Author's note: Thank you so much for all the positive reviews, I'm glad people seem to be enjoying my story even though things aren't going well for poor Quinn. Remember the phrase "things have to get worse before they can get better"? Well... with that in mind, here is chapter 10. As always, any feedback is gratefully received.

Chapter Ten: Blood and Water

"I'm not going."

Quinn sat at on the couch and glared defiantly at her worried friends.

"Quinn, you have to go," Rachel reasoned. "He's your dad." She sat down beside her and tried to take her hand but Quinn jerked it away angrily.

"I'm not going," she said again.

In the thirty minutes since her mother's phone call, Quinn had remained resolute.

"… He's in the hospital," her mother had said. "He's had a heart attack and it doesn't look good."

Quinn had dropped the hand holding her phone to her side and stood motionless, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through her, whilst her mother began to cry in earnest. She had barely been aware of Kurt taking the phone out of her hand to speak with her mom whilst Blaine led her over to the couch to sit, and Rachel went running to get Santana.

Now they all stood around her like it was some kind of intervention; and no one seemed to be taking what she said seriously. She wanted to scream at them all that she was a grown woman who could do whatever she chose, but she couldn't seem to find the energy.

"Quinn, please…" Rachel begged with her brown eyes full of tears. That irritated Quinn. It wasn't Rachel's father in the hospital, it was Quinn's, and she wasn't crying. Kurt and Blaine were sharing glances and whispering about her, and Santana leaned against the kitchen counter, silently watching her. Quinn didn't want their pity. She just wanted them all to leave her alone.

She got up wordlessly, walked to her bedroom using slow, measured steps until she was out of sight of her roommates, and flung herself face down onto her bed. She didn't know how long she lay there before she heard the soft swish of the curtains parting.

"Go away, Santana," she growled into the pillow.

"It's not Santana, it's me," said a soft voice, and Quinn felt Kurt's gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned over to lie on her back and stare at the ceiling, not wanting to meet Kurt's gaze.

"I know why they sent you in," she said accusingly, "but I don't want to hear it, Kurt. It's not the same for me as it was for you when it was your dad in the hospital."

"You were there for me back then," Kurt reminded her. "Even when I was so angry with the world, you and Rachel and the others were still right there, every step of the way. You even prayed for him. We just want to be here for you."

"Please go away, Kurt," Quinn said flatly.

"It's no use, Kurt," came Santana's voice from a few feet away. Quinn glanced up in surprise. She hadn't heard Santana come in. "You may as well do as she says," Santana advised, "and leave her in here to wallow."

Quinn felt a flash of rage and she sat up with a scowl.

"Is that what you think I'm doing, wallowing?" she said angrily.

"Aren't you?" Santana shrugged.

"Santana!" Kurt was horrified by her heartlessness but Santana was unrepentant.

"Go away, Kurt!" both girls yelled in unison, but their eyes were fixed furiously on each other. Sensing defeat, and an impending fight, Kurt backed hurriedly out of the room.

Santana stood there with her arms folded, looking like she was the one who'd been wronged, and Quinn was so mad she wanted to scream. Instead, she grabbed the book of her nightstand and threw it at Santana. Her aim was terrible and it landed several feet away and skittered harmlessly across the floor. Santana didn't even wince.

"Feel better?" she asked pointedly. "Or do you need me to find you something else to throw?"

"I'm not going to see him," Quinn said, by means of a reply. "I don't care."

"So you've said, several times," Santana noted drily. "And why should you? The man kicked you out when you were sixteen and pregnant. You don't owe him anything. I don't know why your mom still bothers with him since the divorce either, to be honest. So, are we going out to dinner or not?"

Quinn was incredulous. "No, I'm not going to dinner," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm not hungry. And my mom isn't going to let a teensy little thing like a divorce stop her from playing the distraught wife – I'm sure she's loving the attention," she added bitterly.

"I thought you didn't care," Santana reminded her. "And you were hungry an hour ago."

"I don't care," Quinn repeated, but she was shocked to hear her voice waver. Santana sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand. Quinn didn't pull away from her touch the way she had shunned Rachel's. She suddenly realised what Santana was doing. She was trying to goad her into a reaction to get her to open up. It wasn't that she was being heartless at all, Santana's eyes gave away the true depth of the concern she had for Quinn. "I hate him!" she said viciously. "As far as I'm concerned he's been dead for three years already." Santana reached up and brushed away tears from Quinn's cheeks that she hadn't even realised she'd shed. "I'm not going, Santana," she said brokenly. Santana enveloped Quinn into her arms and held her as she began to sob.

When Quinn's tears eventually slowed and then ceased altogether Santana continued to hold her, rocking her and stroking her back in a soothing circular motion. After a while she got up and disappeared, returning with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. She wiped over Quinn's tearstained cheeks and made her drink the cool water before helping her to undress and get into her pajamas. Quinn felt numb and drained; she was barely able to lift her arms to enable Santana to pull the dress over her head.

She watched regretfully as Santana carefully folded the dress and placed it neatly over the back of a chair, rather than throwing it onto the floor, as was her usual custom. She knew it was unreasonable but she was angry at her father for his timing and his stupid, weak heart, and irritated with her mother for being the messenger. She was mad at herself for answering the phone, and finally she was frustrated with her roommates for not understanding her point of view. Why couldn't she just have had one night to be happy with Santana first, before all of this?

She lay down in bed and drew her knees up to her chest, feeling hollow and slightly detatched from reality as she watched Santana straighten up the dresser and take off her earrings and necklace. Santana changed her clothes as well, then climbed into bed beside Quinn and pulled her close. They lay in silence for a long time, and Quinn heard the sounds of her roommates getting ready for bed, before the apartment became still and quiet. Feeling safe and wanted in Santana's arms, Quinn began to talk.

"After he threw me out," Quinn said in a quiet, disjointed tone, "I promised myself that I'd never let him make me cry again. I told myself I didn't care that he didn't want me and I moved on and tried to forget I even had a father. My mom would still talk to him after the divorce, but he never even asked about me, not once. As far as he was concerned, I was nobody - he wanted nothing to do with me. I learned to live with that, and I was doing okay. I mean, I thought I was. But when I was in the hospital after my accident and I couldn't move, I was so scared. I'd lie there on my own at night not knowing if I'd ever walk again, and all I wanted…" her voice broke and she started to cry again, "… all I wanted was for my daddy to be there to h-hold me and t-tell me everything was going to be okay, but h-he n-never even came to see me." She was crying so hard that she struggled to continue with her story but she was determined to keep going. "What kind of parent doesn't even come and visit their daughter when she's lying paralysed in the fucking hospital!" Her heart was pounding in her chest and she shook violently at the recollection. Even now, almost eighteen months later, the memory of the tubes and the wires attached to her body, the beeping of the monitors, the pain and fear, and the hushed voices and worried faces still terrified her. Santana held her tightly and rocked her, and Quinn could feel Santana's tears dripping onto her arm as she cried with her.

"A pretty shitty one, who doesn't deserve to have someone as amazing as you for his daughter," Santana said hoarsely. Quinn looked up at her, and was stunned by the level of emotion she saw in her dark eyes.

A wave of pure need washed over Quinn and suddenly she was kissing Santana like her life depended on it and Santana was kissing her back just as hungrily. Their hands were groping and fondling everywhere they could reach; and Quinn stripped off her own vest, desperate to feel Santana's hands and mouth on her bare skin. She tangled her fingers into Santana's hair and climbed onto her lap to straddle her. Santana placed blistering kisses against Quinn's chest causing her to moan and gasp loudly at the sensations she was evoking. She rubbed up against Santana, desperate to deepen their connection.

And then Santana pushed her away abruptly. Quinn felt like her heart was breaking.

"Not like this," Santana said shakily. "You don't want it this way, Quinn. If you were thinking straight, you wouldn't be doing this, and I can't let you make a mistake."

"It wouldn't be a mistake," Quinn said hotly, trying to pull Santana back towards her, her eyes flashing with desire. "I need you."

"And you've got me," Santana promised, holding onto Quinn's shoulders to keep her at arm's length until the fight suddenly went out of her, and her hands fell into her lap. The brunette took Quinn's face in her hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips, caressing Quinn's jaw-line and cheekbones with her fingertips. "I'll be right here for as long as you'll have me, but I'm not going to have sex with you tonight."

Another wave of apathy and exhaustion hit Quinn and she let Santana lie her down and cover her with blankets. Santana lay down facing her and pulled her close so that their bodies melded and tangled together. They lay quietly but every so often Quinn would unexpectedly start to cry, her whole body shaking with silent sobs. Each time this happened, Santana simply tightened her hold on Quinn and whispered soothing words to her until she was able to regain her composure.

Finally, somewhere around dawn, Quinn fell asleep.

There were a blissful few seconds when Quinn woke up before she remembered the events of the previous evening and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She stirred fretfully and opened her eyes to see Santana's face inches from her own, her dark eyes watching Quinn intently.

"Did you stay awake all night?" Quinn asked in surprise, taking in the dark circles beneath Santana's eyes.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Santana admitted. "Are you okay?"

Quinn sighed.

"I'm going to have to go home, aren't I?" she said, resigned and defeated.

"I can go with you?" Santana offered but Quinn shook her head. She hadn't exactly been open with her mother about which friends she was staying with in New York. She knew her mom wouldn't approve of any of her roommates – the gay couple, the girl with two gay dads, and the lesbian. To her mother, that's the only label she'd be able to see. Quinn's father didn't have the monopoly on prejudice and homophobia in the Fabray household when Quinn was growing up. Her mom could dish it out just as venomously. She didn't want Santana to have to deal with that.

"No, I need to do this on my own," she said sadly.

Quinn packed an overnight bag whilst her roommates fussed around her, making her breakfast that she didn't want to eat. Rachel left for rehearsal close to tears again as she hugged Quinn goodbye, but Quinn's anger towards her had faded overnight, and she was grateful that her friend cared enough to be emotional.

Kurt and Blaine insisted on accompanying Quinn to the train station, so Santana pulled Quinn into their bedroom before she left for a private goodbye. They kissed for several minutes, reluctant to let go of each other.

"I'll be back in a few days," Quinn promised her. "As soon as I can, and then I want our first date."

Santana kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose.

"I promise you, it'll be perfect," she said with a wistful smile. "You'll see. Call me when you get there, okay?"

"I'll try." Quinn picked up the piece of paper on which Kurt had carefully written the details of her father's doctor and hospital room, and tucked them into her purse. She reached the curtains before turning and running back into Santana's arms for one last hug. "I'll miss you," she whispered in Santana's ear, squeezing her so tightly that she could feel her heart beat.

And then, Kurt was calling to her that she'd miss her train if they didn't leave now, so she reluctantly let go of Santana, picked up her bag, and turned to go.

Quinn tried to stay calm on the train ride, but she couldn't fight the waves of apprehension over going to see her father for the first time in more than three years. Her mother had told Kurt that he was asking for Quinn, and somehow that only made her more afraid. The hurt she'd revealed to Santana the previous night was still raw, and her empty stomach churned uncomfortably with nerves.

She was planning to get a cab from the station directly to the hospital but to her surprise a familiar face was there to meet her.

"Santana called me," Puck explained, as he took her overnight bag from her and gave her a quick hug. "She told me what time you were getting in and asked if I could give you a ride. How's your dad doing?"

"I don't know," Quinn admitted as they walked to Puck's car. "I only spoke to my mom last night and I didn't get any details. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Puck tried to distract her during the ride to the hospital with lurid tales about his pool cleaning business that she didn't know whether to believe, but they kept her mind from dwelling on the present, and for that she was thankful. When they pulled up in the hospital parking lot however, reality hit Quinn with a jolt and she shuddered slightly as she contemplated going inside. Memories of her own stay in the hospital, coupled with heightened anxiety now that she was so close to seeing her father were making her feel sick.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Puck asked, in an uncharacteristically chivalrous move. Quinn knew her mom would not be happy to see the boy who'd impregnated her teenage daughter, but she suddenly couldn't face the thought of walking in alone so she nodded gratefully.

Puck kept his arm loosely around her shoulders for support as they headed through the double doors at the entrance and searched for the wing her father's room was in. After a few minutes, they turned a corner and Quinn spotted her mom and sister outside a room at the end of the corridor. Her sister was sitting in a chair, but her mom was pacing backwards and forwards, her arms folded tightly against her body. Neither of them saw Quinn until she was only a few feet away from them.

"Mom?" Quinn said quietly. "How's he doing?"

Her mother looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and an unreadable expression but it was her sister who spoke, in a low, bitter tone.

"You're too late, Lucy," she spat viciously. Her sister was the only person who still insisted on calling her by her given name, and Quinn knew it was because she couldn't bear to miss a single opportunity to remind her of the miserable, overweight, friendless little girl Quinn had been until her final year of middle school. Her sister had been an only child for seven years before Quinn had come along and usurped her as daddy's little princess, and she'd never forgiven her for it. When she was little, Quinn had wished desperately for them to be close, but she'd given up on that dream a long time ago.

"What do you mean?" Quinn asked, and even as she spoke the corridor started to spin and white spots clouded her vision.

"He died an hour ago." This time it was her mom who spoke, her voice harsh with grief. Quinn heard her blood pounding in her ears and she grabbed hold of Puck for support. Then everything went black.