You have no idea the steeple-chase it took to get this chapter done. I had all but given up on getting it posted but here it is, on time! Huge thanks to invisimeg for editing quick for me and as always thanks for your amazing comments. *I do not own Glee or Glee characters*
Who Can I Turn To (When Nobody Needs Me)
Santana's voice drifted up the stairs and through the open door of Rachel's bedroom; as she watched Brittany sway along to the song that Miss Lopez was singing, she had to admit, begrudgingly, that her voice was vastly improving. More than anything, it made Rachel want to climb out of bed and join her on the stage; she felt unforgivably cooped up in her room, but her fathers wouldn't hear of her doing much more than walking—aided at all times—to the banister. It seemed ridiculous to her; she wasn't that badly injured. If anything the bed rest that they imposed on her was doing her more harm than good, she was sure of it, and was most likely the only reason she felt lightheaded when she stood to wander the room in secret. Rachel also had a sneaking suspicion that Santana was in league with the Berry men to keep her sequestered in her room; the longer she was healing, the longer the other brunette could control the stage. She definitely wouldn't put it past her.
"Isn't she wonderful?" Brittany bubbled, her swaying no longer caused any painful jostling, further proof that Rachel had healed quite enough.
"She's improving," the petite prisoner said offhandedly.
Santana sounded wonderful, they both knew it, but Rachel wasn't quite ready to admit it; she was far too jealous at the moment to fully complement her. There was plenty to be envious of; after all, Miss Lopez could go wherever she pleased whenever she pleased. She was currently soaking up the admiration of the alehouse as she sang, and Rachel was currently staring at the grandest thing the other woman possessed—love. Brittany craned her neck in the direction that Santana's voice was coming from and her face was the very picture of delight, satisfaction, and unabashed joy.
"You really love her more than anything, don't you?" the brunette said in a hushed and husky voice.
"Of course!" the blonde chirped, feeling no need to restrain her voice. "I'm the luckiest girl in the world."
"Why?" Rachel inquired.
"Because Santana loves me," Brittany answered, quickly giving her patient a confused look. "Did you forget what we were talking about? I do that sometimes."
"No," she huffed back in irritation, "I know what we were talking about. What I was inquiring about wasn't why you are the luckiest girl in the world. The question I was posing to you was why you love Santana so completely in the first place."
"Why wouldn't I?" the blonde responded. "Who wouldn't fall in love with her? She's so warm and beautiful and caring—she's both the strongest and most vulnerable person I've ever met."
"Brittany," Rachel chuckled nervously, "are we talking about the same Santana? Santana Lopez? I understand that she is far kinder to you than anyone else, but caring? Vulnerable? Not to be unkind, and you know that I do like her and have become somewhat accustomed to her more—abrasive manners—but I absolutely do not see those things in her. The woman is like a cactus; no matter how gently I reach out to her, I still come out of it pricked and bleeding."
"Exactly! she's like a cactus." Brittany nodded as though that were the perfect answer.
"That doesn't exactly explain why you love her." Rachel sighed.
"Yes it does," the blonde said cheerily. "I mean, the only reason a cactus has needles is to protect itself because there is so much good stuff under it's skin; she's only hard to get to know because she's so worth getting to know."
Rachel let her mind settle on the fact that the girl she so often considered to be simple had just said something quite profound; she smiled and propped herself up further in bed.
"Let me help," Brittany chastised, but Rachel batted her hand away.
"I think I am quite capable of sitting without assistance." She hadn't meant to become so irritated, but she was so weary of her room; there was nothing to do but think and she was weary of that as well.
"You're cranky." The blond pouted.
"I'm sorry," the brunette immediately apologized. "I just can't stand everyone treating me like I'm so helpless and I'm absolutely bored out of my mind."
"Want me to walk you to the hall or the window again?" Brittany offered brightly.
Rachel shook her head; as much as she wanted to get up, having someone help her wasn't going to make her feel any better—neither would looking down at the stage she was currently banned from or out the window where she might see a certain blonde wandering the street.
"No, but thank you," she said as cordially as she could muster. "I think I'll just walk myself to the vanity and brush my hair for a while."
Before the blonde could say anything Rachel held up her hand to stop her.
"I feel quite certain I can make the three step journey to the ottoman completely unaided, thank you," she said, her voiced edged with determination.
Luckily the girl didn't object, though she did watch the brunette painfully closely as she slid from the bed and shuffled to the vanity.
"Want me to brush your hair?" Brittany asked.
"I have a very specific ritual I go through for it, but thank you anyway," Rachel said with a smile.
She watched Brittany in the mirror as the girl stood and sashayed to the song her girlfriend was singing downstairs. As she pulled the brush slowly through her long dark hair, she let out another drawn out sigh. Rachel needed something to distract her; Quinn was never far from her mind and thinking of the girl only seemed to bring more confusion and frustration. All the time she had suddenly found herself with only served to twist her memories of the last time she had seen the blonde. The night she had burst into her room Rachel had known that the look of shock and disgust was directed at herself, not the brunette, but as time passed, the petite girl had begun to wonder if perhaps the look in those hazel eyes had been meant for her after all. Maybe the kiss had been a test; if it were then she had certainly failed it, and Quinn had been hoping that Rachel would push her away. The blonde might have only kissed her to determine what the appeal of such a kiss would be; in some strange way, trying to see things from Britt and San's point of view. If that were the case, it clearly hadn't been enjoyable for her. Her mind had raced around to see the kiss and it's meaning from every possible angle. She had torturously dissected every second, every move, in great detail to decipher what had gone wrong, but every answer brought only more questions.
Rachel let out an exasperated groan as slammed the brush down loudly; in the mirror, she saw Brittany jump. The brunette needed a distraction.
"Brittany," she said lightly. "You never did tell me why Santana came here looking for work. I would have thought she would have plenty of work to do at the tailor's shop."
"She likes it better here anyway," the blonde answered, her face clearly announcing that she was skirting the issue.
"Even though she could have you all to herself if she were over there?" Rachel tested. "And certainly your parents' cannot be too happy about her postponing her efforts there to be here instead."
"Oh, well," the other girl said quickly. "Mercedes has been training with my mother so they aren't behind. She's not as good as San was at it, but mother says she's as good a replacement as any."
"They replaced her then?" the brunette said pointedly. "Why would they do that?"
"I'm not supposed to say really," Brittany said, squirming a little.
"Alright." Rachel sighed.
"I suppose I would have to tell you if you gave me a really good reason to," the blonde mumbled as she made eye-contact through the mirror.
The brunette's eyebrow raised slightly as watched her friend's reflection bobbing up and down; clearly she wanted to tell, she just needed an appropriate excuse.
"Because I asked?" she tried, frowning when the girl's head began to shake.
"Let me see—because I want to be friends with Santana and I care about her well being?" she attempted again as the blonde tilted her head to ponder her proposal. "Brittany, please. I've been so bored and it's torture simply sitting up here day in and day out with nothing to think about besides how utterly miserable I am. If you want to tell me, then please do, or at least tell me what I am supposed to say because I'm quickly approaching my wits end."
"Mr. Fabray made my parents fire her because she stood up for Quinn," Brittany squealed, her pride obviously overflowing.
Rachel spun around on the ottoman, which caused her to become unreasonably dizzy. Before she could say anything, the blonde was continuing the story.
"San was delivering a dress to Quinn and she heard shouting so she let herself in and Mr. Fabray had Quinn by the arm, yanking her around, and she stopped him. San got right in between them so that he couldn't touch Quinn, but he shoved her and then he shoved Quinn and Santana slapped him across the face and he hit her." The blonde's face turned a bit red as she mentioned the man touching her beloved. "But Santana didn't back down and he left. Rachel? Should I help you back to bed?"
The blood had drained from the brunette's face; she was aware that her mouth was hanging open and her hands, if not all of her body, was shaking with rage. He had struck her! Was that the only time? Had he again since then? She barely noticed when Brittany gripped her elbow firmly as she wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her back to the bed.
"You really love her, don't you?" the blonde asked, her voice making it clear that she already knew the answer. "Quinn's alright, you know? I've been paying extra attention and Lord Tubbington goes over all the time when I'm not home to keep an eye on her too. He would tell me if she wasn't ok."
Her brown eyes fell on the other girl and she tried not to scoff; she knew Brittany was only trying to help. It was a few moments before Rachel realized she was touching her lips, her mind slipping back to that night and the kiss.
"When did it happen?" Rachel asked, feeling an ache growing in her chest.
Both girls jumped when they heard the knock at the door; Brittany smiled brightly as she waved to the girl at the door while Rachel's heart raced, her mind recounting their discussion and how much of it may have been overheard.
"Hello, Rachel," the girl spoke nervously. "I'm not sure if you remember my name, we haven't talked that much. Tina—Tina Cohen-Chang."
"Of course, Tina." Rachel smiled.
"I loved your song last week," Brittany chirped.
"Thank you." Tina nodded shyly as she took a tiny step forward so that she was barely across the threshold.
"Is there something I can help you with, Tina?" the brunette asked, her mind already skimming over songs that would suit the girl's talents.
She couldn't think of any other reason the banker's daughter would be visiting her all of a sudden; far too much had happened since the night of the dance for Rachel to have had the time or energy to try to properly get to know her. She had noticed that Tina's jaw had dropped the first time she was in the audience when Rachel sang—something that rarely happened anymore now that all her classmates were used to hearing her sing. That alone made Tina seem likeable. Perhaps the girl wanted lessons; the thought perked Rachel's spirits up. Tutoring a classmate in the art of vocal control would be a worth task to occupy her time while she waited for the doctor to grant her freedom again. There was only a month left until the new school building was estimated to be completed and she hoped either her physician or her fathers would come to their senses by then so that she wouldn't miss the wagon train on it's return trip.
"I was hoping I could help you," Tina corrected seriously.
Rachel rolled her eyes; it was shocking to her, considering how much she thrived on attention, how exhausted she was of everyone's pity.
"That's very sweet of you," she tried to keep her voice light as she spoke, "but you really needn't bother yourself. I have all the help I could ever need already so there's really no need to bother yourself with—"
"About the night you were attacked," Tina interrupted boldly. "I think I might have some useful information about who it was."
The brunette's jaw sagged open and the girl shuffled a little further into the room as she waited for a response.
"Really?" Brittany chimed excitedly once it had become apparent that Rachel was currently incapable of speech.
"I think," Tina stumbled over her words quickly. "I mean I don't know for sure; I don't know many people yet, but I saw, well it looked suspicious and then I talked to Mike about it."
"Tina," Rachel squeaked. "Tina, take a deep breath and start from the beginning."
The nervous girl closed her eyes and did as she was told, taking several deep and shaky breaths, before opening them again and speaking.
"The night before your family was attacked, I had snuck out to meet Mike, which is why I didn't tell anyone sooner," she began her voice sounded a little guilty. "When I was headed home around the back of the bank, I heard voices. I thought they had caught me sneaking around so I crept around the corner and I saw—"
A gunshot fired in the street, causing all three of the girls, who at this point were leaned forward to listen, to scream and nearly jump out of their skin. Sheriff Sylvester's voice sounded loud and aggressive, echoed by the general rumbled of voices from the road below. Brittany darted to the widow, quickly followed by Tina, and Rachel tossed back the covers to join them.
"Don't you dare, Berry," Santana snapped from the doorway. "Chang, keep Rachel in bed."
Tina jumped and did as she was told; Rachel narrowed her eyes at the other brunette as she crossed the room to join Brittany at the window.
"You are most certainly not the boss of me, Santana Lopez!" she grumbled. "I can sit at the window if I please."
"You're staying in bed," Santana replied casually. "If something happens to you, it'll be my ass. I'm not going through the silent treatment again, which makes it my business to boss you as much as I want. Sit! Stay! Good girl."
Her words barely made sense, but Tina rested her hand lightly on Rachel's arm and the girl's eyes begged the brunette not the get her in trouble with Santana. Begrudgingly, Rachel rested back against the head board with a huff.
"May I at least know what is happening outside?" she said dramatically. "Or am I too delicate?"
"If you'd shut up, you could hear what's happening just fine," Santana drawled.
Luckily, Brittany began detailing what was transpiring on the street below, so Rachel decided to back down for the time being.
"Sheriff Sylvester is standing in the street. So is Mr. Hummel. I think he's the one that fired the gun because he has his rifle. San, you should get a rifle," she began.
"Why?" Santana smirked.
"Because you would look so amazing holding one; very attractive," the blonde said lightly.
Both brunettes exchanged nervous glances; Santana trying to hide her pride while Rachel inspected Tina's reaction. The girl next to her seemed not to have noticed the comment in the slightest.
"What's happening?" Tina breathed.
"No one's been shot and lots of people are crowding around them now. Did you notice that this kind of thing always happens in front of your place?" Brittany commented.
"Britt," Rachel groaned.
"Mr. Hummel is trying to make Kurt go inside. Oh, now he's going," the girl continued before a look of confusion crossed her face and her lip stuck out in a pout. "Should I be down there? I'm his girlfriend; is that a girlfriend thing?"
Since the blonde was leaned out the window, Rachel was the only one to notice the split-second look of hurt that crossed Santana's face before the girl glared at her and rolled her eyes.
"No, he wouldn't want you in the middle of all that," she assured her beloved. "Both of us would prefer you safe up here with me."
"Oh! Kurt's back outside and he has a pistol. He doesn't look right holding a gun," Brittany mused as she spoke. "It would suit you much better. Oh good, Blaine is taking him back inside. Sue is in Mr. Hummel's face yelling."
"Shhh, I can't hear what she's saying," Santana whispered softly and the blonde fell silent, much to Rachel's chagrin.
"I told you, Sylvester, to stay away from me and my boy," Burt's voice carried through the window. "You have no call trying to take my family in."
"Well make up your mind there, Burty-boy," Sue oozed. "You're the one insisting I waste my time looking into the attack on the Berry's and I'm here obliging you. So which is it?"
"What do you mean?" Mr. Hummel growled.
"Just what I said," she spat back. "I'm looking into the very unimportant assault on the Alehouse and its owners and it just so happens I'm having myself a surprising amount of fun doing so."
"And what does that have to do with taking Kurt in for questioning?" Burt bellowed. "You have no right to place him under arrest."
"You see this star?" the Sheriff asked. "It means the good people of this here town have given me the right to detain anyone I see fit, and you two are my number one suspects."
"You're crazy!" Mr. Hummel fumed back.
"Nonsense," Sue countered cockily. "You're the one with a big ol' bug up your ass about getting to the bottom of this. God knows I don't care. Then I thought what better alibi than to cause a ruckus to throw everyone off the scent? And when it comes to cracking down on the Hummels—well that's something I can really sink my teeth into so as far as I'm concerned. You reek of suspicion just as much as you reek of sweet and mule droppings."
"Sue, be reasonable," William's voice broke in.
"Sheriff Sylvester!" her voice blared. "This doesn't concern you William. Why don't you run on down to the general store and buy them clean out of pomade or you'll be next."
"You have no proof!" Burt yelled. "That star doesn't give you the right to haul in anyone you don't happen to like and you'll need solid proof and an army for me to let you anywhere near Kurt."
"Horses." the sheriff blurted out.
"What?" Mr. Hummel scoffed. "What about horses?"
"The attackers were riding horses and since you're the only blacksmith in miles, that means that at the very least you've aided them," she said with gusto.
"Miss Sylvester," Miss Pillsbury's voice pitched, "that's hardly proof. After all, he shoes your horses as well, so—"
"Can it owl-face," Sue snapped.
Rachel could imagine her teacher shrinking back, her eyes large and panicked. The brunette craned her neck to try to see out the window, but it was no use—not with Brittany and Santana filling it.
"Answer me this Sue," Mr. Hummel challenged. "What reason would I have? The Berrys are my good friends; you know that, so what would we have to gain?"
"Sympathy," Sue said so casually you could hear the shrug. "Seems to me people haven't been too kind to your boy ever since he was caught trying to hog-tie Mr. Anderson's tongue at the dance. Rumor has it that's the least of the Berrys transgressions, so it makes since you'd want to stir up a little sympathy for them. Well it's not gonna happen, not with Sue Sylvester in charge."
Rachel's heart nearly stopped and all eyes were suddenly on her as the blood drained from her face.
"That's not what happened at the dance and you know it damn well, Sue," Burt yelled. "And as for the Berrys—all you people spreading that bull around ought to be ashamed of yourselves. That family had been through enough already; how many brother-in-laws would sacrifice the way LeRoy has to see that his niece got a proper upbringing? I know all too well how hard it is to raise a child after your wife has passed on; it damn near kills me sometimes, and I have nothing but respect for Hiram. Are you all so bored that you need to create a scandal for entertainment?"
Rachel knew that Mr. Hummel knew the truth; she was utterly impressed with his ability to keep their story straight, especially considering how angry he was. That didn't change the fact that, assuming Sue wasn't making it all up, there were rumors circulating already and her heart was beating at an erratic pace.
"That's telling them," Santana cheered with a smirk. "They look properly bitch-slapped after that."
"Who's that?" Brittany asked as she pointed.
"Mr. Chang," her girlfriend answered.
"It doesn't look like him," the blonde protested. "His hair is all wrong."
"That's because he's not wearing his big judge wig," Santana explained.
"I want a judge wig," Brittany bubbled.
"What's happening?" both girls on the bed pleaded in unison.
"I assume he's here because I told him the Sheriff was grossly abusing her powers," Jesse answered from the doorway. "I implored him to use his power as judge, which outranks her, to remind her of the proper system of law that she is to follow if she wishes to retain her position."
"Nice move, St. James," Santana drawled. "Though I was looking forward to seeing Hummel full on punch Sylvester in the face, but I guess that works too—in a city-slicker sort of way."
"Not everything as to be about violence, Miss Lopez," he said with a bow.
"But it's more satisfying." She shrugged.
"To some, I suppose." Jesse returned her shrug.
"Thank you, Jesse," Rachel breathed. "I can only imagine how this might have escalated."
"Anything for a lady such as yourself, Miss Berry," he said smoothly.
"Sheriff Sue is mad; she's stomping back to the jail-house," Brittany called from her perch on the sill.
There was the sound of glass shattering and Rachel instinctively tensed.
"She's thrown her chair out the front window." The blonde gasped.
"Charming." Jesse scoffed, turning his attention to Rachel again. "It baffles me that you live in such an uncivilized little town. You clearly belong in a world of higher class; New York City, perhaps."
A gagging sound came out of Santana as Rachel smiled back at her friend.
"Ideally I would like to return east, preferably New York, after my classes are finished," she said cordially, ignoring the continued sound of disgust coming from the window.
"Ah," he nodded, "well I could speak with my father about arranging that if you would like."
Rachel spoke past the tight clench of pain in her throat. "I would like that, thank you."
Once again, Quinn stared down at a blank sheet of paper as she struggled to write a letter to her sister. She needed to contact her sister soon to begin broaching the subject of her possibly visiting her back east; she would need Frannie to support the idea for her father to agree to it. Her sibling's letters were stacked on the desk for her to reference, but still nothing came. The correspondence would have to be perfect. Quinn's eyes kept flitting over to the sheet music neatly organized on the opposite side of the desk. With a sigh she lifted the top page and skimmed over the lyrics of the first song she had sung in class with Rachel.
We may never meet again
I have struggled to forget
But the struggle was in vain
For her voice lives on the breeze
And her spirit comes at will
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still
Hazel eyes slipped shut as she hummed the tune, hearing the brunette's voice in her mind. They snapped open again when she heard the front door open and her mother greeting someone excitedly and she let out another sigh. Moments later, the familiar nervous pitch of Miss Pillsbury's voice drifted down the hall. Quinn had witnessed yesterday's spectacle between the sheriff and the blacksmith through the living room window. She remembered that her teachers had attempted to intervene. Quietly, she padded through her parents' bedroom and into the dinning room to listen closer. She was hoping the ruckus from the previous day would be one of the topics her mother and teacher would discuss, and she was in luck.
"Oh, but Mrs. Fabray, the things that Miss Sylvester was accusing were completely nonsensical, and she was so vulgar about it," Emma stammered.
"Well that's just Sue's way, dear," Judy answered with a cluck of her tongue. "And it is her job after all."
"But surely you believe her time would be better spent following real leads," Miss Pillsbury suggested. "For her to consider more logical options first?"
"I'm sure if she suspects the Hummels, there must be a reason for it," Mrs. Fabray said dismissively. "She has to start somewhere. What other leads would she have?"
The living room filled with silence and Quinn pressed her ear to the wall.
"Well?" her mother inquired.
"Well, there are some rumors circulating," the redhead said slowly. "I don't want to believe that they are true, but if the sheriff is going on nothing more than rumors then—"
"What rumors?" Judy gasped.
"There are some people who seem to think that the newcomers have something to do with it." Emma sighed. "I suppose that's normal; people don't know them well, but I've already begun teaching some of their children and they seem like really nice people. But some think it's suspicious that the attack occurred so soon after they arrived."
"That's ridiculous," Mrs. Fabray chuckled, "they were some of the first ones to intervene. Why ever would they do such a thing?"
Quinn inched closer to the hallway to better hear her teacher's timid response; the redhead was mumbling and stammering so much that was missing some of what she was saying.
"—which would make them look like heroes," Miss Pillsbury was saying. "It's far fetched, I know, and I'm not in a hurry to believe it myself, but they have started nearly doubling the work now that they are repairing the Inn as well as building the school. So, I believe that is where the rumor is coming from."
"Foolishness!" Judy exclaimed. "I'm glad you're not joining them in that assumption. They would have no reason what so ever to risk being caught doing something like that; we've made them nothing but welcome since the day they arrived. Don't forget that young Mr. St. James saved the girl just in the nick of time."
"I didn't say that I believed it," Emma assured her. "Merely that it is a theory floating around town and that if Sue were truly interested in investigating—"
"If you ask me," Mrs. Fabray interrupted again. "If they were trying to empress us, they would have burned that building to the ground—what was that?"
Quinn froze, her fist had slammed into the doorframe in angry response to her mother's words, and she held her breath as the side of her hand throbbed.
"You can't really mean that Mrs. Fabray," Miss Pillsbury asked after several moments of uncomfortable quiet.
"I suppose not." Judy sighed. "It wasn't very Christianly of me to say, but it's no secret that many here in town would love to see them pack up and leave. I find it disturbing that people are passing around such awful gossip about our new friends."
"Well, it's a sad situation all around," Emma replied.
"Frankly I think they are making this whole ordeal out to be more than it is." Mrs. Fabray huffed. "It's not as though the girl is that badly injured, and as you pointed out, the building is being repaired."
"The injuries must have been quite severe; Rachel has been confined to her room," the teacher informed her.
Quinn peeked around the doorframe, her face ashen and hazel eyes wide, and the redhead's eyes budged as she pressed a finger to her lips behind her mother's back.
"But I also hear she is healing well," Emma reiterated for Quinn's benefit. "And Jesse visits her daily. He assures me she will be back on her feet in no time."
The blonde mouthed a thank you to her teacher before ducking back out into the hall.
"Well see there? Then what is all the fuss about? You say St. James sees her every day?" Judy clucked her tongue several times before continuing. "Well, I suppose he would develop some sort of feelings for her, saving her life and all that; I can't say that I whole-heartedly approve. Then again, if he does fancy her, maybe he will take her back east when they are done with their work. What a mercy that would be. That girl has been nothing but trouble."
Quinn could hear Miss Pillsbury tentatively arguing with her mother as she tip-toed back down the hallway to her room. The blonde flung herself on the bed and smothered a scream with her pillow before hurtling it across the room. She slid from the bed and hugged her knees to her chest as she breathed deeply through her nose. Quinn knew she needed to be on good terms with the St. James's if she hoped to join them on their return journey, but that would be difficult knowing what she knew now.
She wondered if it could be true; could the newcomers have staged an attack on the Berrys so that they could rush in to save the day? It could accelerate their status in New Lima, but had they done it? As unlikely as it seemed, Quinn was thinking back to the last time their town had experienced any violent disturbances and it seemed like forever. The bank had been robbed several months before the Berrys had arrived; Mr. Puckerman, the bank owner at the time, had gone missing, presumed dead. Beyond that tragedy, nothing had happened in New Lima since; things had been peaceful until the St. James's and newcomers had arrived. What kind of name was Jesse anyway? It sounded more like a nick-name than a proper man's title.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and her mother peeked inside.
"Quinnie," Judy said lightly. "I need your help in the kitchen. Your teachers are joining us for dinner."
"I'll just freshen up and be right out," she stated dryly, still begrudging her mother from the statements she made earlier.
"Alright, dear," her mother said cheerfully before closing the door.
"Why would they choose the Berrys?" Quinn mumbled quietly as she smoothed her hair in the mirror.
For a moment, she envisioned Jesse St. James leering at Rachel on the street while he plotted the attack and rescue that would solidify him as her hero. As ridiculous as she knew the thought was, her cheeks still flushed brightly.
"Father!" She gasped. "Of course; all he talks about is how much he hates them, but they'd been around town long enough to know that not everybody agrees. That alone would make the Berrys the perfect target."
"Quinnie!" Mrs. Fabray's voice cut through the buzzing in her mind.
"Coming!" Quinn called back.
Moments later, she was in the kitchen chopping angrily at carrots while her mother entertained Miss Pillsbury in the living room. Mr. Fabray's booming voice sounded cheerful as he opened the door and Quinn's face reddened instantly. When they had returned from the Hudson ranch, she had found out about what had happened at the Alehouse and Inn; her father had all but locked her in her room and all talks of the event were banned within the house. Mercifully, she had been allowed to return to class, but despite being a mere hallways length away from Rachel, information was still hard to come by. It was nearly impossible to discern fact from gossip and speculation, and her teachers both had strict instruction not to let the blonde visit the injured girl.
"Finally, your father is home so I can concentrate on dinner," Judy said warmly as she slipped on an apron. "He and Mr. Schuester can entertain Miss Pillsbury, though I do hope she had the presence of mind not to bother him with idle gossip and rumors."
"I'm sure father will let her know the rules," Quinn grumbled with a shrug.
"What, dear?" her mother hummed distractedly.
"Nothing, mother," she assured her.
"I feel like we haven't talked in ages, Quinnie," Judy sighed, "and you haven't' written to your sister in ages."
"I was just working on a letter earlier today, but I've been distracted lately I guess," the blonde said lightly.
"I understand," Mrs. Fabray nodded, "but you really should write to her about all the good news. So much is happening, Quinn; so many exciting things and I'm sure she would love to hear about them from you."
"What is marriage like?" Quinn asked suddenly.
"Well," Judy stammered. "Well it's wonderful, dear."
It was obvious that her mother was surprised, and thrilled to be on the topic of marriage at last. Mrs. Fabray had grown accustomed to her daughter skirting the issue.
"And you love father?" she asked.
"Quinnie, don't be silly." Judy laughed. "Of course I do. What a question to ask."
"So, I should be in love with the person I marry?" the blonde ventured.
Her mother was silent for a moment as she worked her jaw; she dumped the carrots into a pot and chuckled.
"You're acting so queer, Quinn," Mrs. Fabray said tightly. "If you are joking with me, I'm afraid I do not get it. Yes, when you are married, you love your husband."
"But what if I'm not sure that I love Finn?" she asked quietly.
Her mother's chuckling stopped and she dropped the lid down noisily on the pot.
"Mother?" Quinn said desperately. "What if?"
"You're simply nervous, Quinn," Judy snapped quietly. "Nervous and frustrated because he hasn't asked yet; even after your father prolonged our stay at the ranch to give him more time to act upon his intentions. I understand, darling, but you just have to be patient. Men move at their own pace and there is no use rushing them."
"But I mean," Quinn groaned, "what if I don't think I ever—"
"Then you will," her mother snapped again before lowering her voice. "You'll have your entire future to nurture the love that I know is in your heart for him."
Judy was looking at her as though she had betrayed her, as though at some point in her childhood Quinn had promised to be exactly as they willed her to be. The blonde felt like a bug under her mother's disgusted glare.
"I think I should visit Frannie before the wedding," Quinn commented frantically.
Mrs. Fabray nearly had whiplash from the sudden change of subject. "What?"
"Well," she began lightly. "Once the school house is finished, I could travel safely with the St. James's to see Frannie back east. After all, once I'm married, I won't have an opportunity to travel to see her, and I've missed her so. Then perhaps they could escort me back and attend the ceremony, which would mean so much to me. I think if I could see her life with her husband, it would help me understand more. Don't you agree?"
Just like Quinn's dutiful-daughter-mask was back on and the spell was cast, there was light in Mrs. Fabray's eyes and warmth in her smile again.
"Oh that would be wonderful," Judy beamed, "but we will have to ask your father. Not tonight, though; not in front of guests."
"Of course." Quinn nodded as she smiled painfully.
"I'm sure he will love the idea, Quinnie," her mother assured her as she hummed her way through the rest of their work.
"Oh, I hope so," she said wistfully.
It was late on Saturday night when Brittany knocked cheerfully at Quinn's back door; the Fabrays were in much better moods these days, so they did not object to their daughter having company. Brittany sat at the end of Quinn's bed with the latest secret book tucked under her arm.
"I really liked this one," she said happily as she handed it over.
"Did you move the bookmark?" Quinn asked as she stared down at a sentence that didn't make much sense.
"I dropped it on the way here, so I had to guess," Brittany said bashfully.
Quinn sighed and sat the book down between them; she rubbed her temples lightly and forced a smile.
"I don't really feel like reading tonight anyway." She sighed.
"Okay, that's good, so we can talk seriously," Brittany said in a shockingly stern voice.
An eyebrow perched high over a hazel eye at the unusual tone of her friend.
"We have something to talk seriously about?" she asked.
Brittany nodded gravely as she leaned forward and whispered. "You have to go see Rachel."
"You know that I can't." Quinn shook her head.
"But you have to!" her friend squeaked. "She doesn't believe me when I say that you love her too, so you're going to have to do it."
Quinn paled and stared down at her hands; a slow blush was creeping over her ashen cheeks.
"Too?" she breathed. "Rachel said that she loves me?"
"She doesn't have to." Brittany shrugged. "San and I can see it plain as day."
Her shoulders sagged. "Maybe you two are just seeing what you want to see."
"If I were hurt and stuck in my room, Santana wouldn't let anything keep her from seeing me." Her friend pouted. "It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Britt," she shot back. "We don't all have parents that are willing to overlook the obvious or boys to hide with, and I don't know that Rachel loves me the way you know that Santana loves you."
Quinn tried to ignore the hurt in the other girl's blue eyes; she'd never snapped at Brittany before. She'd always been content to leave the girl safe and sound in her little dream world, but this was too much.
"So you're just going to marry Finn?" Brittany sighed. "San was right."
"I'm not marrying Finn," Quinn whispered. "I just need my parents to think that so they will let me 'visit my sister back east' and then I will disappear and forget about all of this. Which reminds me—what do you know about one of the new girls named Marley?"
"She's fun," her friend said cheerfully. "But all she does is talk about Finn."
"Perfect." She hummed.
"You're leaving?" Brittany pouted again. "When?"
"When the St. James's go back to New York," Quinn answered. "My parents think that I will be stopping in Ohio, but I'm not."
"Then you're going with Rachel!" her friend bubbled. "She's going to New York too! You have to go tell her!"
"Ssshhh," she hissed. "It's not that simple, Brittany. What kind of life do you think we would have together?"
"It'd be better than the life she'd have with Jesse," Brittany mumbled. "We were going to go with them too, but now we have to wait for Kurt and San to save up enough money for us to get started. San insisted that we have to be prepared, but I think it's mostly that she doesn't like Jesse and doesn't like seeing him make oogly-eyes at Rachel."
Quinn paled again; she could feel a cold sweat seeping through her pores. She tried to tell herself that it was for the best; he and his family could provide for the brunette better than a destitute girl on the run from her family, alone in city of strangers with no real future ahead of her. The blonde wanted to be lost; she wanted to fall between the cracks of society and disappear. To be nameless and faceless in a sea of people where she could be alone with her pain; it was the best she could hope for, but Rachel was a star, and stars don't hide their light from the world.
"Brittany," Judy said brightly from the doorway. "It's getting late and it's time for you to go home."
The girl snatched up the book and tucked it under her arm before patting Quinn lightly on the hand.
"Think about it, Quinn," she whispered before brushing past Mrs. Fabray.
"Think about what, Quinn?" her mother inquired as she sat down on the bed next to her. "Quinn?"
Judy's hand felt like a hot poker on her cheek and Quinn jumped.
"Good lord, Quinn!" Mrs. Fabray gasped. "You're freezing!"
"I don't feel well," she mumbled in a daze.
"Heavens," Judy gushed. "Get under the covers and I'll throw more wood on the fire."
Quinn did as she was told; shaky hands unlaced her dress and pulled her nightgown over her head before she crept between the sheets.
"I don't think I should go to church tomorrow," she said with a cough. "Do you suppose father would be very mad if I stayed home?"
"Of course not," her mother soothed as she pressed a warm hand to her daughters forehead. "You just rest. We can't have the entire congregation seeing you like this. Don't worry about it, dear, just rest."
After Mrs. Fabray fretted over her a while longer before leaving to let Mr. Fabray know what was happening, Quinn rolled over in bed.
"Just one quick talk," she whispered to herself. "It will only take a few minutes. I'll tell her that the kiss was a mistake and she'll agree. I just need to know that she is going to be alright."
With that she squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to fall asleep.
Thanks again; until next time.