Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Glee isn't mine.

Please enjoy. I'm so sorry about the delay – I meant to upload earlier but, well, it wasn't written. Haven't slept in days. Apologies for mistakes.

JO POV

This morning, the apartment was starkly empty. This morning, the fridge made funny sounds that only increased the niggling feeling I had that I was in a horror movie and I was about to die. The eerie light shining from where the fridge seal wasn't quite fitted correctly didn't help matters either.

Now, decked out in all the finery I bought (and my use of the term 'finery' is, yes, sarcasm. You guessed it), it still feels empty. It's lacking something. I'm going to blame the Berry family for this feeling. Don't get me wrong – this kind of empty isn't bad. In fact, it's kind of reassuring. Normal. It's just an absence. It's like, well, okay. This is a really bad analogy and doesn't really do the feeling justice but here goes: it's like you're outside on a really hot day and someone suddenly dumps a bucketful of ice cold water over your head. It's shocking but after a moment it feels really nice. That's how I feel. It's a shock to the system to be alone again after months of staying with the perpetually loud Berry family – to not hear pots and pans clinking in the kitchen, no deep rumble of Hiram's voice over the phone to a client, no Rachel singing in the shower and her bedroom and my bedroom and the living room – but this feels more like me. More like me how I used to be. It's familiar.

I collapse onto my bed and snuggle into the new sheets I bought this morning. (Question: is there anything on this earth better than the feeling of nice new sheets? Answer: Probably, but I don't care right now because I'm snuggling.) And then, of course, my phone buzzes with a phone call. And it's all the way across my room and sitting, mocking me, atop my as yet unmade 'I-come-in-a-box-and-you-have-to-assemble-me-yourself-which-can-only-result-in-disaster-and-hilarity' bedside table.

Maybe I should just ignore it.

I take a minute to try out my telepathic powers (still ineffective against material objects) and, when that doesn't work, I then roll out of bed and grab it.

"Hello?" I ask cautiously. Damn. I should really learn to use my caller ID.

"Hey." I don't recognise the voice. It's a man, that much is clear, but sounds…cracked? Sad?

"Who is this?" I ask in a preppy voice. I call this my 'ditzy cheerleader'. Anyone calling for me will think they have the wrong number. Whatever reaction the caller has, it will help me try to distinguish their voice, give me some more time.

"Jo?" He sounds confused. "I'm sorry, Jo? Is that you? It's Dave." I smile into my phone.

"Oh hey Dave. What's up?" There is a crackle of static as he sighs.

"Not much. " I imagine him shrugging. "Told my parents that I'm gay."

"Right on." I move into the next room (the living/dining room) and sit cross-legged on my couch.

"Yeah."

"…How'd they take it?

"Well, my mum cried for a little while before disowning me, but my dad was pretty cool about it."

"That's great!" I smile gently on my end – it really is good news to know that it wasn't quite as bad as he feared it might be. We'd talked about it before. What it might be like if he came out to his parents. He was all for imagining the terror and fear of his parents kicking him out and not loving him but it's nice that he still has a place with his –

"I had to leave." Forget what I just said.

"What?"

"Yeah. Mum doesn't want me living there and Dad said I'd be happier if I stayed with a friend until she calms down." I sigh. Glance around my new apartment.

"Do you think the Berry's would be okay with it if I crashed with you?" I cough lightly.

"Well, that's a bit of a pickle. See," Figuring out this dilemma – do I really want him in my house? – requires some serious thought and my fingers drum on my leg and, though I know he can't see or hear it, I feel the embarrassed desire to not do that. I hate the habit. It gives away too much. "I moved out of there this morning." An awkward silence while I consider my next words. Do I really want him in my house, the thought recurs and I squish it. He's my best friend and he needs a place to crash. I'm not so much of a bitch that I wouldn't help him. "Do you want to live with me? I suggest you bring a blanket and a mattress or a sleeping bag or something because I'm not sharing my bed with you." He doesn't say anything. "Dave?"

"You'd…be okay with that?" I shrug. "Did you just shrug?" I remember that he can't see me and laugh.

"Yeah."

"Oh. Is that a yes then? I can stay with you for a bit?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." I sit with my phone pressed to me ear for a few more excruciatingly long seconds and then cough lightly.

"I'm going to hang up now."

"Yeah, okay." It's official. We both suck at talking over the phone. We should stick to texting from now on.

From Dave: Realised I don't have your address. So, address?

To Dave: You're such a sweet talker, charming me into telling you where I live.

From Dave: Ha ha. Address? Mum is yelling again.

I roll my eyes.

To Dave: Thanks for making me feel guilty for taking the time to joke with you.

I attached the address and sent the message; I actually did feel a little guilty that I was in good humours while he was being verbally abused. Still, he was coming to stay with me so that's a good thing. I don't get a reply so I assume that he's throwing his things in his truck and high-tailing it over here.

Sure enough, there is a hesitant knock on the door after about fifteen minutes and I take a look through the peephole to see Dave looking down at his phone and then up nervously. I pull the door open and lean seductively against the doorframe.

"Well hiya there handsome." I wink. "Wanna come in?" Normally that would get a smile from him. Not today. I finally internalise that humour isn't going to help me in this situation and that I will have to – ew, gross – talk to him about his problems. I sigh and fling the door open. "Come on in." I step out of the way and he shuffles past me, into my apartment. I close the door and double lock it for safety.

He sits on the couch. Keeps his hands stuffed deep into his letterman jacket pocket, which only helps to make him look more gigantic and hunched and uncomfortable than usual. I sit on the other end of the couch – not really much choice in the room yet, couch or floor – and nudge him with my foot.

"You okay?" He shrugs.

After that, we don't talk for a long time. I entertain myself with a game of Tetris but, when the sound and vibration is turned off and I keep my face thoughtful, it looks like I'm texting someone. I'm not sure how long I play for, but I am almost at my high score when he decides to start talking. I exit my game with faint regret but push the feeling aside when I see his face. He is distraught and pretending not to be.

"What did your parents do when you came out?" is the first thing out of his mouth. I consider the question. Let's see – I wasn't beaten. Just ignored.

"I went pretty well," I find myself saying. "They weren't comfortable with it but as long as I didn't mention it, it was all fine. I moved out a few months after I came out but not because of that. Not directly anyway." I shrug. Dave nods.

"My mum started crying. I didn't think, I mean." His voice cracks. "I thought she'd be cool with it because she was so angry when she found out that I'd been picking on Kurt. I didn't think she was…" he trails off, waving his hand in a helpless manner.

"Homophobic?" I supply. He nods miserably and slumps into my couch. His letterman opens to show a superman t-shirt. It's cute.

"Yeah. Really bad." He smiles sadly over at me and I tuck my feet under his leg. I'm not comfortable with hugging him or sitting right next to him, but he's the closest friend I have and he sort of saved my life so I'm not too fussed about a little contact. Plus, my feet are cold. "She kept going on about how it was a sin and I was going to hell and I'd take the whole family down with my sin." He looks ready to start crying – again, I would think, judging from his red-rimmed eyes – so I pat his shoulder gently.

"What about your Dad? He just stood by while she was saying this?" He laughs bitterly, shoulders shaking with what I suspect is more suppression of tears than laughter.

"He wasn't there." I frown.

"I thought you said-"

"Nah. I thought mum would be cool with it so I wanted her on my side before I went to dad and," he shrugs a 'there you go' shrug. I nod and pat his shoulder once more before retracting his hand. "Dad came in when mum was screaming and I guess it was kind of obvious from what she was saying because," Dave smiles and wipes his eyes, "he told mum there was nothing wrong with me. Mum wasn't too happy and she kept yelling and calling me, you know." I frown darkly.

"What did she say?" I growl.

"The usual. Faggot, homo, fairy. Whatever." His one shoulder shrug is supposed to make me believe that he's okay, that it didn't hurt, but I don't believe it. I mean, he has been crying.

"Do you want me to hurt her?" I offer. I don't want to hurt her…badly. Just scare her. And make Dave smile. He does, and chuckles, before shaking his head.

"Nah." He relaxes into the couch and is silent for a while. "Nice couch." I grin and pat it. It's soft but not too soft and it's pleasant to the touch. It's quite wide as well as long. "Is this my bed?"

"No! This is my couch." He mumbles an apology. Whoops. I was a little too harsh on him perhaps. I frown. "Do you have sheets?"

"I could only take so much. Mum-" he shakes his head again. "My mother wouldn't really let me take much." I recognise that action. By saying 'my mother' instead of 'Mum' he effectively disowns her as well. Good on him – she doesn't deserve someone as great as Dave. Ew. Sorry. That was sappy. (True though.) I settled further into the couch, pressing my back against the arm of it, and press my toes against his leg. He manages a little smile.

"I'm loaded." I say casually. "Buy whatever you want." I fiddle with my phone, not looking him in the eyes.

"Loaded, huh?" I don't have to look up to know that he's grinning at me. "That must be fun. Rich daddy?" I ignore the flash of something that goes through my chest – pain, maybe? – and give him a little smirk.

"Rich mother. And super rich, very dead, grandparents." He 'ah's and I climb over the back of the couch and wander into the kitchen. "Now that we're over with the sappy shit, go grab your stuff and I'll show you your room." He stands and then, surprised, pauses.

"I have my own room?" I shrug.

"I intended it for Rachel but we're in a bit of a…" I hesitate. "We're having a spat, I guess you could say." He frowns but doesn't say anything. Oh! He expects me to continue. "She didn't like that I moved out."

"I get that you're best friends but isn't that a little clingy?" I shoot him a sideways glance and hold my position – reaching for a mug – for a second before I realise that he really isn't joking. I suppose in the time that I've known him, and all the super fun stuff that's been going on, I never really did get around to telling him.

"Rachel is my sister," I say bluntly. He blinks and then tilts his head to the side, eyes glazing over. I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Dave?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about it."

"And?" I cross my arms.

"You're right. You're totally sisters." I laugh at that. Sorry – can't help it.

"Oh, thanks so much for confirming that Dave. I would have lived in a constant state of confusion if it wasn't for you." He shakes his head.

"You rely a little too much on sarcasm, Jo." My face falls in feigned despondency.

"I know. I have a problem." I pull the second mug down from the shelf and set my kettle on to boil. "Now, go get your shit so I can show you to your room." He salutes me and disappears. I assume to go get his stuff – I don't know. I'm trying to see whether kettles really don't boil if you watch them. (Answer: they actually do. It just seems like they never will. And if you get infuriated with the time they take to boil and then destroy your kettle, no. It won't boil.)

When he reappears, I am finished with the kettle and the coffee and he casts a longing glance to the second mug, filled almost to the brim with the delicious liquid. I sip from my cup and lean against the bench.

"Is that for me?" I look down at the mug and shake my head no.

"Nope. It's also mine." I start off down the corridor towards his bedroom and, when he doesn't immediately follow, I sigh. "Yes, Dave. It's yours. We've been over this – sarcasm, remember?" I hear the thump of heavy bags and frown even though he can't hear me. "Those better not have scratched my floor!" I call. A pause. Slight scuffle – I imagine he is moving the bags to make sure.

"It's all good!" Boys. Useless creatures.

"In that case, your room is down here, you idiot. I'm not letting you sleep in the kitchen." I wait in the doorway to his room and grimace when his approach is signalled by the steady louder slurping of the coffee. "Okay, gross. You'll have to work on that. I am not living in the same apartment as someone who sounds like Dr Zoidberg." He smiles a little but I shake my head. I'm serious. "My house, my rules. Got it?" He nods.

"What are the other rules?" I blink.

"Other…rules?"

"Yeah. No drinking like Dr Zoidberg. What are the other rules?" I drum lightly on my thigh.

"No running?" He smirks and, lifting his bag one-handed to about his chest height, he lets it drop to the floor. I growl. "No dropping things on my floor. If that's scratched, Karofsky, I swear…" I leave the threat hanging and he nods, drinking another sip of his coffee – this time like a civilised creature. I fling the door open. It's nothing special: a bed, a desk, and absolutely nothing else. I shrug. "Sorry about it. I know it's not much but you can furnish it any way you like except for painting the walls or, like, drilling holes or something. I can give you some money if your dad didn't give you anything," I offer but he shakes his head. He's staring into the room, speechless. I knew it was ugly and bare but I didn't think it was that bad.

"Thank you, Jo." His voice is choked. Oh swell. I've got me an emotional gay. Huzzah. I shrug one shoulder and push off the door frame.

"Have fun unpacking. Dinner is takeout."

I had hoped to leave it at that but then the doorbell rings and, groaning, I go to answer it. Dave follows, presumably because he, like me, has also finished his coffee. I glare at him when he puts in on the side next to the sink and point into the sink.

"In the sink or in the dishwasher. No in between." He slowly moves it into the sink and I smile. My eyes don't un-narrow though. This will take a little work. He isn't used to living out of home and I'm not used to sharing a space that I'd decided was mine with another person. We'll make it work though.

The doorbell rings again and Dave opens the door. I will have to talk to him about house safety, I realise. That could have been anyone. Could have been. Wasn't. No. Of all the potential visitors – neighbours, the landlord, serial killers, et cetera – it had to be my sister that had to visit. My sister and, I look behind her, a slightly red in the face and carrying several Tupperware containers and what looks to be a casserole dish Quinn Fabray. I look down at my little sister and try to hide the smile that threatens to burst onto my face. She came to visit me. Here. In my new home. I think I have to thank Quinn for talking her down from insanity: it's only been seven-ish hours since our fight.

"Hey, Rach." I start in a calm tone. You couldn't tell, but I'm genuinely happy to see her. Not after she cuts me with a single glance.

"I get it," she says bitterly. "You don't want 'space'," she mocks. "You just want space from me!"

QUINN POV

Rachel is the most useless navigator ever.

"Rachel, just tell me what street I'm on!" She pressed her face to the window and I lean forward to try and read some street signs.

"Well, you aren't on Ether Terrace." She pauses. "Or we might be. It looks like someone ran into that post. It might have turned." I sigh and pull the car over. Reaching behind me, I pull out the directory and dump it on Rachel's lap.

"Find where we are, please. It can't be that hard. Leroy said it's a ten minute drive maximum."

"It's been twenty minutes."

"Because you got us lost."

"You're the one driving!"

"You live in this neighbourhood! I thought you knew where you were going!" I hold up a hand to stop her from talking. "No, okay. This is getting us nowhere. Just look at the directory, please?" She huffs and flips the book open, trails down the street names with a long finger. Hums. I smile slightly. I don't think she knows that she hums when she thinks (actually, she is always humming or singing) but I think it's cute. No. Adorable. No, dammit. I mean all of this in a friendly kind of way. Like how I admire Santana's badassness. Like that. Not in any other way. A friendly way.

"Okay." I blink and focus on Rachel, who is beaming at me. I smile back. "We are on Ether Terrace and Jo's place is two streets away." I nod and start the car up again. "Thanks for doing this Quinn. I could have just had Daddy drive me." I shrug and glance quickly at her then back to the road.

"It's not a big deal." She reaches over and lightly rests her hand on my shoulder before drawing it back to her. She twists her body a little so she is facing me.

"It's a big deal to me," she says quietly. "Thank you." I shrug again but can't hide that I'm smiling. This is too surreal. Hanging out with Rachel – and it's not awkward or painful. It's actually fun. I've thought about this for so long but I never imagined that it would be this easy. "Oh, left!" I roll my eyes at the late notice but dutifully flick my indicator and slide into the left lane and onto the road. "And left again." I turn onto the road, which, presumably, has Jo's apartment block on it and park behind a big car.

"Okay, which one is hers?" I turn to Rachel but she is staring at the car in front of us. I frown and take a peek. It's big, and red, and oh. It has a McKinley football bumper sticker. I've seen that car. I look over at Rachel. So has she. Ever since his dad bought it for him, Karofsky (Dave now, apparently. He joined Glee and everyone is fine with him. Weird.) has been bragging about it.

You know, I honestly believed that when I got Rachel here she would take the casserole and the cookies up to Jo and they would apologise to each other and make up and everything would be fine. Now that Dave is here, though, Rachel has frozen into her seat and her eyes are angry. Hurt. I can't help but think that I'm about to witness a blood bath.

"Quinn," she says softly. I nod. "Would you take these for me?" She hands me the dishes without waiting for me to answer. She jumps out of the car and marches into an apartment building. I, now laden with the Tupperware container tower, take a little longer to get out. By the time I sprint up the stairs (thank you Sue Sylvester for your insane training sessions) Rachel has reached the door of the apartment and is ringing the bell. Please God, I think, please let Karofsky be visiting someone else.

He isn't. Jo's apartment door swings open to admit us and shows Dave and, just behind him, Jo. Jo smiles very slightly at Rachel.

"Hey Rach." I wince. This is going to be bad.

"I get it," Rachel spits. "You don't want 'space'," finger quotation marks included, "you just want space from me!" She marches into the room and jabs Jo in the shoulder. Jo bats her hand away before turning to me.

"Hi," she pauses and looks into my eyes for a very brief moment. What is that about? "Quinn. Are those for me?" I nod and hand over the dishes. She walks into the kitchen and Rachel follows. Dave awkwardly closes the door. We stand together as we listen to the sisters fighting.

"Hey," he murmurs. I eye him before nodding. I don't trust him. A little voice reminds me that I said the same about Jo and look how I misjudged her. Remembering that, I turn towards Dave and offer him a little smile.

"Hey." I would have said more but Rachel interrupts by storming back into the room. Jo follows her.

"I said I get it, Jo! You don't have to lie anymore!" Jo groans and rubs her forehead.

"You are legitimately insane, Rachel. He is just crashing here for a little while, okay?" Rachel spins around and, hands on her hips, calls Jo out.

"No it's not okay. You move out of my house and into this one so you can live with your new best friend. Well, that's fine. But you could have told me that you didn't want to live with me. That you didn't want space, just space from me." Jo groans again and leans heavily onto the wall.

"Rachel," she sighs. "You do know that you're just repeating yourself, don't you?" Rachel growls. I wince. That probably wasn't the best thing to say in this scenario. "Why won't you just listen to what I'm saying?"

"Because you say the same thing over and over again and I'm sick of it!" Rachel shrieks.

"I'm saying it 'over and over again'," she uses the finger quotation marks as well, "because it's true! When have I ever said something that wasn't true? You know when I'm lying Rachel." Jo moves forward, reaching out towards her little sister but Rachel jerks away. "Oh for Christ's sake. Everything has to be so dramatic with you!" Rachel's face falls and she stares up at Jo. Jo seems to realise that she's said something very wrong and reaches out again with a quiet "Rach" but Rachel pulls away and, ripping open the front door, races down the three flights of stairs and out of the apartment block. Jo slumps and rubs her eyes tiredly.

I hesitate where I am. "Jo," I start. She jerks her head up and stares intently at me. Her shoulders slump and she shakes her head.

"Please, Fabray. Just go and find Rachel. Take her home. Make sure that she is okay." She doesn't spit my last name like she usually does so I assume that she just reverted to calling me 'Fabray' out of exhaustion. The bags under her eyes certainly seem to indicate that. I nod and walk out. I'm about to close the door when Jo pulls it open and hands me a twenty dollar bill, eyes a little wild. "Get her some ice cream – vegan ice cream! She likes the strawberry flavour. And if they're all out of the ice cream then she also likes strawberry frozen yoghurt." I fold the note and nod to her. She hesitates before adding, "Thank you."

I race down the stairs, jumping as many of them as I can in the hope that I can catch up to Rachel. She moves really fast for someone so small, though. "Rachel?" I call, but there's no answer. I run to my car first but she either forgot in her anger that I'd driven us here or she didn't want to see me. I chew on my lower lip for a second before diving into my glove box and pulling out some paper.

Rachel, I wrote. If you come back, text me. I went to look for you. I tuck it onto the dashboard so it's obvious and fiddle with it for a minute so that she can read it when she comes back and then lock the car.

Now – where the hell would she have gone? I look around for a sign, anything, that will tell me where she's gone and, when nothing miraculously appears, I just turn left from Jo's apartment block and walk quickly. She always turns left when she storms out.

I punch her phone number into my mobile and hold it to my ear.

"Come on, come on," I murmur. The ringing ends and I hold my breath.

"Mm, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later." I swear and glare down at my screen. So – she's either on the phone or it's off. For the next fifteen minutes, I walk down the street, always taking the left hand turn, and attempt to spend all of my father's money on a hugely expensive phone bill calling Rachel's phone.

I am pressing redial for what seems like the ninetieth time when a small voice calls out.

"Quinn?" I spin around in surprise and drop my phone.

"Crap." I duck down and grab the cell, before jogging over to the bush where I heard Rachel's voice coming from. Well, not really the bush. Just the bench behind the bush, which explains why I didn't see her. "Oh, hey Rachel." I grin. "Fancy seeing you here." She smiles weakly at me.

"I overreacted again, didn't I?" I bite my lip and lower myself onto the bench next to her. I don't say anything and she sighs. "You can say yes, Quinn. I'm not going to yell at you." I nod my head.

"Maybe a little," I acknowledge, and nudge her with my elbow. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" she questions. "I yelled at my sister for the second time today for no reason!" She sighs and slumps into the bench. She fiddles with her fingers and sighs again. "I just don't understand why she had to move out. She just left. No warning." I frown.

"Rachel, she's ten minutes away."

"It took us twenty minutes," she points out.

"Because you got us lost." I smile. "It really isn't a big deal." She sighs – for the third time.

"You don't understand, Quinn." Now it's my turn to sigh. This is one side of Rachel that, and I would never ever say this to her out aloud, everyone could do without. She can be a teensy, tiny little bit too dramatic sometimes.

"Then help me understand," I urge. "Why are you so upset?"

"She's my sister." She pauses. I wait. "I don't know anything about her," she says quietly. "I know more about you than I know about my own sister." I smile.

"You have known me for a whole lot longer." She nods.

"I overreacted," she repeats.

"Maybe. Maybe you were reacting completely normally but for a scenario that wasn't quite what was happening." She frowns at me. "Like, you were reacting to the fact that you thought she hated you, not the fact that she was moving out."

She nods miserably. "I'm the worst sister in the world," she groans.

There's not much I can say to that. Except… "My sister made me eat wasabi on my ninth birthday. She told me it was candy." Rachel is shocked into laughter and I grin.

"What? Really?" I nod and hold up a hand like a cub scout.

"I swear. Completely true."

"That's terrible." I nod and force a solemn expression.

"See? You aren't the worst sister ever. Frannie was horrible." I scoot a little closer to Rachel and nudge her again. "Jo gets you, Rachel. I really don't think you have to worry." Her face falls.

"How do you know?" I purse my lips and then hold up the twenty-dollar note.

"Well, not all sisters would give me this and tell me to buy you a shit load of ice cream and make sure that you're okay." She looks like she's about to cry. "Whoa, Rach, what's wrong?"

"She's so weird. Sometimes, I seriously think that there is something wrong with her." She chuckles – sadly. Is that even possible? I didn't think so until I saw Rachel managing it. "Instead of making you apologise to her when you had her," she pauses, "when she was attacked, she made you apologise to me. And then she helps me out with everything and drives me to school and insists on buying me things and then I yell at her and she wants you to buy me ice cream." She spreads her hands wide. "I don't get her."

I tilt my head to the side. "She's a little…odd." Rachel smiles again. "But all that just tells me that she's trying to be a good sister. Maybe she just doesn't know how? I mean, she's an only child too, right? Maybe she's just trying to be the best older sister ever." Rachel shrugs. "Well, come on. You don't have to do anything about it now. She'll still be here tonight or tomorrow." Rachel frowns curiously at me when I jump up. I hold out my hand to her.

"What are you doing, Quinn?" I smile.

"We are going to have some fun and spend all the money that your sister gave me." I take her hand and haul her onto her feet before dragging her up the street. "I saw this really nice café when I was looking for you. Let's get something to eat. I am starving." She grins at me.

"I thought Coach Sylvester had you on a wicked diet." I make a face.

"Yeah. Sand-and-grit shakes and spinach. It's super gross." I frown when she laughs. "What?"

"It's just," she laughs again. "Quinn Fabray, saying things like 'wicked' and 'super gross'." She shakes her head. "It's so…"

"Surreal?" She nods. I smile. "Is that bad?" She shakes her head no quickly. "In that case, come on. I need a coffee."

We end up spending over an hour in the café. It has a book section and makes excellent coffee. Rachel tugs me out of the shop with difficulty but I give in when she tells me that she wants that ice cream. It's at the ice cream store that I absent-mindedly flip open my phone. I frown. Two missed calls and nine texts from an unknown number. I check the first text.

From Unknown Number: Quinn, this is Jo. Have you found Rachel?

I get the uneasy feeling that all of the messages will be from Jo. I open the next one and flip through the messages.

From Unknown Number: Fabray, please respond.

From Unknown Number: Answer me Fabray. Have you found her?

From Unknown Number: God dammit Fabray, if you have lost my sister then you will die a slow and painful death.

From Unknown Number: That was somewhat a joke. Answer me.

From Unknown Number: You had better text me back soon Fabray.

From Unknown Number: Just let me know that she is okay.

From Unknown Number: QUINN FABRAY IF I HAVE TO COME AND FIND YOU I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOU NEVER WANT TO LEAVE THE DARK RECESSES OF YOUR ROOM EVER AGAIN. WHY? USE YOUR IMAGINATION – I WILL BE.

From Unknown Number: Hi Quinn. This is Dave Karofsky. Jo was getting worked up. Text if you find Rachel. Bye.

I can't help but feel a little guilty that I forgot about Jo. Also, scared. I quickly fix Jo's number into my phone and type out a response.

To Jo Corcoran: Rachel is safe. I didn't check my phone – sorry.

From Jo Corcoran: Hey. Still Dave. Glad to know that Berry is safe.

I hesitate, fingers over the phone keys, before typing out my reply.

To Jo Corcoran: Hey Dave, why are you at Jo's? I don't mean to pry; I just think it might help Rachel calm down if she knows.

The answer is a long time in coming. Rachel has finished selecting her flavour – an epic decision that ends in her choosing strawberry, as Jo had predicted – and we are almost at my car again before I get the reply.

From Jo Corcoran: I came out to my parents. Needed somewhere to crash. I have to go now – Jo found out that you texted back.

To Jo Corcoran: Okay, thanks. See you at school.

Well that wasn't what I had expected. Then again, I heard from Kurt that Dave had done something unexpected to be accepted into Glee other than his audition. Guess that was it. I frown. Should I?

To Jo Corcoran: Hope you are okay Dave x

Rachel nudges me and I jerk my head up. "Everything okay?" I nod and she eyes me for a moment. "Really?"

"Yes Rachel. I was just texting your sister. Here, have a look." I hand her my phone and slide into the drivers seat. She hands it back without looking. I smile. "Really, Rach, you can look."

"I don't want to," she says primly. "Phones are private." I shrug and drop the cell into the cup holder between us.

"I just told her that you were safe but Dave replied because apparently she was freaking out. I forgot to tell her that I found you." Rachel looks ashamed and I smile at her. "Don't worry about it, okay? She knows that you are fine now." I start the car and pull out. "But, just…hypothetically, if your sister threatened me, would she follow through with that threat?" Rachel shrugs.

"Probably." I nod weakly. Wonderful. I can think of plenty of reasons for my not wanting to leave the 'dark recesses' of my room. All of them are painful. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." I bite my lip. "But if you never see me again, it's probably because she has brutally maimed me and left me in my room." I shrug. "No big deal." Hysterical laughter here. "Oh!" I turn to smile at her. "And, just so you know, Karofsky was at Jo's because he needed somewhere to stay. He came out to his parents. I assume they were less than accepting." Her eyes widen and her mouth makes a little 'o'. She doesn't say anything so I just focus on driving and let her consider that.

The drive to Rachel's house is short – now that I know the way there and Rachel isn't failing at navigation – and I stop outside her house less than ten minutes later. "Well…" I turn the engine off and smile at her. "Here you are."

"Here I am." She makes no move to get out. "I had a lot of fun this afternoon Quinn." She smiles. "Other than the fight with Jo." I nod.

"Yeah, me too." She glances at her lap and then, cautiously, back to me.

"Quinn?" I nod. "Do you, can we," she blushes. "Can I hug you?" I laugh and hold my arms out. She beams and wraps her arms around my waist and I hug her back. She rests her chin on my shoulder. "Do you think we can do this again?" I pull back a little.

"Do what? Hug? Because, yes, we can hug again."

"No." She smiles. "Go out. Have lunch. Hang out together. It was really fun." I nod easily.

"Of course." We rest there for a minute before I pull back finally. Her hair smells really nice. Which, I remind myself, I recognise because I want to know what her brand of shampoo is and for no other reason. "I, um, I have homework." She jerks back and is out of my car before I can say another word. I hop out too and walk her to her door. "I'll see you Tuesday?" I ask as we reach the door and she nods. "Okay. Well, um, bye."

And then I run. Really, really fast because it was getting dark and she looked really beautiful – lovely – attractive – nice – pretty oh my god she just looks like Rachel Berry always looks! And she looked like that and she was peering up at me and we were standing on her doorstep and it was the same as every other teenage movie I've ever seen and that was the moment where the guy is supposed to kiss the girl and oh my god what am I thinking? I grip the steering wheel hard and shakily pull out of her drive. I endeavour to not think anything Rachel Berry related again.

Santana is waiting for me when I get back to her place.

"Hey there hot stuff," she calls out from the couch. She also leers at me. "Walk of shame?" I frown.

"I'm fairly sure that the walk of shame is done in the morning."

"Not if it's from Berry's house. Then it is always a walk of shame." She cackles and I whack her on the shoulder. "Fuck, Q! That hurt!"

"Whoops." I bare my teeth in a pseudo-smile and she backs away a little. "So, what do you want?"

"Jo invited us to her new apartment next Saturday. She wants to hold the movie night. Is that okay?" She looks like she is genuinely asking me so I nod. "Good, because I've already said yes." She smirks when I frown and jumps up from the couch. "Okay, bye. Brittany is coming over in an hour and I want to-" she cuts herself off, blushing. Now it's my turn to grin.

"What, San? You want to look pretty? Make yourself look nice for your girl?" She huffs and runs up the stairs. I follow her. "Aww, Sanny has a date. Be good!" I call out when her door slams. I start laughing and then stop when she flings the door open again and corners me.

"Quinn, if you don't stop right now I swear that you will regret it." Her voice is low and deep. I would call it seductive but, well, seductive is also angry in Santana's mind. I pretend to be unaffected and smirk. Cross my arms.

"Oh yeah? What would you do?" Bad move, Fabray. Santana takes that kind of talk as a challenge. She leans in close and laughs. Closer still. I freeze. She grips my neck.

"Oh, Fabray, do you really want to do this?" she breathes into my ear. My throat closes up. "I will make your life a living hell. Trust me on that." Her nails scrape my neck and she chuckles again before spinning around and into her room. I can't move.

"Crap." That little game of Santana's made a few things clear to me. I like absolutely none of them. The scratches on my neck are still prickling. I wonder if Santana coats her nails with some kind of venom…

Okay my lovelies. There you go. I hope you liked it and I would love some reviews. (Yay! Reviews!) Much love. Happy reading, readers :)