AN: Update? Update. Things are about to get rough.
Although she'd told her fair share of people to go there and imagined that some activities could resemble a fiery pit of eternal doom, Rachel had never given much thought to the existence of Hell. On occasion she'd considered Mr. Schue to be the Devil. Once she'd told a friend that rehearsals for a particular show were Hell.
None of that compared to living in the world after the virus outbreak. That had surely been Hell on Earth.
And as hard as that had been, as much as she struggled and fought and cried, the current situation made her want to reevaluate her thoughts on the word and the place it represented.
Hell.
Was it a fiery pit with demons ripping people apart, torturing them over and over for all eternity while Satan sat on his throne and laughed at the screaming?
Or could it be normal people, mostly decent and kind, turning into mutated and diseased people that attack other humans with a viciousness that would turn a hyena off a meal? Might it be a planet full of them, stalking day and night to destroy the few survivors while everything they'd built crumbled and decayed?
Hell.
Was it more abstract, like how it felt to watch Quinn pull herself away and lock herself behind high-walls, knowing that she had been partially to blame?
They'd all been heading that way. The stress and terror caught up with them, demanding their attention. Even after the end of the world people were still people. They all reacted differently to the new hurdles they faced. Some grew irritable, snapping at everything and everyone. Angry, bitter, paranoid. Some sank into a depression, their facial expressions haunted as they withdrew from contact and social situations. Others overworked themselves, trying to stay one step ahead, and working and working until they were exhausted and sore as if that might help them to fall asleep and not have the energy left to conjure nightmares and memories.
Rachel wanted to check the box for all of the above. One minute angry and defiant, ready to tear into anyone for the slightest hint of attitude and the next she could barely stand, weak and tired and wanting to sleep for the rest of her life. What was the point of getting up and working? It was over.
It was over.
Work offered a respite. Tasks kept her mind busy on something other than survivor's guilt, pulling her away from thinking about Quinn and how that had gone off the rails so fast. They'd been building something together - she knew that, she wanted it - but it was as fragile as the people who held it up. Without both of them the weight was too much for one person and would crush whoever got left with the load. They needed each other.
Therein lay the problem.
It takes two to tango, but they'd started dancing different steps even as the same song played. They'd forgotten how to dance together.
It hurt.
It was Hell.
She had hope still, a thread to clutch at in the middle of the night when she woke up soaked with sweat and tears.
Quinn hadn't left, and that was something.
They were limping, trying to nurse wounds that neither had given a name to yet, but they hadn't left each other.
Rachel would sooner remove a limb than remove Quinn. She knew Quinn felt the same.
They just weren't saying it…
Actually they weren't saying much of anything at all.
Still angry and disappointed, Rachel watched Quinn go to bed every night. For three days so far it'd been on the couch by the fireplace instead of in the bedroom, or even the spare room. But not their room. Anger brewed like a thick burbling acid in Rachel's gut. It burned and crept up her chest, scorching, fueling her temper and testing her restraint.
She didn't say anything because patience was something she'd learned; they all needed it. She needed Quinn's patience and understanding, too. The fury had to be dealt with, and not at Quinn's expense.
Every time Rachel tried to speak – to say sorry, or demand her own apology, to talk it out – her words got caught between her throat and her teeth.
It was there, in the silence and space, all of it: everything they couldn't yet, or wouldn't yet, say to each other. If she squinted hard enough she thought she might even be able to see the words.
Quinn's face expressed everything they each couldn't voice. Her walls were up but they weren't as strong and her eyes spoke of the hurt she felt. Betrayal screamed at Rachel from the set of Quinn's jaw and the frown on her smart mouth.
Her actions said other things. Important things. The things Rachel wanted to hear, or see, or feel.
Quinn said I'm sorry in the way she made the bed she wasn't sleeping in. I need time, she explained by leaving out a warm mug of tea for Rachel in the morning. A promise of I'm not leaving you behind when she went to bed on the couch. I'm still here.
You're important to me, she whispered by tucking Rachel in at night when she thought Rachel had fallen asleep already.
Everything Rachel thought she should to say to Quinn died on her tongue so she licked her lips, swallowed the confusion and anger back, and tried to fix them in other ways. By actively trying, and by listening to the silence.
They were both broken, both at fault, and it might have been Hell, but they'd been Heaven before - or at least close to it. And she could be patient.
They were worth it.
Rachel knew she needed to work on herself, too, before she tried to help Quinn and before they tried to put emotions into words. She had to be able to say what she wanted, to express it well and clearly. But first she had to define what it was she actually wanted, because she still didn't know. Not for sure, anyway. Emotional changes after the real-world changes were tricky. They could be feelings brought on by the situation, and she had to be one-hundred percent sure.
Neither of them could deal with a mistake that tasted like a lie.
And that probably meant unloading some baggage, pulling open her chest and examining all the dark spots on her heart.
Painful, dirty, and awful – perhaps that would be Hell.
She got up early on the fourth day, to catch Quinn before she left. Not to talk, it wasn't time yet, but to watch. She let the silence speak for her, eyes tracking Quinn's careful movements, hands curled around her mug of tea.
Quinn stared back at her for a long moment, unreadable aside from the slightest twitch of her fingers resting at her side and the barely there arch of one pale eyebrow.
Rachel didn't smile, didn't wave, didn't ask Quinn to be careful. She just watched, leaning against the open front door of the cabin, as Quinn walked swiftly toward the other buildings.
She didn't look back.
And Rachel didn't need it. Instead she turned around and closed the door to the cabin. She left the bed a mess so Quinn could make it later, taking a moment to pick Mick up instead. Still in its holster, the trusty pistol hadn't been used in, well, in a long time. She pulled it out and ran her fingers over the sights, marvelling at how the weight in her hand felt calming.
A symbol of violence she didn't have to carry anymore.
"Goodnight bullets, goodnight gun, goodnight to being survivors on the run," she murmured, putting it back into the holster and tucking it away in one of the bedside drawers.
Her steps felt lighter as she left the bedroom again. With nothing on the agenda for the day except working on fixing another cabin, pretty soon they'd be able to try building a new one.
They carried hammers now, not guns. She may forever see everything as a potential weapon, but today – today she would focus on building with tools instead of destroying with them.
Today she would work on herself and trust Quinn.
Quinn would work on Quinn; that's who she was. She would follow the steps she knew worked because she'd done it before when Lucy became Quinn the first time. She understood transformation. Cheerleader to Gleek to mother to lost girl and so on. Quinn knew how to make changes and accept them.
She'll be okay, Rachel thought with a heavy sigh. We both will be.
"Thank God it's a dry island," she said to the empty cabin with a small, huffed laugh. "Otherwise we'd all be drunks."
Coward.
Quinn slammed the hammer harder at the nails. Sweat stung her eyes and trickled down her back. She swiped at it with her sleeve, ground her teeth, and swung the hammer again.
Bang!
Dirty.
Bang!
Rotten.
Bang!
Coward.
She wanted to scream, or cry, or throw up. The commentary continued with each repetitive slam, her hammer strikes jarring her hand all the way up to her elbow from too much force for the work she'd been given. Not that knowing that meant she could stop it.
It hurt. It all hurt, especially Rachel accepting the silent treatment with grace. It was treatment she didn't deserve, but Quinn couldn't stop now. She'd fallen into a hole and it remained easier to stand at the bottom of the deep chasm of silence than to start shouting for help. She felt guilty for trying to fix it - fix them - by doing other things. Stupid things, like making the bed she was too big of a coward to sleep in anymore.
Rachel deserved better.
She deserved bravery, not cowardice.
Quinn was a coward, and she knew it, but the others didn't. They didn't know and they didn't say anything and she couldn't pretend anymore.
There was nothing to cover it with anymore. She couldn't volunteer to do dangerous things. There were no storms to run out into. No gun wielding lunatics holding hostages. No zombies.
There was nothing left but Rachel.. and Becca. Becca who wasn't Beth, but looked close enough – close enough to break Quinn's heart, make it bleed all over the place.
Becca and Rachel, who had together managed to ruin Quinn's ability to pretend.
Chevy understood, or seemed to. Maybe he should have been the actor instead of her. He watched her so closely now, like a guardian angel or babysitter. His protective instincts had flared up and the deeper she fell into whatever this was the harder he worked at safeguarding her.
It should have been annoying. She should have hated it.
But she was a coward, and she wanted him close. Needed his strength to supplement hers, at least for now.
Because she had a plan.
A terrifying plan that had to be done because she was a coward, and she couldn't be that anymore.
She didn't like being alone but she couldn't be near Rachel because it scared her more. Becca depended on her more and more as the days passed. She'd already failed her own child and now another looked to her for protection.
Every day the agony worsened. A torture trap of her own making, her own mind and body forming a prison she couldn't run away from or shoot or beat to submission.
Only they weren't jammed together in cars anymore, fighting each day. The ship was gone and their transition period too short. The mission had been completed; they'd made it someplace safe.
Safe was dangerous. Now they had nothing to fight but each other and themselves.
Safe was an illusion, and she'd lost her armor.
"Hollywood," Chevy said in her ear.
Quinn dropped the hammer and spun around, heart beating against her ribs, eyes wide. He held his hands up.
"Easy, Quinn. Just me."
She shook all over and hid it by raising her chin and crossing her arms. "What's up?"
"You're crying," he said, looking away. Out of respect, most likely, but it made her stomach churn anyway.
She didn't deserve that.
"Whatever," she said, voice too pitched too high for a casually snide delivery. "Am I?"
He blocked the door, his broad shoulders filling the space and sucking all the air out of the room. She knew that Chevy would never hurt her, but in that moment she sized him up and realized how big he actually was. How strong. How easy it would be for him to overpower her.
She'd survived a car accident before, barely, and it had left her crippled. Coming back from that had been hard but she'd done it.
His name was Chevy and if he chose to he could wreck her like the truck that had hit her. Chevy could rip through her like the Chevy truck had ripped through her Volkswagen Bug.
Coward, her mind sneered. Her lip curled in response.
"Why don't you head over to the lodge? It's about lunch time; Becca's probably wondering when her favorite person is going to stop by." He continued to refuse to look at her.
She bristled, thinking of things to say. Struggling for snappy retorts that might knock him down to a more manageable size. "Okay," she said instead.
"We'll get through this, Q. I promise." He grabbed her wrist when she tried to slide past him and panic grabbed her lungs with chilly hands.
"Let go." She forced him to make eye-contact by forcing herself first. Brown eyes peered down at her and she saw concern there, not disgust. "Please."
"You're spiraling a bit, buddy," he murmured. "The offer still stands. You need someone to scream at? I'm your man. You need to punch someone? I'm your man. Whatever you need, whenever you need it."
She thought about kissing him. Glanced down at his mouth at the fleeting thought. She could wrap herself up in him, hide in his strength, run away using her body. She'd done it before.
But his eyes were like Rachel's. Brown and wide and warm. It wouldn't be fair to any of them. She couldn't use Chevy to run from Rachel. Couldn't go backward and do more damage to herself.
To Rachel.
Chevy would never be what she wanted. Too big, too strong, too male - too much the opposite of what she wanted.
She was trying to stop being a coward.
She didn't want Puck, or Finn, or Sam. Not Chevy, or Alex, or anyone else. Luz or CJ, either.
Just Rachel.
If she could just find a way to express that without saying it out loud. She could never get words back from the air once they left her mouth, and that made her cowardly heart trip mid-beat.
Thoughts were safe, but actions took bravery.
With a deep breath she faked a smile, watching him squirm. He'd noticed her looking. She saved him from having to address that, too. "Your lips are bleeding," she said, pointing at his cracked bottom lip.
"Oh." He sagged slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, this mountain air is murder on them. Hopefully we'll get a well dug soon. Thank God for that one geeky dude who knows how to do that shit."
"Yeah… Thank God," she repeated and eased around him. "I'll see you later. I've got some things to take care of after I leave the lodge. Don't wait up."
He grunted and she reminded herself to walk with her head held high as she left the run-down cabin they were fixing.
No more running.
"Quinn!" Becca came at a run, her little feet stomping on the creaking floor of the lodge. The other kids, mostly older, rolled their eyes as they witnessed the scene.
Quinn smiled a real, genuine smile and knelt down to welcome the impact of a child's running hug. She played it up, rocking back and 'oofing' as Becca knocked into her, giggling already.
"Quinn, we got to pick flowers," Becca said, bouncing in Quinn's arms, tiny hands clasped together. "I picked you some."
"Did you? That's so sweet." She released Becca before the squirming started and shook her head as Becca tore off down the hall.
"Hey, Q-be," Luz said as she approached. She hung back for a moment taking a long look.
Quinn let her, knowing that it wasn't meant to be offensive. Luz had become Mama Grizzly to the orphans, something the kids needed and Luz needed, too. If she wanted to check Quinn over and make sure she was in the right headspace to be around her charges, well, Quinn didn't fault her for that at all.
Of course that didn't mean she'd be nice in her assessment, even if she decided Quinn was a non-threat.
"You look like shit."
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Thanks."
"Anytime. Gotta keep that Hollywood ego from growing too big, ya know."
"I don't think you need to worry about that," Quinn said, reaching over to bump Luz's shoulder with her fist. "But, really, it's nice to know somebody's on the watch for that. Who knows, it could sneak up on me."
"I'm always in your corner, Q, you know that." Luz frowned, dark eyes trailing over Quinn. "For anything. I know you're all buddy-buddy with Chevy, but he's not your only friend in all of Humanity. Don't forget that. You need to talk and need chica time - you know where to find me."
A blush warmed Quinn's cheeks and she faked a cough, scratching at her cheek. "Yeah, I know. Speaking of which. I've got this thing I have to do today. I just wanted to stop by and say hi to Becca before I went. Could you make sure to do the bedtime story tonight? I don't know how long this is going to take. I don't want her to worry."
Luz narrowed her eyes. "This 'thing' wouldn't happen to be in the woods, would it?"
"It's a personal thing," Quinn said with a raised eyebrow. It was easy enough now to pretend to be the hero. She'd played the character enough times. If Luz saw any hint of doubt she'd never let her leave.
Or, even worse, she'd alert Rachel.
"Are you taking Chevy with you?" Luz asked, hands on her hips.
Lie. "Of course. I'm not dumb enough to go without backup."
Except when I am.
"Damn, woman," Luz said. "You're really trying to get Rachel mad, aren't you? Is this some sort of 'testing the boundaries' phase?"
"No, it's something that I have to do. Rachel will understand."
Luz whistled and held her hands up. "Right, well, good luck then. Make sure Chevy gets you back before dark this time. I'll handle the bedtime story for you, but I will not be handling angry Broadway for you."
"Understood," Quinn said with a nod. She grinned as Becca barreled back toward them clutching a handful of colorful flowers.
Be brave. Courage, Quinn. She knelt down and reached out trembling fingers to accept her bouquet. Be afraid, accept it, and do it anyway.
Show her.
Show all of them.
Show yourself.
TBC...