AN: All right, thanks for your patience while I was out of town. Only three chapters to go! Again, I appreciate the reading/reviewing. I welcome the feedback. Happy reading…

Russell Fabray had always been a man to whom second chances came naturally. The son of a wealthy man, Russell was reckless with his life. He knew his father would rescue him from any problems, mistakes, misunderstandings. When Russell got suspended from high school for bullying a freshman, his father had had him back in school the very next day. Russell's grades were so poor that he would have been lucky if a community college accepted him. Yet his father made sure that Russell got in – with a full scholarship – to a prestigious business college in the Northeast. Second chances: Russell knew and relied on them well.

His luck ran out when his oldest daughter, Frannie, grew up to hate him. She'd married a man that Russell detested. A man who had come from poor stock but had managed, through his intellect and drive, to move up in the accounting ranks at a shockingly young age. This boy was what Russell should have been: Accomplished based on merit, not connections. And Russell hated him for it. Russell forbade Frannie from marrying the boy, Bryant, but his daughter had thrown out words like "tyranny" and "selfishness" and "smothering" at Russell. All he could do was watch as she stormed out of his life and moved across the country with Bryant by her side.

But Russell thought he'd get a second chance. Just like always. He'd begged her to come home, if not for him, well, for her mother. He'd pleaded with her – sometimes in a threatening tone - to divorce Bryant, even offered her money if she would leave him. But Frannie still refused to speak to him, especially after she learned of his affair and how he had kicked Quinn out of the house when he found out about her pregnancy.

Russell wished he could take back that moment with Quinn: Cringed every time (which was actually quite often) he recalled that he'd timed how long his daughter could remain in her home to collect her things. People, including Quinn, thought Russell was upset over the pregnancy itself. But what really had gotten to Russell was that his daughter had been careless, irresponsible. Those were simply not attributes he associated with his youngest child.

It didn't matter that Quinn was having sex. Or that she was pregnant. His little girl just simply was not so foolish as this. Was she? How could she?

And, just like that, Russell had made her leave. He'd regretted it as the words left his mouth - the ones telling her she was no longer welcome in his house - but he was helpless to stop himself. How could she have been so stupid? So reckless? So uncaring of her future?

Those were the questions that swirled in his mind – relentlessly – in the weeks after his daughter left home. Russell was silent in his search for answers, so caught up in his own worries and fears - and those nagging, nagging questions - that he did not notice his wife slipping away. He was being replaced: By alcohol, no less. When he finally made the discovery, he was too tired of it all to care. He let the alcohol have her. Vodka was probably a better companion to her anyway.

So deep was Russell's fatigue over the situation with Quinn – not to mention Frannie and Judy as well – that he put up little resistance when his secretary, Tracy, made clear her intentions to him. He was relieved, in fact, to let go of control and to have someone else make the important decisions. This woman made it clear to him what she wanted. Fine, she could have him. Oddly enough, it was Tracy - his mistress for goodness sake! - who had urged him to contact Quinn.

Tracy came from a stable, loving family. And she was still so young and optimistic. She believed in second chances, too, only she thought of them as something earned, not expected. Her positive "it'll all work out in the end" energy started to rub off on Russell as their affair continued. She encouraged him to call Quinn and, eventually, he did. Tracy kept bugging him to call even though Quinn never answered. And Russell, again grateful that these choices were effectively being made for him, left Quinn voicemails over and over. One day, finally, his daughter answered the phone. Russell was so happy – this was an earned second chance, if she'd let him have it – that he immediately apologized for hurting her. He didn't even start out with formalities. Their first conversation had been brief but productive. The lines of communication were up and running. And it only got better with time.

Now, Russell found himself having a very confusing conversation with his youngest daughter. It was a Thursday morning and the two were having breakfast together. All week Russell had noticed that Quinn seemed very happy to be living with him, but there were also large stretches of time where she'd mope around the house looking confused and slightly disoriented. In keeping with his desire to communicate with Quinn, Russell put down his paper and eyed his youngest daughter from across the table.

"Do you miss your mom?" Russell thought, maybe, Quinn's recent behavior might have something to do with misplaced remorse over leaving her mother in Lima.

"Well, yeah. But, actually, no."

"How about your friends?" He knew his daughter was very popular. Perhaps she was lonely for them.

Quinn shrugged. "Not so much. Maybe Santana and Brittany."

There was a certain tilt to Quinn's chin, a darting of her eyes, which suggested to Russell that he was on the right line of questioning. "But you do miss…someone?"

Quinn blinked several times in rapid succession and met Russell's gaze. "I miss Rachel."

"So…you do miss one of your friends…other than Brittany and Santana?"

"She's kinda not my friend. She's sorta my friend."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"We fight all the time."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know how to be in love with each other."

Russell looked at his daughter carefully. He was very familiar with the way his daughter was staring back at him. Some would mistake it as a petulant glare. Others would see it as defiance. But Russell knew this look: It was Quinn's unspoken way of saying "Go ahead and disappoint me so I can hurry up and get mad at you for it."

But Russell had already been expecting this admission from his daughter. The mention of Rachel came as no surprise to him. Quinn was probably unaware that every time she spoke of Rachel to her father – which was, again, more often than Quinn could consciously recognize – there was a lilt and lightness to her tone.

The first time Russell had heard that tone, he'd suspected there was something more behind it. A deeper emotion that he didn't want to investigate at the time. Instead, he concentrated harder on winning back Quinn's trust by listening to her. Not by questioning her tone of voice, which might have sent Quinn spiraling back into silence.

The first time Quinn met him for dinner after their reconciliation was when Russell knew for sure that Quinn felt more than just friendship for Rachel. He had been correct in his assumptions. He watched as his daughter enlightened him as to the benefits of veganism, courtesy of information she'd learned from Rachel Berry. Each time Quinn uttered the other girl's name, her lips would curve upwards in a smile and she would trace the air with her fingers, almost as if she was outlining Rachel's form. Russell Fabray's youngest daughter was nothing short of smitten. This, this he saw through a parents' gaze.

And, if he wanted her to continue to confide in him, live with him, and be glad she made that decision, Russell knew that, one day, she'd circle back around to her favorite topic: Rachel. He suspected it wouldn't take long – such was the fervor of young love. He was honestly surprised that it wasn't until this Thursday morning that Quinn first mentioned Rachel since moving in with Russell. She'd lasted almost a full week. He was impressed.

He met his daughter's gaze once more. Quinn was still frowning at Russell, waiting for him to fail her yet again. But Russell Fabray could not – would not! – do so. He knew Quinn thought he'd rage against the sins of homosexuality and quote Bible verses at her to prove his point. But she'd be wrong. Russell had never cared about sexuality. It was a non-issue for him. One of his best friends in college was gay. And who was Russell to judge? He'd had an affair, after all.

Russell was keenly aware that Quinn had just given him a gift: A chance to prove himself to her. Quinn looked about to bolt. She was ready and waiting for a reason to flee from him. He'd done that to her, made her afraid of how others would react to her, so it was also up to him to help fix it.

He reached down the length of the table and took her hand. "You know my friend, Bob, right? He's gay. And I know Leroy Berry. I got him his first accounting job when he moved to Lima. They're both good men. I'd trust Bob with my life."

Russell had practiced this speech for weeks – had even tried it out on Tracy – but now it seemed more than anything like prattling drivel that bordered on condescending. But it seemed to be working on Quinn. She'd relaxed back in her chair and she no longer appeared angry, just puzzled.

"So…you'd have no problem with me dating Rachel? I find that hard to believe." Quinn scrunched up her shoulders. She was quickly back on the defensive.

Russell couldn't help but laugh. "Because you don't know how often you talk about Rachel! And the way you do it! You can't even help yourself. And that's okay. It's really okay."

Russell leaned closer to Quinn and his tone grew more serious. "I don't care who you love, Quinn. I've made mistakes with you…"

Quinn interrupted him. "Are you just doing this to stay on my good side?"

"No, I'm doing this because I'm your father. Because I love you. And because how you feel matters to me."

"You really have no problem with me being gay?"

"Are you gay, Quinn?"

Quinn furrowed her brow and fidgeted in her chair. Her face grew red and she kept opening and closing her mouth, unable to answer Russell's question.

Russell smiled encouragingly at his daughter and tried a different tactic. "Once, I asked Bob how he knew he was gay. I wasn't trying to be mean about it. I was genuinely curious. He told me that if I were to put two equally attractive people in a room – one woman and one man – and he could have his pick, well, he'd choose the man every time. Does that make sense?"

Quinn still looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Do you know which one you'd want…if it worked that way?"

Quinn stood up from the table and favored Russell with a small smile. "The girl." Quinn's smile grew broader. "I'd pick the girl."

And, with that, Quinn left the kitchen to get ready for school. It seemed as if this was how all of their important conversations ended: With one of them just up and leaving. It was hard for the Fabrays to show emotion – even harder to talk about how they felt – so Russell wasn't surprised when Quinn ended their conversation so abruptly.

Still, Russell felt as if a great burden was being pulled swiftly from him. He'd done right by Quinn. It wouldn't make up for all the times he'd hurt and mistreated her. But, he'd just connected with his daughter. Let her know he would stand by her. And he intended on keeping this promise. You only got so many second chances in life, and Russell Fabray wasn't taking any unnecessary risks this go round.

(Break)

That Thursday morning had been a weird one for Quinn. She had not been expecting that this would be the day she would admit to her father that she was in love with Rachel Berry. She also couldn't have anticipated telling him that she was pretty certain she was gay. But her father just seemed to get it. She was grateful for his support, so desperate to say out loud how she felt, that she decided to accept his words at face value. He really seemed like a different Russell altogether than the father of her childhood. Quinn was not the same either: She was now more willing to freely admit her feelings than to bottle them up inside some stupid imaginary bubble. If Quinn Fabray could change, her father could certainly do so as well. She thought they might be making each other better, and that was all Quinn could ask of their relationship.

And she really liked living with her father. Plus, her first week at her new school was going well. She wasn't making friends, not exactly, but she didn't walk around looking like she had a grudge to settle (as she'd started both her junior and senior years at McKinley), nor did she adopt an air of snobby superiority. She was thankful the school had no Glee club.

Thinking about Glee club led her mind straight back to that one person who rarely left her thoughts: Rachel. She missed Rachel so much that it sometimes caused her physical pain. She'd be studying or walking to class or doing anything, really, and suddenly an image of Rachel would flash through her mind. And her heart would race, stomach clinch, body become leaden.

She was getting used to the feeling. But what really startled her – threw her completely off track – was how often she was thinking about having sex with Rachel.

It wasn't because Rachel said they couldn't have sex. Not really. She'd been having these thoughts a long time before Rachel reached that decision. No, now, it was just occurring a lot more often. It was obscene, really. She was being obscene! Rachel was (hopefully) wrestling with the decision over whether to date Quinn or not, whereas Quinn couldn't stop thinking about the many ways she'd like to have sex with Rachel. The many, many ways she'd like to fuck Rachel. Quinn knew she was being crude. It was more than a little embarrassing.

But she couldn't seem to stop herself. Each night she vowed to think of less threatening things: Santana, for example, or cute puppies. Anything but sex with Rachel! Yet each night ended the same: She'd enter herself to the thought of Rachel's fingers, her breasts, the sway of her hips. And each night she'd come to a picture of Rachel doing the same. She seriously needed to get a handle on this…this…problem.

Oh, but the way Rachel's legs would wrap around her. The way her head would fling back. The way she whispered Quinn's name…

Quinn could no better control these thoughts than her desire to breathe. So, each night, she gave in and let her mind take over her body…let the thoughts of Rachel have their way with her.

(Break)

"Would you be upset if Brittany left you?"

Santana looked up. Rachel was hovering over her. Santana sighed, rolled her eyes, and prepared for the worst. She had managed to avoid Rachel all week. But she'd had Brittany as a buffer. It was unfortunate for her that Brittany was out sick this Thursday. She'd humor Rachel in the slim hope it might speed this process along and she could get back to eating her lunch that much faster.

"And by 'left you,' what do you mean, exactly?" Santana eyed Rachel warily.

"Moved away."

Santana slapped herself on the forehead. "Oh, right, this is actually about you and Quinn."

She scowled at Rachel before continuing. "And are you insinuating that Britts and I are more than friends?"

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. "Santana, the fact that you and Brittany are involved in a romantic relationship is a very poorly kept secret, at least among your fellow Glee clubbers."

Santana wasn't very shocked by this news, but it still left her feeling unsettled. She looked around, trying to see in all directions at once. "Do you think anyone else knows? I asked Brittany to keep it between us."

"I can't be certain. Maybe. Or they strongly suspect. It doesn't matter. You shouldn't be so afraid." Rachel waved her hand dismissively in the air.

Santana wasn't ready to have this conversation with Rachel. Or with anyone other than Brittany. She reached over and poked Rachel on her arm. "Let's get back to making this about you and Quinn, shall we? You shouldn't be so afraid of her."

"Have you heard from her?"

"Every day since she's been gone."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yes, but I'm feeling a tiny bit used by your little Quinnie." Santana pouted at Rachel. "She's always talking about you. She hardly even cares enough to ask how I'm doing. Or Brittany, come to think of it."

"What does she say about me?"

"I wasn't aware that this had turned into a sharing circle, Rachel. And I'm certainly not Quinn Fabray's carrier pigeon. Ask her your damn self!"

Rachel stomped her foot. "But she hasn't called me!"

"That is such a girl response!" Santana rolled her eyes. "You told her that you need time to think." Santana pointed up at Rachel. "I assume her not calling you has something to do with your 'time to think,' Rachel."

"She told you about that?"

Santana couldn't hold back a suggestive smirk. "Sweetie, I know all the details of your sordid relationship. You guys are pretty twisted."

"What does she say about us?"

"Oh. My. God. You are draining me of my will to live! It's no wonder Quinn took off!"

Rachel took a step back and her eyes clouded over. Santana had enough on her hands with Brittany's unpredictable outbreaks. She wasn't going to put herself through the misery of a Rachel Berry crying extravaganza. She waved her arms at Rachel in a calming gesture. "Okay, okay, sorry."

She paused just long enough for Rachel to compose herself. "If Brittany left – I wouldn't care if she fucking moved to China – I'd still be her girlfriend. She'd be leaving a place, Rachel, not a person. And Quinn just left Lima, not you. Get your shit together. Or let Quinn go. It's that simple."

"How did you get Brittany back? Why did she pick you over Artie?"

"We love each other." Santana shrugged her shoulders.

"That's not the only reason, Santana, you loved her before you lost her." Rachel's voice was taking on that plaintive, needy tone that Santana had long ago come to despise. She gritted her teeth but kept her voice quiet, almost soothing.

"Fine, I'll level with you. Only so you'll shut up. I let Britt know she's the best thing in my life. And, yeah, I want Brittany to keep her mouth shut about us. But you want me to clue you in on the most important thing? She knows I'm gonna step up one day and make her proud. She's willing to wait 'cause I won't let her down. She trusts me."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "You and Quinn? You two are playing out some crazy-ass Catch-22. You keep expecting her to fuck you over and she's so afraid of doing just that until that's exactly what ends up happening. She caves under the pressure. You've got to trust she won't hurt you. Or else, what's the point?"

She got up from her seat, swiftly gathered her garbage, and eyed Rachel. "Like I said, it's easier than you think. Either you get back with her or you don't. Quit dicking around and make up your mind."

She brushed past Rachel with a flip of her hair in the other girl's face. She didn't give Rachel any chance to respond. She was pretty sure Rachel wouldn't have known what to say even if Santana had given her plenty of time to think. And Santana considered that a victory: It was rare to leave Rachel Berry speechless.

(Break)

"Are you coming to Sectionals?" Santana had been on the phone with Quinn for ten minutes before bringing up a topic that was sure to lead them to talking about Rachel. She was feeling a little (just a little) guilty over the way she'd left things with Rachel earlier that day.

Quinn sighed into the phone. "Probably not."

"You know, Quinn, there are people in your life other than Rachel Berry."

"I'm aware of that. It would be awkward, that's all…what with her not speaking to me."

And here was the opening Santana had hoped Quinn would offer her. "She sure as hell talks enough about you to last me several lifetimes."

"What does she say about me?"

Santana feigned what she considered the perfect combination of nonchalance and disinterest. She couldn't make it too easy on Quinn. "Why do I feel as if I exist in a world whose sole other occupants are Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry? It's not an interesting place to live."

"Santana…"

"She's working through things, I guess. Asking about how I'd feel if Brittany moved away. And it's her way of wanting to talk about you leaving Lima. Etc. Etc."

"I suppose it's good…she's thinking about me…enough to talk to you about it…she's not ignoring it."

Santana huffed. "As if she could let it go! She's Rachel Berry!"

She paused. She wanted this next bit of information to seem like an afterthought. "Oh, and she's upset you haven't contacted her."

"But…I don't understand! I thought she wanted time to think."

And here was Santana's opportunity to give Quinn one, last push. "Did she actually say that? That you shouldn't contact her?"

"No…but…shouldn't I give her…"

Santana knew where this was going, so she cut Quinn off. "At least e-mail her. Don't just shut down. You two have a real problem with communication. As in: You…don't…talk…to…each…other! At least e-mail her. Let her know you're coming to Lima this weekend. The rest is up to her."

Quinn was silent. Santana was pleased with herself. Maybe now both Quinn and Rachel could channel their silence into constructive conversations – together - not by way of using Santana as either a conduit or sounding board. She wanted to be done with that. She wasn't really exaggerating when she told Quinn she felt like the only other people in her life were Quinn and Rachel. And where was the room for Brittany?

"Listen, Q, much as I loves our deep conversations about Rachel, I feel that you're a big girl now. I've taught you well. Now, go e-mail Rachel and I'll see you tomorrow. I have to call and check on Britt." She hung up the phone before Quinn could protest. It was like coming full circle: Getting the two people in her life who were taking up too much of her time to shut the fuck up. If just for a moment.

(Break)

Quinn stared hard at her phone. She hated to admit when Santana Lopez was right. She flipped her phone on her bed and literally stalked over to her laptop. She tried not to overthink the e-mail she was drafting to Rachel. She didn't even hit spell check or re-read the message. She hit send before she could talk herself out of it:

I'm only e-mailing to let you know I'm gonna be home this weekend. Staying at my mom's. I'm not trying to pressure you. We don't have to see each other. I wasn't even sure I should say anything to you, but I also don't want to give you any reason to think I'm being evasive or dishonest. I don't want to show up in Lima without you not knowing. No surprises, Rachel. I'll understand if you don't want to see me. We just saw each other last Saturday. It's probably too soon. If you change your mind…"

Rachel didn't e-mail her back that evening. Or call. Or text. Maybe Quinn shouldn't have ended the e-mail in such an ambiguous way.

She didn't hear from Rachel at all on Friday. Quinn almost decided to stay at her father's that weekend. But Santana would never let her live it down. So she reluctantly drove to Lima after school. At least she'd be in the same town as Rachel. She'd hold on to that, since Rachel seemed determined not to give her anything else.

Quinn spent Friday night at Santana's. She hadn't meant to fall asleep at the foot of Santana's bed. Before eight at night, no less. She had just been so, so exhausted. She'd barely slept on Thursday. She'd spent a lot of time that night thinking about her conversation with her father. She was also too tense – too keyed up – after she sent Rachel the e-mail to calm her body and mind down enough to sleep. She'd spent most of Friday on red alert, hoping to hear from Rachel. And, then, talking about Rachel with Santana. The Latina had probably been beyond relieved when Quinn fell asleep shortly after Santana had pushed play on the DVD they'd agreed to watch.

Still sleepy and depressed, Quinn left Santana's late on Saturday morning. She didn't wake Santana before leaving. She drove home slowly; listlessly flipping through her iPod in search of a song that didn't remind her of Rachel. She didn't even bother to check if her mother's car was in the driveway. She'd yet to see her mother since coming back to Lima. She was not looking forward to the encounter.

It didn't appear that her mother was home. The house was silent. Maybe her mother was sleeping off another hangover. She'd deal with that possibility after a nap. A long, long nap. She trudged up the stairs to her room and jerked to a stop in the doorway.

There, sitting on the bed she'd left behind, was Rachel Berry.

Quinn frowned. Rachel was holding one of the plants Quinn had bought for her before their first and only real date. What the fuck was she doing with the plant? Quinn's frown deepened. Something clicked in Quinn's mind right before Rachel began to speak. This was some type of metaphor. And Quinn knew what this particular metaphor must mean. Rachel was giving the plant back. Why just one and not all four? Quinn had a quick answer to that: You only needed one to make a symbolic point. Rachel had come to give Quinn back the plant. Rachel had come to tell Quinn that they couldn't be together. She had come to break Quinn's heart.

AN2: If you signed up for angst, hope you are enjoying the ride. Most of the BIG answers come in the next chapter. To paraphrase Santana: They either get their shit together. Or they don't. Hang tight.