A/N: Update, gasp! Just kidding. I'm a bit disappointed with this chapter (it's a bit repetitive), but I hope it sounds okay. I watched Special Education and realized that somebody really needs to gave Schuester a smack in the face. Um, let's all have a free-for-all bullying session on Rachel. But it's totally different from Kurt's problem. Rachel's my favorite character, why are they so rude to her? She just needs one friend, besides Puck (Puckleberry! Loved that! I loved the Kurt and Rachel friendship too, but it's a little late, don't you think?) to support her. Preferably Quinn. ;) Enjoy the chapter, readers.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, sadly. If I did, it would be wicked different.
Quinn wakes up, confused—was it raining in her dream, or was she swimming? She blinks, and her eyes focus on a regretful Brittany in front of the hospital couch, an empty water bottle in her hands. Quinn sighs heavily and hears a loud, raucous bark of laughter. Santana. Obviously.
"Santana made me do it," Brittany mumbles apologetically. "She's too hot..."
"It's okay, Britt. I need a wakeup call anyway."
"Good," Rachel says, and Quinn looks up, seeing the diva sitting up, arms crossed. Great.
Quinn sees a smug Santana sitting next to Rachel's bed, as if they're friends. Fantastic.
"Santana just filled me on some interesting news," Rachel continues primly.
"Really," Quinn raises an eyebrow at Santana, who just grins tauntingly in return. Quinn takes ultimate—albeit guilty—pride at the fact that Santana looks like absolute crap. She's sporting a similar black eye, with a split lip and a few bruises along her tanned arms. Serves her right for challenging me, Quinn thinks before she can stop herself.
(Santana shouldn't have tried, though.)
"Yes. She informed me of an altercation between the two of you last night."
"Well, technically, it was this morning, at like, seven—"
"Quinn!" Rachel yells. "Why the hell would you attack her for no reason?"
Quinn bites back a retort, dozens of insults jumping to her brain before she remembers that insults and jeers started this whole thing. Her shame, her sadness, all of it.
She shrugs.
"She deserved it," Quinn says at last. Santana scoffs. Brittany looks gloomy.
"That's hardly rational," Rachel snaps. Quinn glares. Yeah, she wasn't to be bossed around again. Even if Rachel Berry had a Jedi-mind trick on her natural defensive instincts.
"Fine, take her side. After all that," Quinn fumes, and Rachel's face whitens, stricken with fear. "I hope you two are very happy together," Quinn mocks resentfully. Brittany's fingers wind tightly and determinedly around her wrist as she rises, preventing her from leaving.
"Call off Brittany," Quinn seethes. "I won't hurt her."
Santana smirks. "Nah. She's your friend, do it yourself. Besides, you getting angrier is priceless."
"I'd always knew you'd stab me in the back," Quinn sneers, yanking her hand from Brittany's grip, as the other blonde looks down dejectedly. "I thought we were okay, Santana. Hiding out like that. I guess you didn't mean it. I'm surprised you made it this far with Brittany."
"Quinn," Rachel begs desperately, nearly getting out of bed. Quinn strides closer as Rachel settles again, remembering her earlier promise. Rachel realizes the fact that she is Rachel's real friend, as of the library. Santana's just here for show. Quinn actually cares. "I'm—"
"I'll be here for you," Quinn says firmly, shooting Santana an icy glare which is quickly returned. "But I can't with them around. I'll be back later—call me when they're gone."
She leaves the room, ignoring the stupid, irritating desire to stay with Rachel, and heads home, not-at-all ready to face the inquisition waiting for her. She fishes her phone from her sweats pocket, dialing.
"Mandy, hey. Can you pick me up?"
Quinn rushes up upstairs before Mandy can unbuckle her seatbelt, and jumps into the shower. She wraps a towel around her body as she shuts off the water, appreciating it after the grimy day before. She winces and counts—it's been exactly twenty four hours since the first shot. Quinn wipes the steamed mirror with her palm. Pale, ghastly features, spectral hazel eyes, and a lack of fire in her expression. Quinn doesn't recognize herself. The stranger peers at her as just intently.
The purple bruise around her eye is still there, but the swelling had gone down a bit.
Her breath fogs the glass again as Quinn searches for a familiar feeling as she stares in her reflection. She doesn't remember looking so...lost. Empty, disconnected—like she's a ghost.
Quinn wonders if Jacob is a ghost. Will he haunt her thoughts forever, just like he said he would?
(Hmm. Probably a poltergeist, if she had to guess.)
She tries to guess what people see her as. She has all these different facets and doesn't know which one she currently should be. There's pre-babygate Quinn, using Finn as a status symbol and a total bitch. Then babygate Quinn, full of regret and actually having real friends in glee club. Closer to the day, post-babygate Quinn, regaining her title, still in glee but lacking the closeness the baby gave her...and now? Confused, desperate, traumatized Quinn, holding on to her HBIC title and sanity and religion by her fingertips because Jacob Ben Israel screwed her for life, for he was the only one in McKinley High with the guts to point out that she was wrong.
Who was she now? Who should she be? Who did she want to be?
She can only recognize anger. She's never truly tapped into it—she used to being cool and collected, in a way only a real ice queen can and letting others do her dirty work. Her long buried, hidden anger simmers beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. It's nearly uncontrollable now—fighting Santana proved that. She can't handle her emotions anymore. She's angry for a lot of things; her persistent conscious, her guilt and remorse, her exposed vulnerability when she is used to a front, and the way she doesn't feel like herself anymore.
Quinn feels like she's in a void. Vacant, desolate, hollow.
The worst part of it all was that she didn't want to be Quinn Fabray anymore. She didn't want to carry the shame, the resentment, and the bottled up feelings that she used to ignore. Why couldn't she just start over? Reborn, reincarnated, something, made into a clean, happy, wholesome person who won't fuck up like she did a hundred times over. Then she remembers she can't believe in that. It's not Christian. Quinn slams her fist against the wall. Her identity sucked.
(Teenage angst sucked, too.)
"Quinn," Judy calls, making her blanch in surprise. "Will you come downstairs?"
Quinn flits into her room, throwing on jeans and an old t-shirt and descends the stairs.
Her mother and sister sit in the dining room, waiting patiently for her, and she's reminded so acutely of old family dinners that she wants to scream. She bites her tongue and sits down. Judy looks sad. Mandy looks pitying. They know not say anything about her injuries.
"Honey," Judy starts. "How can I—how can we, fix this?"
"What's to fix?" Quinn replies coldly.
"You," Judy says tearfully. "I can just see you turning into him, Quinnie. Cold, ruthless, and—"
"I'm already those things," Quinn barks. "Ask anyone at school."
"Stop it," Mandy snaps. "Mom's here, Quinn. She's trying to be different from Dad."
"And?"
"She's trying to help," Mandy grounds out between clenched teeth.
"I know!" Quinn shouts, standing up so fast she sends the chair flying backwards, shaking with fresh rage. "Everyone's trying to help! All anyone has been doing is trying to talk to me, get me to open up and spill my guts like a pathetic loser! I don't need this, I just want to be normal again! All of you give me these sad looks, like I can't handle myself! Just stop! I'm sick of it!"
"Quinn—"
"Don't Quinn me, Mandy! You don't know anything about me anymore! Where were you when I needed someone? You were cozy in Princeton, living it rich while I was homeless! Mom and Dad kicked me out—stop crying, Mom—and I had to live in three different houses because my friends knew I had no where else to go! Don't you get it? Stop trying understand me!"
"Calm down," Mandy retorts. "You're acting like a kid!"
"Oh, I wish," Quinn bellows. "I wish I could rewind the years but I can't!"
"Quinnie, please," Judy beseeches, tears spilling from her eyes, "we love you. We just want you to be happy again. We aren't insulting you, we want to help you get back to your old self."
"My old self disappeared the second Jacob shot himself," the youngest Fabray counters, lost in her uncontainable fury, and stalks out the door, grabbing her car keys. "I'm out of here."
Quinn guns the engine, speeding away from her house and her family's despair.
Quinn drives mindlessly, letting her thoughts turn blank and empty. Just like her heart.
She stops on the side of the road, listening to the car turn off and exhaling deeply.
She shouldn't lash out. But people shouldn't provoke her. She hasn't had time to process.
She extracts her phone from her pocket, turn it over in her fingers before composing a text.
Hello.
Rachel looks away from the television and reaches for her cell phone curiously.
Quinn?
Hi, she replies.
How are you?
Rachel smiles in surprise. Quinn certainly wants to keep her wellbeing intact.
Since the last two hours you've seen me?
A lot of things can happen in a few hours, Quinn answers. Then she curses.
I suppose. I feel the same as earlier, except more antsy to leave. Hospitals are horrible.
I'll say, Quinn writes. Imagine giving birth.
Rachel laughs aloud and Hiram, sitting on the couch as he reads, looks up in question.
"Something Quinn texted me," his daughter explains. "She wanted to know how I was."
"That's sweet of her," Hiram remarks.
Rachel squints at her newest text. Can I visit later?
Sure. Mi cuarto es su cuarto.
Thanks, Rachel.
Rachel grins and returns to her television, and miles away, Quinn smiles to herself.
After making a quick stop at her house (stop, as in parking a block away, climbing through her bedroom window like a desperate ninja, packing a bag full of clothes and other necessities before sneaking back out), Quinn finds her car sitting in front of Mercedes's house, debating whether she should dare ask to stay. Mercedes and her family were very generous last year, but Quinn doubts if she should push it. Their friendship had fizzled slightly, reduced to light conversation and smiles, but lacking the heart-to-heart talks. She can't think of anyone else—Santana hates her guts, Brittany would definitely have Santana over, Puck was a no (too much awkwardness and shared sadness), and Rachel would probably been in the hospital a lot longer. Quinn sighs.
A knock on her window interrupts her thoughts.
"Quinn?"
"Hey," Quinn answers softly, as Mercedes smiles.
"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you were visiting Rachel."
"I was," Quinn murmurs. "I left to shower and change at my house, and I kind of had a huge fight with my sister and my mom...I wouldn't ask, but I was wondering if I could crash here for a few days...if that's okay with you, I mean, I could find someone else if your parents say no—"
"It's perfectly okay," Mercedes laughs. "You sound like our favorite diva, you know that?"
Quinn blushes. "Sorry."
"You can take my brother's room. He's still away. I'm pretty sure my mom won't care."
Mercedes opens the back door and shoulders Quinn's duffel bag, and beckons her into the house. Quinn locks her car and follows, and Mrs. Jones is at the kitchen table, sorting out bills and writing checks. Her expression shifts a little, but her smile is sincere and polite as Quinn enters.
"Hello, Quinn. It's nice to see you again."
"Hi, Mrs. Jones. Same here."
"Can Quinn stay here a few days, Mom?" Mercedes asks. "She had a fight with her family."
Mrs. Jones looks at her, and Quinn can see the knowledge that swirls behind her eyes. She was there too, she saw, like all the parents and other students milling in the parking lot, what Quinn looked like just after, covered in Jacob's blood and carrying her shame like a heavy cross on her shoulders. The sympathy begins to emerge, but Mrs. Jones, more tactful than Quinn has seen anyone act, hides her emotions and simply nods, smiling encouragingly. Quinn wants to thank her profusely—she's the first parent that has not tried to help or be here if you want to talk to Quinn and it makes Mercedes's house even more welcoming and nice than it's ever been.
"Thank you."
"Let's head upstairs," Mercedes suggests, and Quinn follows obediently. Mercedes deposits the bag in her brother's old room, and Quinn trails after her as they continue into Mercedes's room. Quinn sits in the desk chair and Mercedes on her bed, sort of like they used to.
Mercedes justs watches her as Quinn tries to pretend she doesn't notice it.
"I know you've probably heard this from everyone, especially Santana," Mercedes begins; Quinn winces—Brittany probably told everyone—"but I'm here if you want to talk."
"I might take you up on that, maybe," Quinn agrees. "When I'm ready."
Mercedes is quiet again, and Quinn preps for an inevitable inquiry.
"I'm just wondering, Quinn...you don't have to answer, but what was it like?"
"What was what like?"
"Jacob threatening you," Mercedes offers curiously, but uncomfortable of the anger Quinn could show at the query. "Being in that situation that everyone secretly dreads when they walk into school, the one you hear about on the news but never really think it could happen to you."
Quinn ponders the question thoughtfully, refusing to let her automatic indignation and irritation cloud her brain. This was Mercedes, just wondering, not Santana, pushing for answers. Quinn could let this breach on her vulnerability slide. What was it like? What words could she arrange to fully emphasize her terror and immobilizing fear and stomach dropping urge to scream?
"I don't know," she murmurs finally. "It's like...your heart stops, and you're wondering if your life will really add up to this point. You think, is it my destiny to die here and not make a mark on the world like your parents hope you to? I started to wonder if it was fate or just chance."
Mercedes nods, understanding.
"What's worse," Quinn blurts out, "is that I was worried about Rachel too."
"I would too," Mercedes says. "If it was anyone in glee with me. Especially Kurt. Heck, I'd be scared for a random stranger bleeding out next to me, if I was you."
Quinn flinches visibly, realizing she's said a little too much and Mercedes fidgets.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," Quinn sighs. "I just...everyone's been pushing and pushing, I just don't want to talk."
"I get it. Whenever you're ready, just like me know, okay?"
Quinn nods gratefully and departs into her 'room', and lies down, content just to sleep.
Mercedes passes the open doorway of Quinn's new/old room, and sees the blonde sleeping.
She pauses in the hallway. She does miss the friendship of last year, where Quinn was completely open and sincere and just another person in glee, with the exception of carrying a child. Quinn's different now, Mercedes notices. She isn't the proud, cold, vindictive cheerleader of early sophomore year anymore. She was a cheerleader again, just subdued and enjoying her time in glee, a niche where she can truly be herself, even with the infamous uniform on her body.
With the shooting, Mercedes theorizes, Quinn has gone through another transformation.
Mercedes simply hopes this isn't one switch too many.
"I hope they're alright," Will comments.
Yes, this is one of the weirdest, slightly uncomfortable, and definitely awkward situations Will Schuester has been in. Currently, he sits across from Emma and Carl, the latter having invited him to have dinner with the couple earlier today. Carl certainly wants to check Will's relationship with Emma, but thankfully, has not made a remark about their previous, er, fling. Emma's happy, Will notices, so he's fine with that. Sure, he wants her, he loves her, but he'd rather have her getting better and in a healthier, equal relationship with someone who will treat her right. Will messed up a lot last year. His chance with Emma was gone, but he was okay with it, sort of.
But that doesn't mean he likes watching Carl flaunt it.
"I can't even imagine dealing with that," Carl agrees.
"I'll call them to my office when school starts up again," Emma offers, her eyebrows furrowing. "Any word from Figgins yet, Will?"
"No," he answers. "They're still working at school. But, Em, I don't think talking to Quinn or Rachel is a good idea just yet."
"Why not?"
Will shifts uncomfortably. "The club went to visit Rachel, and Quinn attacked Santana."
"Goodness," Emma mumbles. Carl looks surprised.
Will nods. "Santana said she was trying to help, but judging by Quinn's defensive attitude when she was pregnant and her tough personality, I don't see her opening up to anyone right now."
"That's common," Carl offers. "Anyone in a traumatic situation would do that. It's instinctual."
"How is Rachel doing?" Emma asks.
"Sunny as ever, when she spoke with us," Will laughs. Emma smiles.
"It's nice to know that didn't change."
"Let's hope nothing else changes too drastically," Will agrees.
"Hey," Quinn greets, shutting the door behind her. Rachel brightens.
"Hello, Quinn."
Quinn sits down at the end of the bed, handing Rachel a DVD. The Wizard of Oz. Rachel beams.
"This is so thoughtful, thank you!"
Quinn smiles slightly. "I figured you'd be bored already of hospital TV."
"I am, it's terrible here. My requests for music channels was ignored."
Quinn offers a small smile before turning her gaze to the window, and Rachel watches her.
"It's been a day," Rachel says absently.
"Feels like forever," was the murmured reply.
"Quinn?"
"Yeah."
"You can talk to me, you know," Rachel says. "Mercedes or Kurt or someone else close to you might have already said 're friends, friends talk about...things. I'm a good listener."
"I know, and yes, Mercedes has offered too. Thank you, but I'm not ready."
"I understand," Rachel acquiesces.
"Do you?" Quinn questions with sudden sadness. "Do you, really?"
Rachel panics. "I understand your hesitance to confide in me is what I meant. No one will truly comprehend what you're going through, but—"
"I'm not going through anything," Quinn interrupts.
Rachel senses the simmering denial behind Quinn's sentence and knows enough to back off.
"Sorry."
"It's nothing...everyone's just suffocating me today," Quinn mutters, clenching a fist. "My mother, my sister, Santana, Mercedes...I just wish I could block everything out."
"You don't have to worry about me interrogating you," Rachel promises. "I'm different."
"You are," Quinn says mysteriously, her eyes holding something back.
Rachel doesn't comment, not voicing her question Quinn's remark, instead tentatively holding the DVD. Quinn stands up, places the disk in the player before returning to her seat. Rachel pats the space next to her, Quinn scoots back, so they're lying down together. Quinn's shoulder presses against Rachel's, the bars on the bed forcing them to be close. Rachel doesn't mind. As the film begins, Quinn admires it, half-wishing she'll wake up like Dorothy does in the end.
To wake up and realize it all had been a dream, she thinks enviously. She wouldn't be that lucky, not ever.
Rachel wakes up the next morning to find Quinn watching the news, grim and angry.
"...still waiting on a final count, but our guesses are at least a dozen students were killed," Andrea reports, a sympathetic, slightly condescending look on her face. Rod nods, wearing his solemn expression. "Our hearts go out to the kids at McKinley, right here from WOHN."
Quinn loathes them deeply. Fake, fake, fake. They don't get it. They just read off the teleprompter, smiling and frowning those patented expressions and not really understanding what exactly happened. People were shot, Quinn fumes. People they know in this small town are dead and all they do is sit in front of their desks, staring into the camera because they have a paycheck waiting for them if they look extra gloomy about the shooting. Quinn wants to scream.
"Quinn?" Rachel questions, placing a warm hand on Quinn's back. Quinn stiffens.
"Morning," Quinn grinds out, scooting further away. Rachel drops her hand.
Rachel swallows her disappointment and silently vows to try harder at cracking Quinn's icy exterior. She couldn't be an ice-queen all the time. Beth had warmed her before, so Rachel could too. Quinn stares blankly the television, conveniently flipped to a new channel, and Rachel sighs.
"I don't like them either," she murmurs. "He was a judge at Sectionals, remember?"
"Yes."
"I heard that Miss Sylvester dated him. I find that both repulsive and nauseating."
"True."
"Quinn," Rachel pleads. "Don't freeze me out."
Quinn just looks at her, examining her eyes closely, searching for something.
"I know I'm not the ideal confidante. I ruined your relationship with Finn, and probably Puck too. Our friendship is delicate at best anyway, and I know I probably will annoy you even more with my habits and mannerisms. But I'm the only one who was with you, who's the closest to you after that. I don't have the same experience, and we'll both cope differently, but please, don't push me away like you did to Santana. I care about you, Quinn. I want you to know that. I'm around to listen, whenever you're ready. You need space. I get that. No one else does like I do."
"Mercedes tried," Quinn confesses, twisting the bedsheet in her hands. "But I don't see myself opening up to her. I told her I would, but...she'll never understand like you would."
"I know."
"Just promise you'll wait. Wait until I can handle talking about it," Quinn begs.
"I promise."
Quinn calms slightly, and manages a smile, to which Rachel returns hesitantly.
"Now, I'll find us some more movies to watch. I'll be right back."
It's a few more days before the final tally is announced. Quinn sits at Rachel's side.
Principal Figgins stands in front of the cameras with the Chief of Police, looking careworn and depressed. Quinn's grip tightens painfully on Rachel's fingers as they both listen. Hiram and Leroy watch from the door, while Shelby is at her house with Beth, also watching intently as she texts Rachel.
One thousand students were enrolled at McKinley just two weeks ago.
Today, more than a week after the shooting, the number is diminished.
"...in total, there were twenty one students killed in the shooting, including the gunman, with at least a dozen others injured. School will resume on Monday, with extra security. A memorial service will be held at the end of the week, to mourn of the children who were lost to us."
Quinn's other hand strains on her cross necklace, leaving harsh, red indents on her palm.
"We're certain that the boy was bullied during his time here at McKinley," the Chief continues, his mouth set in a firm line. "By whom has not been determined. In the future, Principal Figgins will create a non-bullying committee, with full backing by any parents that wish to donate money to the cause. As a town, I hope we can work together to make our schools safer, better places."
The feed is cut off, switching to Quinn's least favorite newcasters.
"Such a tragedy," Rod notes, shaking his head.
"I'll be praying for the deceased," Andrea promises somberly, and changes the topic.
Quinn bares her teeth in frustration. When will everyone admit they don't understand it?
"Quinn?" Rachel squeaks. "Would you mind releasing my hand, please?"
Quinn drops it as if she was burned, mumbling an apology.
"I'm just going to get some air," Quinn murmurs, as Rachel grabs her arm.
"Stay here tonight," the brunette says, and Quinn simply nods.
"Let me call my mom, I'll be back in a bit."
Leroy's eyes follow the cheerleader out of the door in concern, and he turns to Rachel.
"She can talk to me, you know. If she likes. No charge, obviously."
"I don't think she'll talk to anyone soon, Daddy," Rachel sighs.
"Except you," Hiram reasons.
"Not yet," Rachel returns. "Hopefully she will eventually."
"She might need a little push," Leroy states cautiously. "Don't let her close herself off completely. Then it'll be impossible to break through her defenses. Keep at it. She needs someone, someone like you to just sit quietly with her. She probably won't speak to you, but sometimes, she'll want someone with her, just to be there when she needs it."
"I already promised Mom," Rachel says. "I'll help Quinn to the best of my ability."
Quinn sits on the railing outside the hospital, watching her legs swing, skimming the ground.
"Quinn?"
How many people planned on finding her in the oddest of places? Quinn internally wonders.
"Hello, Ms. Corcoran."
Shelby smiles slightly, leaning about two feet away, a comfortable distance.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"Do you need anything?"
Quinn's gaze finds Shelby's, and she stares. She needs a lot. Somone to be quiet with. Someone to talk to about anything, a place to be alone, a place where she won't be alone, someone to love her wholly, despite her numerous faults, and quite simply, silence so she can think in peace.
"Can we just...sit out here, for a litte while?"
Shelby looks shocked at her honest answer but recovers quickly, nodding, and lifts her eyes to the sky, admiring the stars.
Quinn silently asks for guidance as she copies Shelby's example, and prays for the courage to walk into school come Monday morning.