Triggers/warnings: Past abuse; domination and submission

"Five p.m., turn on the oven. Five-ten get everything out of the cupboard. Don't burn anything. Five-fifteen prepare everything; five-thirty put the pan in the oven, set the timer. Watch the timer. Please don't burn, please don't burn… six p.m. take out the pan. Six-fifteen…"

She was talking to herself. Had she gone insane already?

Quinn sat on the unfamiliar bed and glanced at the darkened television in the guest room. Should she watch tv? She picked up the remote from the cluttered bedside table and turned it over in her hands, staring down at it. She didn't know what she could watch. Real Bratty Subs of New Jersey didn't come on until ten, and besides, she didn't want to watch it without Miss Rachel… She didn't really like it, but she'd never tell Miss Rachel that.

She glanced at the clock again. 5:12. Her hands trembled.

"How do I know what to do, if someone doesn't… tell me what to do?"

Quinn's days… before, had been regimented with almost-military precision. There were two lists, broad pieces of paper hung up in the living room. Her day and evening routines. They were instructed down to the minute, each second of every day filled with the things she needed to do in order to keep him happy. Sir- His favorite thing to do when Quinn missed a detail was to lean her against the wall, her nose pressed to the papers as he whipped her, until the black scrawl that was his handwriting faded into illegibility with her tears.

"You'll learn if I have to beat it into you for the rest of your life."

She lived every day of that life terrified that she would, once again, get something wrong.

And she usually did.

But even with that fear, there was comfort. She could breathe a little easy, when he wasn't there. She knew what was expected of her, even when she was alone. Because she knew how he wanted things – the lists told her. She knew what she had to do, what foods to prepare, how to fold the clothes, how to make the bed, how to clean the bathroom. She knew that every day at 6:15, the front door would open and he would walk in. Sometimes with a grin, which would give her some relief even as she wondered what that grin meant. Other times with a scowl, and she'd begin the mental preparations for the punishment that she knew was coming.

There was no comfort in being by herself now. At Miss Rachel's house, she hadn't been alone, because Miss Rachel had taken that week off from work. She had vacation time, she'd said when Quinn protested. And then she'd praised Quinn for protesting, which was just… strange. But Miss Rachel had been home, and Quinn knew what to expect. Coffee was always brewing by 9:30, and lunch was at 12:10. The television nearly always was flipped on by 8:45 and cuddles…

Well, cuddles had happened once, at exactly 8:57. Lazily, really, without Quinn even realizing she'd inched closer to Miss Rachel, and Miss Rachel's arm had wrapped around her shoulders during a commercial break. It was only just before they went to bed (11:22) that they both noticed Quinn's arms were around Rachel's waist and Rachel was rocking her, ever so slightly. That was when Quinn decided that Miss Rachel was really cute when she blushed.

Even if she knew what to expect at Miss Rachel's, Quinn also knew that the schedule was flexible. It didn't matter if she overslept a few minutes, because Miss Rachel didn't get mad. It was okay if lunch was late and didn't happen until 12:45 because she and Miss Rachel had been talking. It was all right because Miss Rachel had been there.

Here, though… Beiste was back at the House. She'd helped Quinn get settled in a little, showing her where her room would be and the adjoining bathroom, where the kitchen was and how to find everything she would need. But then she'd had to go back to contend with an unruly patient, and now…

Now Quinn was alone. She toyed with the remote in her hand and set it back on the table. Beiste's house was small, nowhere near as big as Miss Rachel's, or even Quinn's hou- his house. Quinn Fabray-Hudson had lived in a little white house at the end of Russell Street. She'd thought it rather ironic, that name, almost as if it was a sign, or maybe a warning. She should have known. But she'd been sixteen and hopeful, had never been out of her parents' home, so the little house with the six steps leading up to the front door had seemed like an adventure, a new world full of excitement and maybe, if she was lucky, love.

Her new room at Shannon's was nice, if simple. She missed the light purple of her room at Miss Rachel's, but the blue here was quiet, comforting. There were a lot of things scattered about the room; no books, but little figures and sculptures here and there that looked as if they'd been collected from a lot of different places. It didn't serve to make the room "homey," but maybe that was just because there was nothing of hers in it yet. Not that she had much… Quinn looked at her suitcase, still resting at the foot of the bed. She hesitated, then stood up and grabbed it, putting it on the bed and opening it with a deep breath. She lifted the lid, and her hand flew to her mouth.

The teddy bear stared up at her with brown eyes, a green ribbon tied in a bow around his neck. Quinn picked him up and hugged him to her, burying her face in his fur. If she breathed deep enough, she thought she could smell Miss Rachel. She smiled a little and placed him on the bed up against the pillows, with a pat to his head.

One by one she hung her dresses in the closet, pausing to step back and realize how bare it was. Maybe she needed to go shopping for more… but the thought of going out in public by herself had her shivering and she had to sit back down to relax herself. Plus, she was supposed to use the little money the government had provided her after leaving the House to establish herself, not to buy things she didn't really need, and she wasn't going to ask Miss Rachel for more money. Could she get a job? Quinn tilted her head, considering. Sir- Finn had said that no submissive of his was going to get a job, which was interesting, because he was constantly complaining about not having enough money. But she knew his real reasons, since he'd said that no way was he going to let her out in public to cheat on him.

But how would she even find a job, Quinn wondered. What did a person who didn't have any money… do? Did they fill out applications? Talk to people? She pulled the books Miss Rachel had bought her – and the Broadway ones – out of her suitcase and set them on one of the shelves of the bedside table. She didn't even know how to get a job, she thought, tears rushing to her eyes. She didn't know how to go outside.

She didn't know how to do anything. Except serve. And now that was gone.

Her fingers fell onto a plastic package at the bottom of her suitcase, and Quinn furrowed her brow. Pulling it out, she smiled again and blinked back the tears that were still threatening to spill over. Berry body wash and shampoo. Miss Rachel must have snuck and bought it while they were out, then packed it for her. A warm feeling settled in Quinn's chest as she slowly walked into the bathroom and placed the things on the shelf.

Her stomach growled as Quinn closed the now-empty suitcase and stowed it away in the closet. She hadn't had anything since lunch, but would it be all right for her to eat something? She glanced toward the clock. 5:31. Maybe she should wait for Shannon… But she felt lightheaded, dizzy, a feeling that was scary and oddly comforting at the same time. She was used to it, on days when she wasn't allowed to eat before dinner. But now… Quinn tilted her head.

Now she could eat whenever she wanted.

She made her way to the kitchen, feeling the strain because she still wasn't as good at walking as she'd like. But Quinn had physical therapy again tomorrow; maybe Miss Rachel would be there? She hoped so. Miss Rachel had been crying when she'd left; Quinn could tell even though she was good at hiding it, or so she thought. It made Quinn want to grab Miss Rachel and hold her, tell her everything would be okay… but as she peeked into the refrigerator, Quinn wasn't sure if it was going to be okay.

There was bacon. That made Quinn a little happier, as did the head of lettuce in the refrigerator, and the fresh tomatoes sitting on the counter next to a loaf of bread. She hadn't had a BLT sandwich since… before her grandpa died. He always made the best ones: crisp bacon and fresh vegetables with a dash of salt and pepper, on fluffy white bread. No mayo, and never toasted. Quinn hated toasted bread for sandwiches, but that was the way he had liked them.

Her hand hovered on its way to the cabinet to get a pan, as Quinn suddenly realized… she'd never have to toast bread again if she didn't want to.

She'd just finished plating up her food and was moving to the living room when she heard the sound of a key in the lock. That old apprehension rose in Quinn and she had to fight the urge to drop her plate and drop to her knees with her head down, waiting. But it wasn't Finn coming in the door; it was Shannon Beiste, red-faced and breathless from dealing with the resident.

"Hey," she greeted Quinn with a smile. "It smells good in here, what're you eating?"

"A s-sandwich," Quinn said, almost apologetically. "I can make you one?" Her look was hopeful, almost pleading.

Shannon shook her head, her sympathetic expression making it clear that she knew what Quinn was doing. "Nah, I can do it. I only like bacon for breakfast anyway."

"Oh." Quinn fell silent then, a little disappointed, and picked at her sandwich. It would've been so easy just to go back to the kitchen and—

"Got something for you," Shannon said, interrupting her thoughts. Quinn looked up to see her holding out a cellphone. "Rachel dropped it off a few minutes ago."

Quinn's eyes widened as she took the cell phone in her hand and looked at it. "Miss Rachel?" she said. "But why didn't she come see me…"

"I think you know why," Shannon moved towards the kitchen and soon Quinn heard the sound of dishes clattering. "But you know you'll see her soon."

"I'll see her soon," Quinn echoed. She took a bite of her sandwich and for a split second the image of her grandfather came rushing back to her. Tall and proud, with white hair and a beard, a smile just as bright as Santa Claus. She closed her eyes and thought about his hugs, how strong and comforting they were. She reopened them and looked down at the phone. Carefully, she pressed the power button.

In seconds she was greeted by the cell phone screen, with two familiar faces as the wallpaper. She giggled a little, thumb tracing over Rachel and Arnie, beaming at her from the glass. Rachel had her arms around the dog, her chin pressed to the top of his head; Arnie's tongue lolled out of his mouth and it seemed as if he was, in fact, smiling for the camera. Jesse must have taken it, Quinn surmised; a quick look to the side of the phone showed that she could take pictures too and she smiled. Maybe Miss Rachel would let her… Pressing the icon for Contacts, she saw that Miss Rachel had added herself, Jesse, and Noah as Quinn's emergency contacts. Quinn quirked an eyebrow when she saw that beyond the numbers for the three of them, Beiste, and McKinley House, there were also phone numbers for several theaters, playhouses in the Lima area, she guessed. Miss Rachel's work number was there as well. Not only that but there were two other numbers, one for the bus system and the other for the taxi service. There was that warm feeling again, when Quinn realized that Miss Rachel had given her pretty much any number she'd need to start finding her way now that she was (not really) alone.

"You look happy," Shannon said, coming into the living room and sitting in one of the armchairs with a plate of pasta in her hand. "Good phone?"

"I've never had one," Quinn said, turning it over in her hands. "All I had was the phone at my ho- at the house, and Finn had a cell phone."

"You know, I think that's the first time I've heard you call him by name."

"Does it get easier?"

It felt wrong, not to call him Sir. To call your Sir by his name was the highest form of disrespect, or so she'd been taught. That was one thing in which she'd never slipped up, not that it ever gained her any sort of gratitude or special treatment. She didn't expect it, either. It was just something you were supposed to do, and now, even though she didn't have his collar around her neck, even though what he'd wanted to do was so… Quinn reached up and trailed her fingers over her neck, where the collar used to be. It still felt so strange not to have it there; it was almost as if she was naked. She was glad she'd been unconscious when it had been removed; she didn't think she could have borne the pain of having the metal snapped from her, even if she had made her choice the night she'd run away.

"It gets easier." Beiste nodded. "The best part of it is when you realize how easy it is to not give them that respect, because they never deserved it to begin with."

Quinn's eyes widened. "I-I don't think I'm there yet…" she trailed off. Didn't every Dominant deserve respect?

"No, but you're a long way from where you were."

"I don't remember being brought to the House…" Quinn finished up her sandwich, not looking at Shannon.

"Probably best you don't," Shannon said with a shrug. "There really isn't any point in dwelling on things you can't change."

It seemed like all she did lately was dwell, Quinn thought. In her mind she still kept wondering if maybe things had been different, if she'd been better, maybe Finn wouldn't have been so angry, maybe she wouldn't have had to run away…. He'd been so frustrated, it was the first time she'd heard him say that he didn't know what to do, and that had scared her more than anything.

Because he'd always known what to do, what he had been doing. To her. Every word, every stroke, every blow was calculated even as it was reckless and frenzied. He'd always known exactly what he was doing. Hadn't he?

"You should send her a message."

Shannon's words brought Quinn out of her thoughts, and she glanced at her, then down at the phone. "I should?"

"Well yeah, I mean I bet that's part of the reason she gave it to you. You didn't think she was going to completely cut you off, did you?"

I believe he said she could rot in hell.

They hadn't meant for her to hear those words, but just because she didn't talk at first didn't mean she was deaf, and when Shannon had said that to Miss Rachel, despite everything it was like a knife through Quinn's heart. She wasn't sure if she believed that perhaps Finn would change, perhaps he would come to her and say that everything would be different now if only she would come back to him, come home.

Back to the little white house at the end of Russell Street. Back to a spotless clean kitchen that always had one crumb. To a bed that always had a wrinkle, with a blanket on the floor. A rule that was always broken, a look that was always wrong, a girl…

A girl never good enough.

And then Miss Rachel had walked away, with tears in her eyes, but she'd walked away just the same.

But there was a teddy bear on her new bed, berry body wash in her new bathroom, and a new phone in her hand… Quinn fumbled around with it for a few moments, and then looked at Shannon helplessly. Shannon smiled at her and took the phone, handing it back after showing Quinn how to get to the text messages.

Slowly, her fingers sliding around over the touch keyboard, Quinn typed out a message to Rachel and hit send.

I made a sandwich.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, on the edge of her seat. She jumped at the alert sound, her face brightening when it meant that Rachel had answered.

Hello to you too :) Did you enjoy it?

Quinn giggled a little in embarrassment; she probably should have said hi first.

It wasn't as good as yours. But it was nice.

The best part of the text messages, she decided, was that Rachel's face appeared in a little icon next to her name. Quinn's finger traced the outline and she smiled softly to herself. Miss Rachel was so beautiful.

You should keep making sandwiches, and then perhaps you'll be just as good as I am!

That made her laugh, and her fingers were dancing over the screen again as if she'd been text messaging forever. She felt like a child with a new toy, and it was all because of Miss Rachel.

I miss you already, Miss Rachel. When can I see you again?

It was true. Already she missed her smile, her laugh, and her hugs. She hadn't wanted to leave, and Quinn would be lying if she didn't say a little part of herself was angry at Miss Rachel for forcing them apart. She couldn't think of any reason why they needed to be; hadn't Quinn said that she wanted her? Why wouldn't Miss Rachel want her, unless Quinn really wasn't good enough? But Miss Rachel had said that wasn't true… Quinn just didn't know if she could trust it quite yet.

Seconds later, the phone beeped again.

Soon, Quinn. For now, you need to enjoy yourself. But I promise, I'm not leaving you.

She didn't know what she could say to that. They always left. Her grandpa had left her; her parents had left her on the third step of that little white house and then drove away without a word, without a goodbye or a hug, even a last look through a window. Even her own voice had left her, eventually. And in the end, Quinn had been the one to leave, the last, final realization that everything, that everyone, was gone, including herself.

She kept playing with the phone while Shannon watched television, laughing at some comedy show and trying to get Quinn involved. But all Quinn could do was flip back and forth between the text messages with Miss Rachel, and Miss Rachel's face on the wallpaper.

I'm not leaving you. Miss Rachel's face. I'm not leaving you. Miss Rachel's face.

I'm not leaving…

She chose to go to bed at 11:35. Shannon had fallen asleep in her chair and was snoring, her chin resting against her chest. Every now and then she'd wake up with a start and Quinn would giggle. She hoped the other woman would make it to bed soon enough; going to sleep in an armchair meant a hurting body in the morning. Quinn knew that all too well.

The sheets were scratchy against her skin; not at all soft like the ones in her room at Miss Rachel's, but not half as bad as the ones in her room at McKinley House, either. Maybe she'd make use of Shannon's laundry room tomorrow and wash her sheets. Hopefully she'd have some fabric softener, but if not… no, Quinn decided, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She wasn't going shopping. Not by herself. She couldn't do that.

There was a quiet beep, and the room lit up in a muted color; Quinn turned over in bed and frantically scrabbled for the phone on the bedside table. Rachel's face smiled at her from its tiny icon.

I hope you sleep well. Good night, Quinn.

She thought a moment, and then sent her own.

Is Arnie okay?

She knew what she really wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure if that was allowed. After all, neither of them belonged to the other. But if Rachel was sad or upset alone in her house with the exception of Arnie, Quinn thought that might hurt her worse than anything Finn Hudson had ever done to her.

Arnie's fine. We miss you.

We. It was the first time she'd smiled a real smile that day. It didn't matter if they were apart, it didn't matter if neither of them knew how things were going to end up, or where they were going to go. All that mattered was that Miss Rachel missed her.

Miss Rachel? Why are there theater numbers in my phone?

… Good night, Quinn. Sweet dreams. :)

Good night, Miss Rachel.

Sometime around 11:56, Quinn fell asleep in yet another unfamiliar bed, teddy bear in her arms, and her new cell phone with Miss Rachel's smiling face held snugly in her hand.