Chapter Thirty-Four
"Dr Holliday," Quinn says, and her tone is severe enough to give Holly pause. It's unusual for Quinn to come into their sessions with something specific to say, and Holly has to save her surprising discovery she intended to talk about for later as she looks at Quinn's face. "I have a problem."
Holly blinks. "A problem," she prompts.
"Well, I mean, I obviously have more than one, but this one seems to be taking preference at the moment," Quinn adds.
"What is this problem?"
Quinn breathes out. "Rachel wants to have sex."
Of all the things Holly expected Quinn to say, that is definitely not one of them. Not even a little bit. Not even in the top hundred. "Oh."
Quinn waves her hands. "Exactly."
Holly clears her throat. "I wasn't aware you weren't already sexually active," she says, and winces a little, because she should know that, shouldn't she?
Quinn pauses. "Rachel hasn't told you," she surmises. "Oh, well, I mean, we're not… active. That way. We've talked about it, of course. I'm ready whenever she is, but what if she's not actually ready, and this is all just some response to the fact I didn't die, and I don't know how to bring that up without being insensitive to her ability to make her own decisions and know her own body, because the last thing I want is for her to regret it, and given her experiences in the past; I do not want to be a bad memory for her."
"Quinn," Holly says, and it seems to snap Quinn out of whatever panic she's stumbled into. "I don't know the full context here, but I'm going to assume the reason you're not already active is something in Rachel's past."
Quinn just nods.
"And the idea of being with you could trigger something?"
"It's happened before," Quinn confesses. "And, you know, I want her to want this, and I'm so proud of her, but I also don't want her to hurt. And I selfishly don't want to be the one to do it." She breathes deeply. "Haven't I hurt her enough?"
There is far too much to unpack there, and Holly gives herself a few moments to gather her thoughts. "I think you already know what you're going to have to do."
"Talk to her," Quinn says. "I know." She sighs. "But what do I even say?"
Holly regards her closely. "You said Rachel wants to have sex," she says. "Do you also want to?"
Here, Quinn hesitates, because that opens an entire other can of worms she's not sure she's ready to talk to the good doctor about. Growing up, people didn't actually talk about sex. Her old circle were too proper for such a thing, even if they tried to pair off their children at every opportunity.
Before Rachel, the only person Quinn was really allowed to talk to was Tori, but she hasn't been able to tell Dr Holliday anything about that. Tori is someone she's kept close to her chest, the woman being her first in many things in her life.
Tori, who Quinn knows has tried to contact her after… everything. Tori, who Quinn knows she'll never be able to see ever again. Well, she knew it already, but it's merely confirmed now. If she's going to protect the woman, they can never be seen together again.
"Quinn?" Holly prompts. "Everything okay?"
"Hmm?"
Holly's frown deepens. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Yes," she says; "and no." She shifts in her seat. "I mean, everything I tell you is confidential, right?"
Holly nods. "Unless what you say indicates you would be at risk of harming yourself or others."
Quinn looks at her for a long time. "Do you think I still want to hurt myself?" she asks.
"Do you?"
Quinn opens her mouth to respond, but immediately closes it. "Can we rather talk about my sex life?" she asks, only half-serious, and she squirms in her seat when Holly doesn't respond. "I don't want to hurt myself, Dr H," she says. "I just - I don't know how to make you believe me."
"Is it really me you're trying to convince?"
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "The way I see it, you'd want to stick around, hmm?"
That sparks her interest. "Why?"
Quinn's smile turns sly. "Owen."
In another life, Holly suspects she might have been able to control her blush, but it blooms darkly and she drops her gaze to her notepad. "I just want to help, Quinn," she says. "No matter how long it takes."
"Sure."
Holly eyes her. "I think you're trying to distract me," she says. "Is there another reason you're hesitant to take this step in your physical relationship with Rachel?"
"Besides the fact I could actually hurt her?"
Holly doesn't take the bait. "There's something you want to tell me."
Quinn looks away, her mind conflicted. "It's not - I mean, you must know that I've been severely closeted from the moment I figured it out."
"When was that?"
"Sophomore year."
"Was it a moment, or something of a slow realisation?" Holly asks, curious about Quinn's journey to learning these monumental things about herself.
"A bit of both," Quinn admits, thinking back on that time in her life. It feels so long ago; like she was a completely different person. If anything, she was a different person; someone she's not entirely sure she would be able to recognise now. Discovering that part of herself really allowed her to learn about the real Quinn; the Quinn she was always meant to be.
It is just unfortunate that Tori was present for so much of that.
So, Quinn tells her everything. The discovery and the panic, the experimenting with Tori and the eventual acceptance, the falling in love and knowing it would never lead anywhere.
Then she tells Holly about meeting Rachel, and how she fell for her long before she even realised she was doing it. Before things even officially ended with Tori. Quinn tells her about the knowledge she and Tori shared that there's always been only one way out of their expected lives.
Die.
Or just bend to the pressures of their world.
Well.
Quinn has done neither.
Holly takes notes as Quinn speaks, but she doesn't say anything, not wanting to stem her flow. It's something Holly has learned to do with Quinn. It's best just to let her speak, or she'll end up clamming up. It's nothing she's conscious of, but Quinn isn't usually allowed the luxury of being able to speak freely, so Holly gives it to her.
When Quinn is finished, ending with the very real truth that Tori has in fact tried to contact her in the past few days, Holly remains silent for another few minutes.
It is a lot.
Holly wouldn't say Quinn is her most complicated patient, but she's somewhere close. Coming into Dalton, she had an assumption of what she would be dealing with, but this has been a learning experience for her too. Dalton is constantly teaching her things, it seems.
"I miss her, sometimes," Quinn reveals, the confession quiet. "Not in the sense that I miss our relationship, because I don't. I just - I guess I miss having someone who understands that pressure. She gets what it was like, and nobody else in my life seems to."
"Not Rachel?"
Quinn smiles at the mention of her name. "She's empathetic to a fault, and I love her for trying, but it's not her fault she can't quite understand what it was like to know the only person who could ever actually know the true you had to hold the same secrets you did."
Quinn suspects that's why they worked as well as they did. They held secrets, knowing they would both be destroyed if ever they came out. A mutual destruction, as it were. It's the one worry Quinn has now: that someone has figured out that Tori knew this truth about Quinn before the rest of the country did. The last thing she wants is to have derailed her life, as well.
"I also can't talk to Rachel about her, because I'm pretty sure she hates her," Quinn explains. "Thinks she took advantage of me or something like that."
Holly scribbles a few words on her pad. "What do you think?"
Quinn gives it some thought. "I think that she was the safest place I could go when I was figuring it out," she says. "Without her, I wouldn't have had the space to explore those desires, and I don't want to think about how much more repressed I would have been without that."
"She played a role."
"What?" Quinn's eyes are wide. "No, it wasn't a role," she says. "She was Tori, and I don't think I could have had that with anyone else."
"Will you contact her?" Holly asks.
"Maybe," Quinn says, though she's not sure she actually will. "She's on the list right under my mother."
"Please tell me I actually get to come and watch you perform this time." Quinn says the words while standing in front of the signup sheet that's nearly filled with names of students intending to support the ConChords during their Regionals competition.
When Rachel doesn't immediately respond, Quinn glances over at her to see that she's biting her bottom lip and trying to look as innocent as possible.
"Rachel, no," Quinn says, and she doesn't even pretend to hide her disappointment. She might even pout. "Why not?"
Rachel looks around the corridor, thankful for its emptiness, because she gets the feeling this will be a delicate conversation. "I just think it's better if you're not there, Quinn."
"What?" Quinn shakes her head, clearly not understanding. "Why? What does that even mean?"
Rachel steps closer to her, hand reaching out to hold onto the sleeve of Quinn's blazer. "I want nothing more than for you to watch me perform, but - "
"But what?" Quinn presses. "I don't understand."
Rachel tugs on her sleeve, drawing her even closer. She's tempted to wrap her arms around her, but they need to talk first. "Do you know where we'll be performing?"
Quinn frowns. "Um. No. Why?"
"The competition is being held at Parker Bowl, Quinn," Rachel says, and Quinn visibly stiffens.
They're both deeply aware of Parker Bowl. Quinn can practically feel the phantom pain on her ankle, a remnant of the tackle that could have taken her out for the season. That soccer game was one Quinn would like to forget, though Owen made it a point to file official complaints against the team and the referee.
"Oh."
Rachel rests her other hand on Quinn's cheek, turning her head slightly to face her. "I know you're doing better, and I love that you're willing to come out to watch us, but I just think walking into that kind of environment isn't in your best interest right now."
Quinn would argue that she's the only one who should be deciding what's in her own best interest, but she's willing to concede the point. As much as she loves Rachel, going to Parker Bowl isn't on her list of things she wants to be doing.
"You're right," Quinn says.
"Say that again."
Quinn rolls her eyes, leaning down to drop a kiss onto Rachel's cheek. "You're right," she repeats. "But just know that I'm bummed about it."
"Britt will record it for you," Rachel assures her. "Maybe you can even FaceTime during the performance, if you want. You can see it in real-time, then."
Quinn nods, as if considering it. Then: "I think I'll ask Sam."
Rachel's face falls. "Oh. Right, of course."
Quinn feels the need to explain, but she stops herself. It isn't that Quinn doesn't like Brittany, because she does. It's just that they haven't had the chance to get to know each other the way she's sure Rachel would like.
Right now, Quinn is more comfortable with Sam, even though the two of them haven't really talked since the -
They just haven't talked.
Quinn hopes they'll get there, for Rachel's sake.
As much time as Rachel spends worrying over the kind of reception Quinn would receive at Parker Bowl, they all fail to remember that she's also part of the slander campaign against Russell Fabray.
She's Quinn's girlfriend, and now all of the city knows it.
Kurt is the one who notices the looks first, Blaine noticing a moment later. When they arrive at the school behind several other competing schools, it becomes very apparent that Parker Bowl is not a fan of Dalton Academy.
Well, Kurt isn't so hot on them, either.
It's while they're standing in the gym and waiting for Jesse to get them checked in that Kurt leans into Rachel's side and whispers, "Why do they all look so murderous?"
Rachel barely looks away from the back of Jesse's head at the registration table as she says, "Owen didn't tell Quinn just what he did after that infamous game."
"What did he do?"
"Exactly what he said he would," Rachel tells him, recalling the conversation she had with Owen after the two of them were forced to watch Quinn hobble away from the game on crutches. It was the first time she believed he really would protect her from all he could. The way he said he would.
"Sounds ominous," Kurt comments, deeply aware of the eyes on his back.
"Owen has significant pull in the college circle," she explains. "Those videos you took could derail any potential applications, and he wasn't afraid to go after the referee, coach and players for the way they behaved during that game."
"Oh."
Rachel nods. "It's going to be an interesting day, that's for sure."
"What could they possibly do?" Kurt asks, intending for his tone to be light, though there's a hint of genuine concern in his voice.
Rachel shrugs, her attention shifting to Jesse, who is walking back to them with a confused frown on his face. Just from the sight of it, Rachel knows to brace herself for what he's about to say.
"I think we've been disqualified," Jesse says, already taking out his phone to contact Mr Schuester. "They won't tell me why we're not on the program, and it's really starting to piss me off."
Kurt and Rachel exchange a significant look, before Rachel says, "There's not going to be a reason."
Jesse looks between the two of them, phone frozen on the way to his ear. "You two know something," he says. "Talk."
It's not as if they would be able to prove anything, of course, but Jesse turns redder and redder with every word Rachel says, his left eye twitching. None of it sounds real, if Rachel is being honest. Like they're in some random television show where this kind of drama happens during every episode.
As soon as Rachel is done explaining, Jesse takes a purposeful look around the room, finally noticing all the glares being sent their way from Parker Bowl students and officials.
Jesse clears his throat. "Well," he says, dialling Mr Schuester. "If they want a fight, then they're going to get one." His grin turns a little manic. "I live for this kind of drama."
Rachel doesn't really know what exactly happens next, but it looks as if Jesse really calls in the big guns. Mr Schuester arrives with Miss Pillsbury, Holly and Owen. Rachel doesn't hear much of what gets said, but words such as 'homophobic' and 'discrimination' get thrown around, and Rachel almost feels sorry for them.
Almost.
It's when Owen reaches for his phone that things happen very quickly. Panic flashes across the Parker Bowl faces - Owen is probably flexing, because he really is very connected - and the disqualification magically disappears mere minutes later. It's a win, sure, but Rachel isn't holding her breath for a fair shake at the competition now.
Still, the entire thing has lit a fire under her, and even she doesn't expect her own performance to be as devastatingly spectacular as it is. There is just something about these people, who have hurt Quinn in the past, that makes Rachel want to crush them the only way she and they can.
It burns deep in her gut, this desire almost to avenge this precious human being she loves with her whole heart. Especially when their set is basically dedicated to Quinn, songs meant to uplift anyone struggling in this world.
Oh, she's enraged, and it is a feat in itself that she's able to control her voice through all the emotions flowing through her. The silence that follows her solo performance of Andra Day's Rise Up is telling in its own right, and Rachel almost doesn't care if they make it to Nationals. Even if she did just ensure it would be impossible for them not to.
When the silence isn't quiet
And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
And I know you feel like dying
But I promise we'll take the world to its feet
And move mountains
Bring it to its feet
And move mountains
And I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
For you
For you
For you
For you
She's singing this song to Quinn - for Quinn - and everyone is going to know. She's thinking of only her, picturing her face and knowing there's nothing else in this world she wants more than to keep Quinn here, and keep her happy.
This is the fight that's most important to her.
Quinn waits for Rachel in the brunette's bedroom, seated at her desk and quietly sketching. Sam has kept her up to date on the happenings of the competition, and sketching is the only thing that's keeping her calm and present when all her people are currently at Parker Bowl.
She was once used to this loneliness, but Rachel has ruined her. Spoiled her in a way.
No, it's not quite loneliness, because she's not lonely. Right now, she's just alone, and she should be okay. She is okay. It's just that all the people she would actually talk to are currently at Parker Bowl, and Quinn is starting to worry how she's supposed to survive alone at Princeton.
By the time Rachel does return, Quinn has migrated to her bed, quietly watching as Rachel lugs her bag behind her and puffs out an exhausted breath as she crosses the threshold and dumps her things on the carpet. "I feel as if I've been to war," she mutters, shutting the door behind her and crossing the room to drape her body over Quinn's. "Why does everything have to be such a damn fight?" she grumbles.
Quinn's hands thread through her hair, eyes slipping closed at how calming it is to have Rachel near. "You won," she guesses.
"That's not the point," Rachel says, mouth pressed to Quinn's chest. "Why is the world filled with such hate?"
Quinn doesn't have an answer to that question. She doesn't think anyone does, as much as they try. She could probably say something about good and evil, mention how religion and belief and faith and the fear of God does and doesn't play a role, but then she also knows that some of the most devout people can spew hate at what they refuse to understand.
The world is just filled with hate. That's it.
"I love you," is what Quinn ends up saying, and Rachel lifts her head to look at her. Quinn opens her own eyes at the movement, hazel meeting chestnut.
"You know I would do anything for you, right?" Rachel says, tone heavy.
"I know," Quinn says, but she doesn't return the sentiment. She already knows what Rachel would ask of her, and Quinn isn't prepared for that. She's still figuring out how to live for herself before she can consider even living for Rachel.
"There is actually something I wanted to talk to you about." Holly's voice drops in a way that makes Quinn shift in her seat. Therapy is already scary enough without Holly doing that to her voice. It must be something serious. "About Frannie."
Definitely serious, then.
Quinn breathes out. "Oh."
"When I said I would look into it, I did," Holly says. "Do you want to hear what I managed to find?" It's important she gives Quinn the option, because she doesn't want to force her into a truth for which she may not be ready.
Admittedly, it takes Quinn a little over three minutes to nod her head. "I want to hear it."
Holly clears her throat. "At first, I couldn't find anything at all," she admits. "It's almost as if Frances Fabray never even existed. There's no birth certificate, and no death certificate. I couldn't figure how that could be, so I worked on the premise that your parents would have made it seem as if she hadn't been born. If your father intended to run for office, the last thing he or his wife would want would be to talk about the death of their child." She frowns at herself. "Maybe that's too harsh. They likely were broken beyond repair, and never wanted to have to be forced to speak of that pain again, if ever it came up."
Quinn listens silently, heart beating steadily in her chest.
"In the end, I found a patient number of a seven year old girl from the year you were born, in the hospital you were born," Holly says. "I might have had to call in a few professional favours, but I managed to get her file. And yours."
Quinn shifts in her seat.
"Did you know you were induced prematurely?" Holly asks her.
Quinn shakes her head.
"The way I'm reading it is that Frannie got worse; really worse," Holly says. "They didn't think she would make it to your due date, and so they had to make a decision."
Quinn meets her gaze. "You mean, my parents made the doctors make a decision they ordinarily wouldn't have," she says.
"Most likely," Holly agrees quietly. "What they would have done, in preparation for that kind of stem cell transplant is strip Frannie of all her cells, and then keep her wrapped up in a bubble until they could get her the healthy cells from your cord blood. She wouldn't have lasted very long between that happening and your being born." Holly looks at the piece of paper in front of her. "You were her best shot at living, Quinn - her last shot - but the cells didn't catch. In the end, it just didn't work, and she was just too sick to survive what her body was put through."
Quinn is silent for long, long minutes, and Holly wonders if she's going to have to get into the science of it for her, but then Quinn's entirely body tenses and it isn't quite the reaction Holly had in mind. "I didn't save her, is what you're confirming for me," Quinn says, voice void of any emotion. "That, instead of ending up with their precious child, safe and healthy, they ended up with the child they only decided to have to save the one they wanted."
"Quinn."
"I get it," she says. "The cells weren't enough. There wasn't enough time. She was too sick. It was a last ditch effort to save her, and it didn't work, because I didn't work, and I've been punished for it every single day since."
"Quinn."
"I hear what you're saying," she continues. "Even as a baby, I did everything I possibly could. Just existing. Being born and providing the cells that were supposed to save her, but she still didn't survive, because I wasn't enough. Nothing is enough."
"Quinn," Holly says, horrified that this seems to have gone so wildly off track.
"How is any of that fair?" Quinn suddenly asks, voice sharp. "How is it fair that I'm here and she isn't? When I wouldn't even have been a thought in their minds if she hadn't got sick, huh? How is any of that okay? How? Please. Explain it to me, because I don't get that part. I don't get how I've suffered for something I never had any say in, and she still ended up dead."
Holly scrambles a little, once again trying to work out where it all went so wrong.
"But, you know, what use is it if both sisters are dead, right?" Quinn asks, and Holly knows it's rhetorical, but it still makes her insides roll. "I don't even know why I hold onto all those checks and balances. It's not like it's going to change anything. Frannie's gone, and I'm here, and I should be doing something with it instead of ruing what could have been."
"I know it's easier said than done," Holly says, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't expect that reaction from you. I wanted you to know you did everything that was asked of you, and it was never your fault it didn't work the way it was supposed to. I wanted to relieve you of that misplaced burden of believing you were in any way responsible for the death of your sister."
Quinn shrugs. "I don't think it worked."
Holly laughs unexpectedly, eyes a little wide. "No, I don't suppose it did."
Quinn doesn't speak for the longest time, but she does eventually say, "Do you think you could find out more about what happened to her?" She shifts. "About after."
"I can do that," Holly confirms.
Quinn nods in acceptance, and then very purposefully says, "I think I'm ready to talk to my mother."
"Are you sure?"
Admittedly, Quinn is surprised Rachel even asks the question. She was expecting more of an Absolutely not!, but they're growing, apparently.
"Like, is that something you should be doing?"
Quinn shifts in her desk chair. "Probably not," she admits, sighing. "But it feels like something I need to. I have all these questions, and I want to ask them, even if it's likely I might not get any answers."
"Are you sure?" Rachel asks again.
Quinn makes a point to look at her when she says, "I'm sure." Then: "Will you sit with me while I do it?"
Eyes a little wide, Rachel nods, because of course she will. But then she freezes. "Wait. Right now?"
Quinn nibbles at her bottom lip, and then reaches for her phone, which is answer enough. "She's already called me three times," she says. "I don't see any point in waiting. We may as well see what she wants to say."
"Do you know what you want to say?"
Quinn lifts a Post-It off the edge of her desk. "I have a few things written," she explains. "I mainly have questions. About my childhood, and about Frannie. I want to know if I ever actually did anything to make her hate me so much."
Rachel reaches for her, and Quinn gets to her feet. She crosses the room towards where Rachel is perched on the edge of her bed, stepping into her space and allowing Rachel's arms to slide around her waist.
"I wish I could protect you from all of this," Rachel murmurs, face pressed against her abdomen. "I wish the world would stop hurting you."
Quinn slides her hands into Rachel's hair, just wanting to touch. Needing her close. "I think you have a hero complex," she teases.
"I just want to make you feel as safe as you make me feel," Rachel confesses. "Is that so wrong?"
"No, baby." She tilts Rachel's head up and bends to kiss her forehead. "I just - I don't think this is something you can protect me from."
"What can I protect you from?"
Quinn gives it some thought. "Well, I see the way you keep glaring daggers at anyone who looks at me a little funny," she says; "so I guess you're protecting me from that."
Rachel scowls. "Little freshmen thinking they can judge you," she mutters. "Do they even know what you've done for this stupid school?"
Quinn just smiles, giggling lightly when Rachel nuzzles against her stomach. It feels good to be close like this, and she's so glad she still gets to experience this small wonder in her life.
Rachel eventually goes still, unmoving, and Quinn legitimately worries about how much air she's getting with her face buried in Quinn's school shirt. "I love you," Rachel murmurs. "You don't have to do this."
And, the thing is that Quinn already knows it. She doesn't have to call her mother. If she wants, she can block the woman's number and continue learning how to live her life without her blood family. Quinn knows she doesn't have to contact her mother at all.
She does it anyway.
Sitting beside Rachel, her left arm trapped between Rachel's, Quinn dials her mother's number and waits. It rings four times before there's an answer, and Quinn has never heard her mother sound so timid before.
"Quinn?" Judy says. "Quinn, is that you?"
Quinn doesn't immediately say anything, more surprised than anything. She hasn't heard her mother's voice in so long. Not since -
"Quinn?" Judy tries again. "Honey, please, are you there?"
"Mother," Quinn says evenly.
Judy chokes out a sob. "Quinn, you're okay." She breathes out. "Are you okay? Where are you?"
Quinn can't stop her frown. This isn't what she expected of this call, though she wouldn't be able to tell anyone what she did expect. "I'm at school," she says, because that's the easier question to answer. "I don't know why you keep calling."
Judy is quiet.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Quinn presses. "Or would you like me to apologise for being even more of a failure?"
"No, Quinn," she rushes to say. "No. Please, no."
"Then why do you keep calling?" Quinn presses. "Say what you need to say, and then we can all get on with our lives where I can actually be dead to you."
At the sound of those words, Rachel adjusts her hold and wraps her arms around Quinn's shoulders instead. She leans into her, forehead pressed against Quinn's cheek.
Judy takes a steadying breath. "I knew," she says. "About you and Tori."
Quinn goes completely still.
"You went so worryingly quiet your sophomore year," Judy says. "I don't know how I could tell, but there was something happening with you, and I was worried you were - "
"I was what?"
"Pregnant."
Quinn almost laughs. "What?"
"I called Tori to look out for it when you came home for the summer," Judy explains. "Made plans for in case you were, because your father could not ever find out about it, but Tori didn't get back to me about it, and I - " she stops. Clears her throat. "I came home, Quinn, without telling anyone, and I saw you. Both of you."
Quinn audibly swallows. "You knew?" she whispers. "You've always known?"
"I have."
"You never said anything."
"I think I was doing us both a service by never mentioning it," Judy says, and Quinn can accept that for what it is. Her allegiance has always been with Russell, and Quinn was kept as far away from him to make sure Quinn could keep her secret.
Quinn doesn't really want to keep talking about that. She glances down at the Post-It in her free hand, eyes skimming over the words she's written. She's always wondered why her parents didn't just -
If she couldn't save Frannie, then there was no use for her. Why didn't they just -
"Why didn't you just give me away?" Quinn asks, the words escaping before she can stop them. "When it didn't work; when I may as well have been dead to you; why didn't you just save us all the heartache and give me to someone who could have loved me?"
Judy doesn't answer immediately, maybe caught off guard by Quinn's topic change. "Frannie," she finally says. "Frannie asked me not to let you go."
Quinn's breath gets stuck in her throat.
"Tiny, seven year old Frannie, holding on for days and days, with her little arms wrapped around your squirming body, sat there and told me not to blame you," Judy goes on. "She told me to love you and hold you and make sure you had all the Oreos in the world, because you were perfect, and I - " she stops. "You were so perfect, Quinn, and she told us to keep you."
Quinn feels tears well in her eyes. "You didn't do what she asked," she manages to say. "She never would have asked you to keep me if she knew."
"I know."
Quinn closes her eyes. "What would she say?" she asks. "What would she say if she knew?"
Judy breathes deeply. "I try not to think about it," she admits, and Quinn suspects her mother has spent a lot of her life ignoring many things about the life in which she's found herself. Quinn suspects she never would have chosen any of this for herself, either.
"Tell me about her," Quinn says.
"About Frannie?"
"I want to know about her."
Judy is silent for a long, long moment, but then she starts to speak. "She was born early," she says. "Three weeks before her due date, I went into labour, and it was a long nineteen hours until she finally came into the world. Kicking and screaming and very eager to start living her life. She was - goodness, she was a difficult baby. Very fussy, colic and so very terrible, really. Everyone kept telling me motherhood would be this wonderful, magical thing, but all I wanted was sleep and she wasn't letting me get any." Her voice sounds fond, even amused. "Your father adored her."
Quinn closes her eyes, trying not to imagine a father who could actually love anything, let alone her.
"I know it's nothing you've ever seen yourself, but he was - he was different before Frannie," Judy says. "Softer and kinder. He had to be a certain way out there in the world, his political career in his sights, at his grasp, but he was different with us. It hit him so hard when she first got sick, and I know he still blames himself for not being able to do anything to save her."
Quinn almost snorts, because it really feels as if he's placed all that blame on her. She must make some kind of sound, though, because Judy sighs.
"When the doctors presented us with the options, your father was against it," she says. "He didn't think he could handle bringing another child into this world we could potentially also lose. But we had to make a decision for Frannie, and I fell pregnant not too long after. The beauty of pregnancy was taken away, Frannie was getting worse, and it was just a waiting game. I don't think we really attached the emotions you deserved from us, for that reason, and it was a lot harder after you were born and Frannie still didn't survive."
"It's not an excuse," Quinn whispers.
"No, Honey, it's not," Judy agrees. "Your father threw himself into his political career to numb the pain, and I was dragged along to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. You were still so young then, and we got so caught up in the family we were projecting that it was almost too late to be a real one once you got older."
"We've never managed it."
"No, we didn't," she agrees again. "We ended up in a pattern that was almost easier to stay in than it was to try to break out of."
"For who?"
Judy sighs again. "Not you."
"Do you even know what it was like for me?" Quinn asks. "Did you ever even care?"
Rachel's arms tighten around her, holding her closer; holding her together.
"Of course I did, Quinn," Judy says. "It's the reason I convinced him that boarding school was a good idea."
"And you think that counts as looking after me?" she snaps. "That's just removing me from the problem for a couple of months without ever fixing the problem."
"I know," Judy says. "I know."
Quinn breathes deeply, resting her head against Rachel's. "Tell me about Frannie," she says again. "What happened to her? Where is she buried?" Quinn wants to know, so she can visit her. Just to have a place to go.
But Judy is suspiciously silent on the other end of the line.
"Mom?"
"I - " she stops, " - I don't know."
"What?"
"I said I don't know, Quinn," Judy says. "I don't - I've never asked."
"What do you mean?" Quinn asks, a frown on her face. "What does that even mean?"
"I wasn't in the right headspace to deal with it," she says. "After you were born and we received the news Frannie had just days, I - there wasn't - I was in recovery, and I asked your father to - "
"Mom?" she asks, horrified. "You weren't with her?"
"I couldn't - I just couldn't watch her - "
"But she needed you," Quinn says, voice catching at the idea of that tiny, seven-year-old Frannie facing the scariest thing in the world and not having her mother around. "How could you - she needed you."
Quinn can't even believe it. She can't. It's almost too much to fathom, putting it all into such contrast now. If Judy couldn't even be there when her favourite child was dying, then what hope could Quinn have ever had of having Judy be there for her?
Judy's breath catches. "I'm sorry," she says. "I just couldn't."
Quinn doesn't even know what to say to her. It's been wildly established in Quinn's mind that Russell should never have been a father, but Judy is proving she should never have been a mother, either.
"Where is she?" Quinn demands.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" Quinn asks. "How can you not know? Wasn't there a funeral?"
"I don't know," Judy says again, and Quinn burns with rage at how little Judy seems to care that she doesn't know anything about Frannie's death or her eventual resting place.
"Then tell me what you do know," she snaps.
"Your father sent her away," Judy tells her, finally. "A hospice out of state. He couldn't watch, either."
Quinn stops breathing, a chill settling over her. "She was alone?" she whispers. "You let her die alone?"
Judy starts to respond, but Quinn doesn't care. She can't bear to hear another word from her, and she hangs up immediately, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
Rachel has to pry it out of her hand before it joins several others that she's smashed against the wall. "Baby," she whispers. "Baby, talk to me." Her hands are on Quinn's face, wiping her eyes. "You're crying."
"They just left her," Quinn manages to say. "They just left her to die alone."
Rachel's facial expression shifts through several emotions, confusion to horror to rage to a morbid understanding, and it hits Quinn in the chest that what they've just learned isn't surprising.
It's almost expected, from what they already know.
Quinn hasn't really cried for her sister before; never been able to mourn her properly. She does so now, and Rachel holds her through it all, merely solidifying the truth that Quinn's never going to be alone again.
Quinn knows it was a bit of a gamble getting Rachel to sit with her while she talked to her mother, so she's not even going to bring up Tori. The woman is to her what Noah and Eric are to Rachel.
Topics untouched.
But it does raise the question of just how Rachel is handling the situation with her own brothers and uncles and fathers. They're all distinctly aware where the leaked footage came from, a family split apart down in Wallingford, and Quinn is at a loss as to how to help. Can she? Does she even want to? She imagines Rachel must be talking to Holly about it, but it's also something they should speak about as a couple.
Because, really, where does the blame lie?
Quinn gets the impression Rachel feels guilty about the campaign, because it was her house and it was her brother and her uncle. They were in a place they should have been safe, and maybe it's partly their own fault for not paying closer attention to their surroundings, but what Quinn remembers of the day in question is that it was already quite a doozy.
She tends to recall their biggest fight to date with a substantial amount of shame. It got so out of hand so quickly, the worst parts of them brought to the forefront, and Quinn never wants to go back to that point. There are many things they would both love to keep locked away in the past, but Quinn knows they can't build on their relationship until they've managed to talk through some of their hangups.
The best thing they can do now is use Holly's help to get through some of the trickier things. Quinn's convinced they're going to have to have a therapist on retainer when they're in New York, if only because there are many, many things they still need to unpack and address together.
After.
They can get to all of that after she gets back from Panama. It's really in nobody's best interest to open up all these cans of worms when she's about to leave for two weeks. Though, Quinn considers the merits of actually drawing up a list and then allowing them both to spend the time apart thinking of all the things they need to say.
But, then again, Quinn needs to be focused on what's expected of her during her upcoming trip. It's her first international tournament and she really wants to impress as much as possible. If not to help the team, but also to prove to herself and friends and even critics that her game hasn't been affected by recent events.
Because it hasn't. Not really. Her fitness, yes, but not her focus and her determination. She's probably the sharpest she's ever been. The soccer pitch is meant to be a safe space for her, where she can forget all the darkness that lurks at the edges, and just focus on the bright lights shining on her.
Nope.
It's better to save it for after.
If Rachel thought it was difficult having Quinn in Florida for nearly two weeks, she wasn't quite prepared for how it would feel to know Quinn is in an entirely different country. On top of missing her, Rachel is worried out of her mind.
Worried in a way that has her throwing herself into school and show choir things. Therapy with Holly turns into a near daily thing, mainly because Rachel needs assurances from the woman that Quinn is actually okay. She's more believable than Quinn herself, which isn't really saying a lot. Holly wouldn't try to lie to make her feel better.
"I do think we have other things to talk about, though," Holly says, eyeing her carefully. "Things not directly related to Quinn."
Who knew talking about Quinn would be the easy part?
"Like what?" Rachel asks, already dreading what Holly is going to ask of her. "Because there's - you know - there's a lot."
"What are you comfortable talking about?" Holly allows.
Rachel lets out a startled laugh, gently shaking her head. "College, maybe," she says, and then she winces. "Maybe not."
"You're headed to New York?"
"I have auditions scheduled for the week of Spring Break," she says. "They do this whole thing at NYU, apparently, so now my focus can be solely on that."
"Will it be, though?"
She laughs again, and then sighs. "Well, I mean, it'll probably help keep me from stressing about having Quinn so far away, and you know I'm all about being productive and all that."
Holly gives her a particular look, which she can't quite ignore.
Rachel sighs, heavy and deflated. "You know, for an eighteen-year-old, I kind of have a lot going on."
"I do know," Holly says, "that's why we're talking about it."
"It?"
"All of it."
She sighs again. "Okay, well, you should know that I had my heart set on going to NYADA until my mother started dating one of the students there."
To her credit, Holly just blinks, reaches for her pen, takes a breath, and then says, "Right, okay, so let's start there."