AN: Here's another update!
Quinn didn't know what she'd been expecting when she stumbled her way into the hospital, trying to hide her limp behind some forced bravado and a smug grin that felt like it had been pasted on her face, but whatever it had been it definitely wasn't Rachel lurching forward to swallow her in a hug.
She fumbled, trying not to fall backwards as she stiffened, hands reaching up to push Rachel away or maybe pull her closer. "Rachel?" she asked lightly, breath still coming in short pants. Looking around the room she counted in her head and saw that everyone was present and accounted for - they'd even added one to their party it appeared, if the bedraggled looking woman slouched in one of the surviving waiting room chairs was any indication.
"You're okay," Rachel said, her grip tightening. Quinn patted her uncomfortably, every cell in her body screaming for her to get away from the embrace, feeling trapped with Rachel's lean body pressing so close.
"I told you I would be," Quinn replied, gently trying to ease herself out of Rachel's arms and smiling to soften the rejection. She didn't want to hurt Rachel's feelings - not ever again - but she couldn't handle being that close to anyone, and certainly not Rachel. It was still too raw. "I wouldn't let them make a liar out of me."
Rachel, ever the tenacious little pitbull, hugged Quinn again, head resting heavily against Quinn's chest.
Resigned, Quinn told herself that it was okay, that just this once it would be okay; Rachel wasn't going to die just because she'd hugged her. Relaxing as much as she could, even going so far as to loosely return the hold, she shot Chevy a curious look over the top of Rachel's head, watching as he shrugged his shoulders and made an odd gesture that she took to mean "just go with it".
"Are - are you okay?" she asked, the first stab of real fear twisting her guts. Sure, she'd been pretty terrified racing through the streets on a dirtbike being chased by an antagonized mob of zombies, but if Rachel wasn't okay she'd lose it. Just lose it.
That thought was what broke her, and she untangled herself from Rachel and took two steps away, scanning the other woman for injuries to mask her escape. Rachel didn't seem to notice or care, staring at Quinn like she was a ghost, just like she had when Quinn had woken up in the back of an old Bronco after saving her life.
"You're bleeding," Rachel said, openly not answering Quinn's inquiry.
Quinn touched the scrape on her elbow and her fingers came away red. "Yeah, um, Chevy, I'm really sorry but I sort of crashed your dirt bike."
"It's okay." Chevy sighed, hands resting possessively against the M4 slung across his chest. "It was a piece of shit anyway. I'm sure we'll find a better one."
"You're in luck though, Hollywood," Alex said and pointed at the new comer who was watching them all warily. "We found a doctor. She can patch up that little cut for you."
"That'd be nice." Quinn smiled at the doctor and lifted her elbow up so she could see the damage better. "I think it might need some stitches, if you can manage that. I'm Quinn, by the way."
"I know who you are," CJ said, hesitating only briefly before she got to her feet and approached Quinn like one would a feral beast. "God if this doesn't make me feel like I'm dreaming. I'm CJ."
Quinn nodded, completely understanding where CJ was coming from. Finding herself starring in a real version of her movies had often made her feel like she was still filming and simply dreaming that she was her character all over again.
"What's that short for, anyway?" Luz asked, moving over to lean against the wall closer to Quinn, arms crossed over her chest and watching CJ like a hawk as she examined Quinn's arm.
"It's short for my name," CJ replied easily - distractedly - as she probed the deep cut just above the point of Quinn's elbow.
Quinn arched her eyebrow a little higher and smirked at Luz's scowl, knowing full well that CJ had just unintentionally made a friend. Luz had a strange way of accepting people: the more you were able to dish it back the better the friendship you could forge with her. She was like Santana in that way - in a lot of ways - and while it had taken Quinn awhile to get over that, to not see Santana every time she looked at Luz, she'd learned enough differences between the two to no longer see her old friend in the new one.
"This will need stitches, but perhaps it could wait until we get somewhere a bit safer?"
"Words of wisdom," Ollie agreed, standing up and hefting his bag over his shoulder. "I don't need a medical degree to second that motion."
Her elbow stung quite a bit, but looking around the dank, eerie hospital and then at the faces all crowded around her, Quinn had to third, more than okay with living with the pain a little longer if it meant being somewhere not there. "I led the horde out of town but they'll probably come ambling back this way soon."
"There's something we need to take care of first," Ethan spoke up quietly, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. Quinn side-eyed him, taking in the posture and feeling a sinking in her stomach. He looked like a repentant prisoner awaiting his sentence. She knew he wasn't talking about her scrapes, and when he finally looked up and locked eyes with her she felt her heart leap up into her throat, threatening to choke her.
Rachel seemed to recognize the same thing; she was shaking her head at him, denying the verdict before she'd even heard it.
Ethan didn't say another word, simply yanking down the collar of his shirt to reveal the bloody gauze taped to his chest.
Everyone standing close to him took an immediate step back, putting distance between themselves and the walking dead man.
"No," Rachel said, her voice as wobbly as her legs as she stepped towards him. "No."
"Rachel, I'm sorry... I wasn't fast enough this time," Ethan said so morosely that Quinn's eyes welled up. How callous a world they lived in, that someone could so easily accept their death knowing there was no hope, no cure to fight for. That this would not go into remission but had only one way out.
"No," Rachel repeated, striking him, slapping at his arm and chest in an agony they all knew too well. "No, no, no!"
Ethan caught her flailing hands and used them to tug her into his chest, careful to keep her face away from his wound as he held her tightly, rocking her against him as she sobbed wildly into his shirt. He didn't try to shush her, instead stroking her hair soothingly with his shaking hands, lips pressed against the crown of her head.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, then looked up, cheek pressed to Rachel's hair as he stared right at Quinn. "Could you...?"
"Me?" Quinn asked, blinking hard, shocked that he would ask her.
Rachel jerked out of Ethan's arms at the request, spinning around to latch onto the nearest surface. She screwed her eyes tightly shut as she breathed hard through her nose, shivering from head to toe.
"I can't ask them, Rachel. I can't ask them to do this," Ethan explained, his pained smile touching each person in the room before landing back on Quinn.
"Why can't you do it yourself?" Luz demanded, shoving off the wall and putting herself between Quinn and the dying man.
But Quinn knew. "It's a sin," she said plainly, ignoring the looks of surprise. She pulled her crucifix out of her shirt and held it up for Ethan to see, gesturing at his chest where she'd seen one similar to her own hanging.
"The things we hold on to sometimes seem silly," Ethan commented, clutching the crucifix under his shirt in his palm.
"They keep us human," Quinn finished flatly, reaching out to touch Luz's arm, prying her out of her protective stance. She appreciated it, but it wasn't necessary. Ethan was already gone and she wouldn't refuse his last request.
"Rachel," Ethan said, laying his hand against her heaving shoulders, trying to ignore the way she flinched under the contact. "I love you, and I need you to know that you're going to be fine, babe. I'm going to be watching over you."
"Don't," Rachel croaked, bowing her head and slumping until her forehead landed on her arms. "I love you, too."
There was nothing any of them could do, nothing but the mercy Quinn could grant at some cost to her soul. But it wasn't for Ethan, they both knew that as Quinn followed him into an empty room, her shotgun heavier than ever in her sweaty palms. She didn't look at him as she stepped over to the window, she only saw Rachel who was shoving away the comfort being offered to her by her friends and falling into a chair as far away as possible, curling up and covering her ears. It wouldn't be enough to block out the sound, Quinn knew, but she hoped that it was enough to muffle it, to soften the blow.
She drew the blinds and when she turned back around Ethan was kneeling, hands on his thighs, palms up.
Swallowing back her revulsion, the hatred she felt for herself at what she was about to do, Quinn spoke. "What do you want?"
"You already know what you have to do, Quinn," he said wearily, only now crying openly, his dark eyes radiating regret as he stared at the shotgun. He reached behind his neck and fumbled for a long few seconds and then pulled his hand back, his crucifix dangling from his fingers. Quinn took the necklace from him and tried to be reverent about it when she put it into her pocket.
"My Latin is rusty," she admitted, wracking her brain for the right words, searching foggy memories long ago buried.
"I think He'll understand if you mangle it," Ethan laughed humorlessly.
Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth, jaw working as she struggled for breath. She had to keep it together, just for a little longer, he needed her to, Rachel needed her to. "R-requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine... et l-lux perp-petua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen."
She moved into position, unsteadily raising the shotgun until the barrel caressed the back of Ethan's head. Vomit threatened at the back of her throat, the acid harsh, but she welcomed it - nobody should be comfortable in moment's like this.
"I know that I don't have to ask you this," Ethan said, almost as haltingly as Quinn's Latin recitation. "Please, please look after Rachel, she's more fragile than she lets on."
"I will," Quinn promised, closing her eyes as her finger started to draw in, the trigger unyielding against her pull.
"We're all lost," Ethan continued, as though he knew that Quinn wasn't ready yet, that his sentence wouldn't be interrupted and left forever unfinished. "Some more than others. Don't ignore the signs because the destination scares you."
He didn't try to speak again and Quinn felt like she was suffocating in the silence, her eyes still closed as she pulled...
The shotgun went off in her hands and she nearly dropped it, surprised when it bucked. She hadn't wanted to be aware, hadn't wanted to know. Now she didn't want to be the one holding it. Keeping her eyes closed she stumbled away from where she'd heard the thump of the body hitting the floor and ran herself right into a hospital bed. She dropped the shotgun onto it like it was burning her hands, and yanked her jacket off, turning it inside out and wiping it over her face and neck. When she was done and couldn't feel the sticky warmth any longer she flung it away from her and finally opened her eyes, only looking at her hands, refusing to see what she'd done.
"Father, forgive me," she prayed - pleaded - quietly. "Please, I'm no priest or pastor, and I haven't been the most... Please, welcome him. There are so few good men left and he is a good man. Please keep him and let him be at peace."
She left the room as quickly as she could without being disrespectful and found the others standing where they'd been before. CJ had her hand over her mouth, fat tears streaming down her face. Luz, Alex, and Chevy looked at her, their expressions too kind for Quinn to stomach. Ollie, who she didn't know well at all, looked angry more so than sad and she could appreciate that. She'd earned that, she felt, and wouldn't begrudge him if he hated her from then on.
And Rachel… Rachel unfolded herself from the chair, moving like every bone in her body was stiff with a kind of pain few would understand. She stood, tension rolling up from her toes to the top of her head, a wooden puppet whose master had gripped the strings to bring her to life. Those big brown eyes were dull, lifeless as they locked onto Quinn. She'd said she couldn't handle any more ghosts following her around and now she'd become the apparition herself.
Quinn wanted nothing more than to find the resolve, the strength she needed to approach Rachel, to embrace her and bring her back to life.
But Quinn was a coward.
Rachel didn't wipe at her face - her tears stayed where they were, drying in the lines they'd created in the dirt smeared on her features. Her jaw was hard and her voice gruff when she commanded that they "get the fuck out of this hell hole."
Quinn trailed after the others, the last one out of the cursed hospital, Ethan's cross a lead weight in her pocket.
"Forgive me," she whispered, crossing the threshold back into the danger of the night to join the other monsters.
No one said anything, not a single word, as they hurriedly picked their way back over the hill to where the rest of the convoy was waiting with hopeful stares. Rachel hated it, not her people nor their hope, but what she hated was how their faces fell, how their eyes gleamed in the gray dawn with unshed tears as they counted the returning party and didn't see Ethan amongst their ranks.
She couldn't talk to them, couldn't bare facing them. She'd failed, again. And this time the price she'd paid had been Ethan. Checks and balances, the universe had given her Quinn and taken Ethan away.
CJ entered their camp and Ethan would never come back.
Checks and balances. Who would they lose now that they'd added one more to the ranks?
Rachel didn't stay to introduce CJ to the rest of the group, instead making a beeline for her Bronco, each step painful, jarring the tears free from her eyes. Kevin took one look at her and swooped in, wrapping his arm around CJ's shoulders and ushering her over to Ethan's suburban, speaking lowly, as though if he spoke too loud Rachel might come undone.
She hated that he was right.
The safety of her Bronco was only a few paces away when a small form cut into her path, a mop of dark brown hair partially obscuring the young eyes that looked up at her. Skyler smiled tentatively, unperturbed by Rachel's inability to do anything other than stand there swaying listlessly. He jumped forward, his small arms reaching around her hips and face pressed into her stomach, holding her tightly.
Skyler didn't talk; he'd been mute since they'd found him and stayed that way despite the numerous attempts of every convoy member to get him to speak. He liked Rachel though, and Ethan had often told her it was because she talked enough for both of them.
Just as Rachel was reaching up, her hand moving so slowly to touch his hair, Skyler pulled away with a furious blush and darted off. She watched him go and felt guiltier still for feeling a bit of relief, for the smile that touched her face because Skyler was glad she was back.
She was back and Ethan wasn't.
Another ghost to stalk her… she'd asked Quinn not to be that one that would join the ranks haunting her and Quinn was the one who'd...
Rachel felt the eyes on her, knew without looking that it was Quinn watching her, worrying over her.
Shaking her head, Rachel yanked open the door to the Bronco and collapsed inside. Her energy left her with her breath as she landed on the bench seat, the seat belt digging into her ribs and reminding her that she was very much awake - it wasn't a nightmare she was trapped in. She was barely able to lift herself up to pull the door closed behind her and it clicked weakly into place, not sealing completely and she didn't care. Flopping back down she searched under the seat with a trembling hand until her fingertips hit soft fabric. Dragging the shirt out from it's hiding place she pulled it against her face, taking in a deep breath and then releasing it with the first sob of many. She beat the seat under her, lashing out and punching the door, the glove box - whatever she could reach - until her knuckles hurt and her hand cramped.
Using her Daddy's shirt to muffle the sounds, she let go of her tenuous control and drowned.
She wasn't surprised when Quinn showed up a few hours later, this time knocking politely, if shyly, on the passenger window.
Rachel had managed to avoid her as they readied to leave and continue their trip towards the coast. She'd done her damndest to stay away from her because it hurt to look at her. The guilt was eating away at her - and maybe it wasn't fair to Quinn - but that's the way it was. She knew it wasn't Quinn's fault but that didn't make it any easier.
Certainly the fact that Rachel's stomach erupted into butterflies at the sight of Quinn wasn't her fault. It did nothing to tamp down Rachel's disgust at herself. Disgust that she could be happy, that she could be experiencing whatever these feelings were in the wake of Ethan's... passing.
It was her fault. It didn't make sense but she continued to accept the blame. How could she not?
She had to distance herself; it was the only way to keep everyone else safe. Her concern for Quinn had made her reckless and because of that a man was dead.
Rachel would not lose another person because she was being selfish.
Hiding puffy eyes behind her sunglasses she stiffly waved for Quinn to go ahead and open the door. There could be no harm in allowing Quinn to ride with her; they were relatively safe inside the moving vehicle and Rachel would be watching herself carefully to make sure her judgement remained impartial.
There would be no giving in to her emotions, not anymore.
Quinn smiled half heartedly as she pulled the door open. "Hi... turn left here?"
"Get in if you're going to," Rachel said gruffly, heart aching when Quinn's smile fell, a blank mask swiftly covering her features. It was a look Rachel knew well. She wondered how it could be that seeing it again could hurt so badly, even if she'd wanted it not seconds before.
Without another word Quinn took her place, long arm propped up against the window and legs stretched out before her, the very picture of cool detachment. She glanced at Rachel only briefly and then leaned back into her seat with the softest sigh.
Rachel started the Bronco up and grabbed her walkie - not the one Quinn had given her, that she'd thrown into the back with the rest of the supplies where she intended for it to stay.
"Let me know about fuel. I'd rather not have to make another pit stop any time soon," she ordered.
Nobody joked about Starbucks, or anything else for that matter, and their replies were right to the point. Rachel could have screamed because it was different and she didn't want the reminder any more than she wanted them to act like nothing was. Like there wasn't a huge hole now, one that Rachel didn't know if she could crawl back out of or fill back up.
Everything hurt.
They traveled in silence for over an hour with Quinn pointing only to keep Rachel going the right direction. The tension between them was still there, dense and infuriating for Rachel who felt like she was swimming in it.
She was angry. Angry at Ethan, angry at Quinn, angry at the whole fucked up world, but mostly at herself. The things she was feeling weren't welcome, and it had only showed up with Quinn and her stupid smile and plans and... Quinn-ness. Rachel would be dead if it weren't for her and she was mad about that, too. She was supposed to be the leader, the strong one, and if she hadn't felt worthy of the mantle before now she knew she wasn't. Who was she to lead? She was a goddamn Broadway singer, a tiny loudmouth who had once told the boy she loved that she needed applause to live. Selfish, arrogant, and spoiled. A Diva not a leader.
Quinn was picking at the gauze wrapping her arm when Rachel shot a glare her direction, and if she sensed the irate stare she didn't react, continuing to pick at the strings. It probably itched like hell. Rachel hoped so. She hoped it hurt.
"It's okay to hate me," Quinn said abruptly in her rasp of a voice, the gravelly sound only adding fuel to Rachel's anger.
Her nostrils flared and she would have been embarrassed by the reaction if she wasn't so busy contemplating all the reasons she did hate Quinn and the longer list of reasons why she didn't. Hate was easy; Quinn wasn't ever easy. Not Before and certainly not now. She'd never been simple, Quinn Fabray the enigma, the puzzle that Rachel never could solve.
Unbidden, a ridiculous quote surfaced amidst her muddled thoughts:
Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.
She was afraid, so very afraid, but she didn't need Yoda in her head to remind her of that. And damn Finn Hudson for making her watch those movies. Surely there were better things for her brain to be dredging up to make her feel like shit.
Afraid of what though, she wondered, tightening her jaw and grinding her teeth together. That was the million dollar question and there were so many answers. There were so many things to be afraid of - how could she choose just one?
She didn't realize she was crying again until she flinched and awareness flooded back in.
Quinn's hand was on the wrist that was lying limply between them on the seat.
Quinn, who was so skittish about contact of any sort, was initiating it, her calloused hand sliding slowly down Rachel's wrist and then wiggling it's way under Rachel's own hand, holding it loosely. Rachel could feel how hard it was for Quinn to do that, to be holding her hand, and she wanted to hate her for that, too. For offering comfort when it was so obviously hard for her to do so.
Instead she carefully opened her hand, fingers uncurling against that rough palm to twine her fingers with Quinn's, leaving them there for as long as Quinn would let her.
Both of them were quietly surprised later when they moved to exit the vehicle and suddenly remembered that they were connected.
Neither said anything about it as they untangled their fingers and went in opposite directions. The physical tether between them had broken, but the invisible one that neither could explain held strong.
Rachel refused to hope.
TBC...