A/N Ratings and disclaimers from Chapter One apply.

Post-therapy Faberry anxiety, a heaping helping of the Fabray family and the Berry family.


After Rachel, Santana and Brittany had left, Quinn put her bag on the kitchen table, poured a glass of her favorite concoction, a 'cocktail' she'd made up while her parents went through a long period of vodka and cranberry or scotch and soda as drinks of choice. Half cranberry juice and half soda water was pretty damned tasty.

She pushed a pulled her books out of her bag but pushed them aside and opened the notebook the doctor had given her.

Evidently she was going to do something called a dysfunctional thought record. As she looked it over, she had no way of knowing that Rachel still kept one herself four years after ending her therapy sessions.

She read the instructions.

This is your first step—identification. For this first week, you will keep a record of emotions you regard as unpleasant or troubling. When you experience a sudden change in emotion, follow these steps to document it: write down what was going on—exactly what situation you were in. Tell me what thought(s) ran through your mind during the situation. On a scale from 1-100, tell me how fully you believed the thought(s). After you identify your thoughts, tell me how you would label the emotion(s) you were feeling. Rate the intensity of the emotion(s), from 1-100. In this way we can identify some of your triggering thoughts and situations. Although it may seem tedious, it's important to document as fully as possible what thoughts cause you to have swings in emotion.

Quinn reread the instructions and did a face-palm. She hadn't been out of the doctor's office for even three hours and she'd already been defensive about Rachel's defensive reaction to their second kiss. She'd been mortified by the cop catching them during the third and that male authority figure probably hadn't helped her little anxiety reaction about Jesus. She'd been, if she were completely honest with herself, at least as mad at Finn because he'd once dated Rachel as the fact he was standing in her house trying to claim the girl. And had pitched a tiny fit over Rachel and Brittany.

Her eyes swam with tears. This journal could be as long as War and Peace within a week and her main emotional mood-swing trigger was obviously and overwhelmingly going to be her brand new girlfriend. Which she supposed had been true for a very long time. She was completely fucked.

"Quinn, honey?"

"In the kitchen!"

She wiped the tears from her eyes hurriedly and covered her therapy notebook with her history book, opening it even as her mother entered the room and patted her shoulder as she crossed to the refrigerator.

Judy said cheerfully, "I am SO glad you're gay if Finn Hudson is the pick of the litter in Lima."

Quinn smiled, glad her mother wasn't focusing on her as she composed herself, "I wouldn't say he's the pick, mom, but you know high school. He is unusually tall, fairly easy on the eyes and a popular football player. Plus that vapid look on his face and the fact, because he's stupid, he sort of agrees with almost everything you say? That gives him a veneer of sincerity and warmth if you squint and interpret it that way, and teenage girls do."

"Ouch." Judy chuckled as she perused the contents of the fridge. "What do you kids say? Bitter much?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Judy turned back to Quinn. The girl was staring at the wall and the muscles of her jaw were twitching.

Judy closed the fridge door and stepped around the table to face Quinn. "Honey, I was teasing you. I wanted to kick Finn out of the house just as much as you did. Believe me, I was bitter, too, after having to sit with him and make conversation before you got back because that's like pulling hen's teeth. I meant no offense toward you."

Quinn closed her eyes and rocked in place for a few seconds. "I know you didn't, mom. But I am bitter. More bitter than you can possibly imagine."

She opened her eyes, "He's hitting me in the sorest spot I have in my heart, right up there with Beth. Saying all of this stuff to me about Rachel, especially in front of Rachel? The pathetic thing is, he's trying to high-school-hurt me and doesn't even know that it hurts me profoundly. And when people hurt me, I want to hurt them back. I want to hurt him for doing this to me. But I won't—or not too much," Quinn snorted as she half-grinned, "because that's why I'm going to therapy, right?"

Judy nodded and moved back to the fridge, judging that her daughter needed an immediate and lighter tone change in the conversation. "Speaking of. Did you like your doctor?"

Quinn recounted basically the same reaction she'd given to Rachel.

"Good then. I'm glad and I'm proud of you for making the effort. What do you think of a veggie stir fry over rice noodles tonight?"

The girl couldn't quite believe Judy had just dropped the therapy subject, had let her off the hook. "I don't know, mom. That's a lot of work. I could eat a sandwich."

"Nonsense. I'm thinking peanut sauce."

Quinn smiled down at her history book.

Her mother crossed, leaned down and hugged her daughter's shoulders from behind. "I knew peanut sauce would sell you."

Quinn fought the instinct she always had to stiffen when her mother touched her. She relaxed into the woman's arms and patted them awkwardly, "And why not? Peanut sauce and bacon are two major food groups."

"Do your homework and I'll shut up and chop."

"Please think of Finn while you're at it."

"Will do. And Quinn?"

"Mom?"

"The veggie portion of this dish is in honor of Rachel, who after all is unusually short, very easy on the eyes and an unpopular member of the Glee club."

Quinn smiled back at her mom, "Touché, Judy Fabray."


When Rachel got home, she didn't even have to get to the kitchen to know her fathers were making portobello mushroom burgers. She could smell the mushrooms, red peppers and caramelized onions simmering. Rachel smiled as she closed the door. She liked coming home and she hoped Quinn was beginning to feel better about her own home.

"Hi, Daddy! Hi, Dad!"

"Hey, baby girl."

She dropped her bag on the floor in the foyer. "Be right there—I have to text Quinn."

Rachel Berry: B&S home. I'm home. Hope you're having a good evening. Call you later? I love you

The answer was nearly immediate.

Quinn Fabray: Veggie stir-fry for me. I think I'll live. Please call me later. And I love you more

Rachel Berry: Impossible. And don't argue. Remember who I am…mushroom burgers here

Quinn Fabray: I have peanut sauce and rice noodles to go with

Rachel Berry: I am experiencing strong feelings of covetousness

Quinn Fabray: That'll teach ya

Rachel Berry: Later

Quinn Fabray: Gator

As Rachel walked into the kitchen, she speed-hugged both of her fathers and tried to steal a red pepper out the pan even as Jacob blocked her hand with an elbow. "You'll burn yourself." He lifted a pepper out of the hot pan on his spatula and blew on it, touched it with his forefinger and then offered it to her. Rachel felt her eyes sting a bit at this, even as her mind flashed to Santana.

Her dad had always treated her as if she were incredibly fragile. He was an only child and wasn't used to girls. This amused her daddy because he'd grown up with sisters. Although he was wildly protective, he'd always assured Jacob girls might not be as strong but they were definitely tougher than boys.

She opened her mouth, gingerly grabbed it and declared it, "Perfect."

"As usual," Eric said. "And what's this about texting Quinn—didn't you just leave her house?"

Rachel made a sour face at his teasing expression, "It's not unusual to alert a…friend that you have successfully dropped off other friends and have reached your destination."

"How'd your day go?"

"It was rife with incident!"

Jacob glanced at Eric and smiled.

"How so?"

Rachel rattled on at great speed, "The school day itself was actually fairly standard, except for the fact I felt nearly no anxiety about being bullied, which I suppose means it was strikingly different for me. As for Glee, that's a story in itself and I'll save it for dinner. After school, as you know I gave Quinn a ride to her therapist, whom she liked. I met her and, although she seemed kind, I felt antagonistic toward her for reasons I'll address tonight in my dysfunctional thought record. I also, perhaps, tried to pick a bit of a fight with Quinn for a reason I'll also address in my dysfunctional thought record."

Both men's eyebrows raised at this. Although they knew she kept such a journal, she rarely talked about it. They waited through the long pause that followed and continued to stir their vegetables.

"After I took Quinn back to her home, Finn was there to, I suppose in what passes for his mind, spirit me away from the den of Fabray iniquity and wouldn't leave without me and I was forced to call Noah and Santana to frighten him off."

Eric turned around, "The hell? Did he threaten you, baby?"

"Not really, although when two women demand that a very large young man leave their home when he wants to take another very small woman away with him and he will not concede, is a bit intimidating. We didn't feel frightened—just uncomfortable."

"Right. Tomorrow? I'll have a talk with that boy and Burt and Carol Hummel. We'll get that straight."

"Daddy. No. You don't have to."

"What don't I have to do? That lout wouldn't leave Judy Fabray's house when asked to? I'm sorry, honey, but I'm gonna pull the man card on you. With some jackass young men? They don't quite understand something unless a man explains it. And I think an adult needs to tell his parents what their jackass kid is doing. That's happening. No discussion, Rachel."

He turned back to his cooking. "Anything else?"

"Well, before that…after my sort-of fight with Quinn, before we got to her house, I sort of launched myself onto her in the car in a fairly licentious manner, so much so that a-" she lightening-mumbled, "a police officer felt compelled to seperate us."

Eric held up both hands. "Hold up. What? Wait-a-minute. Jake? Turn this stove off—and let's put the veggies on the back burners."

They did so and turned toward their daughter, whose face was scarlet.

"Repeat?"

She did so and recounted the officer's discussion with them.

Jacob's eyes were saucers. Eric run his hands over his head. "Okay. Good on that cop for taking the high road with you two. He was right. You know that?"

"Yes."

He looked into his daughter's eyes. "Baby girl, I'm sure both of us appreciate your being so candid with us, okay? But I gotta think you're telling us something really embarrassing any teenager would normally conveniently forget to tell her parents if she could get away with it, and you could, so she doesn't have to tell them something else she thinks is a lot bigger."

"Obviously," Jacob agreed, "What are you leaving out?"

Dammit, Rachel thought although she said, "Right," as she smiled a nervous, sickly smile, "Funny you should ask. Quinn and I have decided that our feelings for each other are such that we should be a couple, romantically. We've made the decision to date each other and be girlfriends or however one might wish to put it."

At the look of a mixture of concern and dismay on her fathers' faces, Rachel lifted her chin defiantly, "What's wrong with that? I thought you liked Quinn."

Jacob sat down next to Rachel, "We really, truly like Quinn, Rachel. But you need to look at it from our point of view. And hear us, okay? Don't go diva on us right now?"

Rachel nodded.

"And yes, we've discussed this because we could sort of see it coming. Quinn just started therapy for a serious problem. You know you're our main concern always but to be fair to her? Don't you think that maybe for her to enter a romantic relationship with the main person she's been victimizing for so long even as she's trying to understand the thoughts and feelings that lead her to act that way might be just a little much for her to deal with?"

Rachel's lips started to tremble.

Eric kissed her on the head, "Every romantic relationship involves each partner exposing a lot of vulnerability to the other and she's already going to be increasingly emotionally vulnerable in her therapy. And frankly, Rach, it's pretty obvious vulnerability makes Quinn lash out. It's not that we don't believe you two have strong feelings for each other. It's because your feelings are so strong, and not childish ones, that we're concerned."

Tears fell down Rachel's cheeks, "I understand. I do. But I can't go back on it now. Really I can't. It would hurt her so much—you don't know."

"Fine. Understood," Jacob said, "but what I don't want to see, Rach, is for you to become ultra-accommodating because your girlfriend is going to be going through a rough time."

"Or for you to be on the constant lookout for ways not to set her off," Eric added.

"I take your point dad. And thank you, daddy, but I already have a decade's worth of practice with that. That's second nature."

She lowered her head and sat in silence for a full minute. When Rachel was silent, which was rare, Eric and Jacob always respected it.

She finally raised her head and said, "The timing might not be optimal but our relationship is not a mistake. I'm fully convinced, as difficult as it may be, that we'll be able to get through this together. I will treat her exactly as if I hadn't heard these dire warnings from you and be the same thoughtless, self-absorbed person I was before I burdened Quinn with a relationship she's unready for and before you burdened me with an understanding that I'd done so. Excuse me, but I should do some of my homework before dinner and I'd appreciate this being the last we speak of this issue tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I've had a hard day."

She gave them a grin that conveyed only sadness and calmly walked out of the room.

As they heard her quietly climb the stairs toward her room, Jacob said, "I hate it when she doesn't storm out."

"Me too."


Rachel went upstairs with every intention of attacking her journal but then she started to cry. She had a very satisfying fifteen-minute cry then sniffed mightily as she stared at her journal, then at her phone, back at the journal, then at her phone.

Dysfunctional thoughts? Go to the source.

She dialed the number.

"I knew you had a thing for me."

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"No. Britts just went home. Unless you wanted me to pretend you interrupted us having sex so I can—wait-a-second—are you crying? The fuck, Frodo?"

At that, Rachel began to cry again in earnest.

"Ay Dios Mio." Santana's voice softened and she sounded vaguely panicked, "Shhhh. Shhhh. Please no, estrellita. Please. I don't do this girls crying thing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry—just stop crying—what's wrong? You were fine when you were being all Super-Jew in the ice cream shop. That fuckstick Finn isn't bothering you again, is he?"

"No. It's Quinn."

Santana's voice tightened, "Q? What about her?"

"You can't tell her."

"Can't promise that. We'll see. Spill it."

Rachel sniffed through an explanation of her fathers' concerns. She didn't know that while Santana was listening, the girl was also worriedly chewing a piece of gum like she had a death wish against it and was squeezing a tension ball so hard that her forearm was beginning to cramp.

"That it?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Well, yeah. The timing sucks donkey balls. I get your parentals point of view. And sure, they're totally right. But that doesn't mean you're not more right. And you are. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Pull away from Q now and her walls will go up like Fort Knox. And that goes for therapy too. Right now she's pretty much going for you and yada yeah that's not why she should be going but who the fuck cares why she shows up at the doctor as long as she goes, right? But Little Dougie? You have zero poker face. So right this very fucking minute and forever and for reals, you need to just totally give this issue up to Jesus or—or you know, whoever your peeps give stuff to. Just sayin'—don't blow it by getting all emo guilty about this shit and acting all tripped out and weird around her because she'll smell it a mile away. You had exactly the right idea. Just be your usual batshit crazy, obnoxious self. Got me?"

"Yes. That's very helpful."

"And look at it this way? It's not like she wouldn't need therapy for being in a relationship with you anyway, so she's killing two birds with one stone."

"It's somehow comforting to know that you'll always insult me."

"I know right? Everyone needs someone she can rely on."

"Thank you, Santana."

"De nada, Rachel."

"And I'll…I'll try not to be so affectionate with Brittany in the future if it truly bothers you."

"I thought I told you to hug Britts every time she wants a hug?"

"But today, you—"

"Please. That's just me gettin' my swag on. You hug my girl or sit in her lap if she wants or I'll totally hurt you. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Fine—then get outta here and when you talk to Q, forget any of this happened. Anything about your fathers and especially me. See you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"And…you know what? Whatever. Fuck it. If you need me again, call me."

Rachel smiled and said, "Okay. Bye."

"Wait! Blow your nose and get your shit together before you talk to Q. Your voice changes a lot when you've been crying. It sorta sounds like what you'd think a person with a nose like yours would sound like."

"What? I completely resent that, Santana Lopez!"

She pulled the phone away from her ear because of Santana's loud cackling, "Night night, hobby."

After she'd rung off, she thought for a few seconds and texted:

Rachel Berry: Your girlfriend is so cool, B+S = 3 x 100

The answer was swift.

Brittany Pierce: Rite? SO wnt tell U sd so. CU tmrw. Our sub nds wk. Ppl dnt undrstnd. R+ Q = 3 x 102. See? I cn ad


Dinner was surprisingly pleasant at the Fabray household and, after they'd put the dishes in the dishwasher, Quinn felt emboldened enough by her mother's warmth to show her the therapy notebook she was supposed to keep. It was about as open as she'd ever been with her mother in her life.

Judy read the instructions over twice. "I think that's amazing, honey. I've never really conceived I could understand myself that way. As you know, I wasn't taught to and certainly wasn't encouraged to in my adult years. But I'm so glad you're getting to do something that's just for you. I'm so proud that you're doing it."

"It's not too late, mom. You can still…you know, whatever."

"I know it's not too late. Because guess who passed her real estate exam and has a license?"

Quinn clapped her hands in honest joy, "No way!"

"Yes, way."

"That's so fantastic!"

As she hugged her mother, Quinn felt fear recede and she knew that would have to be something to note in her dysfunctional thought record, because a sudden absence of fear and a quickening sense of joy? The buoyant, happy thoughts that had created them? They certainly felt dysfunctional to her. Or maybe she was just a foreigner in new emotional territory.


Dinner in the Berry household was a great deal cheerier than Eric and Jacob had thought it would be because Rachel had come down looking completely herself and had smiled and laughed with them as she regaled them with, as promised, Glee tales of Latin numbers.

"Kurt's J Lo was successful as a number, but it was slightly underplayed as Latin because it was Love Don't Cost a Thing, which was certainly sung by a Latin woman but was not quite so Latin as American pop. Finn and Tina did a fairly reasonable version of Marc Anthony and Tina Arena's I Want to Spend My Life Loving You. And yet again, not quite Latin."

"Santana had refused to sing anything because she said she was exactly what she was and didn't need to prove a thing through song about her racial heritage. That was completely a dig at Mercedes, who has, let's say, a certain bias about songs of different genres."

They stared at her.

"Alright. Admittedly, in the spirit of complete disclosure, I have a bias toward…well nearly all songs but especially show tunes and Barbara and who can blame me? But when Mercedes offered to sing a Shakira song and Santana suggested, in her inimitable way, that Mercedes didn't have the ethnic persuasiveness to sing it? Of course Mercedes took umbrage at this and asked who did? When Santana said Brittany could easily beat her, it was like fireworks. Fantastically exciting."

She sawed away at an onion as she continued, "Suffice it to say, Mr. Schue had to physically restrain Mercedes to keep her from going after Santana and it was touch and go for a few seconds."

"But Santana had evidently planned it all out. She slapped down the sheet music to Shakira's Loca for the band and Brittany whipped off her top and performed it in her sport bra and skirt and substituted half the English with Spanish. The dancing was so Shakira it was making everyone squirm a bit in their seats. It was perfect, naturally, and the Spanish was perfectly inflected as well. Scary sexy Latin dance and half in Spanish by a resoundingly white girl. What could anyone say?"

Rachel paused and winced, "Well actually, Santana did say, "Right. Beat that Latin, Chocolate. Britts is totally white but my baby's been raised Latina brown since she was three."

"That wasn't all that nice of Santana, Rachel."

"I know, Daddy, and I like Mercedes but she's as much of a diva as I am and Santana isn't at all. She'll take solos but doesn't fight for them. She's an excellent dancer but doesn't say anything about it. And she's my friend. The good news? I believe the fact that my number with Brittany was too sexually suggestive and Brittany's solo was too risqué added to the fact that the other two numbers were hardly show-stoppers may have encouraged Mr. Shue to move on to our Asian pop assignment."

"Asian pop?"

"I know. We'll see."

"Hold up—sexually suggestive?"

"It was but don't worry, Daddy. We only did it once."

"That's what she said."

"That's not funny, Eric," Jacob said primly.


Although they texted a couple of times, it was quite late before Rachel called Quinn.

Before Quinn could speak, Rachel said, "Hi, beautiful."

"Hey! You stole my line."

"I miss you."

"Miss you too."

"How were your most excellent noodles?"

"Most excellent. It's like you can read minds or something. Mushroom burger?"

"Surprisingly meaty. In fact, I'm not convinced portobellos aren't meat."

"I think they're the meat of the vegetable world. Just like avocados are nature's mayonnaise."

"Ohmygod! You think that too?"

"It's pretty obvious, pretty girl."

Long pause.

"I love you, Quinn. And I'm so happy—no—it's more like overwhelmed that you're my girlfriend."

Long pause.

"Really?"

"Really."

Rachel could almost hear Quinn's smile. "No. Like really?"

"Completely."

"I thought you'd have massive second thoughts."

Rachel crossed her fingers and said, "Not a one."

"Wow…really?"

"Stop with the really. I love you."

"Lucky me."

"No. Lucky me."

"Rachel, I love you too—so much—but…no…not but…AND you know I'm doing this therapy stuff and I might be wonky for a while so if it gets too much—lets just always talk about it, okay? Please? I want to be the sort of girlfriend you deserve, okay?"

"We'll always talk, baby. And listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"I know what your homework in therapy is, okay? I'm not asking for you to discuss it with me. But you need to know I still keep a dysfunctional thought record and I just want you to know that there will be a few entries today concerning you. I'm going to work on them. I know a lot of yours will be about me. You're not alone in this and we'll get through it together. I'll work on me and you work on you and if you need to talk, talk. And I will, too. Does that sound good?"

"Perfect."

"Good. Now get to bed because it's a little late and it's been a long day. I love you."

"I love you more."

"Impossible. Sleep well and thank you, Quinn."

"For?"

"Very quickly? You talk about not deserving me? You know my hopes for stardom and Broadway and all of that. But you make me feel like I have someone in my life I should aspire to be better for and to deserve. Thank you for giving me another dream."

"Thank you, Rachel."

"Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight."


Quinn was nearly asleep when she heard her phone buzzing on her nightstand. She thought it would be a message from Rachel but it was:

Santana Lopez: You okay?

Quinn Fabray: Why wouldn't I be?

Santana Lopez: Your pick. Therapy, hobbit love, Finntervention, my magnificence

Quinn Fabray: Busted. Your magnificence keeps me up at night. Literally at this moment

Santana Lopez: Whatever, bish. I knew it. Anyway. I'm here if you need me, mi hermosa

Quinn Fabray: Thank you. Te amo

Santana Lopez: Yeah, yeah. That's what all the girls say.

Santana Lopez: :p

Quinn Fabray: Don't stick that tongue out unless you plan to use it

Santana Lopez: ! My little girl's growing up—or out (snicker)

Quinn Fabray: What are you wearing?

Santana Lopez: Okay. That's when I say good night

Quinn Fabray: I knew that would work

Santana Lopez: Like a charm. XO, capitan

Quinn Fabray: Night, lefty


A/N: The next chapter will be Faberry and school and, just so you know, this story won't continue all heavy into Quinn's therapy—there will be references to it and a couple of short pages of work with her therapist but that's it. They're moving forward but, hey, in the context of this story, I'm not just going to write, 'and one therapy session later, all was well in the Kingdom Faberry.'

Thank you, everyone, who continues to read and especially those who comment. I appreciate all of you. RL has been whipping me and I haven't responded as I like to. But, again, thanks.