Rachel POV - I'm fixing my timeless haircut in the bathroom nearest the exit to this hellhole. Just because my alarm clock broke this morning is no reason to abandon my morning rituals. My dads' forced me out of the house but nevertheless I shall endeavour to reach my normal standard in the shoddy lighting of the school bathroom. It's not as though Ms Castle is likely to notice my absence. Monday morning she is almost always high from the weekend if not then hung-over.

I hear an obnoxious clanging from the hallway. I roll my eyes and get my lip-gloss out, that shine is totally important. I hear a loud, "Owww..." with my pitch perfect hearing I can recognise that beautiful voice anywhere, it can only be Quinn. After quickly jamming all my products into my tote I exit the bathroom to check on her. She is lying on the ground holding her leg groaning. The only other sign of disturbance I can see is an empty trash can lying on the ground next to her. I rush over to her prone form, she must be quite injured if she isn't getting up. I kneel next to her head, what did first aid teach me? Oh right check for ABC, I can see her chest rising so she is covering the A and the B. I am about to check her pupils but her hand reaches up and tangle in my hair, "Hey Sant... " her eyes flutter all the way open and focus on me. "You're not Santana, Berry. Fuck off." Well that was pure rude.

She lets go of my hair roles over in an attempt to stand up, she gets one leg under her but face plants before she gets there. I start to walk away when I hear her calling, "Wait, Ber-Rachel can you give me a hand up?"

Well, well, well, who needs my help now? I'd gloat some more but she is looking so pathetic on the floor, the disgusting floor that has never been cleaned. I have to use far more effort than should be necessary for help, in fact once she is up she stumbles into the lockers landing with her face. I wince and touch my nose in sympathy. Before I can try to pick her up again a deep voice comes from behind me, "I never would have figured you for a person to seek physical revenge." I spin and see Karofsky standing there. Oh god I'm going to die, I know he is friends with Quinn and he thinks I'm beating her up. He steps towards me and I shriek. He throws his hands up "Woah, settle. The only reason I'm here is because this one wouldn't get in the truck unless I promised to take her to Santana. If you can find either Santana or Brittany to hand her off to that'd be cool, cos I should stay here to keep her from hurting herself more."

Karofsky seems far less threatening when he is holding Quinn up with one arm and pressing a handkerchief to her split forehead with his free hand. I pull out my cell and hit call for Brittany, she is way less scary than Santana.

"Hey Rae-Rae. Did you want me to make some rainbow notes for this class?"

"Um, no. I'm standing in the hall with a drunk and disorientated Quinn and weirdly enough David Karofsky."

"Where are you?" There is nothing vague about her voice now, if anything it's filled with menace. Now I'm thinking Santana would have been the less scary option.

"West entrance near the bathroom."

"Stay there." The threat in her voice is unmistakable. Brittany comes around the corner and takes Quinn off Karofsky. As she takes her Quinn just collapses, I'm not sure if I saw it but it looked like a flash of a syringe.

"Thank Rachel we can take it from here." She and Karofsky take an arm over the shoulder each and turn towards the door. It just doesn't add up the way Quinn collapsed as soon as Brittany arrived.

"But..."

"We have it Rachel."

"But"

"Thank you." Her voice is like ice and I want to cry. There is no way I could get Quinn off Karofsky, but this whole situation just feels off. Discretion is the better part of valour so I leave. When I glance back it looks as though Karofsky is carrying Quinn bridle style, his gentleness eases my fear a little.

Once again I wake up to the blinding glare of the fluorescent lights in Brittany's basement. This seems normal to me and although I can't remember where I was before this and I can't move because I'm strapped down to a gurney I don't panic. I panic when I feel my leg opening, when I start yelling the cutting stops. Brit moves up to where I can see her. "Sorry, I wanted to be done while you were still knocked out. It wasn't until I stripped you that I saw how bad it was." Ignoring the stripping comment because let's be honest, that is normal for her.

"What's It?" In response she simply tilts the bed into a sitting position. I can see my entire foot is inflamed and leaking pus from all the cuts, what's more the red lines of infection are tracking all the way up my and around my leg. The highest one snakes over my hipbone and stops just shy of my belly button.

"I don't know what the fuck you did to your foot but this is bad. Quinn," She pauses, "there is only one way to deal with this and I can't knock you out. I'm sorry but." She trails off and looks me in the eye. I swallow and nod. "Good girl." She goes to recline the bed.

"Wait. It's easier to not panic if I can see what you are doing." She shrugs, snaps some fresh blue gloves on that weirdly match her eyes and goes back to slicing my leg open. Yep. The only way to deal with infections this set in is to slice the infected tracts open and scoop the pus out. I'm lucky in two ways. One, that I'm not straight up dead from this level of infection and two, with the majority of pus out and heavy duty antibiotics we only have to do this once. Without my boosted immunity system apparently this procedure often needs repeating six or seven times. I know this because Brittany told me making while making nervous grossed out conversation. I'm glad she is as uncomfortable with this as I am. I don't feel like a lab rat, I feel more like a friend even though she is still slicing my leg open. Yea, can't really deal with that. I fade in and out of consciousness.

When I wake up properly she is stitching up my leg. It looks like ants running in lines up my leg. "How many stitches is that?"

"Fucking lots. Don't do whatever you did again. How did you even let it get this bad?"

Well here it is, now I get to confess exactly what I did. I start at the kick ass game, the sheer joy of ripping up and down the ice. And then ... Not Santana, the looks, the touches and finally the locker room.

"So needless to say I feel like shit. I mean sure I don't know her, but I shouldn't have done that to her or me." Brittany finishes up the last few stitches and pats my leg.

"So you are good to go, take it easy for the next few days and you can take the stitches out in a week. Wanna go for dinner?"

"Did you not listen to me? I fucked Everything up." She releases the straps from my legs before looking me in the eye.

"No you didn't. You actually did what I told you for once and you managed to do it totally out of our group of friends. Ok yes you should feel kinda shitty about forgetting her name but at least Santana isn't going to have to see this chick at school. Also if she is willing to have sex with you an hour after you meet, then it's totally her fault too." I feel vaguely better. "Now put some pants on we are going out."

AN - So it makes a great impression on your flatmates friends when you walk into the kitchen at 10:30 in the morning, make a coffee with extra bourbon then answer with work when asked for your plans for the rest of the day.

Boringsiot, was that a Hellsing reference? if so awesome.

Silent reader, well I might want a happy ending. Maybe.