Rachel was at her locker, putting some things away just before glee when she saw Quinn down the hall. She smiled at him in greeting as he approached. "Hi. How was your trig quiz?"

"Could have gone better."

Her smile turned sympathetic. "Do you want to borrow my notes? I have an A+ in trigonometry." Not a lot of people knew it, but she was something of a math whiz.

Quinn smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't mind?"

"Not a problem." She dug around in her locker for her notebook. Not finding it, she looked into her bag, frowning. She thought back, trying to remember when she'd last seen it. "I think I might have left them in my desk at my last class."

"Oh."

"We can go get it before glee," she offered. "We've got time."

"Yeah, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay." They set off down the hall towards the English classroom, which just so happened to have been Rachel's last class.

"I can't wait to see what Mr. Schue has lined up for us this week," Quinn commented a touch sarcastically as he followed Rachel. "Do you think he'll start having us plan the wedding reception?""

"Oh God, I hope not," Rachel sighed.

Last week, Mr. Schue had rushed into the glee club rehearsal, gushing that he wanted to propose to Ms. Pillsbury. He and the guidance counselor had been dating for a while now, and Mr. Schue had had the New Directions spend the week coming up with a way for him to propose.

She shook her head. "While it's touching that Mr. Schue feels that the glee club is family, I still think that maybe there should be some boundaries between teachers and students." It had all worked out, and Mr. Schue had ended up proposing with a song the glee club had thought up, but it felt a bit weird to be so involved in their teacher's personal life. "I wish I could say his weekly assignments aren't all as strange, but sometimes I wonder how he comes up with them."

"I heard Mr. Schue asked Finn to be his best man."

"Yes, Kurt told me that as well." Far be it from her to question the teacher's personal choices, but she felt it may be bordering on inappropriate for a grown man to ask his teenaged student as his best man.

Apparently Quinn agreed with her. "Well, that's just creepy. Mr. Schue needs to find more adult friends."

Rachel snorted. "You may have a point."

She opened the door to the English classroom, heading for her desk and quickly sorting through the contents to find her notebook. "Here it is."

"Thank you." Quinn poked into the desk. "What's this?"

"Hmm?" Rachel glanced at him to see him smoothing out a wrinkled sheet of paper. She frowned when she saw the highly unflattering caricature of herself drawn on the paper. "Oh." She snatched it back, embarrassed, crumpling it back up into a ball. She strode towards the wastebasket in the back of the room, tossing it inside. "It's nothing."

Quinn watched her with a frown on his face. "Who drew that?" She didn't respond. "Rachel, come on."

"One of the Cheerios," she finally said, trying to convey with her eyes that she didn't want to talk about it. "It was back on the first day of senior year. I just tossed it in there and forgot about it." She smiled tiredly. "Don't worry about it, someday I'll be on Broadway and those Cheerios will still be stuck here in Lima. It's not a big deal, okay?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Fine." She let out a sigh of relief, not really in the mood to talk about her feelings on McKinley's perennial bullying problem right now. "I can't believe you have an A+ in trig."

Rachel smiled. "I'm pretty sure you have an A, Quinn. In fact, I know you have A's in pretty much all of your classes."

"Yeah, but I study hard to get that. I'm pretty sure you got that perfect score without any study."

"Well, it's been shown that there's a correlation between musical and mathematical aptitude. And honestly, I admire your work ethic. It says a lot about your character." She kissed him quickly on the cheek, a reluctant smile quirking up on his lips. They had study sessions together more often than not, and he really was a diligent student. "Now come on, I don't want to be late for glee."

They weren't the first ones to arrive in the choir room. Brittany and Santana were already inside, holding a hushed conversation, as was Kurt, but more importantly, Finn was already there, sitting behind the drums as he talked with Puck. Rachel faltered for a moment before heading for the seats furthest from the drum kit. Quinn followed her silently, making sure to keep himself between Rachel and Finn. They had just sat down when a small commotion entered the choir room in the form of Sugar, Mike, Tina, and Blaine.

"I know it sucks, guys, but it's not end of the world," Blaine was saying as he trailed after the others. "Heck, you had your set list stolen the day of the competition at Sectionals, and you pulled that one off, right?"

Artie shook his head, wheeling into the room with Rory. "They can have our Journey and our Dreamgirls, but pilfering my Michael? That's another level and not okay."

"Not exactly comfortable having this conversation with Blaine in the room," Puck glared at Blaine from his seat on the risers. "Clearly, once a Warbler, always a Warbler."

"Okay, what's going on?" Rachel asked. "Who's stealing our set list?"

"That would be quite a feat, considering we don't have one yet," Quinn said dryly.

"Blaine told his Warbler buddies we were doing MJ for Regionals," Puck said. "He's like a modern-day Eggs Benedict." Rachel turned sharply to look at Blaine, who raised his hands.

"I just mentioned it in passing to Sebastian," he defended. Rachel frowned. After their successful Jackson set list at Sectionals, the New Directions were planning on doing another Jackson set at Regionals. She wasn't too enamored with the idea of repeating themselves, but the entire club had agreed, and it was the principle of the thing. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Yes, and that sneaky meerkat with the CW hairstyle showed up while we were at the Lima Bean yesterday, saying that they were doing MJ. And since they're performing first…"

"He's on notice, as far as I'm concerned," Puck said with another glare at Blaine.

"We should all be on notice," Finn spoke up, standing. "I mean, next to Vocal Adrenaline, the Warblers are the best glee club in the state. And for a lot of us, this is our last chance at a National Championship. So we should stop complaining about the Warblers and figure out how to beat them."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Finn," Mr. Schue announced, striding into the room. "I'm less worried about our set list right now and more interested in getting us in the right mindset to crush those guys. Which is why this week, our lesson is… What Would Michael Jackson Do?"

..

"Do you really think having a sing-off in the middle of the night in a parking garage is going to get the Warblers to back off?" Quinn asked skeptically as he followed to her house that afternoon.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted. The New Directions had decided to challenge the Warblers to a sing-off that evening to determine who would get to do the Jackson set list. "But at the very least, if we out-sing them we might knock them off their game a little."

"I think it's a terrible idea."

Rachel sighed, unable to argue as she unlocked the front door. After unwrapping her scarf and shrugging off her coat, she went into the kitchen distracted by the pile of mail sitting on the kitchen counter. She quickly rifled through the envelopes, disappointed when she didn't find what she was searching for.

"Expecting something?" Quinn asked.

Rachel carefully straightened the stack of mail, setting them back on the counter. "The, um, the letters for the NYADA finalists were sent out a few days ago," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Oh." He hesitated. "Well, your mom pretty much said you were in, remember? I'm sure you'll get your letter soon…"

She hastily pasted a smile onto her face. "Yeah, no, I mean, New York mail is notoriously slow, so…" She shook her head, trying to push her worry aside. "I, um, have you –" She stopped short, feeling suddenly guilty. "God, I just realized I don't know what you're planning to do after we graduate."

"It's fine." Quinn smiled slightly, hoisting himself up onto a bar stool at the counter, Rachel following suit. "I… sent out a few applications. NYU, Columbia, Fordham, and Queen's College."

Rachel blinked. "Those – those are all in New York."

"Yeah."

"Is… is it because of me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze. "I… maybe."

Rachel's lips curved into a smile, delighted by the fact that he was planning to be with her for the long term. It had been a worry of hers that they'd have to separate for college so soon after they'd met. When she was younger, still waiting not-so-patiently for Lucas to talk to her again, she used to fantasize that they'd meet in New York, and live happily ever after. "That's very sweet, Quinn, and I'd obviously love to have you in New York with me."

He looked at her warily. "… But?"

"But… I don't want you to limit your options because I happen to be destined for New York. If there's somewhere else you want to go –"

"There isn't," he cut in shortly. He looked down at his hands. "I… wasn't planning on applying anywhere at all."

Rachel frowned, tilting her head. "You weren't planning on going to college? Why not? Not that that's not a valid choice, of course," she added hastily. "But… you're so smart. I think college would be a great move for you."

Quinn was silent for a moment. "Part of it was because I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was just going to… find a job somewhere, maybe take some courses at community college."

"What was the other part?"

He didn't answer, pulling out his lighter and flipping it open. Rachel frowned, recognizing one of his nervous tics that she'd seen a couple of times before. "One of the expectations when I was a kid was that Frank and I were supposed to end up in law school and eventually join the family firm," he explained. "When Frank went to college, he got into Yale, Stanford, and Harvard. Those are some of the top law schools in the country. I guess it's stupid," he muttered, "but I always got compared to him when I was a kid, and I wasn't… I'm not as good. And if I went for it and I didn't get in… then they'd be right."

"They're not, okay?" Rachel bit out fiercely, remembering her unpleasant conversation with Judy Fabray. "They're wrong. You shouldn't compare yourself to your brother, and even if you did, you are every bit as good, Quinn. Better. You're smart, and talented, and you can do anything you want. I'm sure you could get into any of those schools, if you wanted to."

"I…" He looked like he was about to argue for a second, but then he swallowed, smiling gratefully. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Rachel smiled back, glad that he'd accepted her words. "What are you planning on studying?"

"I applied as an English major," he admitted. "It's a good pre-law course."

"Pre-law?" She tilted her head. "So you do want to be a lawyer?"

"Well… not exactly," he said slowly. "But… I guess I just always knew that's what I was supposed to be, and I never really saw myself becoming something else." He smiled crookedly. "Besides, don't you want a big-shot corporate lawyer by your side? I hear they make good money."

She was silent for a moment. "I would like to have a big-shot corporate lawyer by my side… if that's what you really to do with your life. But if you would be happier pursuing a less lucrative career path… I'd still be proud of you."

"I'm not like you. I don't have a – a calling. I don't know if there's anything I really want to do with my life." He looked down at his lighter pensively. "When I was a kid, I was supposed to have the wife and the kids and the house with the white picket fence, and the job to support it all."

"It's not always about the money," she said, bypassing the wife and kids section of the vision since they weren't entirely ready for that minefield yet. Little steps. "I want you to be happy and satisfied with what you're doing. Even if you don't make a cent."

"That's… an extremely foreign concept."

"Just think about it," Rachel encouraged, taking his hand across the counter. She was grateful that her parents supported and encouraged her dreams, and she wanted her soulmate to have that too. "I'll support you whatever you decide."

Quinn nodded, clearing his throat. "I should get started on my homework," he finally said. Rachel nodded, letting him close the topic for now.

"Okay."

Excusing herself for a moment, she went up to her room to get a few things. After a quick trip to the bathroom she headed to the living room where she saw Quinn sitting on the couch, writing something in his notebook, his back to her. She cleared her throat as she approached, not wanting to startle him. He immediately glanced behind him, and Rachel caught a glimpse of a sketch in his notebook before he shut it.

"What are you working on?" she asked, putting her things down and moving behind him.

"Oh," he said vaguely. "Just doodling. "Should probably start working on the trig homework."

She felt a twinge of disappointment. He hadn't shown her any of his artwork besides those few sketches that one time in his house, but she was trying not to be pushy. "Okay." She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "You need some help with it?"

Strangely, she felt him tense under her hands an instant before he shot up off the couch, spinning around to face her. "No." His voice was a bit strangled, and he cleared his throat. "No, I – I'll figure it out. You've got homework too."

Rachel frowned, tilting her head in confusion. "Okay… But if you need help, I wouldn't mind mind."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Maybe later." He nodded, and if Rachel thought the movement was a little jumpier than usual, she brushed it off when he offered her a smile. He bent down to pick up his notebook from where it had fallen on the floor. "We should finish this before we go to that sing-off later. Which, for the record, I still think is a terrible idea."

..

As it turned out, Quinn was absolutely right. The sing-off was a terrible idea. The New Directions faced off with the Warblers at an abandoned parking garage at around nine in the evening. It had gone fairly well, with both sides seeming equally matched, until Sebastian had produced a slushy and thrown it in Kurt's face. Or at least, it had been intended for Kurt's face. At the last second, Blaine had jumped in front of him and taken the brunt of the crushed ice. They would have just brushed it off if it weren't for Blaine's agonized screams a second later. The New Directions tried to help Blaine wash the slushy out, but when the pain didn't seem to subside, Rachel took charge, packing Blaine and Kurt into Quinn's car – the two boys had hitched a ride with Mercedes earlier – and directed her boyfriend to drive them to the hospital.

"Park over there, it's closest to the ER entrance," Rachel directed a few tense minutes later from the passenger seat. Quinn obeyed, and they soon had Blaine inside the ER, Rachel leading them over to the intake station. She'd been here enough times with her father to know her way around. Speaking of Hiram, she spotted him near the nurses' station and quickly veered towards him. "Dad!"

"Rachel?" Hiram put down the clipboard he'd been holding, tucking his pen back into his coat. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but Blaine's hurt." She gestured at her friends.

"What happened?" Hiram asked, directing them to a curtained examination area. He helped them get Blaine up onto the bed and began looking him over.

"Someone threw a slushy in his face, and some of it got in his eyes. We tried flushing it out, but when he didn't stop screaming…" She shuddered, remembering Blaine's screaming.

"Can you help him?" Kurt asked anxiously.

"We'll certainly try," Hiram promised. "Blaine, I'm going to need to take a look in your eyes, okay? Rachel, how about you guys go wait outside for a bit? You really shouldn't be in here."

"No, wait," Blaine whimpered, grabbing Kurt's hand.

"Dad, Kurt's his soulmate," Rachel whispered. "Can't he stay?" Hiram shot a glance at Kurt, seeing the reddened skin around his eyes mirroring Blaine's, and quickly nodded, and Kurt sighed in relief, gripping Blaine's hand tightly. "We'll be right outside, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt breathed. "Thanks, Rachel."

She just nodded, exiting the examination area with Quinn in tow. Hospital policy that only immediate family and the person's soulmate were allowed during examinations, and was willing to comply. She absently sat down next to Quinn at one of the benches, slipping her hand into his. She empathized with Kurt right now, she knew how it felt to know your soulmate was hurt and not be able to do anything. A part of her was relieved that it wasn't her soulmate in the hospital this time, and she felt a twinge of guilt that she brushed away. At least Kurt could physically be here for Blaine.

"You okay?" Quinn asked. She nodded, gripping his hand a little more tightly, banishing the thoughts of how much she wished she could have been there for Quinn when he was in his coma after his father hurt him.

"Yes, I'm fine."

They waited for about fifteen minutes, Rachel going through and replying to the texts the rest of the glee club had been bombarding her with, before Hiram came out. Rachel quickly stood up. "How is he?"

"You know I can't give out medical information, sweetheart," Hiram chided, though his tone was kind. "I've ordered some more tests, but you'll have to wait for him to tell you." He glanced up when a nurse gestured to him. "I think his parents are here, I need to talk to them. You two should go home."

"But –"

"This could take a while, and it's a school night," Hiram told her. "You can ask Kurt to tell you what's happened tomorrow. Get some rest. Besides, you've got…" He checked his watch. "Ten minutes before curfew, young lady, so you need to get home. You're going to be telling me the whole story tomorrow."

Rachel sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"Good." Hiram glanced at Quinn. "Drive safely, all right?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes sir, I'll get her home safely. Come on, Rachel."

She nodded, giving her dad a quick hug. "I'll see you at home. Thank you for taking care of Blaine, Dad."

Hiram gave her a grin. "Part of the job, sweetheart. Now go on."

The New Directions had congregated in the choir room early that morning, impatiently waiting for Kurt to arrive with news about Blaine. When Kurt came, he told them that the doctors had said Blaine's cornea had been deeply scratched, and that he needed to have surgery. Needless to say, everyone had been predictably upset and angry with Sebastian and the Warblers.

"You were really quiet in the choir room earlier," Rachel commented after school, putting her books into her locker. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just…" Quinn shook his head. "I was kind of annoyed by what Mr. Schue said."

Rachel frowned, thinking back to the meeting. "What do you mean?"

"He said that in all his years as a teacher, he'd never known a slushy to do that kind of damage," he elaborated. Rachel nodded, remembering. "Which implies that while he's been teaching, he's been aware of the slushies and the kind of damage they do. So if he's aware, then why doesn't he do anything to try and stop them?"

"I…" Rachel faltered. Quinn was right. Mr. Schue was quite aware of the slushies; in fact, he'd once witnessed Rachel receive a cherry one in her face while he was talking to her. Rachel remembered that Mr. Schue had simply gaped at her in shock while she had tried to wipe it off her face. He hadn't even tried to find the perpetrator.

Quinn huffed out a sigh. "It's just ridiculous that he knows what's going on, and he has the authority to stop it, but he doesn't. And don't say it's not a big deal, because I saw you get slushied once, and I know it hurt you."

Rachel shut her mouth. She had just been about to say those very words. It did hurt; it was humiliating and physically harmful, and had everyone really just become so used to it that they just let it slide?

"You're right. I suppose I can't really think of a defense for Mr. Schue." It had been his What Would Michael Jackson Do weekly lesson that had gotten them into last night's mess, and he'd even encouraged the sing-off. She shook her head. "I still can't believe the police can't do anything about it."

"We don't have any proof the slushy was tampered with. It could have been a fluke."

Rachel stared at him. "Quinn, I've taken dozens of slushies, and whatever Mr. Schue's faults, he's right. Regular slushies aren't supposed to do that."

"Okay. Then maybe if we could find some proof that there was something in that slushy…" He trailed off.

"Well, short of getting the Warblers to admit they tampered with the slushy, I don't see any way we can prove it," Rachel sighed. "Hey, I was thinking of maybe going to visit Blaine. Do you want to come?"

"Yeah, okay."

They headed outside and pulled out of the parking lot in Quinn's Jeep. "Have you been to Blaine's house yet?" he asked.

"Well, other than that one time we picked him up to go sledding, no, I haven't. And I haven't been inside."

Quinn nodded. "I've been a few times, when Blaine was giving me singing lessons for your birthday and for my audition." Rachel had to smile at the reminder. "And I used to go to their old house when I was kid, when we were still living in Illinois."

"You did?" Rachel blinked, belatedly remembering that Quinn had known the Andersons when he was growing up.

"Yeah." He shook his head, voice turning a bit distant. "My father loved the Andersons. Blaine's dad is some kind of businessman, and they were the right kind of family. Rich and influential in the right circles, that kind of thing. Mr. Anderson wasn't really around a lot, he was busy, but he seemed okay. He wasn't really cool with Blaine being gay, but he's… tolerating it, I guess."

Rachel frowned. "What about his mom?"

"Oh, Blaine's mom is great." He smiled. "Mrs. Anderson's a foreigner, and my father didn't really like that, but he figured no family's perfect." He shook his head. "He probably liked that there was something wrong with them, I bet it made him feel better about himself."

Rachel pursed her lips. It was hard to imagine being so hateful and self-centered. But then, the man had abused his own son, so bigotry and conceit were hardly his worst sins. "He wouldn't have liked my family, would he?"

Quinn snorted. "No, he would have been very disappointed with me for having a soulmate from a half-Jewish family with two gay dads." He smirked. "He'd probably have a stroke."

"Don't joke about that," she said reprovingly. Part of her did wish the man would drop dead though. She hesitated. "You and your brother don't talk much, do you?"

He shook his head. "He went to Stanford, and Callie went to school in California too. He didn't really have much reason to come back home."

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Rachel gathered the neve to ask. "Did your father… did he hurt Frank too?"

Quinn hesitated. "… I don't know." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. "I told you, by the time it started getting bad, Frank was already at college. But I don't know, maybe it was happening and I just didn't know. He got out of the house as soon as he could, so."

Rachel nodded, letting it go, and after a fifteen-minute drive, she found herself standing on the Andersons' front porch. Quinn rang the doorbell once, and a minute later a petite, vaguely Asian-looking woman answered the door. Rachel noted with interest that the woman was slightly shorter than Rachel herself was, which was saying something. If this was Blaine's mother, then he had clearly come by his height honestly. The woman looked tired and a bit worried, but she offered Quinn a smile. "Hello Luke. Sorry, Quinn," she corrected.

Quinn smiled back. "Hi Mrs. Anderson. It's fine."

Mrs. Anderson stepped forward to give Quinn a quick hug, and Rachel followed the interaction with interest and mild surprise. "I'm glad you stopped by," she said. "Blaine will certainly appreciate it." She turned to Rachel with curious eyes. Quinn cleared his throat.

"Rachel, this is Blaine's mom. Mrs. Anderson, this is Rachel Berry. She's my soulmate."

Rachel's eyes widened a bit at the introduction, but she smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Anderson, it's great to meet you."

"It's wonderful to meet you too." Mrs. Anderson gave her a hug as well. "Blaine's told me a lot about you. Says you're the best singer at your school."

"She is," Quinn supplied, and Rachel's smile widened. "Um, how's Blaine?"

Mrs. Anderson's smile faded a little. "A little better. But I'll let him tell you." She led them into the house and up the second floor. Tapping on the door, she poked her head into the second room on the left. "Blaine, you've got some visitors." She smiled at Quinn and Rachel, ushering them into the room.

"Hey guys," Blaine said with a smile. He was sitting up on his bed, wearing a set of blue pajamas and an eyepatch. "Thanks for coming."

Quinn nodded. "You doing okay?"

"I've been better."

"When's your surgery?" Rachel asked.

"Day after tomorrow," Blaine sighed. "Your dad was great last night, by the way. Would you thank him for me? I didn't get to talk to him before I got discharged."

She smiled. "I'll be sure to tell him. Where's Kurt?"

"Oh, he had to go help his dad with something. He'll be back in a while." He sighed again. "I just hate that I'm missing Michael week, it totally sucks. But don't worry, I'll make sure to be back to top form by the time Regionals comes around."

"Don't worry about that, just make sure you get better," Rachel urged. "Take your time." She frowned. "Just, you know, not too much time, you're one of our best singers, and we need you to beat the Warblers."

"Did you parents talk to the Dalton principal?" Quinn asked. "Mr. Schue told us they're supposed to open an investigation."

"Yeah, they talked to the headmaster. I don't know how far they'll be able to go, since it didn't exactly happen on school grounds." Blaine looked distinctly unhappy. "I thought they were my friends," he muttered dejectedly.

Rachel could relate. She couldn't count how many times she'd thought she was friends with her glee club teammates only to have them say something intentionally hurtful the next minute. Thankfully no one had gone so far as to physically hurt her. "Well, we'll just have to get back at them by winning Regionals."

The conversation turned to lighter topics then, and a few minutes later Rachel wandered out of Blaine's room to use the restroom. Once she'd finished, she ran into Blaine's mother, who smiled kindly at her. "Hello Rachel. Would you kids like something to drink?"

"Oh, I guess we wouldn't mind," she answered, following the woman into the kitchen. The room was warm and homey, equipped with the latest appliances, and, strangely, an oversized wooden spoon and fork hanging on the wall. Rachel could see Mrs. Anderson was very much at home here. She sat down when the older woman motioned her towards a bar stool. "Quinn mentioned he spent some time at your home when he was growing up."

Mrs. Anderson nodded agreeably, taking out three glasses and setting them on a tray. "Yes, Frank spent a lot of time with Callie, and he brought Luke with him once in a while." She shook her head with a smile. "But after Frank and Callie went to college, I didn't really see Luke much."

Rachel nodded. That meant she wouldn't have been around when Quinn's father had started hurting him. Curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, "What was he like when he was a kid?"

"Very quiet," Mrs. Anderson said with a smile, pouring orange juice into the glasses. "Callie and Blaine were little balls of energy, but Luke was always happy to sit and read his comic books or draw in his sketchbook. He used to love drawing that old cat we used to have." She shook her head fondly. "He and Frank were total opposites."

"How so?"

"The two looked alike, but Frank is very outgoing, sporty… the classic jock. Luke was much shyer." The woman's smile faded. "Though with the way Judy and Russell were, I'm not surprised he was so quiet."

Rachel looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Anderson shook her head. "We just got the sense that they liked Frank better than Luke. They certainly bragged on Frank more, and I wouldn't be surprised if Luke picked up on that." Rachel hid a frown, upset on Quinn's behalf that his parents hadn't even valued his feelings enough to keep their opinions to themselves. "Have you met Judy yet?"

Rachel couldn't keep the frown off her face anymore. "Yes, I have had the… dubious pleasure of meeting Quinn's mother."

Mrs. Anderson sighed. "Judy's a nice enough woman, but… I didn't really like Russell. It didn't really come as a surprise when Frank mentioned they were getting divorced two years ago."

Rachel hesitated. "Do you know why they separated?" Mrs. Anderson shook her head.

"Frank didn't go into too much detail."

"Can you tell me anything else about him? Quinn, I mean?" Rachel asked curiously. She wanted to learn more about her soulmate, and since she and Judy weren't slated to become best friends anytime soon, she'd take what she could get.

Mrs. Anderson hummed. "One thing I remember about him is that he gets hot easily," she chuckled. "There was one summer when Frank was always bringing him around, and he always wanted to be indoors with the air conditioning during the summer."

Rachel smiled, fondly recalling that he'd told her he liked snow. "That's cute."

"I remember he's not too fond of candy," Mrs. Anderson continued, "which I remember because most kids do. But he used to like M&Ms. Oh, and he really likes bacon."

That made Rachel wrinkle her nose. "Really?" She knew he wasn't anywhere close to being a vegetarian, but it was still gross. Well, she supposed Quinn couldn't be absolutely perfect. "I'll keep it in mind."

She didn't get to ask anything more, because Quinn wandered into the kitchen, smiling at Mrs. Anderson before arching an eyebrow at Rachel. "Did you get lost?" he teased.

"My fault," Mrs. Anderson put in. "We just started chatting." Rachel nodded at him with a small smile.

"I'll be up in a minute, okay?"

Quinn nodded, a soft smile on his face. "Okay."

Rachel watched him leave the kitchen, before turning back to find a smile on Mrs. Anderson's face. "What?"

The older woman shook her head, her smile still on her face. "I think you're good for him."

"Really?"

Mrs. Anderson nodded. "I may not have known Luke too well, but in the five years I knew him, I never saw him smile the way he did just now."

Rachel couldn't help but smile at that.

A few days later, things seemed to have settled down a little. Blaine's surgery had been successful, though he'd still be out of school for another week to recover. Rachel was just about to head to class with Quinn when she heard her name.

"Rachel! Rachel!"

She turned, frowning in confusion when she saw Kurt barreling towards her and Quinn.

"I got it," Kurt said breathlessly, excitement written clearly across his features. "I got my NYADA letter, I got in the finals!"

All the air rushed out of Rachel's lungs at once. Kurt had gotten a letter. He'd gotten a letter, and she hadn't. The thought made her heart drop to her stomach, made her want to collapse into a puddle right there in the middle of the hall. But she couldn't do that, she had to keep herself together. She hurriedly put on a smile. "You did?" She managed to keep her voice steady. "That's so great."

Kurt nodded so hard she thought his head might fall off. "Wh-what did yours say?" he asked eagerly, and Rachel's heart sank further, her eyes dropping.

"I didn't get one." She was barely aware of Quinn looking in her direction. She ignored him, fighting the moisture gathering in her eyes. Kurt faltered, excitement dimming.

"Oh, that doesn't mean anything," he tried. "That just means they haven't sent it yet."

She shook her head, feeling the sob building in her chest. "I didn't even make it to the finals." She shook her head, swallowing. "I knew it, I… I had this weird feeling in my stomach all week long."

Kurt shook his head. "Rachel, don't be stupid –"

"Stupid?" A tear finally slipped, Rachel brushing it away angrily. "Kurt, this is the time when we finally find out if we're good enough to make it out of this town. This is it. And I'm not even good enough to make it into a shortlist!"

Suddenly Rachel found herself enveloped in Quinn's arms. She instinctively burrowed into him, letting her tears fall as she pressed her face into his chest. His hand rubbed gently at her back, and she sniffed, letting herself be comforted.

Quinn held her for a minute, and Rachel let herself soak in the comfort he offered before forcing herself to face Kurt again. "Kurt, I'm sorry, I really am happy for you." She mustered up a halfhearted smile, pulling Kurt into a brief hug. He was her friend, and she didn't want to ruin this for him. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Rachel." He smiled gratefully, hugging her back. "I'm sure your letter's on its way."

Rachel just nodded, fake smile on her face, and Kurt left. She was happy for him. She was. It was just hard to accept that he'd made it onto the shortlist and she hadn't. Quinn stood there quietly watching her. Then he took her hand. "Come with me."

He led her into the dark auditorium, and they sat down side by side in the back row, Rachel brushing away stray tears. Quinn watched her carefully. "Kurt's right, you know?" he said after a beat. "Your letter probably just got delayed somewhere. NYADA would be stupid to reject you."

She laughed tiredly. "We both know that's not true." She glanced down. "Here in Lima, I'm one of the best singers around. But I'm not delusional; I know that there are hundreds, thousands of talented aspiring performers just like me." She shrugged helplessly. "Not everyone's going to make it."

"You will," Quinn insisted. "Hey, look at me." She turned to look at him, meeting fierce hazel eyes. "You are an amazing singer and actress. You are going to make it out of Lima, and you are going to be the best performer Broadway has ever seen. You're the one who told me I could be anything I want. You can too. I believe in you, okay?"

She swallowed, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes. He really did believe in her, and it was humbling. She'd never had someone believe in her and her abilities as much as her soulmate seemed to, and it was… everything.

"Besides," he continued, "even if NYADA says no, you're still going to get into Julliard or Tisch, and then when you're famous, NYADA can just eat their rejection."

That earned him a smile. "I… thanks, Quinn. I needed that." She took a deep breath, feeling her confidence returning. Even if he was wrong, which right now she felt he was, the sentiment helped. It was awe-inspiring, even a little frightening, to have someone who believed in her so wholeheartedly. "You're right. You're right, it's not the end of the world."

Quinn squeezed her hand, offering her a smile, and she couldn't help but reach over and kiss him. The now-familiar touch was comforting, and she sighed contentedly into the kiss. By the time she pulled away, her resolve was back. He was right, she was going to New York, one way or another. NYADA's rejection would only be a stumbling block on the way to greatness.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, lazily intertwining their fingers. "You know, you make me want to be better too," she said softly. His answering smile was light. "You know, you're still a bad influence. We're both missing class right now."

"Hush."

..

Glee that day started with Santana sending out a mass text and hurrying the whole club into the choir room. "Come on, before Mr. Schue gets here," she barked. "Brittany, lock the door."

"I don't know how to do that."

Rachel was utterly bewildered when they got inside. "Um, what's going on?" Quinn, who had brought up the rear, shrugged as he sat down, and Rachel settled next to him.

Santana smiled smugly at the rest of the club. "We've got the Warblers right where we want them," she boasted. "And because he's the smoothest criminal I know, Artie was able to find a spy store that sells top-secret surveillance equipment." She produced a small tape player.

"Not top-secret. I just got a tape recorder from OfficeMax."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, whatever. In any case, I taped it to my underboob when we went to Dalton, and I got Sebastian on tape admitting that there was rock-salt in that slushee that blinded Blaine. Now, all we have to do is send this tape to the po-po, and that little bitchlet is headed to juvie." She pressed the play button on the device.

"Admit it. Tell me the truth. What did you put in that slushy?"

"Rock salt."

"No, we're not doing that." The unexpected disagreement came from Kurt. Santana and everyone else looked at him as if he'd gone insane, which Rachel though might not be that far off.

"Why?" Santana asked, exasperated. "Kurt, this isn't violent. This is clever. I taped it to my underboob."

Rachel barely listened to the ensuing argument, instead glancing sideways at Quinn, who was frowning slightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

In the end, the glee club decided not to release the tape to the police or the Dalton headmaster. Kurt convinced them to go with his plan, which involved inviting the Warblers to the auditorium and singing a song to try and psych them out of doing a Jackson set list. The glee club followed him out of the choir room, leaving a very annoyed Santana trailing behind.

"Wait, if Kurt would have taped this to his junk, I would have never heard the end of it!" she complained. "We would've had a whole week of songs about it!"

Rachel shook her head, heading to the door. She paused when she saw Quinn hanging back, and she looked at him questioningly. He shook his head. "You go," he said. "I'll catch up."

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. She should probably make sure the others didn't do anything too drastic.

Kurt's plan actually turned out better than expected. The Warblers seemed to have had a change of heart, and had even ended up coming onstage to dance with the New Directions when they sang what Rachel thought was a killer rendition of Black and White. They also didn't seem too pleased with Sebastian's actions, which might help Blaine feel a bit better.

Rachel slipped back to her locker after their performance, wanting to grab the scarf she'd left in there. Quinn had just nodded and told her to meet her at his car. But when she opened her locker door, a folded sheet of paper fell out. Rachel frowned, bending over to pick it up. It wasn't the first time she'd received notes, usually of a derogatory nature, in her locker, and she had half a mind to toss it out. She decided to open it though, and when she saw what was inside, she was so thankful she did.

The unlined sheet was torn on one side as though from a notebook, and drawn on the paper was a pencil sketch of herself, sitting on a sofa in a casual pose, a soft smile on her face. Rachel traced a finger lightly against the pencil strokes, marveling at the detail. She could see the care and thought that had gone into the drawing, but more than that, she was entranced by the emotion the artist had managed to infuse into it. She'd never considered herself a great beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clear that the artist felt differently. She almost considered that maybe she was mistaken, maybe it wasn't her, but the drawing was rendered clear enough that she knew it was.

There wasn't any signature, but she knew who had drawn this. She'd known Quinn could draw, but this was a whole other level. And it was so very personal that she could cry. No one had ever given anything like this to her.

After one last look, she carefully tucked the paper into her binder and put it into her bag. Grabbing the scarf she had come for in the first place, she shut her locker again and headed for the parking lot.

..

They were halfway home when Rachel brought it up. "I found your drawing in my locker. I know you drew it."

"Oh? Okay. Good." He offered her a nervous smile, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Good."

Rachel smiled gently. "I think it's beautiful, Quinn. Locker break-in notwithstanding," she added with an impish smile. "I loved it."

He seemed to relax significantly. "Oh. That's good."

"Why didn't you give it to me yourself?"

His shoulders twitched in a small, bashful shrug. "I don't know."

Rachel's smile widened, completely tickled by this shy version of her soulmate. "You're really talented, you know," she said. "I mean, I don't know much about visual art, but just that fact that I could tell it was me is amazing. And…"

"And?"

"I'm just curious," she said hesitantly. "Is that really how you see me?"

He gave her a bemused look. "Yeah, of course. Why?"

"I don't know. It just… I felt like it was me, but maybe a more beautiful version of me, if that makes sense," she ended with a mutter, glancing away.

Quinn shook his head. "I think you're beautiful," he said vehemently. "If anything, the picture's not half as beautiful as you are, Rachel."

Her cheeks warmed, and a tiny smile appeared on her lips. She cleared her throat. She'd received compliments on her talent, certainly, but hardly ever on her looks, and she wasn't quite sure what to say. "Thank you."

"Anyways, it was just a quick sketch," Quinn mumbled, cheeks slightly tinged as well. "It wasn't even that good."

"If that's your 'not good' I can't wait to see one of your masterpieces," Rachel quipped. "I can't believe you managed to draw me."

"Well, I said I would, right?"

Rachel paused, tilting her head in surprise. "I guess you did." They were quite for a moment. "You really are talented, Quinn. Have you considered pursuing this in college? I'm pretty sure all the schools you applied to have arts programs. I'm sure it's not too late to change your major, if you wanted to."

"I…" He hesitated. "It crossed my mind," he admitted, "but, well, my father always said it was just a useless hobby, and I didn't think I could really get a job doing it, so. And you know, I really got interested in the art stuff because of my grandpa, and it was just a hobby for him. He was a pretty successful businessman in Mississippi."

Rachel sighed softly, suspicions confirmed. "Your father was wrong about a lot of things, and he was wrong about this too. If you really want to keep your art as a hobby, and be a lawyer, or a businessman, I'd have absolutely no problem with it. But I wouldn't mind having an artist as a soulmate either." She bit her lip. "I just think it would be such a waste if you gave it up, that's all."

She leaned over to kiss him, eyes falling shut at the pressure of his warm lips against hers. She smiled as she pulled back, getting out of the car. Her shoes crunched in the light snow covering the ground as she walked up the driveway. "Your grandfather who taught you to draw, was he your maternal grandfather?"

"Yeah," Quinn smiled lightly. "He and my grandmother lived in Mississippi, but we used to go there for vacations. I spent a couple of summers there when I was a lot younger." A shadow crossed his face, melting quickly back into a smile. "I think he would have liked you."

"You were nine when he passed away, right? Did you tell him about me? That we were talking, I mean?" She'd first written Lucas back when she was seven, after all.

It took Quinn a second to answer. "Yeah. I did. The summer after we started." He looked at her anxiously. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not." Rachel put a hand on his arm briefly before unlocking the front door. "I'm glad you had someone to share it with." She led him inside, absently brushing snow off his shoulders. "Oh, hey, before I forget again," she said suddenly. "What was that, yesterday in the choir room? When you wanted to talk to Santana?"

"Oh." Quinn hummed. "I… actually wanted to talk to Santana."

"Santana?" she echoed. "Why?"

"I got Santana to give me a copy of the tape," he said carefully, "and I gave it to Blaine and his parents." Rachel looked at him in surprise. "Sebastian's lucky Blaine didn't want to press charges. He could, but since there's no lasting damage, he decided not to. But they did take it to the Dalton headmaster. Since it didn't happen on school grounds, they can't expel Sebastian for it, but he'll be suspended from the Warblers."

"I see." Rachel considered it. "Well, I think that's a good thing. He does deserve some repercussions for his actions." She gave him a quick hug. The fact that he cared so much about their friend made her lov – like him that much more. She wasn't quite ready for that other word. "It's just lucky that Blaine's going to recover."

Quinn seemed to relax. "I don't really get where Kurt's coming from," he grumbled. "If someone had done that to you…"

Rachel smiled at his protectiveness. "If it had been you, you can be sure that I'd make sure Sebastian was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

He smiled reluctantly. "Thanks. Hey, you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"No, of course not." She wandered into the kitchen, heading for a glass of water while Quinn made a beeline for the bathroom. She gave a cursory glance at the stack of mail, only to freeze when she saw a New York postmark. It was addressed to her. From New York. From NYADA.

A million thoughts rushed through her at once, elation and fear fighting for dominance. Was it her much awaited acceptance, or a kindly worded yet final rejection? Did the letter contain unspeakable delight, or crushing devastation?

"Rachel, what are you –" Quinn frowned when he saw her staring at the mail like it was about to jump up and bite her. He glanced at the mail. "Is that from NYADA?" She nodded mutely. "Are you going to open it?"

Spurred into action, Rachel picked up the envelope with trembling fingers. She took a deep breath.

"Wait."

She looked up at Quinn in confusion, eyes widening when he pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "Is – is that an acceptance letter?"

"Well, it's a letter," he said. "It's from Columbia. I don't know what it says yet."

"Why not?" Rachel demanded, distracted from her own letter. "When did you get it?"

"Three days ago," he admitted. "I didn't want to open it until you got your NYADA letter. And before you say anything, I knew you were going to get it, okay? It would have been impossible for them not to take you."

Rachel's heart melted at his confidence in her. "Did you think I'd be upset if you got into your college and I didn't? I wouldn't have been." All right, maybe she would have been a little upset, but, "I would have been so proud of you."

"You do know this might be a rejection, right?"

"It isn't," she said firmly.

Quinn smiled. "Well, since we're both so sure were both holding acceptance letters, how about we open them at the same time?"

Rachel dragged in a shaky breath. "O-okay. On the count of three?" Quinn nodded. "One… two… three."

Palms sweating, she tore the envelope open, almost dropping the letter in her eagerness to pull it out. She turned away from Quinn to read the letter.

Dear Ms. Berry, we are pleased to inform you that you are one of the finalists for freshman applicants at the New York Academy for Dramatic Arts. Applicants will need to prepare an audition…

Rachel let out a soft sob of elation, clapping her hand to her mouth. She was in. She'd made the shortlist. She had an audition for NYADA. She spun around, eyes shining, to see Quinn's head still bent over his own letter. Her smile faltered. Had he been accepted? "… Quinn?"

His head jerked up, eyes a bit dazed. "Did… did you get in?"

She nodded. "Yeah. What about you?"

He let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle. "I'm in. I got into Columbia."

"Oh my God. Oh my God!" She squealed, launching herself at him in a hug. "We both got in! We're both going to New York! Well, obviously I have to pass the audition process first, but it's the first step in the right direction, and oh my God, I need to have a really good audition. But we both made it! I have to tell my dads. I have to call Shelby!"

Quinn laughed, hugging her tight. "Just breathe, Rachel." He squeezed her even tighter. "I told you you'd get in," he said tenderly.

She grinned, unable to stop smiling. "And I told you you'd get in." She leaned back just enough to peck him on the lips. "So now you should now that I'm always right."

He chuckled, kissing her again. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't forget what I said about changing your major," she reminded him, brushing a lock of pink hair out of his face. "I'll support you no matter what."

"I'll think about it."

One more kiss. "That's all I ask."

Rachel was working on some math homework when black ink splotches started appearing on the tips of her fingers. She frowned. This had been happening on and off recently, and she decided to put off her homework for the moment. She picked up a marker and started writing on her arm.

'You keep getting ink on your fingers.'

A minute later the ink disappeared.

'Sorry. I was just drawing something. I'll be more careful.'

Rachel smiled. 'I don't mind. What are you drawing?'

It took another minute for Lucas to respond. 'Nothing. Just practicing.'

'Come on, tell me. Please,' she added for good measure. The third-grader's math homework was boring, and she'd much rather spend time talking to her soulmate. It had been a few days since they'd last spoken after all.

'I'm trying to draw a cat. She keeps moving so I can't get it right.'

'Daddy's allergic to cats so we can't have one,' she wrote wistfully. She liked animals but rarely had the chance to interact with them. 'I wish I could see your drawings.'

'They're nothing special.'

'Yes they are, they're yours, so they're special. Can you draw people?'

'Not very well.'

'You should learn, so when we meet you can draw me.'

Lucas waited a moment before answering. 'Maybe I will.'

Rachel smiled widely. 'I'll remember that.'

My goodness it's taking me forever to update. Writer's block sucks. Anyways, a lot of things going on in this chapter. But that's how life goes, things don't really happen in neat episodic chunks. Hopefully it made sense.

Thanks for the reviews from the previous chapter; I'm also excited for Faberry duets, so if you've got any ideas, now's the time. I'm glad you liked Quinn's choice of audition song ;) Maybe I'll write a scene with Rachel and Quinn kickboxing. As for Finn drama, it'll come. It's dormant for now, but it'll come to a head eventually. For Kurt, he's an iffy character for me. He's probably not going to play too much of a role. I do however plan to have a scene with Tina, I've had it written for a while now, I just can't fit it in since there's so much going on.

For those asking, I've been doing better personally, but my job is absolutely terrible; the work environment is stressful and the work itself is so far out of my line it's not even funny. Thankfully my contract expires this month and I've absolutely no plan of renewing it. That's part of the reason I've been so slow at writing, I've been in a poor mood for it and I don't like turning out half-assed work. Hopefully things will get better, but until then, please bear with me.

That's all for now, leave me a line if you feel like it, and I'll see you in the next chapter!