"I didn't know if she would want it back," the brunette defended. "I couldn't very well throw it out."
"Half of it's burnt away," he pointed out with a little disgust. "It was on fire, Rachel; it's making all your clothes reek."
"It is not," she argued, standing up to join him at the wardrobe, her nose wrinkling at the smell. "Alright, well, I just don't know what to do with it until Quinn tells me if she wants it back."
"Oh my god." He giggled. "She doesn't want it back. What could she possibly do with it?"
Rachel pried the dress out of his hands and hung it back up. "I don't know, but it's not polite to just throw other people's things away you know."
She huffed a little as he smirked at her. "Enough chit chat; come over here and help me sort out the sheet music like you promised. Mr. Schue's collection seriously needs updating and I want to have these ready for him by Monday."
Mr. Schuester gently declined Rachel's offer of new material on Monday, insisting that his collection was current enough, though he would definitely let her know if he ever changed his mind. The brunette returned to her seat unhappily and crossed her arms.
"Good news, class," William announced. "The Berrys' have offered to close bar sales for an hour on Fridays so that we can use their stage area to perform."
"That is…" Miss Pillsbury interjected nervously, "if all your parents agree to it. So please, please, please, remember to ask them tonight and let me know tomorrow."
Their new teacher handed out their music assignments quickly; this time, each song would be preformed by groups of three. Rachel was disappointed that she wasn't being paired with either Quinn or Kurt, who were both grouped with Finn this time. The brunette had been assigned with Mercedes and Puck, and though the boy's attitude intimidated her, she was eager to match her voice against the other girl's.
"That leaves Santana, Brittany, and Dave as the last group and they will be singing…" Mr. Schuester paused. "Where are Brittany and Santana?"
As Rachel looked around, she noticed the door to the back room was slightly ajar. The two friends must have snuck out into the hallway; it was anyone's guess how long ago.
"I'll go find them," the brunette volunteered hastily.
She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as dashed down the hallway and around the corner, towards her room on the other end of the building. Though she was sure she remembered locking her door that morning very clearly, she couldn't shake the image of Santana snooping though her room. She could picture the two laughing over her diary easily in her head. She let out a sigh of relief when she found her door still locked and her room appeared untouched. Rachel turned quickly and began to head back to the classroom. She stopped abruptly when she heard muffled voices coming from one of the empty rooms. She rolled her dark brown eyes in irritation as she tossed open the door—only to find the room empty. Stepping inside, she listened carefully as she double checked her surroundings; just as she was about to give up, she heard more hushed chatter through the wall. The brunette quietly tiptoed out of the room and to the next door; once there, she threw open the door, ready to scold the girls for skipping class.
"You two should be…" Rachel began before gasping, "I…I'm sorry…"
The two brunettes stared at each other, frozen in shock, while Brittany continued to trace kisses down Santana's neck, seemingly oblivious. Rachel shook her head and began backing up quickly as Santana lunged forward and yanked her into the room; the other brunette slammed the door shut again.
"I'm sorry," the petite girl stammered. "You left class and they sent me to find you. I didn't…I wasn't...I didn't…"
"You didn't," Santana snapped. "And let me make this abundantly clear. You didn't see anything. You don't know anything and you're not going to say anything. You got that?"
Rachel straightened up and locked eyes with the intimidating girl.
"Of course I wasn't going to tell anyone," she insisted. "Unlike some people here, I have respect for others. I do know what I saw, Santana, but that doesn't mean that I have a problem with it or that I feel it's my business to tell."
"Oh," Santana snapped back, "you expect me to believe that you're just going to be quiet about it. Why? Because we're best friends? Because I've been so nice to you? I'm not stupid."
"This never would have happened if hoopskirts were still in style…" Brittany mumbled in the background.
Both girls glanced at her momentarily; Santana's face etched with fear, presumably for the blonde's reputation—what hope did the simple girl have if the world that was so accepting of her unique outlook on life turned against her? Rachel sighed as she looked at the two girls.
"You're not stupid, I know that," the smaller brunette continued. "But what you fail to take into account is that I'm not like you. I'm not constantly looking for ways to take someone else down or push people away. True, you've never been kind to me, and yes, you're appalling to my friend Kurt, but two wrongs don't make a right and I'm not going to use something like this to punish you. If nothing else it explains why you're so…"
"So what?" the brunette spat harshly. "Such a bitch?"
"…snappish," Rachel stated smoothly. "It's not a good excuse mind you, but it does make sense."
"I'm still not seeing what's keeping you from blabbing to anyone who will listen about what you think you saw," the other girl flared. "You don't want to know what will happen if you do, either."
The girl grunted in irritation. "Why can't you just accept that I'm not trying to be your enemy on this?"
"Because I'm not stupid!" Santana practically snarled.
Brittany was at the brunette's side in seconds. tracing a calming hand across the girl's back, and shooting Rachel a pleading glance. The brunette didn't know what to do; Santana was determined not to trust anyone it seemed, aside from her blonde lover, and Rachel did not relish the thought of what the aggressive girl's wrath would be like. She fixed her brown eyes on Brittany's face, hoping for a hint or some help on the subject. The thought of easing the other brunette's mind by confiding her own secret came to mind, but that option nearly instantly set her nerves on end—at least she could sympathize with Santana's fear and unwillingness to trust. There was nothing in the past few weeks that made her feel she could trust her, and her fathers' safety with someone so willing to be hard and ruthless on a daily basis. It was frustrating that the very thing that might bind them together would be the same thing to impede their trust.
"Rachel won't tell," Brittany soothed in her girlfriend's ear. "I'm sure of it."
"Sweetie," Santana groaned, "I know you want to trust everyone and you think that everyone is good deep down, but this is big. It's a big deal and I just don't know…"
"I was right about Quinn," the blonde pointed out cheerfully. "And I know you think that you can't trust people, but I'm right and you know I'm right."
Tears were welling up in Santana's eyes and she shook her head while Brittany wrapped her arms around her. Rachel fidgeted uncomfortably and was about to try to assure the girls once again that she wouldn't dream of telling, but Santana silenced her with a glare and a wave of her hand before she could speak.
"What if Rachel promises not to tell if you promise to be nicer to Kurt," the blonde chirped. "You said yourself that if you didn't know better, you'd say they were dating. Though I would totally miss all the funny things you say to him, I'd be willing to give that up if it will make you trust her more."
"I'm not trying to make any deal or…or…" Rachel sputtered. "I'm not blackmailing you…I really wish you would just believe me when I say that I would never, never, ever tell someone something so private and personal, no matter whose secret it was."
"I'll give you Wednesdays," Santana spoke abruptly. "Because there's no way that I can go easy on him all the time. That's not even humanly possible."
Rachel rolled her eyes; obviously she wasn't going to convince the girl to trust her and she had to admit that Kurt could use any break he could get from being abused, but it still felt wrong to let the girl think she was holding something over them. She resented the idea that Santana was going to treat this like a hostage negotiation simply to feel more secure about it. That seemed to be the way it was going to happen, however, and the brunette would have to accept that at least some added bonus would come out of it.
"Fine." Rachel sighed. "If that's what it takes for you to believe that won't tell, which I wasn't going to do in the first place, then fine."
"Good," Santana said with a smirk as she pushed the door open. "Then we have a deal. Get out."
"But class isn't over," the girl protested as the other brunette pushed her out of the room. "What am I supposed to tell them if I come back without you?"
"That you didn't find us." Santana rolled her eyes. "Did your mom drop you on your head before she died?"
Rachel stood gaping as the girl slammed the door in her face. She wanted to protest that the inn wasn't their private playground, but she decided to cut her losses and return to class. She scurried down the hallway and back into the classroom.
"Well they aren't here," she said apologetically as she took her seat.
"I'll tell Britt when I see her," Quinn offered as she gave Rachel a quizzical look. "She'll tell Santana."
Mr. Schuester shrugged and continued his discussion on the songs everyone would be singing. The blonde continued to study her and Rachel was beginning to feel that the girl's hazel eyes were peering directly into her and reading her thoughts. She smiled unsteadily and tried to pay attention to their teacher, but Quinn wasn't the easiest person to ignore. It seemed like her soft brown eyes were constantly drawn to the girl unless she was concentrating on looking elsewhere.
When class was dismissed, Rachel saw the blonde making her way to them and was suddenly having second thoughts about how well she could keep her promise to Brittany and Santana if Quinn decided to question her. Something about the other girl seemed to compel her to share everything; something in her smile and eyes made it hard to resist the urge to trust and know her—and to let her know you.
"You were out of class for quite a while," the blonde pointed out.
"Well," the brunette lied, "it's a big place. I had to look through all the rooms."
"Did you check the bar?" Quinn asked.
"No," Rachel replied. "But they certainly wouldn't have tried; my dad would never serve them with everyone so nervous about classes being held here to start with; he would have just sent them…"
The brunette stopped abruptly and blushed.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," the blonde agreed. "If they went downstairs your dad or uncle would have sent them back up."
"But it can be pretty busy down there," Rachel covered quickly. "They could have just slipped outside without people noticing."
"Maybe." Quinn shrugged. "San and Britt love the singing assignments. It's all Brittany talks about lately; I don't know why they decided to skip out today."
"I don't know," The brunette said numbly.
"They spend all their time together as it is," the blonde continued. "Between class and with Santana working at the dress shop, but they never seem to get tired of hanging out. Guess that's what being best friends means; I like San, but I could never spend that much time with her without wanting to ring her neck and Britt's great, but I can't even say I'd want to spend every waking moment with her, either."
Rachel remained silent as she studied Quinn's face; she couldn't figure out if the blonde was fishing for clues or just feeling left out.
"But the three of you spend a lot of time together don't you?" the brunette tested.
"Some. More with Britt than San," she answered. "Guess I'm just being a little jealous. I don't have anyone I want to spend all my time with like that."
Rachel wanted to ask, not even Finn, but that seemed like it might steer the conversation dangerously off the friendship discussion and onto a more romantic train of thought. She was lucky that the conversation had turned away from that kind of thinking—it made it easier for her not to let anything slip.
"I don't know," Quinn continued. "Maybe there's something wrong with me; I just don't seem to connect with people the way I should."
"What?" Rachel gasped. "You are the most popular girl in the entire town. You're friends with nearly everyone and everyone else wishes you would."
"It's not the same thing." The blonde sighed. "I just feel like I'm missing out on something—like I'm just too cold to really be close to anyone."
"Don't say that," the brunette insisted. "Yes, you have a hard side sometimes, but I know that you have a warm, kind, beautiful heart."
"In the course of a weekend, you've discovered all that?" Quinn asked.
"Well…" she blushed again, "yes. Why would you think that about yourself?"
The blonde shook her head and looked away from Rachel. "I don't know. Something happened recently and it just wasn't what I thought it would be and it…made me wonder."
"What happened?" she asked, her brown eyes growing suddenly worried.
"I…probably shouldn't talk about it…not yet…" the blonde said, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of her.
"Maybe I could help. If it's something that's bothering you," Rachel insisted. "Maybe you would feel better if you just talked it out."
The girl's hazel eyes met hers for a moment and the blonde sighed. "Maybe you're right, but…"
"Rachel," LeRoy called from the other end of the hallway. "I need your help downstairs for a little while. Okay?"
Quinn jumped, but then quickly smiled. "It's not important."
Before the brunette could protest, the girl had said goodbye and ducked back into the classroom and out the door to the stairs. Rachel's eyebrows furrowed and she sighed before turning to follow her father down to the first floor. Hiram was eyeing her from the bar and she realized that he probably saw her and Quinn speaking in the hallway; he was still none too happy that she had chosen to trust the girl as a friend after the way she had treated her before.
"I was about to head to the tailor's to pick up some bolts that came in today," LeRoy said. "I thought you would like to come along—maybe help me turn them into curtains when we get back."
"Sounds like a plan." Rachel smiled.
She knew that most likely Hiram had sent him to get her, to stop her from talking with Quinn. It was no secret that, aside from the blonde's previous actions, her father's were wary of Mr. Fabray; though he was polite to them in person, it was no secret that he disliked them. Rachel was sure that, in time. he would forgive Quinn and grow to like her; how could he not? LeRoy was much more understanding on the issue, though he warned her to be careful and ease into the friendship, he seemed more willing consider that the girl was truly sorry.
"Hold up there a moment," Sheriff Sue called as they left the Alehouse.
"Ah," LeRoy tried to sound cheerful, "Sheriff Sylvester, how can we help you?"
The woman scowled and stepped up onto the sidewalk. "I just have a few questions about your bizarre little family and how excited you were to offer a place for classes in your utterly atrocious business."
She held up a hand before they could interrupt. "Oh, we're all so grateful that you found it in your heart to open your home to every snot nosed, slack jawed child our little community has to offer, but I can't very well ignore the fact that your…niece…was seen entering the schoolhouse mere minutes before it went up in flames."
"Yes, and she saved the life of the girl who set it, unintentionally, but admittedly," he said evenly.
"Well, Miss Fabray was panicked and I hear she and your daughter have started an ill-considered friendship; perhaps she's coving for Rachel," Sue continued.
"I don't appreciate you accusing my…" LeRoy flared.
"Niece?" the sheriff said callously. "I've heard all about your family's quant little story, but I'm not sure I buy all of it, uncle LeRoy. What is your last name?"
"Berry," her father answered tensely.
"Now, I thought you were related by marriage, isn't that the story? Your sister was married to this little nuggets father. So how is it that you have the same last name? It would explain a lot about her; inbreeding has been known to cause all manner horrible deformities, but you two don't exactly look related."
LeRoy swallowed hard and Rachel wasn't sure what he would do if Miss Sylvester pushed him any further.
"Our name is the same," he replied coldly. "Because until after the war, my family didn't have a name; his family were good people—kind people. So when he married my sister, I took their name too. Because I wanted to be part of a family of honest, smart people who weren't blinded by hate and ignorance—people who didn't conceder you less or deficient because of how you were born. Do you know what that's like? I'll bet you don't. Someone like you, you probably don't even know anyone who's been judged, looked down on, treated like a deficient…"
"I'm gonna stop you right there," Sue interrupted before falling silent again.
The sheriff turned on her heel and rushed across the street, disappearing into her office. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief and placed a warm hand on her father's arm.
"I'm fine," LeRoy said as he patted her hand. "Are you ok, dear?"
"I'm alright," She said with a nod.
"Still feel like going with me to get those bolts?" he asked.
"So whenever Quinn gets here," Kurt said as he wound up on of the little music boxes from Rachel's collection, "are you going to finally ask about that dress?"
Rachel put down her hairbrush and turned away from the mirror to face him. "Good Lord, Kurt, you're being obsessed."
"If you say so, Miss Kettle." Jer friend laughed.
"Let's just change the subject. Are you excited to sing with Quinn and Finn? You certainly seemed pleased yesterday," Rachel said as she turned back to the mirror and began brushing her hair again.
"I'd rather talk about how your uncle sent Sheriff Sylvester packing; word has it that was real entertainment." He chucked as he sat down on the bed.
"I'm sure it was," the brunette sighed, "just not to the people actually involved."
"I thought it was just Sue being her regular insulting self. We're all used to that." Kurt shrugged. "No one's ever managed to shut her up before, so I assumed it went well for you."
"Going well and ending well is not the same thing." Rachel sighed again. "But I suppose it went better than it might have gone."
"What was she saying anyway?" the boy asked.
"She thinks she knows something about my family," she admitted. "Or at the very least, she was trying to find something."
"Oh." Kurt exhaled.
Rachel studied him for a moment. His response wasn't very reassuring; it made her feel like lots of people had questions about it.
"Is there any reason that people should be so curious about my family?" she asked nervously. "Why is everyone so sure there is some ulterior conspiracy about it?"
"Not everyone," her friend assured her.
The brunette left the vanity and sat next to him on the bed. "Kurt, who were you singing to last Friday?"
"Why are you so interested in that?" He groaned defensively. "I said maybe—that wasn't even a yes; maybe I was making it up."
"No, you weren't," she insisted. "You were looking at the same two people the whole time."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kurt began to protest as she stared him down. "Fine, I like Quinn, you happy?"
"No, you don't." Rachel shook her head.
"Of course I do." His voice pitched. "Why do you say that?"
"Because even when you said her name now, you had that tone,"sShe stated.
"What tone?" he asked. "I didn't have a tone, you're being insane."
"That tone you get that sounds like you are talking about something disgusting. Every time you say her name, you sound like you're being forced to shovel manure," Rachel explained. "That's not the sound of love and desire—I would know. I really want to trust you with something, Kurt, but I can't do that without being absolutely sure that you're being honest with me and that you trust me as well. I'll admit I have wondered since I met you, but I didn't want to make any undue assumptions—but then I watched you sing and I feel it's very clear."
The boy was shaking a little as he nodded his head; Rachel quickly placed an arm around his shoulders. He wouldn't look at her, but he didn't try to push her away either.
"He's not my uncle," the brunette whispered. "I think you knew that, or at least that you suspected it."
He nodded again as she continued. "My fathers moved to New York after they met and opened an Alehouse there. When one of their singers became pregnant, they decided it was time to start another business, in Ohio, and they took her with them. After I was born, they gave her the business in New York and they kept me. I never knew her; she left a month after I was born, and my dads and I have been a family ever since. It's not easy; we've had to move several times since then because people find out, so I know a little about hiding."
She had hoped her speech would cheer him up a little, but he only seemed to become more upset; tears began to spill over his cheeks and his breath came in little sobs.
"I…" Rachel fumbled. "I thought you would feel better, knowing you're not alone."
"Feel better?" Kurt's voice broke as he spoke. "I've always dreamed of going to New York and you're telling me it's not any better there. I feel like all this time I've had this foolish dream; like if I could just make it there, I'd find a place, find someone, and have a real life. But you're saying it's the same everywhere—that I'm always going to be hiding and this never gets better."
"Kurt," the brunette soothed. "They move for me. I'm not going to say it's perfect out there; my dads never said they were welcomed with open arms or celebrated, but people knew. They just chose to look the other way and that left my fathers free to live a happy life. but they wanted more; they wanted me, and so we've moved so that I wouldn't have to suffer. I've tried to convince them to move back to New York, but they are afraid that once the old customers see them, and me, they will realize what happened and they promised her that they'd never let anyone find out."
"Ok." He nodded. "So you're saying it's still a magical, perfect place, that I could go and be myself."
"Perfect? No. I'm sorry, but I have to be honest. It's better, though; people aren't as determined to know as they seem to be everywhere else," she said before adding brightly. "Magical? Definitely."
Kurt dried his eyes and straightened up, forcing a smile while he collected himself. "So, do your dads know you were going to tell me?"
"I told them what I thought," she admitted. "But no, they don't know yet."
The sound of a ruckus outside interrupted their conversation; they left her room and stepped out the door to the balcony. Sheriff Sue and a handful of parents and business owners, including Mr. Fabray, had gathered in front of the Alehouse. Rachel could hear Hiram's voice coming from the porch. Though she and her friend had come in on the situation in the middle, they could gather that Miss Sylvester had shared her theory—that the fire had been planned so that the Berrys could curry favor, by opening their doors to the students, with several people around town. Rachel and Kurt glanced at each other nervously.
"What's going on here?" a familiar voice asked. "Dad, what's this all about?"
"Nothing, Quinnie, go on back home; the grownups can handle this," her father said smoothly.
"I was just on my way to visit Rachel," Quinn continued. "Did I hear right? You all think that they had something to do with the fire? How can you think that after I clearly told you exactly what happened?"
"I got a chance to explain to your father," Sue chimed in, "about how trauma and shock can sometimes cause girls to go through a kind of hysteria. I simply explained that maybe you were remembering things differently than they actually happened; perhaps a little nicer, cleaner, than the horror you actually experienced."
"It makes sense dear," Russell said smoothly.
Rachel watched Quinn's face flicker briefly with anger before turning to stone. The blonde's voice was steady and clear when she spoke.
"The only thing they are responsible for is saving my life," She announced. "They've been nothing but kind and forgiving to me, and nothing but generous to give up their best room for us to use for class."
Quinn looked up at Rachel and smiled brightly. "We might not all agree about their business, but I think we can all agree that we owe them a little gratitude for opening their home to the good of the town. I know I do."
The crowd was beginning to disperse already, no doubt feeling foolish, and even Mr. Fabray was looking as though he were having second thoughts.
"Dad, you know me," Quinn said sweetly. "Do you really believe I would make something this important up?"
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and shot the Sheriff a look of disgust before placing a light kiss on his daughter's forehead. With no one supporting her, the sheriff shrugged and made her way back across the street to her office, where she continued to glare from behind her desk at the window. As they walked back down the street together, the blonde looked over her shoulder at the brunette and smiled.
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