AN: I apologize for the wait! I was doing NaNoWriMo! But we're back in business now!
Quinn was a coward.
She knew that about herself. Loathed it and tried to change it, but when it came down to it she'd always been a coward.
Too afraid of losing her reputation to let go of Finn.
Too afraid of being alone to admit the true paternity of her baby.
Afraid, afraid, afraid. Almost every action she'd taken had been borne out of fear.
Then the world had changed and she'd lost everything. It was the one thing that she'd been most afraid of her entire life, and unlike all the times in the past when she'd been her own downfall, there was nothing she could have done differently.
She'd lost her baby for good. After spending so much time and effort to get her back, to be in her life, Beth had been torn away from her and she was powerless to change it. Her only recourse was to bury the pain as deep down as she could and never touch it again, never think on it, never even dare to breathe her baby's name lest that be taken away from her somehow, too.
There were new things to be afraid of now, but strangely it wasn't death that Quinn feared the most. She wasn't afraid of being ripped apart and eaten alive - that wasn't the thing that kept her awake at night.
It was the idea of being close to someone again, of letting someone get in and then watching them leave her, that's what she couldn't bear thinking about.
She was afraid of life. Terrified of it.
The best way she could see to avoid that was to play tough. She faked the funk to the best of her abilities and she was brilliant at it. She'd always been a pretty good actress, after all. Hiding her cowardice came as naturally as breathing; it was even easier than before because everyone was afraid of dying, and Quinn wasn't. They all thought she was fearless.
It was almost funny in the worst kind of way.
Then Rachel-freaking-Berry arrived, or maybe Quinn had arrived in the nick of time. Quinn wasn't quite sure how to think about the whole thing. Everything about Rachel had always done something to Quinn, messing her up inside. When she was younger she reacted to that by shoving Rachel as far away as possible in any way possible. The girl fucked with her head, clouded everything, and it appeared that that was still the same, no matter what else had changed.
She made Quinn more afraid than anything else in the world, but she also made her feel truly brave. Made her want to actually, really be brave and not just fake it any longer.
And that was scary, too.
Part of Quinn wanted to stay away from Rachel at all costs, but that part was at war with the other side, which begged her to be as close as Rachel would let her, to allow her the access that Quinn kept from everyone else.
It all gave Quinn a monstrous headache.
There was a new wrinkle now: Quinn had mercy killed Rachel's friend, her protector, her... Ethan. And she could see how badly it had messed Rachel up. Couldn't blame her for it, either. Nor could she be upset with Rachel if she decided to hate her for it.
Trouble was, seeing Rachel like that... it had always done more damage to Quinn than she let on, even Before. All she wanted was to take it away, to undo what she'd done and try to be brave. She wanted to be allowed to want things, even if she didn't understand the reasons for it.
She'd surprised herself earlier, in the Bronco, by reaching for Rachel's hand. It had been an impulse, because seeing the tears trek down Rachel's face wrecked her enough for a crack to appear in her cowardly armor. So she'd done it: gone against herself and taken Rachel's hand, anticipating righteous anger and to have the gesture tossed back in her face.
But Rachel had never done what Quinn expected and that hadn't changed either. Rachel had accepted the comfort, and though Quinn had trembled some time after, she'd also relished the contact. Rachel's fingers between hers had felt so right. Dangerously so.
When they'd stopped for the day Rachel had fled the Bronco as if it were on fire, but Quinn didn't feel the hurt she'd expected. She did hurt - she ached for Rachel - but her feelings weren't bruised in the slightest. As she left the Bronco and shuffled back towards Chevy and Luz and Alex, she'd felt... hopeful.
Like maybe she could overcome her obstacles.
Maybe.
Night fell quickly like a thick blanket of stars unfurling across the sky, and Quinn wondered if wishing on stars was too childish a thing to do anymore.
She did it anyway.
Across the "camp" she saw the red-headed guy... Kevin? She saw Kevin chasing Rachel all the way back to her Bronco, holding a can out to her like a desperate boyfriend trying to make reparations with a bouquet.
Rachel whirled around so quickly that Kevin nearly fell backwards. Quinn couldn't hear what was said but she guessed it was not what Kevin wanted to hear, assuming she was reading his body language correctly. He scampered away from Rachel with his tail between his legs and Quinn tried not to smile.
Fierce little Rachel.
In her own hands, Quinn held a similar can of something or other, the label long ago peeled off leaving her with a mystery supper.
Chevy plopped himself down next to her, nudging her over so he could share the tire for a backrest and tapped at the can. "Want to trade?" he asked, eyeing his unopened dinner like it was the Can of Worms.
"Not even a little," she replied distractedly, watching Rachel scale the side of her Bronco, more than slightly impressed that the tiny woman could manage such a feat.
Deciding to try and be brave again, Quinn used Chevy's body to help her pull herself back to her feet, and she ignored his grunt of protest, heading towards Rachel's Bronco. The can of food was warm in her palm and she hoped it wasn't something that would turn out to taste even worse warm.
When she reached her destination she paused, staring up the side of the truck. There would be no sneaking up on Rachel; the second she started to climb her presence would be announced. If she was going to back out now would be the time.
Throwing caution to the wind Quinn grabbed for a handhold on the slick, dirt-washed side of the Bronco and began to climb. Sure enough, the entire frame was jostled by her efforts, and when she popped her head over the roof Rachel was already waiting, glaring over at the intruder.
Quinn didn't bother with saying anything. She already knew Rachel wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. Simply inviting herself up onto the roof she made herself right at home, sitting a good foot away from Rachel with her legs resting down the slope of the windshield.
They sat in silence once again, and Quinn tried not to be offended at the way Rachel was leaning slightly away from her. If anyone could appreciate a need for distance it was Quinn. Instead of forcing the issue Quinn stayed very still, the only movement coming from her hands as she lazily rolled the can between her palms. Waiting patiently, she continued to glance at Rachel out of the corner of her eye, knowing it was only a matter of time.
Finally Rachel looked at the can, at Quinn's hands, and then looked up, brown eyes shimmering in the distant light of the fires.
"I thought maybe we could share," Quinn offered, stopping the can and holding it out. She smiled timidly, reminded of Lucy and her attempts to make friends by sharing the treats in her lunch pail. Lucy would have been rejected; Quinn never shared out of fear of that same rejection. Now she was a combination of the two, lips trembling against her fear all the while hoping that her gift might be accepted.
Rachel hesitated, hand starting to lift from her lap only to drop back and then rise again, and she gently took the can from Quinn's grasp as Quinn beamed through watery eyes.
"I saw you chase off Kevin," Quinn commented, keeping her tone light and gentle, not wanting to break the unstable truce. "Was the lunch lady - er, man - not offering vegan options again?"
"You really need to stop living in the past... the only vegan friendly food out here is sand," Rachel said. Her voice was so hoarse that Quinn felt a sympathetic burn in her own throat.
As if she needed more evidence of Rachel's crying.
Quinn ducked her head and pushed some strands of hair that had come loose from her braid back behind her ear. "Well it's not sand but I suspect it will be equally as enjoyable."
Rachel opened the can with a soft grunt and Quinn leaned over as close as she could dare to see what awaited her skeptical taste buds. It was so dark that she couldn't see much; really it all kind of looked like cat food to her anyway.
Because that would make swallowing the mushy substance better.
"I think it's soup," Rachel said, squinting at the contents and shaking the can. She held it out towards Quinn's face, her expectation clear. Quinn wrinkled her nose, cautiously sniffing the air above the 'food'.
"Cream of chicken?" she guessed, pushing it away and gesturing for Rachel to take the first mouthful.
"Probably best not to think about it," Rachel sighed tilting the can against her mouth and choking slightly, shaking her head as a glob fell onto her tongue. "It's delicious."
"You're a horrible liar," Quinn told her and took her turn with their dinner. "The worst part is, I know it's foul and yet my stomach is so glad for anything that it sort of overrules the taste."
"It could use some salt."
Quinn chuckled, thinking that it could use a whole lot more than a sprinkle of salt. They continued to pass the meal back and forth until the can was empty and their stomachs relatively full. Rachel spoke a few words here and there, but the ease that they'd communicated with before was gone and Quinn missed it more than she'd care to admit.
Looking to the sky again Quinn studied the stars, taking her comfort in the never changing shapes of the constellations. It didn't matter how the world below twisted or rotted, the stars remained untouched. She leaned back slowly, her ribs aching in protest of the movement - she'd banged herself up more than she'd let on when she'd dumped the dirt bike. The roof of the Bronco was comfortably cool against the heat radiating from her back and a sigh of contentment passed her lips. "Find joy in the small things, Quinn," her therapist used to say.
She was surprised when Rachel laid back as well, the shift in position bringing her closer until her arm pressed up against Quinn's. Her skin crawled at the contact, slight as it was, and she almost pulled away but managed to remain still, forcing herself to allow it.
"That's Sagittarius," Quinn said, the pressure in her chest begging for her to do something - anything - to take her mind off Rachel's proximity. She pointed up at the sky and traced the constellation all the while feeling Rachel following her finger's path. "That's your sign, right?"
She felt more than heard Rachel take a deep breath. "You remember when my birthday was?"
"Is," Quinn reminded gently. The end of the world didn't mean people stopped aging, they just had no way to track it anymore. Old calendars only got them far enough to try and count the passage of years, not so much the months that made them. "Your birthday is December 18th."
"I..." Rachel shook her head, a few locks of her inky hair falling onto Quinn's shoulder. "Where's your sign?"
"Leo," Quinn said and pointed again. "August 16th."
"August 16th," Rachel repeated, raising her own hand and connecting the dots that made up the lion. "A lion is fitting."
"Are you suggesting that the Archer is a good representation of yourself?"
"Maybe, but not as good as the Lion," Rachel said, hand dropping back down onto her stomach. "I don't suppose you can tell me my horoscope?"
"I could try." Quinn squinted up, floundering under the question. She could try and make something up, sure, but the potential for backfire was high. "I'm no expert."
"Seems like it," Rachel waved up at the sky. "When did you learn about constellations?"
"My - My Dad used to... when I was little and things were good between us and he wasn't drinking that week… He had an amateur telescope..." Quinn shrugged, not really wanting to continue down that path. Some things didn't soften with time. "I like stars, too, just for different reasons than you used to."
Rachel snorted, but the sound was strange and when Quinn bravely turned her head to see what had caused the difference she froze.
She was crying.
Quinn could have kicked herself, accepting all the blame for the tears she could barely see smoothly slipping out of the corner of Rachel's eyes, trailing down her cheek, and dripping into her hair. It didn't matter that she couldn't pinpoint exactly what she'd said - she'd made Rachel cry. Again.
"Rachel," her voice cracked embarrassingly over two simple syllables. Two syllables - one word - that held more weight and meaning to Quinn than a full paragraph. All the books she'd buried her nose in, all the words that made them up, every sentence that struck a chord with Quinn, and all things she could still quote - none of it compared to being able to say someone's name.
It was now or never, and she had to reach down and find true courage; she didn't want to fake it with Rachel, not now, not anymore.
Every muscle in her arm went taut as she reached out to lay her hand on Rachel's trembling shoulder. When her traitorous hand stopped halfway across her own body, fingers curling back into her palm like she'd hit a wall, she gave up.
She gave up.
Too hard, too much, too easy to mess it up more than she already had. Her hand fell back, thumping hollowly against the roof, and her anxiety returned, thrumming through her body like she'd touched a live wire. Soldier ants marched through her veins making her itch all over. She had to get away. Now.
"I'm sorry," she threw out quickly, the words half garbled as she bailed out, rolling and hopping off the roof. Her knees ached when they slammed into the sand and she stayed there, so disgusted with herself that she could barely move. She dug her fingers into the ground, sifting through the grainy sand and clutching fistfuls, watching it spill out of her hands.
She couldn't hold on to anything. It all slipped right through her grasp no matter how tight it was.
"Q?" Chevy called out. Having seen her dramatic escape he was already half rising, Luz and Alex moving to follow him and come to her aid. She waved them off, offering no explanation for what had to look like the most bizarre behavior.
Running seemed like the best idea, but she had nowhere to run to.
Failure.
Coward.
She heard it in her father's voice, his disapproval so clear that it made her shudder.
Drowning in self-loathing she struggled to her feet, wincing at the creak in her joints. Quinn held up a hand, palm out towards her friends who were clearly ready to rescue her. She didn't want to be rescued, didn't want their "understanding" or pity.
Like a bastard - like the ghost of her father - she'd left a woman crying alone and stumbled off into the dark, stalking amongst the vehicles like some sort of nomadic vampire hungering for something she couldn't have. Ethan's Suburban sat at the very edge of the camp and she made a beeline for it, knowing it was empty because everyone was still hunkered down around the fires, too sick of being in the cars to turn in for sleep yet. Quinn slipped around to the dark side of the vehicle where she wouldn't be seen and there she collapsed back to the ground, sitting on her ass in the cold sand with her feet stretched before her, hands digging once more. She wondered if she could dig a hole big enough to disappear into.
She didn't cry, though her eyes burned with want the tears simply wouldn't come. Too much time practicing holding them back and now it was a habit. She'd have a headache later for her troubles, but that was justice if ever she'd heard of it. Groaning, she tipped her head back and stared up at the moon. "It must be nice and peaceful up there," she said to it.
"Peace can be scary," an accented voice replied.
Quinn snapped her head in the direction it had come from and found CJ smiling at her.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you or intrude on your lunar musings. I thought I might take a look at my handiwork. Trade out those bandages for fresh ones."
Her arm. Quinn had almost forgotten, and she looked down at the gauze wrapping her elbow and lifted it up, noting the muddied red color that had stained through. "Sure, why not; it would suck to die from something as lame as a scrape to the funny bone."
CJ shrugged one shoulder and sat down next to Quinn, a small black bag ready in her hands. She worked swiftly, her cold fingers deftly prying the tape free from Quinn's arm. "It looks good if I do say so myself. Perhaps while I'm re-wrapping this you'd like to tell me why you're talking to the moon?"
"I don't know you," Quinn countered frostily, regretting her tone immediately when CJ pinched her arm. "Ow."
"Oh, sorry 'bout that, clumsy me," CJ apologized wryly. "I know that you don't know me, but that's easily remedied by this thing called 'talking'."
"Are you always such a smart ass?" Quinn asked.
"Only when my patients are so annoying," CJ said, smirking as she tightened the wrapping and finished it off with a couple of butterfly clips. "There, good as new."
Quinn touched her fingers to the gauze and sighed heavily. "Thanks... Candy?"
"Definitely not," CJ said, laughing.
"You wouldn't tell me even if I guessed right, would you?" Quinn narrowed her eyes as CJ shook her head.
"A lady has to have some mystery about her."
"But you would deny me mine?"
CJ pursed her lips and zipped up her bag, taking the time to set it carefully down at her side like she was afraid the sand might reach up and snatch it away. "Your mystery isn't so mysterious, Quinn. You might think that the others don't notice, but I do, and I see the way they're cautious with you."
Quinn sucked in a breath deep enough she thought for sure she cracked a few ribs with it, but she didn't dare try to speak.
That didn't appear to bother CJ in the slightest. "You're hiding something, like we all are, but you think yours is so awful... I can't help but wonder what it is."
"You wouldn't understand," Quinn bit out, alarmed to feel tears - actual tears - pricking at her eyes.
"It's okay to cry, Quinn. There's no shame in feeling things," CJ said, her hand burning against Quinn's knee when she laid it there. "I don't know you, but if I had to hazard a guess... There are many types of bravery out there, who are you trying so hard to be strong for? Someone here, or..."
"I can't," Quinn hissed, blinking free the first tear.
"We're all lost out here," CJ continued, removing her hand from Quinn when she felt her tense. "I think it's nothing short of bravery to be alive, to be searching for something... Isn't that what separates us from them?"
Quinn wanted to surrender, wanted to lean over and share the crushing weight, even if just for a second, but she was frozen, unable to act.
"It's not cowardice to accept comfort," CJ said. "You're not a coward for needing it, either, so don't think that. You're not betraying the dead by living, Quinn."
The proverbial dam burst. Quinn clutched fresh fistfuls of sand and cried. She cried for Beth, for her Mom, for Rachel, for all of them.
For herself.
Moments later - seconds, minutes, hours later - her tears slowed, the last couple tickling down her neck as she drew in a deep, ragged breath. CJ remained impassively sitting next to Quinn, one eye on her patient while mostly looking out across the desert, allowing for privacy while still being there, ready to help should it be asked for.
Quinn couldn't remember the last time someone had held her, the last time she'd let someone hold her. As much as she wanted it she couldn't accept or ask for it. Beth, her baby, that was the last person - precious little person - that she'd had meaningful contact with. She'd hugged her goodbye before she boarded a plane to go back to Los Angeles. Now every single time someone touched her she thought about it, re-lived it in startling detail. It tore away at her, threatening to shatter her battered, broken heart that was somehow still beating in her chest.
Needing something, anything, to break out of the funk her collapse had brought on, to get away from the image of Beth's bright smile and sweet blonde curls, Quinn said the very first thing that popped up in her head.
"Is Wisdom 101 required for your MD?"
CJ chuckled. "Now who's the smart ass?"
Quinn managed a shaky smile with her trembling lips. "Thank you, for..."
"Any time," CJ interrupted, holding up a finger to silence anything further from Quinn. "Is that not what friends are for?"
"You can use contractions like a normal person and it won't make you sound less British," Quinn said, wiping the lingering sticky residue of her tears away from her neck.
"English - it won't make me sound less English," CJ stressed with a haughty air that made Quinn laugh. "I'm not sure how I could possibly sound more English, at any rate. Throw in a bollocks or two? God save the Queen? Offer you a biscuit?"
Shaking her head at CJ's overly innocent expression, Quinn sighed and squinted over at her now grinning companion. "What are you doing in the States anyway?"
"I was frantically hiding my tea to insure that it didn't get tossed into a harbor," CJ quipped, then sighed. "I came here for Uni, actually." She paused, swallowing so hard that Quinn heard it, and then continued, more huskily than before. "I had every intention of fleeing back home as soon as I was finished, but... things changed and then they changed again and here we are."
Who did you lose? was the obvious question on the tip of Quinn's tongue, but she restrained herself from asking. CJ may have opened the door already, but that didn't mean Quinn would just boldly invite herself to dig up her new friend's secrets. It was enough that she'd sat there while Quinn cried.
And then she realized...
It was enough.
Despite the fact that Before Rachel had been more than willing - eager even - to share her emotions with the whole world, she found that now she wanted to hide them. She wasn't afraid to express herself, and that part of her would probably live on no matter what else was thrown her way, but she'd learned that being able to control herself wasn't so much artistic stifling as it was being an adult. The diva storm outs were gone, cast aside along with the foot stomping and pouting and general tantrums of her youth.
She had to be a grown up now. People depended on her.
So after Quinn abandoned her she didn't stay on the roof where anyone could see her and hear her crying. She'd laid there with her hands over her mouth and counted to one hundred, making it all the way to forty-eight before she leaned over to make sure Quinn was really gone, and only then had she fallen off the roof with all the grace of a drunkard. Getting into the Bronco was easy enough and the windows were tinted so she knew nobody would see her inside. Hopefully they wouldn't have seen her fling herself into the welcoming dark of her truck, either.
Inanimate objects really did make the best of friends.
She allowed herself to cry a little longer, throwing herself the best pity party she could with her Daddy's shirt balled up in her lap and her teeth digging into her knuckles to muffle even the harshest of sobs. It only worked partially, the small keening sounds still somehow escaping.
Young Rachel would have been horrified by it - she sounded like a dying rabbit.
Her tears eventually ran dry, replaced by panicky breaths as she hyperventilated, but that didn't last either. Soon enough - perhaps too soon - she was left alone in the Bronco, hiccuping and wiping snot and tears on her arm, not wanting to sully the already tattered shirt she clung to in place of her long lost teddy bear.
There were many things that she'd learned and one of her very first lessons had been to expect the unexpected, but she was still surprised when Qui - the passenger door, not Quinn's door - was yanked open again.
Too shocked to even reach for Mick she could only stare stupidly, squinting through her puffy, watery eyes at Quinn, looking for all the world like she wasn't sure what she was doing here, either.
Quinn didn't say anything - an irritating new habit - but Rachel could tell that she was breathing fairly heavily and hanging onto the door like she'd fall over if it weren't for the support.
Anger swelled back up, stinging her with fresh tears that burned so badly in her tired eyes that she wanted nothing more than to shut them, let the tears go, and not open them again until Quinn vanished again. She'd never been so furious with a person. How dare she show up once more at Rachel's door looking terrified and hopeful and about to collapse? Like she'd come to some sort of realization and decided that it meant she was free to torment Rachel's soul just that bit more.
She turned her head and looked out the window away from Quinn, hiding her new tears and avoiding the one person who'd landed back in her life, it seemed, only to cause her more pain than she could handle. A constant reminder of things never to be found again, of people who were gone, of a life that Rachel had dreamed of for so long and wasn't ever going to get to have.
How dare she come back.
Rachel hated her, she hated every inch of the stupid face, those broken, haunted eyes, that tentative smile. She was fine before Quinn and now everything was falling apart.
And why? For what? Because the universe or God or something decided that she needed to suffer more? A punishment for her youth?
The door clicked weakly shut and Rachel peeked over her shoulder to see if Quinn had left her behind again.
She hadn't.
Quinn sat stiffly, awkwardly settled in the passe - in her seat, and she was looking back at Rachel across the bench. They couldn't even see each other all that well in the gloom but Rachel could feel it, the weight of Quinn Fabray looking right at her, through her.
More than she hated Quinn she lo - no - no, that was impossible. No. But she didn't hate Quinn, or she did… Rachel frowned at herself and sniffled mightily, not wanting to wipe her nose on her arm like a gorilla with Quinn sitting there with her.
Rachel would have snorted but that would have been a disaster, so she rolled her eyes instead.
She didn't hate Quinn, she hated herself, and Quinn… Quinn hated herself, too. Rachel knew that, she could see it and feel it when they were near each other. For what she didn't know, but it was nearly palpable, so clearly was it spoken in silence. It was in the way Quinn acted, her body language, her stumbling speech... so many signs - too many - and she'd put them away, shoved them down into her subconscious because she hadn't wanted to deal with the idea that Quinn could be that damaged.
Not when Quinn had always been so stubbornly strong.
It was terrifying to think about, let alone openly acknowledge.
And yet there they were, both hating so much and suffering for it.
It was enough.
They'd both suffered enough. More than the lion's share.
Maybe, just maybe, if she could meet Quinn halfway they could somehow stop. They could be better, they could end all the suffering without more tragedy.
She'd have to be careful and go slow, easing into it for both of their sakes. Ethan had already paid and Rachel would be damned before she lost another person because she was conflicted.
They didn't need words, not yet. That could wait until both of them even knew what to say.
Moving slowly so Quinn could see what she was doing, Rachel reached over and gently placed her hand on top of Quinn's, stilling her fidgeting fingers.
She heard Quinn's sharp intake of breath but pushed ahead, prying Quinn's trembling fingers away from each other and threading hers into their place. It was familiar; Quinn had done the same thing earlier, made that first step. It was safe territory.
Quinn's hand was tense at first, her fingers resistant and board stiff. Then she exhaled, almost sighing, and her grip relaxed. Their palms met, callouses scraping together, and there they were, sitting together and it was the end of the world...
Except it wasn't. Not really.
They'd suffered, but they'd survived.
And they would survive this too.
TBC...