Chapter Eleven

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Quinn

.

if we must both be right.
we will lose each other.

.

"Quinn?"

Even though I should expect it, I still startle at the sound of her voice, and I whip around so fast, I actually catch my eyebrow on the lock of my locker. "Oh, damn," I hiss, the heel of my palm flying to the trauma site. I've lost my bearings but I know the feel of Rachel's hands and they're on me now. One is on my forearm and the other on my hip, as if she's trying to steady me, but I feel her everywhere.

I step away, my back hitting the lockers. Gosh, it hurts. I pull my hand away from my eyebrow, only for her to scream at me to keep it there, which I hasten to do.

"It's bleeding," she rushes. "There's so much blood. Why is there so much blood?"

Blood? What on earth?

Ignoring her, I pull my hand away again and inspect it. Yip. That's definitely blood. I get dizzy immediately, queasy, as I feel the blood drip down the side of my face and down onto my uniform. It's going everywhere so I close my eyes and try desperately not to smell or taste it.

Rachel waits a beat before the hand originally stemming the flow of blood is replaced by the sleeve of her sweater. "So much blood," she mumbles in disbelief. "We should get you to the nurse."

I want to tell her to leave me alone. I want to tell her to go away, but the words won't come. I can barely think, really. I mean, one would assume I would be accustomed to nearly everything, seeing as I've pushed a literal human being out of my body, but no. This is different anyway. There is actual blood in my mouth. If that isn't enough to make a person freak out, I don't know what is.

"Let's go," she says, her free arm sliding around my waist and supporting me. I grip her sweater in a tight fist and we walk, slow and steady... wins the race. She doesn't say anything other than giving me directions and repeating how much blood there is.

Nurse Davis practically jumps out of her seat when we enter the sick bay, her eyes wide. "What on earth happened?" she asks.

"Quinn had a disagreement with a locker," Rachel answers and, on another day, I would probably laugh.

"Come through," Nurse Davis says, "sit her down on the bed."

I'm guided to a bed and I practically collapse on it, my legs giving way. I sit up straight, my eyes closed and try not to think about all the circumstances that led to me being right here, in this position, right now. I don't know whether I would laugh or cry.

"Remove your sleeve, Miss Berry," the Nurse says, and Rachel does. This time, the pressure is replaced with a cotton swab. "Wow," she says; "that looks nasty."

"That's not helpful," Rachel mutters.

"Sorry," she mutters. Then, to me, she says, "Tilt your head to the left. Let me wipe your face so you can open your eyes. I don't want to mess your uniform any further."

I do as she says and I feel a wet swab work its way down the side of my face, over my eye, cheek, nose, lips, chin, jaw, neck, collarbone, down to my -

I squirm.

"I'm a healthcare professional, Miss Fabray," Nurse Davis says. "I've seen it all, I can assure you."

It's not her I'm worried about.

"I'll just wait outside," Rachel says, and I hear shuffling feet.

Nurse Davis spends the next minute cleaning both my face and the wound and, when I open my eyes, the brightness makes me frown. Which hurts my wound. I gargle my mouth, trying to ignore the tinny taste of the blood. I've never particularly been fond of the taste of it. "We're going to have to go to the ER," she says. "You need stitches."

I groan.

"I know," she says sympathetically. "It shouldn't take long though. I'll have you back as quickly as possible." She takes my hand and places it over the cotton swab currently hiding the extent of my injury. Coach Sylvester is going to kill me. My face is her money-maker, as she tells me. I would be Head Cheerleader because I'm talented and ruthless, but my face definitely helps. She's a strange woman.

"Give me a few minutes to lock up here, and then we'll go," she says, and then she leaves me sitting on the bed.

Rachel comes in a moment later, her face guilty and sorrowful. "I'm sorry," she says. "I always thought this would happen one day."

"Because startling me at my locker is one of your favourite things to do," I deadpan.

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and I watch the movement with hooded eyes. "It is, yes," she confesses, blushing slightly. "Nurse Davis says she has to take you to the hospital?"

I nod. "I need stitches, apparently." She covers her mouth with her hand, and I spot my blood on her sleeve for the first time. "You should probably change that," I say, gesturing to her sleeve with my free hand. "Do you have a spare?"

"I should," she says; "from the slushy days."

I drop my gaze. "If you don't; just grab something from my duffel if you need to. It's in my Cheerios' locker." I take a breath. "Sorry for bleeding all over you."

"I didn't really give you much of a choice."

I shrug.

Nurse Davis comes back in, with her coat on, and her keys and purse in her hands. "Ready to go?"

I glance at Rachel, who looks like she wants to say something.

Nurse Davis takes it away from her. "Miss Berry, you should probably get to class," she says. "Miss Fabray will be fine. Maybe some bruising and a bit of a headache, but nothing she hasn't faced as a Cheerio." That's true. In hindsight, this is nothing - I've experienced a lot worse. It's just... it's my face. I can't exactly hide that.

Rachel looks at me, asking the silent question. "I'm fine," I tell her. "We'll, uh, we can talk later, okay?"

She just nods, and then ducks out of the room, leaving me to the mercy of Nurse Davis. I'm not too sure about this woman, really. The calibre of teachers at McKinley is already suspect enough - really, Mr Schuester is probably the worst Spanish teacher in existence - so I imagine their support staff isn't any better. She drives us in her little blue car. My legs are too long for it and it's decidedly uncomfortable.

The wait in the Emergency Room doesn't help my mood either. I'm grumpy and, yes, I have a headache. Nurse Davis keeps chattering away next to me, trying to distract me with stories about her kids and The Chronicles of Narnia, but all I can really think about is Rachel's guilty look; those big, beautiful brown eyes with all the sorrow and understanding. We're supposed to talk, and now this.

When we're finally seen to, it's by a young doctor who looks like he's still in diapers. His hands, however, are steady, which is the only reason I let him anywhere near my face with a needle and thread. He stitches quickly and neatly, and I give them a thorough inspection in the mirror before I deem them suitable. Nurse Davis deals with the paperwork while he dresses the wound and instructs me on proper cleaning. I'm only half-listening to him. I've been here before.

It's already the start of third period when we get back to school. Nurse Davis writes me a note, tells me to come back if I'm feeling dizzy or nauseous, and then sends me on my way. I don't bother going to U.S. History. Instead, I go to the library to find Rachel or, if she's not there, catch a nap. But she is. She's sitting at her usual desk, scribbling something down on a notepad and looking decidedly distracted. She's nibbling at her bottom lip and her right leg is bouncing. It's cute.

She practically jumps out of her seat when she spots me, and rounds the table in a rush. "Oh, Quinn," she breathes, her eyes wide. It's probably the extent of the bruising that's caught her up. Who knew a locker could be so dangerous? "How are you feeling? Does it hurt? I'm so sorry."

I manage a smile. "I'm fine," I say. "It hurts a little, but I suspect you have an Advil for me."

She lets out a small laugh. "Do you actually want some?"

"I'm good for now, thank you," I say. "Nurse D hooked me up."

She looks at me for the longest time, trying to decipher how okay I truly am. I'm unable to hide anything from her anymore; I don't even want to. "The rumour mill is running wild," she says, turning and moving to sit back down.

"Oh yeah?" I question, sitting down in the chair opposite her. There are two desks between us, which I'm thankful for, but also hate. "The whole disagreement with a locker story not going down well?"

She shakes her head. "Rumour has it, you and I got into a scuffle," she says. "Santana cornered me before Spanish, which was frightening, but I was able to set things straight. She's making sure the school knows you weren't taken down by a midget."

I smile. "Santana Lopez, defending my honour."

"She's a girl on a mission."

"I can imagine."

We fall silent and the reality of what we're trying to avoid crashes down on us. My breathing quickens and I fidget with my hands, just waiting. I need her to start. I need to know where her head is first before I reveal my cards.

"Quinn," she starts, and I look up. "I am so sorry for Friday," she says, and I can hear the anguish in her voice. "I really didn't mean anything I said. I don't think any of those things. Really, I don't, Quinn, you have to believe that. I think you are wonderful, and you know how much contempt I have for your family, and Finn is a complete idiot. I don't think any of those things. Please, just, know that. I'm so sorry I hurt you, because I know I did. And, at the time, I kind of knew I was doing it... I just - I was going through my own crisis, and I never should have taken it out on you that way, or in any way at all. It's just, well, I had myself convinced you were the source of my anger, and I just couldn't contain it."

"I still don't understand, Rachel," I say, careful and hesitant. "Was it to do with the song?"

"No," she answers quickly. "I loved the song, and I love that you do all these lovely, adorable things for me. I just wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready for you."

I frown. "I'm still not following."

She leans forward slightly, discreetly looking around us to make sure nobody is within earshot. "For want of a better term, I'd say I suffered an emotional break on Friday. I pretty much lost it in front of you. I - I was feeling a lot of things already and then the song just tipped me over and I couldn't handle it because I didn't understand. But I understand perfectly now, which is why I can now explain it to you."

There are things I expect her to say. I mean, I've also spent the weekend evaluating things and talking with my Reverend, so there are things I expect to hear. However, the words still surprise me, freezing the air all around me.

"I like you."

I blink.

She takes a breath, steeling herself. "I thought, maybe, feeling all these things because we're new friends, and neither of us has ever had a friend like this, but then I looked at it objectively. I went through all our interactions and my responses to those interactions. This weekend, not seeing you, not being able to talk to you, was torture. It physically hurt and, when I saw you this morning, I felt this rush of excitement, and I can't deny it. I can't, Quinn, and I think I'd be doing us both a disservice if I were to try to. I like you, in the not friendly way. I like you in the big way, and I'm sorry I hurt you in the process of figuring it out.

"I don't know if I'm actually gay," she continues. "I - I still find boys attractive. I just - it's you, and I wouldn't be fair to either of us if I didn't accept and acknowledge it. So, I'm sorry I'm ruining our friendship like this. I didn't mean for it to happen, believe me. It just - it just did, and I had to tell you. I considered not telling you, but we've always told each other the truth, and I don't think I would be true to either of us if you didn't know. Which is why you now know. What happens now is up to you." She sits back again, and just waits.

I just stare at her, my head spinning. I'm dizzy and a little nauseous, but not because of the injury. Rachel likes me. She sounds so sure. How can she be so sure?

"Are you sure you - like - me?" I force out.

She nods once. "Very."

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "Rachel, I'm not - "

"Gay, I know," she interrupts.

"Rachel," I say. "It's my turn to talk."

"Sorry."

I try again. "Look, I won't lie and say that Friday didn't hurt me, because it did. A lot. I thought I did this nice thing for you, and you threw it right back in my face by saying things that you know I struggle with, and I didn't know why. I can excuse many things, and I suppose I might have deserved all you said, given all the torture I put you through in the past." She looks like she wants to argue with me, but I just keep talking. "It's just what I feel sometimes, but I've spent the weekend considering everything. I just, well, I'm sorry that what I did led to your, uh, emotional break. It didn't look all that fun."

"It wasn't."

I arch an eyebrow.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "You're talking. Keep going."

I lean forward. "I've spent the weekend thinking about things as well," I tell her. "It was torture not talking to you. I had to restrain myself a few times. I even locked my phone and car keys in my bathroom to stop myself from doing anything crazy, which brought me to my own conclusion..." I trail off. This is monumental, isn't it? This - this changes everything. "You and I, we've never really just been friends, have we?"

She waits a beat. "Can I talk now?"

I cover my eyes with my hand. "Fine, yes."

"No, we haven't," she says. "I think, on some subconscious level, we've always been more, Quinn."

I nod. "I have to admit that I've also been feeling some, uh, feelings," I admit, and her eyebrows rise up in surprise. She definitely wasn't expecting to hear that and, frankly, neither was I. "I don't really know what that all means, to be honest, because - " I stop. "What I was going to say before you first interrupted me is that I'm not ready. Whether or not I'm, uh, gay seems moot at this point because I'm not ready for anything or anyone, regardless of gender."

She's frowning now.

"What?" I ask.

"You're not disgusted? You're not planning my intervention or telling me it's a sin?"

I frown. "Rachel Berry, I'm going to chalk those questions up to part of your break because do you forget who my two best friends are?" I say, meeting her gaze with a steely look of my own. "I made peace between my religion and homosexuality a long time ago. I'm neither disgusted by it, nor do I believe it is a sin. I believe in love. It's my belief. I've even spoken with my Reverend at great lengths about it."

"You have?"

"I have."

"Why?"

"I've always harboured the idea that, as life evolves, so too should everything else," I tell her. "Ideology and theology always have room for growth and adaptation. Reconciling my beliefs with my feelings has been both enlightening and frightening." I take a breath, unsure if I want to reveal that I've discussed her and our relationship with my Reverend. "I also spoke to LeRoy about it."

"You did? When?"

"Yesterday."

She breathes out, clearly trying to process what I've told her. She looks to be failing. "Okay, now it's my turn not to understand. What exactly are you trying to tell me right now?"

"Are we still friends?" I ask.

"Of course."

"Do you want more than that with me?"

She hesitates.

"It's okay, Rachel; you can tell me," I assure her. "Do you?"

She nods slowly, her eyes darting about as if she's worried I'll take off at the sound of her admission.

"I want us to be friends," I tell her. "Best friends."

She waits.

"I'm - I'm not ready for anything more," I tell her. "After Finn, and with all this stuff going on with my family, I'm not ready."

Still, she waits.

"But, if I were, when I am; I think we can address the topic of more again," I tell her. "If you'll still be open to that, I mean."

She stares at me, her mouth hanging open slightly. It's a cute look, and I have to stop myself from telling her so. "Is this really happening?" she asks.

I nod. "It's really happening."

She breathes out, eyes wide. "What happens now?"

"Well, I think you should tell me what you're comfortable with, because the things I do clearly make you a little unhinged and, as much fun as it is to be chewed out, I'd rather not go through it again."

She ducks her head and blushes. "Can we maybe, uh, try to go back to how things were, and I can just feel out how comfortable I am with things? I can tell you as we go along, and we can establish a new normal?"

I nod. "I think that makes the most sense," I agree, and we fall into silence. It has the potential to turn awkward, so I clear my throat and sit up straight. "So, how was your birthday?"

She suddenly looks miserable. "Awful. Just awful." She rubs her face with her hands. "I was in no mood to celebrate and my dads were walking on eggshells around me all day. Even the calls and texts I received did nothing to lift my spirits. I pretty much studied all day."

I grimace. "So, as far as birthdays go, it was terrible?"

"I've definitely had better."

I take a deep breath, turning the idea over in my head. "Can I come over after Glee?" I ask, somewhat warily. "We can maybe try to celebrate. I can even bake a cake. I know it won't be like - "

She interrupts me. "I'd really like that, Quinn."

I smile, relieved, before I glance at the clock on the wall. Fourth period is about to start. "I should go," I say, starting to stand. "See you at lunch?"

She nods. "I'll give you fair warning before I get to your locker, so we don't have a repeat performance of this morning," she says, referring to my injured eyebrow.

"No, we don't want that," I agree as I straighten my back and push in my chair.

She regards me for a moment before she also gets to her feet and comes to stand in front of me. "I don't want things to be awkward," she says. "So, I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

I swallow nervously. "Okay."

She hesitates for only a moment before she snakes her arms around my neck and pulls me close. She's so warm and soft, and I've missed her so much. I immediately wrap my arms around her waist, squeeze tight, and relax into the familiar embrace. For just friends, we hug for an obscene amount of time, and we're both blushing when we finally pull apart. "See you at lunch," she says, ducking her head, and I have to hightail it out of there before I say or do something stupid.

Santana has questions a plenty when I get to class, and she can't stop staring at the bruise. "A locker did that?"

"I was moving very fast," I confess with an embarrassed nod.

"Jesus Christ," she murmurs. "Remind me never to piss off a locker."

I let out a laugh, and then quieten when people look my way. Normally, I would arch a deadly HBIC eyebrow, but it hurts and my eyebrows are staying as still as possible until at least the throbbing subsides. "I wouldn't recommend it, no."

"So, did you and the midget kiss and make up?"

I breathe out, forcing away my blush. "She said you cornered her earlier?" I ask, dodging the question.

"If you'd heard the shit this school was spewing, you would've thought the baby Jew stabbed you with a fucking stake."

I shake my head, unnerved. "Have you sorted it out?" I ask.

"I've done what I can for now," she says. "We'll have to do more during lunch. Maybe you can use some concealer to cover up some of that. It's making me feel sick just looking at it."

"How you expect to become a doctor like your father, I'll never know."

She scowls at me, but it's quickly replaced by a smirk. "If I didn't know the real story; I'd think you looked rather badass."

Of course. I turn my attention to the front of the class and try to pay attention when the teacher starts speaking. I'm going to have to catch up on the revision work from my last three classes, and I'm already making plans on how to do that because my last three exams are going to kill me. I'll need lists. I'm writing two on Wednesday and one on Thursday, and just the idea of them is giving me anxiety. I also still have to go Christmas shopping, which, admittedly, I'm looking forward to. I'm staying away from songs from now on.

When the bell rings, Santana gets up. "I'm meeting Britt for a quickie," she murmurs, all smug. "See you at the table." And then she's going.

"Stay safe," I call out, and she flips me the bird. I'm still smiling when a figure looms over my desk, casting a shadow. I look up to see Finn squinting at me, as if he's confused about something. I know he's not in my class - it's AP - which means he was clearly waiting to talk to me. When Santana's gone. When I'm alone.

I want to arch an eyebrow, but end up cursing my stupid locker.

"Hello, Finn," I say carefully, as I close my notebook and zip away my pens. "What brings you by?" I ask as I rise to my feet, perfectly poised.

"What really happened to your forehead?"

"Didn't you hear?" I toss at him. "Berry and I got into a little fight. The little dynamite really packs a punch."

"Quinn," he says, clearly unimpressed. "What happened? It looks painful."

I'll admit I'm a little caught off guard by the care in his voice. "Uh, I just sort of collided with my locker door," I explain. "It is painful."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly before he clears his throat. "Well, I just wanted to check on you," he says, his fingers twitching. He's nervous and I don't know why. "Make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, thank you, Finn."

"Sure," he says, rocking on his heels. "Do you - uh, can I walk you to your locker?" he asks. "I could maybe have a stern talk with it to make sure it doesn't do it again."

Despite myself, I laugh out loud, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I don't know how to feel about that, but I still let him walk me to my locker. He doesn't say much, which I appreciate. I giggle when he does berate my locker for trying to hurt me, and he smiles at me. Once upon a time, I would have been weak at the knees to get that smile from him, but not today. Not with him.

"I'll see you at the tables?" he asks, hope in his voice.

I nod. "I'll be there shortly," I say; "just got to take care of this bruised face." My bruised ego, I can deal with later.

"Awesome," he says, and then he takes off. I watch him until he disappears, trying to understand just what happened. Finn was sweet. I haven't seen that side of him since before, and it's thrown me a little. Does he really still care - about me?

I'm still staring at the place where Finn last was when Rachel moves into sight, and my heart rate immediately rises. She looks a little confused by the fact I'm just standing there, staring into space.

"Hey, you," she says.

I shake myself out of my reverie. "Hi," I breathe, smiling at her.

"Are you okay?"

I nod. "Just been a strange day."

"Oh?"

"Good strange, though," I assure her; "but still strange."

"Are there any take-backs?"

"It's been only an hour, Rachel," I remind her.

"It was a nervous hour."

My features soften and I change the subject. "LeRoy mentioned he was sending me a little something," I say.

She laughs. "He did, yes," she says. "I think he did it to make sure I didn't chicken out of talking to you today. I wouldn't be able to handle his wounded puppy look if he knew I didn't feed you."

"I'm starving."

"Put your things away, we'll grab it from my locker and... go to the choir room?"

I think of Santana, and then of Finn, but then Rachel. The answer's simple. "Sure." I do text Santana when we get to the choir room, just letting her know where I am. I should be in the cafeteria to help her do damage control, which is what she tells me.

San: Bitch, don't leave me to do this shit alone!

I laugh.

Head Bitch: Sorry, but I'm not sorry.

San: I hate you.

Head Bitch: I love you, too.

Head Bitch: Please.

San: Fine. Whatever. I'll sort it out. Enjoy lunch with your girl ;*

I swallow nervously, pocket my phone and give Rachel my undivided attention. There are moments that are awkward, of course. We're moving into this new phase where we're very aware of each other. I question each touch now, and she hesitates before reaching out. I'm sure it'll get better with time, so I'm not too worried about it. I have this somewhat irrational idea that we're always going to be okay, no matter what happens.

The rest of the day goes well, given the circumstances. I'm forced to say a few choice words to Puck when he makes a lewd comment in the corridor between Chemistry and Psych, which people overhear and should set things straight. Glee is actually fun. Mr Schuester's assignment is Christmas songs, which is expected, and Mercedes already has a song prepared. It's lovely and poignant, and it really gets us into the mood for Christmas.

When we're dismissed, Rachel is prattling away about what songs she wants to sing on Wednesday - Friday is already a holiday - and her excitement is contagious. I feel it in my chest, and right in my bones. I'm finally... excited... for Christmas; for life.

I follow Rachel to her house, and I feel a little nervous as we pull up in her driveway, my car behind hers. I remain where I am until she comes to get me, tapping on my window and smiling sheepishly. When I get out, she takes hold of both of my hands.

"Are you nervous?" she asks, reading my face.

"A little," I admit. "What are we telling your dads?"

"What do you want to tell them?"

I squeeze her fingers. "I suspect we'll need their help to figure this all out," I say. "It's - it's a lot."

I feel her right hand slide up my arm, over my bicep and onto my shoulder. I shiver, and it's not from the cold, which it is. It's very cold. "Then we'll tell them," she says. "We'll tell them. Whatever it is we have to tell them."

"I'll tell them."

She breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

I smile warmly, and then fetch my bag from the backseat of my car. She takes hold of my hand when I'm ready, and we head into the house. Only LeRoy is home, and he looks up in surprise and understanding when he spots us. When his eyes drift to my forehead, his eyes widen in concern, and he practically jumps up, displacing the papers in his lap.

"What happened?" he asks.

Rachel lets out an embarrassed laugh as she releases my hand and walks towards LeRoy. "Easy there, Daddy," she says, setting down her bag. "We just had a bit of a disagreement."

His eyes widen. "With... each other?"

Rachel nods.

"You did that?"

Rachel looks over her shoulder at me, a smirk on her face, and my breath hitches. Oh, Rachel Berry.

"Quinn?" LeRoy asks, his voice strangled. "What really happened?"

I school my features. "Well, you see, I was just standing at my locker, innocently getting my books when Rachel came out of nowhere and basically attacked me."

LeRoy looks scandalised, and I can't handle it anymore. Rachel and I burst out laughing at the same time, and it feels so good to laugh with her again. I step further into the living room and LeRoy's face morphs into real concern, despite the fact he's realised we were just messing with him.

He moves towards me, his hands lifting to inspect my face. "Oh, Honey, what really happened?"

The care in his voice is so touching; my smile slips off my face and my bottom lip trembles as tears spring to my eyes. "I, uh - "

Rachel explains everything that happened, rambling slightly, but she gets it out, and LeRoy's shoulders seems to sag in relief when he learns I saw a fellow medical professional. Even though he's now heavily involved in hospital administration, he's still a practicing physician. It wasn't a decision he came to easily, but prejudices and the promise of regular hours ultimately tipped the scales for him.

"I'll take a look at it later," he says before leaning forward and kissing my hairline. "Now, tell me, are you two okay?"

Rachel glances at me, and I straighten. "We're okay," I say. "We're friends. Best friends."

He nods thoughtfully, his eyes flicking nervously at Rachel. "Okay."

I look at Rachel. "Do you think you could give us a moment?" I ask, and she looks nervously between us before she lifts her bag, tells us to play nice, and then heads upstairs to her bedroom. I wait for her door to close before I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I look at LeRoy. "She told me - " I start; "she told me she likes me."

"Are you surprised?"

I take a moment to think about it. "Not about that, if I'm being honest," I say. "It's that she sounds so sure."

"But you're not?"

I take in a jagged breath. "I'm not - I'm not ready." I drop my gaze. "I don't want to start anything with anyone. I just got out of a relationship that consumed me, and my mom is being - " I stop. "She's being weird, and I won't put Rachel through all my crap when I'm not as sure as she is." I wait. "Yet."

LeRoy regards me for a moment. "You really do like her, don't you?"

I don't respond to that. "So, I was thinking of baking her a vegan birthday cake," I say instead, which, in hindsight, is answer enough for him. I can't help my blush. "She said yesterday wasn't all that celebratory."

"No, it really wasn't," he says. "We tried, but she just wasn't feeling up for anything."

"Do you think we can try again tonight?" I ask.

Before I know what's happening, he's pulling me into a tight hug. "We missed you," he whispers into my hair. Then, composing himself, he pulls back and says, "So, about this belated birthday, what exactly did you have in mind?"

Rachel is wearing one of her Argyle sweaters today, the one with the owl, and she looks happy. I know I shouldn't think it but there's a part of me that acknowledges I might have a little something to do with it.

"God, that sweater!" Santana exclaims as she, Brittany and I glide down the corridor. "Please, Q, when you tap that; fix that."

I blush through my indignation, but say nothing. "I'm going to say hi to her," I say. "See you in class?"

Santana rolls her eyes but, thankfully, makes no comment, and I'm able to veer off to the right, smiling at the fact that Rachel is already looking at me. She rocks on her heels, keeping herself in place.

"Hug," I say, and she launches herself at me. I stumble slightly, but I can't help my laugh as I hug her back. It doesn't last as long as either of us want, but we're in public, so I let go and she steps back. "Hi," I say.

"Hello."

"So."

"What?"

"My mom wants to have dinner with me tonight," I tell her, which makes her eyes widen. "That's exactly how I reacted."

"Do you know why?"

I shrug. "It might be to do with the holidays," I offer. "Or, maybe she's catching a conscience for being so distant."

"I hope it's nothing bad."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

I'm wrong.

When I tell Rachel what my mother discussed with me during lunch on Wednesday, she looks livid. She's pacing in front of me, quietly fuming, and I find it so adorable. My little protector. My hero, everyone, looking all kinds of cute as she mutters to herself, probably planning ways to make my mother's life as miserable as the woman's trying to make mine.

"But," she sputters; "but how can she do this?"

"Well, technically, I'm still a minor, so she can do whatever she wants," I tell her. "I mean, it's not the worst thing to happen to me."

"But I don't want you to go with her," she huffs, pouting.

"I don't want to go with her either," I say. "And, believe me, the last person I want to spend Christmas with is my sister, but my mom is going to Sacramento, and she won't leave me behind. She made herself perfectly clear on that front. I will be leaving with her on Friday, and I have no say in the matter."

Rachel still looks put-out, as if I've just told her I kicked her puppy. I stand and move to where she's still pacing on the choir room floor. I reach for her and she comes to a stop in front of me. I place my hands on her hips and bring her close.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest like a child.

I sigh. "Talk to me."

"I don't like it," she says. "I don't want you to be subjected to a Christmas where you'll be judged and you'll be uncomfortable. I want you to have a Christmas with people who aren't afraid to show how much they love you; people who want to spend all their time with you." She meets my gaze. "You're supposed to be spending it with me."

I'm sure she's saying a lot right now, but I get lost in the earnestness in her eyes. "I wish I was spending it with you as well."

She wraps her arms around my neck and holds me to her, as if she can somehow protect me from a full week of Judy Fabray, and Frannie and her husband, Doug Engelbrecht. Despite her motives, the hug definitely helps, and I feel a little more grounded when she pulls away and studies my face. "I just wish it wasn't so far away," she says. "At least, if they were coming here, you could escape to my house if it becomes too much. Where do you even go in Sacramento?"

"We'll have to do research," I say cutely, and she swats my arm.

"Why are you so okay with this?" she asks. "I don't know if you know this, Fabray, but you and I haven't been apart for more than two days since this whole thing started."

My gaze meets hers. "Rachel Berry?"

"Hmm?"

"It's okay to say you're going to miss me," I tease her. "Because I'm going to miss you too," I whisper.

She reaches up and kisses my cheek. She doesn't say anything, and I prefer it that way. We don't bring it up as the day goes on. Glee passes with little incident, which is a relief. Kurt and Blaine sing a lovely duet of Baby, It's Cold Outside, which has me grinning uncontrollably. Rachel reaches for my hand and interlaces our fingers. I like the fact that my hesitance for more hasn't stopped her from reaching out for me. We're almost to our new normal now, and I can feel myself giving in to everything.

For the first time in a while, Rachel doesn't offer to sing. "Don't tell me you didn't prepare something," I whisper to her.

"I'm not feeling very Christmassy," she admits, giving me a significant look that makes me swallow audibly. She clearly doesn't like the idea of my going with my mother to Sacramento. I've accepted it, and she's going to have to.

When Mr Schuester finally dismisses us, wishing us 'Merry Christmas,' and then sending us on our way, Rachel and I leave together. We have a plan. We're going to her house first, I'll change, and then we'll take her car to the mall, so we can do our Christmas shopping. I already ordered Rachel's present online, and paid the extra fee for it to arrive on Christmas Day. As far as she knows, I'm adhering to her Hanukkah wishes and getting her nothing, even though my gift could count as one of her eight gifts. I'm allowed to be nice now, because we're - we're whatever we are.

As terrifying and uncertain as it all is, one look at Rachel Berry and it's definitely worth it.

"How exhausted are you?"

I open one eye and peek at Santana, who's standing over me with her hands on her hips. I'm lying on my back on a blue mat after a gruelling practice. My one leg is bent at the knee, with the other one crossed over, with my arms spread out above me as I try to catch my breath. "I feel like I'm dying."

"Nobody told you to get sideswiped by a fucking locker," she says, dropping down next to my head and crossing her legs Indian style. "We both knew Coach was going to have something to say about your shiner, and of course it had to manifest in a hundred billion suicides."

I laugh breathily. "Do I still look badass?"

"You've never looked badass."

I roll my eyes before I close them and sigh. "Where's Britt?" I ask.

"Helping Adrienne," she says. "I'm not good with tears, as you know."

"I know."

She pinches my bicep. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"

I open my eyes and look at her. "I feel as if everyone else is more worried than I am."

She raises her eyebrows. "Everyone?"

I know I'm blushing, but I don't look away. "I feel... happy, Santana."

"Imagine how you could feel when you finally get your shit together and kiss the girl," she says, smiling slightly.

"I'm working on it," I say, sitting up and mirroring her position. "I know I want this. I just - I guess I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

"Everything," I breathe.

Santana's features soften. "Whatever you're worried about, Q, I think you should just talk to her about it. Because you know as well as I do how much the midget loves to talk."

I just shake my head, smiling faintly. "I haven't said thank you," I say. "For all your help since... Finn. For being understanding about Rachel, and for giving me another home when the house I live in starts to overwhelm me with its emptiness."

"Whoa whoa, Fabray," she says, holding her hands up. "I'm not fucking ready for all your emotional shit. Stop that right now."

I laugh because Santana Lopez is my favourite person right now. I lift myself up and crawl towards her.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Don't come at me like that! Don't you dare fucking hug me! Q! Q! You're all sweaty and nasty, and don't you touch me, Quinn Fabray!"

I ignore her as I wrap my arms around her. She falls over and I collapse on her, even as she fights me. "I love you, Santana," I say. "Accept my love. Accept it!"

"Never," she fights, but she's giggling, laughing.

I kiss her cheek and she squirms. "Say it back," I sing. "You know you want to!"

She's laughing so hard, and I'm laughing too, and I feel light and happy and good. And then heavy. I groan, and Santana sucks in a breath.

"Britt!" Santana huffs, clearly winded by the both of us lying on top of her. "Get off! I can't breathe!"

"Say it, San," Brittany says, laughing as well.

"No!"

"Say it," I sing. "Say what you want to say!"

"Okay, okay," she finally gives in, squirming beneath us. "Okay! I love you too! I love you too!"

I grin madly, kissing her one cheek, and Brittany kisses the other. When we roll off her and she breathes out, I feel as if my life is filling up with so much good for the first time in my life. I don't even feel anxious about how I've performed in my exams or about the fact that I'll be seeing Frannie for the first time in practically a year.

Santana pokes me in the ribs and laughs when I squeal. "Gosh, I hate you both," she murmurs, but her happy smile gives her away.