Author's Notes: It has been too long since the last update, and I really hope this makes up for the delay. As always, biggest thanks go to Mike Ownby for being the nitpicker, critic, past-chapter-reader, and all-purpose Americanizer (I even spelt that the American way).

Thanks also go to the Faberry Discord team for harassing me until I posted this (at my request, how very wrong I was), and insisting I include "brogel" in this fic.

"Hey, so I was thinking…"

Quinn's immediate reaction is to snort. "That's dangerous for you," she says, without much heat.

Finn scoffs. "Har har. Yeah, so I was thinking… if Rachel and I are donezo – "

"– please stop using that word. It's not even a real word," she all but whines.

"– and you're on the outs with Sam, maybe we should get back together again?" Finn shrugs. "Don't look at me like that, we were pretty good together for a while."

There is a part of Quinn that wants to slug him in the chest for thinking what they had could be called good, but the urge vanishes before she can entertain it further. Shame, she thinks wryly. "Don't even joke about that. You and I were never good together. You're an idiot, and I was – " she catches herself before she can say I was in complete denial. "– I wasn't ready for a relationship. And also an idiot," Quinn adds generously.

Finn laughs. "Cool. Just thought I'd put it out there."

"No, I need you to say it." Quinn points at him. "You and I?" She points at herself. "Never happening again. Got that?"

"Yeah, okay," he grumbles, hands held out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. "Why are you so worked up about that? It was just a suggestion."

"Finn, I know you," says Quinn, sighing. "You never make suggestions that didn't start out as thoughts rattling around in that empty box you call your brain for at least a week."

He pouts.

"Also, don't do that. It's not as cute and attractive to girls as you probably think it is."

Finn amends his expression to a scowl which only makes him look constipated. Quinn ignores him.

"Speaking of toddler behavior, when can I tell Rachel the truth about this coaching thing?" She waves a hand vaguely between them. "She still thinks we got back together."

He perks up. "So it's not just me thinking we could give it another shot?"

Quinn stares at him, dismayed. "Seriously? Is that really what you took from this? You're hopeless."

He shrugs. "But we're here, you're helping me, so that means you don't think I'm totally hopeless, right?"

"No comment." Like it or not, he has a point, and Quinn decides that it's not worth trying to match wits with Finn – especially when he's completely unarmed. "We're friends, even though you're seriously coming close to pushing that status."

Finn squints at her. "Are you ever gonna stop being mean to me?"

"Never."

"Jeez," he grunts.

"Suck it up, Hudson," says Quinn with malicious delight.

Much later, she realizes that despite her constant mockery of Finn's intelligence, he did successfully distract her from getting his permission to tell Rachel the truth.

Which leaves her with a few options: she can try again, or she can enlist help in persuading Finn. The latter option is more appealing until she realizes the number of people who can help is depressingly small: Rachel and Santana are obviously out of the picture, she isn't sure Sam would want to help her, Puck's an idiot…

Then Quinn has an idea.

"Kurt?"

"Yes?"

She fidgets with her notebook. "I… your dad's dating Finn's mom, isn't she?"

Kurt blinks. "Yes?"

"He's at the shop pretty much all the time, right?"

He shuts his locker and appraises her silently, one hand on his hip. "Right. Were you looking for him? Dad said he checked your car last weekend, were there any problems with it?"

"No, I…"

Kurt sighs. "Honey, if you can't even say what I think you're trying to say, I don't think talking to my dad is going to help."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands, surreptitiously glancing left and right, glaring at stragglers in the hallway until they scramble out of sight and earshot. "I just want to ask him for help dealing with Finn."

"Why not ask me?"

Quinn purses her lips. "You haven't managed to persuade Finn to date you, I'm not sure you're the best person for this."

Instead of backing off as she'd expected him to, Kurt shakes his head. "Really?"

Quinn sighs. "No. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven on the condition you tell me what's this all about."

"It's complicated," she says.

"And you're not subtle at all," he fires back. "You know that, right?"

"Just tell me when your dad is going to be in the shop, alone," she hisses back, fixing him with her best death glare.

Kurt purses his lips at her. "Meet me at the Lima Bean after school today. And for the love of Gucci, do not attempt to be subtle ever again." His gaze falls on the book in her arms. "I need help with American history, and you've agreed to tutor me before our big test this Thursday," he decides.

"There's a test on Thursday?!"

"... okay, I'm tutoring you," amends Kurt.

"Don't get cute with me, Hummel; you try being a single teen mom maintaining a semi-decent GPA and holding down a job," Quinn hisses.

He arches a single eyebrow at her as he walks away. "See you at five!" Kurt calls over his shoulder.

Much to her dismay, Mercedes and Kurt are already there when she arrives (ten minutes early, to stake out the place and make sure nobody else she knows is there).

"It's about time," Mercedes greets her.

"Okay, what are you two on about?"

A sly smile curls across Kurt's face. "The party."

"Spin the bottle was full of… interesting revelations, to say the least."

Quinn frowns. "What are you guys talking about? I just wanted to know when was a good time to talk to your dad."

Kurt shakes his head. "I know, we'll get to that in a bit."

She doesn't like the sound of that at all. Quinn attempts to get up and bolt for the door; unfortunately for her, Mercedes and Kurt each have a hand on her arm, and between the two of them, they manage to keep her seated.

"Relax, Quinn, we're here to help," he says.

"Relax!" she squeaks indignantly. "You're both insane."

"I saw you glare at Finn when he was kissing Kurt," says Mercedes loudly, speaking over Quinn.

She stops glaring daggers at them both to focus exclusively on Mercedes. "So? We all know Finn was going to freak out and ruin everything if I hadn't reminded him to behave."

"Yes, but that Quinn glare-of-death usually is reserved for anyone getting close to Rachel."

Quinn levels aforementioned glare-of-death at them. It doesn't work.

"You were pissed when Rachel kissed Satan Lopez. So terrifyingly pissed. We've known each other for two years now, and I cannot remember the last time I have seen you this mad." Kurt lifts his chin. "You, my dear, were jealous."

"Me, jealous?" barks Quinn incredulously.

"And not over kissing Santana," chimes in Mercedes. "I feared for Puck's manhood when he was kissing Rachel."

"Doesn't count, I have at least fifty reasons to murder Puck."

"Fifty-one now."

Quinn scowls. "I don't like what you two idiots are insinuating."

Kurt sighs. "Look. We know, and we're happy for you."

"Nope, still no idea," she lies through gritted teeth.

"How's Sam?"

"Huh?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Never mind. So tomorrow's Saturday, and Dad's lunch hour is from twelve to one. He thinks I don't know he's been sneaking out to Subway for their triple meat subs even though his cholesterol was too high at his last physical."

"And that is important, how…?" Quinn asks, suspicious of the non-sequitur.

"I know he'll accidentally-on-purpose forget to bring the special lunch I made for him, so I'd appreciate it if you'd bring it to him and make sure he eats it. I'll even throw in a portion, just for you."

"... I'll do it, but why are you so adamant I have lunch with your dad?"

Kurt sighs gustily. Mercedes pats his arm. "Give her time, boo," she says. "Lord knows how much denial you were in at first. Remember the flannel?"

"Ugh, please don't remind me." Kurt turns his attention back to Quinn. "Dad said you and our dear Miss Berry had an altercation at the shop last weekend."

"It was not an altercation."

"Hmm," says Kurt, sounding unconvinced. "Assuming that I believe you, Dad also said he told you that you can talk to him anytime."

"Which was very nice of him to offer, but unnecessary."

"I'm glad that you decided to take him up on his offer," Kurt says loudly, as Quinn scowls at him, "but I'm concerned it might not be for the reasons I was hoping for." Kurt turns to Mercedes. "Honestly? Worst case of denial I've ever seen, and I'm counting myself."

"Hey! I'm right here!"

"True," says Mercedes. "And I thought you trying to make out with Brittany was the worst thing I'd ever seen."

"Excuse me?" Quinn says in disbelief. "You kissed Britt?"

"Never mind that," says Kurt quickly. "Look, do everyone a favor and take my dad lunch, okay? It's my special guilt-free low-carb chicken Kiev – which I know you love too."

"I hate you both," says Quinn, scowling.

"Love you too. And trust me, this is for your own good."

Despite having major misgivings about the entire thing, Quinn walks into the shop dressed down in her oldest and most comfortable clothes; a pair of jeans that are too loose around the waist, and a faded T-shirt from cheer camp. "Burt?"

He emerges from under a car, a wrench in his hands. "Quinn! Good to see you. What can I do you for?" A frown creases his brow. "Nothing wrong with your car now, is there?"

"It's fine, thanks." She holds up the Tupperware. "You forgot your lunch."

"Oh. Darn." Burt pulls a face, his tone flat. "You came all this way to deliver it? You shouldn't have."

"That's alright." Her heart is hammering out of her chest. "Kurt bribed me with a portion of my own, and it was on my way to, uh… to the store." Quinn takes out the other Tupperware that (she presumes) holds her lunch, feeling very much like a grade-schooler at Show and Tell.

"Good, good. Why don't you take all that into my office and I'll clean up here?" Burt fishes a rag out of his pocket and starts furiously scrubbing grease from his hands. "Won't be long. I hope," he adds, sighing, when the black stains don't budge.

She does as told, setting up their food in Burt's office. She's laying out the picnic cutlery when he walks in, considerably less greasy. "Ooh, that looks great," he says, rubbing his hands together. "I'm starved. Thanks for bringing it in."

"You're welcome."

Burt cuts into the chicken and examines a forkful. He takes a bite and makes a face. "It's good, but… can't ever get used to the guilt-free version once you've had the real thing."

Quinn nods absently. She's eaten worse on the Sue Sylvester special diet.

"Y'know, Kurt only makes this on special occasions," he says.

"Lucky me, then," replies Quinn lightly.

"Lucky us," says Burt, his tone so dry it makes Quinn laugh. "It's good to see you today. How's school?"

"Same as always." She moves her green beans around the Tupperware.

"Yeah? That's good. It's usually when things aren't the same which is the problem."

Quinn scoffs. "I wouldn't know. Everything's been different for the past year."

"Yeah, I heard." Burt chews on his chicken, wearing an expression akin to being tortured. "How's your kid? She's a girl, right?"

"Yeah. Her name's Beth."

Burt nods. "Cute name. When Kurt was born, my wife thought it would be cute to give him a name that rhymed with mine. Kurt, Burt… So I told her, wait 'til the next one. If she turned out to be a girl, we'll name her somethin' that rhymes with Elizabeth and we'll see how she likes that."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Y'know, when it ended up just being the two of us, I figured it was gonna be fine. We could manage. But then when he got a little older, I knew he wasn't gonna be like the other boys. Certainly not how I'd ever imagined a son of mine would turn out. I thought I'd be teaching him to toss a football, or throw a baseball right. Take him out camping, teach him to pitch a tent and bait a hook."

Quinn nods.

"But Kurt turned out not liking any of those things. Which was a disappointment at first, I gotta admit." Burt straightens up. "But he's a good kid, and he's still my boy. That's important."

"Kurt's lucky to have you for a dad."

Burt rubs his chin. "I think it's more like I'm lucky to have Kurt for a son. He doesn't know it, but I go to the local PFLAG meetings."

"I… what?"

"He thinks I don't know, but honestly, what straight teenage boy asks for a sewing machine as a thirteenth birthday present?" says Burt, smiling crookedly. "But guys like me – we don't know the first thing about supporting kids like Kurt, and this town isn't the friendliest to that kinda thing."

Quinn finds herself nodding along.

"So I did a lil' bit of digging, and found out about PFLAG. Got me signed up. It's been great for learning more about kids like Kurt, and how I can be there for him."

Quinn makes a noncommittal sound, unsure of what Burt is trying to say – and how it pertains to her. Eventually she manages a diplomatic: "That's very nice, Burt, but what does that have to do with me?"

Burt studies her for a moment as he picks at a loose thread on his overalls. "Eh, I don't know if you're being coy or you're genuinely asking," he says. "Either way, the experts say it's best not to push. So I hope you know that whatever you wanna talk about – and I do mean whatever – you can come to me, have a chat like now. Maybe we could even get some real food." He winks at her.

"Ah – thanks for the offer. All of them."

He nods at her. "So… if you didn't come to listen to me ramble about Kurt, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"It's about Finn."

"Ah."

She isn't sure how she can go about this. Quinn suddenly prefers it when Burt was doing all the talking. "He listens to you, right?"

"As much as any teenage boy will," says Burt with a shrug. "Especially when I'm dating his mom."

"He hangs out here a lot; he definitely looks up to you." Quinn decides to get to the point. "Finn asked me to keep a secret from Rachel, but it's becoming a massive burden on my friendship with her and he won't listen to me when I tell him I can't keep it from her anymore."

"And between Rachel and Finn, you'd put Rachel first?"

"There's no contest." She really, really doesn't want to go into detail how, exactly, she would gladly dump a thousand Finn Hudsons for Rachel.

Burt hums absently, using a piece of green bean to mop up his gravy. "The thing about Finn is that he's a bit stubborn… but you already knew that."

Quinn snorts.

"It's not anything illegal, is it?"

"Really?"

"I'm just kidding." Burt wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. "But sometimes, asking for forgiveness is a lot easier than getting permission. Especially if it's something that's important to you."

She thinks it over. "Thanks, Burt."

"Did that help?"

"Yes. Yes, it did."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." He pauses. "Quinn?"

"Yes, sir?"

"When you're ready to talk about that other thing, you know where to find me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Burt laughs. "Sure you don't."

Careful planning of her day ensures that she's not alone with Rachel at any given time. Unfortunately, all of this comes to naught when she walks into the kitchen with her homework to find Rachel already there, talking on her phone.

Quinn stiffens.

Rachel doesn't notice her initially. "No, I don't think so," says Rachel into the phone, sounding like she's about to laugh – until her gaze flicks to Quinn, and her expression goes flat. "... I have to go. I'll talk to you later? Excellent. Bye."

Quinn, attempting to regain her composure, chooses hostility. "Don't let me interrupt."

"You're not interrupting anything," says Rachel quietly.

"Oh, are you talking to me now?"

Rachel narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it means."

Quinn glares at Rachel, who quavers a little but doesn't look away. "You're right," she says, "we should talk about this. Barbra knows we've been avoiding this long enough."

"You and Santana, huh?" Quinn asks, voice holding steady.

Rachel blinks, but doesn't miss a beat. "You and Finn?"

Hearing Rachel say Finn's name fills Quinn with rage. "I told you, there is no me and Finn," seethes Quinn. "For god's sake, Berry, you call yourself my friend and you won't even listen to me."

"If there's no you and Finn, why are the two of you meeting and being secretive about it?"

"Because he's an idiot!" In this moment, Quinn decides that – fuck it, her friendship with Rachel is more important than whatever Finn Hudson has to offer. "He's trying to be a decent human being for once and respecting that you don't want to talk to him. And somehow, that means asking me for advice on being a good person which I know fuck-all about, and to top it all off, the idiot wants me to keep it a secret from you."

Rachel blinks, silent as she processes everything. "Finn asked you to keep that from me? But why? I'm thrilled that he seems to be making the effort to improve himself."

"I don't know. If I had a penny for every time Finn had a bright idea, I'd still be broke."

"Oh." Rachel presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh, easing some of the tension. "That wasn't very nice of you."

"You laughed," Quinn points out unkindly, still stung.

Rachel looks horrified. "I did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not – I refuse to stoop to your level, Quinn Fabray." She folds her arms across her chest, lifting her chin as though daring Quinn to carry on the bickering match.

Quinn, however, has other things on her mind. "So, do you believe me now?"

Rachel hesitates, and then nods slowly. Some of the tension bleeds out of Quinn's shoulders, and she breathes a little easier.

"... I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Quinn asks, genuinely surprised.

"I think you might have gotten the wrong idea about Santana and myself – rather like how I got the wrong idea about you and Finn."

"Gee," says Quinn sardonically, "I wonder how that happened."

Instead of a sharp response, Rachel looks uncertain. "Despite our… activities, there aren't any deeper romantic feelings between us. I might have had, ah, certain long-standing beliefs about my sexuality thrown into disarray, and Santana has been wonderfully helpful in resolving them."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "... Are you saying that Santana is helping you experiment?"

"That's an incredibly crude and inaccurate way of phrasing that, but essentially, yes."

"Wait – are you saying that night, it wasn't the first time you and her – ?"

Rachel purses her lips and nods, once.

"Out of all people, Santana's helping you with your lesbian awakening?"

"And why not?" Rachel asks, sounding affronted. "She's been having issues of her own, and she appreciates not being alone in this."

Quinn frowns. She's always felt the friendship that Brittany and Santana share is a little too close by normal friendship standards, but it's not like she has any normal female friendships of her own to judge it by. "Okay, I think I've almost got it. So you and Santana have maybe-lesbian feelings and making out with each other helps you guys figure out if they're real?"

"For Barbra's sake, Quinn, there's no need to be so crude," snaps Rachel.

Quinn blinks, taken aback by Rachel's harshness. "Okay, Berry. Point taken. Chill."

Rachel seems to relax a fraction, though her expression looks guarded. "In any case, we would appreciate it if you kept any snide commentary to yourself."

"My lips are sealed." Quinn mimes zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key because she knows Rachel will appreciate the drama of the gesture. But internally, her mind is whirling; she knows she'll be up all night trying to process all the information that's been dumped on her.

Santana, despite her reputation among the male population of McKinley, isn't completely straight. That, Quinn can swallow. Rachel not being completely straight? Rachel kissing girls? Rachel kissing a girl who isn't –

She shakes her head, jaw clenched, willing the thoughts out of her mind. "Nevertheless, I still don't see why you were so insistent on me and Finn being a thing. We weren't exactly making out in front of everyone else."

Rachel blushes. "Yes, I suppose. To be perfectly honest with you, I don't have anything to say in my defense except that Finn can be secretive about his relationships if he thinks there's something embarrassing about them."

"Just another prize quality that really makes me wonder what we both saw in him."

To her relief, Rachel seems to accept the comment for the olive branch it is. "I agree."

"You won't tell Finn that I told you, right?"

"Of course not. My lips are sealed." Rachel mimics Quinn's zipping gesture. "Friends?"

"Yeah. Friends," says Quinn. Somehow, she is even more troubled than before they had this conversation.

Her heart wasn't really in attending one of Kurt's "tutoring" sessions, but she actually does need to study. Which culminates in this moment, when she's pointedly staring at her textbook and ignoring Kurt's equally-pointed comments.

"Do you even know why you're so miserable?"

Quinn grunts.

"I don't speak pressed lemon, sorry."

"What does that mean?"

Kurt shrugs. "I'm not entirely sure myself. I heard Brittany call you that and I found it strangely fitting."

She sits up and levels her best Quinn-glare at him. Kurt remains unmoved, arms folded primly over his starched blazer.

Quinn focuses her attention on the brooch he's pinned to his lapel, willing it to burst into flames with her eyes.

"... Nothing?"

Kurt tuts sympathetically. "Frankly, my dear, that wasn't worth a damn."

Quinn sighs. "Great. First Rachel and Lopez are having their lesbian awakening together, and now my glares have lost their potency. What else can go wrong?"

"I really hope that's a rhetorical question, because I think you do not want to find out what else the universe can dump on you."

She opens her eyes and glares at him. "Do not jinx me. I have enough shit going on right now."

"Down, girl," he says, holding both hands up. "I thought Dad helped you sort out the Finn issue."

"He did," Quinn sighs, "sort of."

Kurt closes his textbook. "Well, you can't just leave it at that. Do you wanna talk about it?"

She considers him briefly. Kurt has been annoying lately, but he's still her friend, and she trusts him. "My issue isn't with Finn anymore, it's with Rachel."

"You mean, Rachel and Santana?"

"I still don't know why you're so weirdly fixated on that, but… yes."

Kurt looks her in the eye. "Yes, you do."

Quinn's unable to meet his gaze; to her horror, she can feel her face heating up.

To her relief, Kurt backs off. "You have my deepest sympathies, but I don't think I can help with either of them."

"No," says Quinn, slowly, "but I know who can."

"Desperate you must be, to me you come for help."

Quinn frowns. "Excuse me?"

Sam sighs. "Forget it. Just geek stuff."

"Okay." She's tired, she's at her wit's end, and this is the long shot of all long shots. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I know things between us are still weird."

Sam shrugs. "Yeah, no shit, but we're friends, and friends stuff friends into the bellies of dead tauntauns to save their lives."

"I – you know what? Never mind." Quinn takes a deep breath and steels herself. "What you said, the other day, about me…"

He looks confused. "What I said? It was mostly you saying stuff because you didn't want me to say the l-word."

She chews on her lower lip. "Because that's not me. I just – I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Quinn, hey." He reaches for her shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with you. Being l-word doesn't mean you're weird or wrong or whatever."

"Sam, I can't have this conversation with you if you're calling it… that."

Sam furrows his brow. "Uh – lady-lovin'?"

"... Forget it. L-word is fine."

He shrugs. "But you know something? You broke up with me for no reason."

"Huh?"

"I've found that people do that if they want somebody else, so they can be with that other person," he continues, acting as though Quinn hasn't said anything. "I don't know for sure who that is for you, but you haven't talked about any other guy as much as you talk about Rachel, so it's a fair assumption that you should try kissing girls, or kiss Rachel."

"I don't want to kiss Rachel," says Quinn, feeling like her heart is about to beat its way out of her chest.

Sam shrugs. "Okay. Santana, maybe? She's hot. And she kissed Rachel, so maybe she'd be up for it."

"Not discussing this with you," says Quinn tightly.

"Britt?"

"Sam, if you're gonna sit here and recite the names of every other girl in McKinley…"

"Fine, fine. I wasn't going to, for the record," he says, "just the ones you talk about."

"I talk about them?"

He scoffs. "Well, about Rachel most of the time. You're mostly bitching about shit that Santana does, or random things Brittany said."

"You do realize that I live with Rachel and her dads, right? Talking about her is somewhat inevitable."

"Nah, dude," he says, earning himself a sharp look. "I live with my parents and my kid siblings, and I know I don't talk about them as much as you do about Rachel. Which I kinda get. She's weird, but still cool."

"Don't call me dude. I'm not one of your stoner buddies."

He lifts both hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Okay, but what am I gonna call you? Q? Babe? Brogel?"

"What the hell is a brogel? It's not some alien from Star Wars, is it?"

"Nah, I just made it up. It's cool, like bagels because everyone loves bagels, but also a bro."

Quinn stares at him, speechless as she tries to process the words he's saying, before finally deciding not to comment. "I have a name," says Quinn flatly. "I have been known to respond to it."

He chuckles. "That's funny."

"What are you, a preteen girl? As you were saying…"

Sam shrugs. "That's it. I don't have anything else to say."

She chews on her bottom lip, lost in thought. It's normal she talks about Rachel, given that they're friends who live together, but somehow Sam is under the impression that talking about Rachel means she wants to kiss her.

But Sam is a teenage boy, and teenage boys aren't known for their intelligence (see Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman). Teenage boys aren't supposed to be empathetic and perceptive unless they're gay, like Kurt.

Even though Kurt is being incredibly annoying right now, claiming that he knows what's going on between her and Rachel…

"Are you trying to say that me talking about Rachel means I want to kiss her?" Quinn asks, trying to sound as sardonic as possible, ignoring the little frisson of excitement whenever she says "kiss" and "Rachel" in the same sentence. "That's like saying that you want to kiss Kurt, you talk about him a lot."

Much to her surprise, Sam blushes. "I just think he would be a good kisser, okay?"

"You like Kurt?" she blurts.

"Hey, hey, not so loud," he hisses at her.

"Sorry."

Sam grunts. "I don't know why I'm telling you this since you're my ex-girlfriend and this is weird as hell, but I'm pretty sure I'm not straight. I like you, but I also think Kurt is cute."

"... Is that why you were asking me how I know I want to kiss girls?"

"I guess…"

She smiles. "You're an idiot. A sweet idiot, but an idiot nonetheless."

"Thanks… I think." He eyes her askance. "You and Rachel, huh?"

"There is no me and Rachel to speak of."

"Right, she did seem pretty into kissing Santana." He grins. "That was hot."

"Ugh. Stop being such a boy." She flops on her back and immediately regrets her decision; the grass is damp and scratchy on her skin. "What am I gonna do now?"

"You'll figure it out. You always do."

Quinn sits up and squints at him. "Bold words for a guy who's known me for like… a few months."

"But we're friends, so you're stuck with me," he points out.

She doesn't know what it is about her that makes people want to be her friend, but right now, she can't bring herself to care. "I can't believe I'm stuck with a guy who knows the Jedi code by heart."

"I can't believe you don't know the Jedi code by heart."

"Shut up."

Whatever small high her conversation with Sam had given her is promptly lost when she walks in on Rachel and Santana at school.

It's mostly her fault; she hadn't wanted attention, and had decided to visit the ladies' bathroom on the fourth floor (Rachel had recommended it). The weird smells drifting from the neighboring chemistry labs meant it was avoided by most of the female population of McKinley.

Quinn spends about ten minutes fixing her makeup, humming absently to herself when the only occupied cubicle unlocks.

Rachel and Santana tumble out, Rachel looking flustered and Santana strangely smug.

"Yo, Fabray," says Santana casually, sauntering to the sink on Quinn's left and fixing her hair.

"What are you – oh." She looks away, willing her cheeks to stop burning.

Rachel squeaks and leaves the bathroom, almost dropping her bookbag in her haste.

"Can you not do that?" snaps Quinn.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware Your Majesty's comfort trumps my needs."

"Your needs?!"

Santana laughs. "I'm hot, Berry's surprisingly decent under those skirts and sweaters. You probably wouldn't know what getting your mack on at school is like, given what you've got under those dresses is probably frozen over."

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, frigid," Santana sneers. "Hey, fun as this is, I gots better things to do. Later, Q."

"... So that's about it."

Lydia leans back in her seat. "You've had a busy few weeks."

Quinn snorts.

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Like I want to go to bed and sleep for a hundred years."

To her surprise, Lydia nods thoughtfully, chewing on the end of her biro. "That's fair. Look, I don't think you need me psychoanalyzing you today on top of everything that's been happening, so – why don't we postpone this? I won't charge Rachel's fathers for today. We can pick this up next week."

Quinn gapes at her. "What, really?"

"Yes, really." Lydia stands up, waving her hands at Quinn in a shooing motion. "But only because we have a lot to talk about next week. Your homework is to digest everything, because we are going to discuss it in excruciating detail."

"Yeah, alright." She really should be a little more apprehensive about the keywords discuss and excruciating detail, but Quinn is having a hard time thinking about anything else apart from having a shrink-free afternoon.

The non-session has tired her out. Quinn wants to go to bed and sleep for a year, at least. She flops over the covers, shoes still on, assuming her favorite contemplating-life-and-the-ceiling pose.

"Quinn? I – oh."

She can feel Rachel lingering by the door, but she doesn't move or respond. A few minutes later, Quinn is surprised by the creak of mattress springs, and the presence of Rachel beside her.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Rachel doesn't say anything. Quinn appreciates the quiet – until Rachel's hand finds hers, resting over it loosely. "Are you okay?"

Quinn mulls it over. "I will be," she says, hoping the words don't come out as breathless as she feels.

"Okay." Rachel shifts. "... I can go if you want."

"... No," says Quinn. "Stay."

She can picture Rachel's smile. "Okay."

This is probably the most at peace she's felt in a while. Just being with Rachel, without interaction. And she thinks no matter how bad things get, Rachel is part of the answer.

"I thought you were mad at me."

Quinn laughs sardonically. "Gee, I wonder what you did that would make me mad at you. You've got nothing to apologize for."

"You're honestly okay with Santana and me?"

She's struck a nerve. "Whatever," says Quinn hastily, "I'm not the boss of either of you. Though I wonder what the hell you see in her."

"It's a mutually beneficial arrangement," replies Rachel.

"Making out at school looks mutually beneficial, alright."

Rachel abruptly sits up. "Quinn, I don't understand. You say you don't have a problem with Santana and myself, but I'm getting all these passive-aggressive comments from you."

"They're not passive-aggressive."

"Nothing about the way you're acting indicates that you're remotely fine."

"Leave it, okay? Just leave it."

She thinks she sees hurt shimmer in Rachel's eyes before it's replaced by resolve. "You are being incredibly difficult. You blow hot and cold, and sometimes I just don't understand what you want from me. I want to be your friend, Quinn. I want to help you. But you're not making it easy at all."

"Nothing about me or my life is easy, Rachel! Wake up! This is real life, not one of your Broadway shows where everybody gets their happy ending."

"And is it so wrong to strive towards a happy ending?"

Quinn looks away. "Sometimes it is." There is a tiny voice inside of her, screaming tell her incessantly. Promising her there is so much that will be made clear just by being straightforward. And Quinn just doesn't have the energy to fight it anymore.

And judging from the soft expression on Rachel's face, she knows it too. "Quinn?"

"Forget it. Just… I need space. Please."

"Okay," says Rachel, nodding. Quinn can't shake the feeling that she looks… disappointed. "I can do that."

The next few days pass in a haze of Quinn staring at Rachel while pretending she's still ignoring her.

Thankfully, Rachel also seems just as preoccupied. When she isn't in her room recording and uploading increasingly melancholy ballads, she's busy texting. Quinn presumes it's Santana on the receiving end, and makes herself feel worse.

Lydia smiles kindly at her. She makes a show of putting her pen on her notepad and pushing them to one side – a gesture that Quinn interprets as being off the record. "Did you have a good break?"

"I…" Her mouth is painfully dry; her words stick to her tongue. "How do I know if I'm… gay?"

The smile slowly slips off Lydia's face, but her composure stays put. "What makes you think that?"

For so long, she has resisted opening up here, viewing Lydia as an interrogator trying to extract secrets from her. But now… now, she is so tired of guarding her secrets. It's a thankless job.

"Don't you need to write any of this down?"

Her therapist shakes her head. "I take notes for my own reference or in case there's something I would like to look up later."

"... Okay." Quinn drops her gaze back to her hands – which are tightly clenched in her lap. She forces herself to relax. When she looks back up again, it's to Lydia's calm gaze. "I, um… I don't like kissing guys."

Lydia nods.

"I thought it was because they were just bad kissers, y'know – at least the guys I've kissed were pretty bad at it." She isn't sure why she still needs to defend herself. "But I just – I still don't like the idea."

"Have you thought about boys in a sexual manner?"

Quinn can feel her cheeks burning hot. "Sometimes."

"Did you like it?"

"... Not really." This question is much easier to answer.

"What about girls?"

She opens her mouth, hesitates, and says nothing. "Once or twice."

"Which do you prefer thinking about?"

"... Girls," says Quinn, her mouth dry.

Lydia nods solemnly. "I think you can guess what I'm going to say, but I believe you've already answered your own question."

"Great. That's just great."

"But I think this isn't solely about your preferences. Is there someone you like?"

"No," lies Quinn.

"Okay." Lydia looks supremely unconcerned that Quinn is having a life crisis right before her eyes. "You're seventeen, Quinn. It's perfectly okay to not know what you like, to take your time figuring things out. As my mentor always says, canned food needs labels, not people."

Quinn shifts in her seat and says nothing.

"Quinn?"

"I don't know what to do."

"And that's okay," Lydia reminds her.

"You don't understand. All my life, I've known what I was supposed to do, and most of the time I at least had the choice. But now… I just don't know."

"May I make a suggestion?" Lydia leans forward in her chair. "If there were no rules, no judgment, nothing stopping you, what would you do? You don't have to tell me," she says, preempting Quinn, "just think about it."

She hasn't thrown up since she was pregnant with Beth, but this time, she is prepared. Quinn ensures her hair is up before gracefully kneeling in front of the bowl and emptying her stomach contents.

Later, when she's brushed her teeth and washed up, Quinn contemplates her reflection. The pale girl with red eyes staring back looks as worn-down as her mother. But she is determined not to make Judy's mistakes – at least not all of them, the biggest one currently sleeping in a crib down the hall. It's the right direction, for sure.

Quinn isn't sure what to do now. With boys, it's easy; they're already crowding around her, desperate for any scraps of attention she can spare them, so all she needs to do is bat her eyelashes.

It seems ridiculous and pointless to Google it (she can't blame it on Jacob again; after her last "research session" using his ID, he'd had his school computer privileges revoked). But then again – if she searched "how to tell a girl you like her", Quinn has a feeling it would simply generate irrelevant advice like ridiculous displays of machismo or offering to carry her books.

Screw all of it. If Quinn's life is already this complicated, why can't this one (world-ending, soul-crushing) thing be simple? What's the worst that could happen if she went up to Rachel and told her she had feelings for her?

Nothing to lose except the most stable home she's ever known, the dregs of her reputation at school, and the friendship of the single most stubborn human being in existence.

The thought makes her stomach turn over again. Quinn decides that this is a fruitless endeavor, and returns to the real world.

Quinn was half-expecting to meet Rachel on her way back to her room. But the house is silent. She walks past Rachel's room.

The door is ajar; an anomaly, it's always either wide open or shut.

Quinn doesn't hesitate. "Rachel?"

"Come in," comes Rachel's quiet response.

Rachel being quiet is such a rare occurrence in the house.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asks, straight to the point.

"Nothing much," replies Rachel distractedly. "Santana called to end our arrangement, that's all."

"... what?" Quinn sits down. "What do you mean, nothing much?"

"Well, neither of us are particularly heartbroken," quips Rachel, smiling faintly.

"Not funny, Rach."

"She has Brittany, and I – well, I have other things to focus on. It was just a temporary arrangement."

Distantly, she registers the Brittany part as something she's suspected, but she focuses on Rachel. "You have someone else in mind," Quinn says, recalling Sam's words.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," says Quinn, stomach already turning over. "You and Santana didn't mind ending your arrangement because you both have someone else you really want."

Rachel stares back blankly. She doesn't deny it, but she doesn't agree with her either.

"You do, don't you?" prods Quinn.

"Honestly, Quinn, I don't see how that matters."

"Why?"

Rachel shakes her head. "It's not important. What's important is your vocal exercises; I know you haven't been as diligent as you should be – don't look at me like that, I have excellent hearing as you well know – and every member has to do their part if we want to excel at Regionals."

Quinn gives her a hard stare. "Don't try that, Berry. I know you're trying to change the subject. I'm a big girl, you won't hurt my feelings if you had a crush on Sam. I wouldn't even mind if you wanted to take Finn back too."

Rachel's reaction isn't what Quinn was expecting. She looks… disappointed. "Sam? You think I like Sam?"

"Why not? He's good-looking and pretty sweet." And also interested in Kurt, thinks Quinn, but decides that's not relevant to the current conversation.

"Then why did you break up with him?"

"It just wasn't working out," says Quinn, somewhat annoyed that Rachel's managed to turn the conversation back on her with seemingly little effort.

"So why can't it be the same for me and Santana?" says Rachel triumphantly.

Quinn sighs. "Touché."

Rachel smiles; it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you, Quinn. For being here."

She finds herself saying, "Anytime," and meaning it.

From the way Rachel glances at the door, Quinn knows Rachel is expecting her to leave and is graciously giving her an exit from this situation that is too uncomfortably emotion-laden for Quinn's liking. And yet.. she has yet to leave.

"Rachel, I…"

"Yes?"

She can't speak. Her heart is pounding, her mouth so dry the words grate over her tongue, and her hands are stiff and clumsy. Quinn wants – something she doesn't even know how to put in words.

Luckily for her, Rachel is the one to lean forward and press her lips to Quinn's.