Faithful are the Wounds

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's.

Notes: I've finished writing this like last week, but then my friend whoabeauties (previously vanillagravity) pointed me to the newly released cut scene in the bridesmaid store, so I adjust some things here. Hopefully this chapter still comes out okay, grammar wise and stuff, because next week I'll be back in the US again and won't really have much time at hand for a quick update. Again, your reviews will be much treasured.

P.S.: Should I have a Tumblr account? Should I have not?

-.-.-.-

Chapter 3

McKinley High, Rachel believed, should have put a warning sign on all of its lockers. It should read, to say the least, that no one emotionally unstable should come close to any lockers, because, really, McKinley's lockers must have been cursed with a disease of spreading social disputes or invoking quarrels.

Just yesterday she had had an argument with Finn—her fiancé, of all people—when she brought up the subject whether he had a plan for himself when they reached New York. He had blown her off rather callously, apparently pressured by his own underperformance and self-doubt. They had not been talking since then, and she had been wishing that Finn had had a greater self-respect. Why couldn't he see in himself what everybody saw in him?

Her ever treacherous inner self with a mind on its own jeered. Define everybody, it said.

Alright, fine. The girls in the glee club might have not been too fond of Finn. Santana and Brittany had their own world, Mercedes and Tina barely acknowledged his presence, and he simply was not Sugar's type. Still, the boys were different, right? Puck listened to him, Mike and Sam grouped themselves with him in the football team, and Rory looked up to him. Right?

Your typical band of brothers, her inner self said.

Kurt would have said the same, she reasoned.

So said the person who used to crushing on him before being brothers, it replied. But you know there's a stark difference between being the king of the jungle and the leader of the pack.

Her retort about the unfairness of the statement was somehow interrupted by a loud crash from the nearest row of lockers in front of her. Kurt, walking beside her, instantly grabbed onto her arm in shock and horror.

"Tell me this just doesn't happen again," Kurt gasped out.

She looked up to see two figures involved in what seemed to be a not-so civil brawl, and her heart dropped to her stomach. "Oh God."

Finn had pinned Puck to the lockers by an arm against Puck's throat, using the advantage of being taller and bigger than Puck.

"You know what? Who cares if I end up being a loser here? You can have your damn pool cleaning business and leave me alone," Finn barked to Puck's face, which was getting redder and redder as he struggled for air.

"I just—you're not—" Puck tried.

"Finn, stop!" She leaped and tried to separate the two of them, fully aware of watching bystanders who did nothing. God, what did they think they were watching? A circus of freaks? From the corner of her eyes she saw Santana and Brittany approach them. If the Cheerios were coming, it meant that Coach Sylvester was about to as well. This would not be good. "Stop fighting at once!"

Pulling away from Puck roughly, Finn's eyes met hers and she could read the even bigger self-hatred mixed with regret and frustration in his eyes.

"Look, buddy," Puck started, voice still croaky, "if you don't wanna do it, fine. But you deserve a future out of this shitty place, too."

Yet Finn had trailed further from them, pushing himself to part the flock of bystanders.

"Kurt," she whispered.

Giving her a glum look, her best friend nodded. "I'll let you know when he's cooled down."

"Thank you."

"What an entertainment," a sarcastic voice piped up from behind her. Santana's, she recognized. "Hurt locker much in the morning?"

"Stay the hell out of this, Lopez," Puck snapped.

The Latina shrugged. "Well, Puckerman, at least I'm not the one pinned like a rag doll."

"Santana," Rachel started.

"Come on, Brit." Ignoring her, Santana took Brittany's hand in hers and started walking away. "If I have to listen to our resident dwarf defend her good-for-nothing fiancé who goes around attacking people when he actually has only himself to attack, I'll be deaf faster than Beethoven did."

She knew better than responding to Santana's taunt, so she focused back on Puck. "Noah Puckerman, explain yourself to me."

"Rachel, you know I love you, Jewish bond and stuff, but Finn's my buddy first and I ain't gonna sit and watch him drown just because he can't see ahead." Puck raised a hand. "Look, I know he'll end up with you anyway, so I tell him New York isn't the only option he's got. Heck, he hasn't even considered anything else since—" Puck paused, thinking, "since you're applying to that school for drama queens."

"NYADA. And I'm afraid I don't follow, Noah."

"I tell him that whatever his dream is, he needs to make it as big as he is."

She was quiet, then, "It was you who gave him the idea to go to California."

Puck looked at her sadly. "What's good is it for him if all he's gonna do is riding on your tailcoat in New York?"

Hurt locker sign, please.

-.-.-.-

She had decided.

It took two to start, to have and to maintain a relationship, but it did not necessarily take two to end one. So here she was: calling the shot. Finn was worth it. This was the boy who made her high school life bearable, who was willing to share the brunt of peer bullying by agreeing to co-captain a club of cast-outs, who broke up with the prettiest girl to be with school's biggest loser, who had been her anchor amidst the cloudy NYADA prospect and imminent future gloom.

She watched Santana sing If I Can't Have You to the club, but most importantly and especially to Brittany, and easily recognized the look on the Latina's face. Then Santana talked about her dream and how Brittany would always be her one. She had the same look when she looked at Finn, and she talked the same about Finn. There was no doubt about it.

He was the one who was worth it all.

You've been derailed, her inner self said, gentler this time.

She was not. She was going to call Finn and come to the auditorium. She would tell him, and they would be alright. Everything would be alright.

It was her decision.

Then Mercedes talked about letting go of things, and Santana rebuked Mr Schuester for putting his baggage on them—like he had always done, she realized—and Brittany sang a Whitney Houston song she dedicated to two most important people in her life. Santana beamed at Brittany's phrasing—they were so, so in love, she realized as well, but Quinn looked tormented at being said to be able to fly and breathe fire.

That, nonetheless, made Rachel smile a bit. If there were anyone tough and strong enough to be a dragon, it would definitely be Quinn.

Then she saw the dragon plummet to the earth with self-despair and self-deprecation even more crippling than Finn's, and she felt as if the fall dragged her down, too.

-.-.-.-

If there were anything Rachel learned from being a regular slushie target in McKinley, it was that when things went bad, always remember Murphy's Law.

"Hello."

"Q-Quinn, hi." Why do you stutter, self? "I was just wondering if you're up for a discussion." Damn Mr Schuester and his ridiculous assignment. He had believed that pairing Santana with her would make her determination rub off on Santana. If only he knows what you've just committed yourself to, her inner self mocked. Fiddling with the edge of her comforter and frowning when she encountered a long silence, Rachel waited for the person at the other side of the call to respond. "I mean, I just want to know what you think of my chosen number for this duet. So Emotional is a great song, and it will accentuate both of our vocal, but I need some input for the dance moves."

"You've performed with San before. Remember when Mr Schue proposed to Ms Pillsbury?" She could even hear the irritation in Quinn's voice, really. "I've lent you a video of my Cheerio performance. Mine are basically pretty similar to San's signature move. Learn from it."

"Quinn, you don't understand. I'm going to have to sing with Santana. Santana! She's going to kill me if I mess up since she's a grenade personified!"

"And your fiancé is a time bomb. You'll make a good bomb-defusing specialist, Rachel."

The way Quinn's tone grew cold almost mimicked the way her stomach iced over.

Quinn knew.

"How did you know?" Her voice was reduced to a whisper.

"How I know doesn't matter. I guess it's too much for you to tell me in person, huh?" A curt laugh. "Look, I have an appointment."

"Quinn, you don't understand—"

"That's the second time you tell me I don't understand," Quinn interrupted. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't understand anything." A pause. "But even if I do, it's not like it's going to make any difference. After all, you never listen."

"Quinn—"

"I've gotta go. Bye."

The call ended with a click that resonated louder that it was supposed to. She could only stare at the phone in her hand, digesting what Quinn had said and wondering what had made Quinn sound so upset.

Then again, wasn't Quinn always angry when it came to Rachel's decision about her future?

Except that one time when she decided to come to your wedding, her inner self said, and it immediately created a churning sensation in her stomach. She told herself to stop thinking about the wedding because it led to thinking about Quinn's accident, and thinking about Quinn's accident led to recalling the numerous scars on Quinn's back—she put them there—and the wheelchair and the despair she witnessed when she brought Quinn to meet Sean and—

Rachel ran faster than she thought she could to the toilet and threw up, emptying her stomach.

-.-.-.-

As silly as it might sound, Rachel wondered if she had been a kind of real life star in Twilight Zone.

Quinn was singing... with Joe.

To begin with, it was understandable when it was Artie. Whether she liked it or not, Artie was part of the support system Quinn needed—and she failed to give. But this? What was with that unabashed smile Quinn threw at Joe? That come-hither glance? That kind or staring she used to give to Finn and Sam? And she did not really pick this song herself, did she? And, for Barbra's sake, wouldn't anyone care enough to call an end to this inelegance? Even Santana barely concealed her disgust as she looked at the pair performing at the moment!

However, she did not really have a chance to voice her thought as it was next her turn to perform. Santana and she nailed the song and, thanks to Quinn's video, she did not mess up.

Well, let's hope that her luck prevailed still.

"Do you know you can learn a lot about people by looking at their lockers?"

If it were in another life, the way Santana jumped at her voice might have brought a laugh. But not in this life. In this life, she was Rachel Berry and the person standing before her was Santana Lopez, ever an infamous badass and current head bitch in charge at school. And they were not friends.

That, however, was going to change today.

"Stalker much?" Santana's lips curled in a sneer, just like when she watched Quinn and Joe sing in the choir room.

"I think it's apt if we take a different direction from now on," she said. "I mean, we're always at each other's throat even when we can work together and produce amazing numbers."

Santana leaned closer, intimidating. "Not that I'm proud of it, but the reason why we don't get along is because I remind you so much of who you really are."

That was not what she had predicted. "I'm sorry?"

"Look at you." She pointed at Rachel, snickering. "And me." She pointed at herself. "We both won't hesitate to kill our best friend to get to the top."

That was not true, she wanted to argue, but then she thought of Sunshine and Kurt and Mercedes and Quinn and it made her shut up.

"I—" she began, "I know that we don't really get along well. But we've come so far, right? And there's only so little time left before we graduate. Forty two days, Santana. Afterward, we might not be able to see each other again." She paused. "So let's be friends."

Santana's eyebrows rose, and Rachel wondered if it was a trait shared by all Cheerios.

"Fine, fine. I'll do my best to restrain my urge to end you with a ball of socks down your throat."

She almost clapped at that. Seeing the Santana Lopez relent was not something people see in daily basis, after all.

"But," Santana promptly continued, "you keep your excessive, unnecessary public display of affection with Mr Infinity to the confine of your love hut."

"Santana—"

"Just take it as an advice from a... friend."

Now she did laugh at how Santana tried not to flinch at using the term, so she announced her intention of hugging Santana. The hug lasted only briefly, and she gave Santana a picture of her to be put in the Latina's locker. As Santana pinned the picture next to a picture of Brittany with pompoms, she noticed something.

"You have no picture of Quinn at all."

"Yeah?" Santana turned around. "Do you put even one single picture of your rival in your locker?"

"But she's your best friend."

"You didn't answer my question, short stack." At Rachel's frown, Santana said, "Being civil doesn't have anything to do with the names I call you with. Now answer my question."

She hesitated. "...I guess I don't."

"See?"

"But I'm not an adversary to a good change." Then the question that she was dying to ask was suddenly spilled. "Do you not think she looked more than a singing partner to Joe yesterday?"

"Now here's another advice." Santana pointed her forefinger to Rachel's face. "Mind your own business."

"But he's only a sophomore!"

"Who's been going to some of her therapy sessions."

"He what?"

Santana gave her a half-hearted glare. "Again, not your business."

"Santana, Quinn once told me she's not going to bring any load from the past to her future, and as far as I can interpret it, it means nothing—nothing—from Lima will tie her down in New Haven."

"Pot and kettle, no?"

Whoever created this grenade surely never bothered to time its countdown to explosion, really.

At her sudden speechlessness, Santana only shrugged. "If Joe makes her happy, I don't see any point of denying her this chance." She fixed Rachel a strangely understanding stare. "And all these complaints of yours about her not listening to you? Who are you trying to kid? Why should she when you never bother to listen to her as well?"

"But I do value her opinion," she countered, weakly.

"Oh, I'm sure you did a great job in that department, because the last time you did in that bridal store, it sounded like a dismissal to me. And hola! Only when she's T-boned by a truck, you finally came around." Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Listen, Rachel. I'm not gonna stop being a bitch just because now I have your picture in my locker. And so is Quinn."

La nina got a good point there, her inner self acknowledged.

Still stunned, she could only stand there when Santana brushed past her with a light pat on her shoulder. In the progression of her so-called friendships, it seemed that when she finally gained a step forward with Santana, she had to endure a massive backward leap with Quinn. She tried to console herself that at least she was trying, but she knew her trying fell short, judging by how easily tension reappeared between them.

Perhaps that was why she went through a friendship with Kurt so easily. Compared to Quinn—and Santana to a lesser degree, Kurt was uncomplicated and frank. He did not hide. Nor did he find the need to. Even when he tried for his father's sake to be someone he was not during his short stint with the football team, he was still himself.

Or perhaps that's why you keep trying with Quinn, her inner self piped up. Because she's complicated and enigmatic. Because she has these walls around herself to keep people out and herself safe. Because she's handed this image to maintain and expectation to meet. But despite it all, you've seen her at her most delicate. You've seen her sans the walls and the masks. You've seen the real her, and it's a big accomplishment you can't let go.

But Santana might have seen the real Quinn, too, she countered.

It's only logical, since she's Quinn's friend. But what about you? You said it yourself: you only have a so-called friendship. You're only, well, a kind of friend. You're no good at handling a complicated, enigmatic, wall-full, image-maintaining, and expectation-meeting business. You're good at simple things like, say, following your dream—though that's not so true anymore—and being with Finn. That's why you're so desperate to keep this bond you have with her—because she is everything Finn is not.

She blinked. Did she just compare Quinn to Finn?

Her inner self snickered. You know, a bomb-defusing specialist may be a good alternative career. Go for it, self.

-.-.-.-

Reference:

i. Puck and Finn locker scene was from Saturday Night Glee-ver. I just add more animosity to the scene.

ii. The idea of Rachel might have got a little help from Quinn, or Santana, about her dance moves in So Emotional comes from a talk I had with whoabeauties. She mentioned that there were some Tumblr posts that compared Rachel's hip sway to Quinn's in her Cheerios days. Scotoma, I believe, but no, I'm not complaining.

iii. When Quinn sings Never Can Say Goodbye, we can see she has a picture of Finn and Rachel in her locker, though Rachel's face is covered with a blue tape. Odd as it is, it's there.

-.-.-.-

Next chapter preview:

"Earth to Streisand! How dare you ignore a pregnant woman! Now listen, young lady. I'm offering you a chance to withdraw your nowhere near brilliant plan of an anti-prom quietly. I don't care if you have to roll on the floor swallowing your pride, but if a pregnant Q could man up to risk my wrath so that your oblivious club could have a page in the yearbook in junior year, you could, too. So now get out of my office and sweep the dirt you've created in the form of that preposterous anti-prom!"