She fumbled for her phone, one hand shifting the car into park. "Hello?"

"Quinn."

She hesitated, eyeing the front door of Finn's house fondly, "Puck," she asked slowly, "is something wrong?"

A beat of silence and what Quinn thought sounded suspiciously like a wine cooler bottle being opened in the background, "Yeah, uhm, well after everything that happened today… I kind of ran out of the room before I could ask you. Uhm, you can't really stay at Finn's anymore."

Quinn leaned back in her car seat, the keys now sitting in her lap, "No, I'd suppose not. Is Finn even still alive?"

A rough and bitter laugh followed by "Yeah, he's still breathing. I'm sure you'll see soon anyway. Look, do whatever it is you need to do there and… I'll come get you. You can stay with me."

Shit. He has a point… what other choice do I have? Brittany and Santana… yuck, I don't want to go to bed to those sounds every night. Maybe, Kurt? Mercedes… Tina… no. Damnet. "Quinn? Are you… still there?" She didn't want to be mean to him; he had the best intentions, but…

"Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking. Was that a wine cooler that I heard you open in the background?" she asked.

"Uhm, yeah, it helps me unwind…" he trailed off, hesitation and confusion coating his voice.

Quinn smiled bitterly, "I'm sorry Puck," she whispered, "I get it, you're trying to help. And I appreciate it; it's more than anyone else is willing to do. But I don't think staying with you would be the wisest decision."

"Well, where the hell are you going to stay then? I don't want you staying with him."

Quinn sneered at the anger in his voice, "So nice of you to care. Puck, let's be civil about this. I told you before, I'm doing this alone. And besides, I already have a place to stay."

"Where?"

Quinn faltered. Yeah Quinn, where? "Look, I'll tell you later, okay? I promise. But I have to go. Bye." She hung up before he could reply, but something told her he had already hung up on her. Grabbing her bag, she made her way to the front door, thanking the good Lord that Finn's mom wasn't home from work yet.

Quinn sped through the unnaturally quiet house to her half-assed basement bedroom, dropping off her bag. She took the steps up to Finn's room two at a time, still holding all of her anger from earlier. Finn's door was open and she could vaguely hear Journey coming from his laptop speakers. She peeked her head into the doorway slowly, and cursed herself for letting most of her anger leave her when she saw him.

Finn was sitting in the middle of his bed, homework scattered across his lap, quietly singing along to - and Quinn laughed at the sadness of this - Don't Stop Believin'. She sighed and knocked softly on the doorframe. Finn jumped a little, then put his pencil down and stared Quinn down, "Look, before you say anything, I think you should know-"

"I don't have anything to say to you," she interrupted.

He arched an eyebrow, and Quinn gestured at his face in an exasperated way, because he should have just known what she meant. This is why we didn't last, she thought sadly. "Finn, have you seen yourself? Your face is one giant ball of swollen, and I can just imagine what the rest of you looks like."

Finn sighed and blinked back what Quinn prayed weren't more tears; she felt bad for him, but his tears weren't as justified as Rachel's. "Finn… I'm sorry, for everything. And I'm not expecting you to forgive me, and I know you're going to hate me. And that's okay. But that is separate from this," as she gestured to his face again, "You may not think so, but I do have the right to hate you for this. While you have the right to hate me for this," gesturing to her stomach.

Finn slouched, "I meant it. I'm done with you, Quinn."

Quinn nodded, "I'm glad, because after you hit Rachel I decided that I was done with you. And if I wasn't pregnant and afraid you'd hurt the baby, I'd slap you."

Finn stood up angrily, "Now wait just a second, you know I'd never hit a girl!"

Quinn stood her ground, staring straight up at Finn like she always does when she's mad, "Rachel."

Finn lost his fight and slouched, "It was an accident, the worst thing I've… ever, done."

Quinn nodded, "You're right. You're entitled to an accident. But hear me now, if you ever hurt her again, or even get near her, you won't only have the wrath of Glee to deal with, but you'll have me to deal with."

"Since when did you start caring about Rachel? You always hated her."

"Since everything changed. Besides, I still hate her. I'm packing my stuff now and leaving, thank you for letting me stay here as long as you did, and thank your mom for me, please."

Finn started toward Quinn, "Wait, that's it? I got beat up by the guys and… well… I'm not allowed to talk about what Santana did but, I thought that I'd get some sort of hell from you."

Quinn slowly turned back around to Finn, eyebrow cocked, "Finn, the hell I could give you for this is nothing - nothing compared to the hell you're going to have to live with. Or the hell you're going to get seeing Rachel's face tomorrow, if she's even at school. Besides, I'm saving my hell for if you hurt her again. Hurting man hands is my job, got it?"

Finn looked confused, so Quinn sighed in annoyance and waited for him to get to his point, "You called her man hands just now, but you have been calling her Rachel. You never call her Rachel…"

Quinn's calm composure cracked, just a little, when she realized oh crap, I have. I cannot keep breaking all of my rules. "I was simply trying to make a point. Now," she sighs sadly, "we start our life being done with each other." With that, Quinn nodded sadly, exchanged one last longing glance with Finn, and turned to pack her bags. While packing, she texted Brittany.

Santana sat on the edge of Brittany's bed, both girls out of their cheerleading uniforms and in sweats. Santana's were black and Brittany's were pink.

"So she's going to be like, living here? What is she, some sort of hobo?"

Brittany sighed and put down her pencil, pushing her chair back from her desk. "Isn't a hobo someone who doesn't have a place to stay?"

Santana nodded curtly, once.

"Well," Brittany said slowly, trying to make Santana understand because clearly the poor girl was confused, "she does have somewhere to stay, here! So I don't think that makes her a hobo."

Santana closed her eyes and counted to ten, "Brit, I get that. I'm just… you know what? Never mind, you're right," she finished, smiling at Brittany and earning a smile for herself. "Where is she going to stay?"

Brittany looked at the wall to their right, "In the guest room, on the other side of that wall," she pointed at it. "It's a pink room, so I think she'll like it."

Santana glared at the wall, "She better not bug us."

Brittany giggled, "She won't bug us, silly. Now, get your hands back in the bucket."

Santana looked at the bucket sitting on the bed next to her, her eyes wide with bleakness, "B… I don't want to put my hands back in the bucket of butter. They don't hurt that bad and I don't think…" she trailed off when she saw Brittany's hurt expression. The blond had remembered that when she got a burn, her mom had always made her stick the burn in butter and it had made her feel better. So when Santana came home with her with her bruised hands burning, she thought for sure this would help.

Santana sighed and put her hands back in the bucket, faking a smile and lying with "No, you know, you're right! They are starting to feel better." The doorbell echoed Brittany's squeal of delight. She pulled back and ran out of the room, announcing to the entire house that Quinn was there.

Quinn walked into Brittany's room, hesitating at the threshold when she saw the look Santana was giving her. Quinn arched an eyebrow and set her shoulders, because after all, she wasn't the HBIC for nothing. "Santana."

Santana rolled her eyes, "Cut the crap, Q. I'm glad you have a place to stay, but you're really being a cock block right now."

Quinn paused in setting down her suitcase, "Does that saying still apply when dealing with two girls?"

That actually threw Santana off, and Quinn couldn't help but chuckle as Brittany came bouncing in.

"Guys! I think we should bake Rachel cookies and then make Quinn take them to her."

Quinn did a double take, "Wait, what? Why me? I don't want to see stubbles."

Santana raised an eyebrow, but Brittany continued, "Well you seemed like you wanted her to feel better today, so I figured you'd want to take her cookies."

Quinn shook her head, "I doubt she wants to see anyone right now, B." Quinn took in the look Santana was giving her and quickly turned back to Brittany's sad face, "But maybe later, okay? Like, in a week!" Quinn was rewarded with a hug.

It took three hours, but Quinn finally finished dialing the number on the phone after rehearsing the speech one more time. "Hello? Hi, okay, I need you to do something for me." A pause. "Why? Because I'm telling you to. Whoa, okay, and because it would be nice. I need you to go to the bakery on 6th street; you know, the nice one. Yes, the one with the expensive stuff."

Quinn squinted at her laptop screen that was resting between her legs on Brittany's guest bed. Wikipedia flashed in her eyes as she rolled her eyes at the person on the phone, "I will pay you back! Okay? Just humor me. I need you to get the most expensive chocolate chip cookies that they have there. And then I want you to get a…" Quinn read the screen carefully, "A strudel."

Kurt sighed into the phone, "Quinn, what kind of strudel?"

Quinn paused. There are different kinds? "Uhm, whatever kind looks the best."

"Why am I buying overly priced cookies and a strudel?"

"Because overly priced cookies taste best and Rachel's Jewish."

"Quinn, did you Google 'Jewish cuisine'?"

A pause. "Actually, I just Googled 'Jewish food' but yeah it brought me to that. She's Jewish isn't she?"

"Well, she has the nose," Kurt sighed and held back an exasperated laugh, "Yeah, Quinn, she's Jewish."

"Okay. Then get her those things, take them to her house, and give them to her. I don't want you to leave that house until you see her, got it? But this was all your idea. If you want, you can say it was all of Glee's idea, but it just wasn't mine."

"Was it yours?"

"No, it was Brittany's." The line was quiet, and Quinn sighed, "It really was Brittany's, I just told her it was stupid. It is stupid. It's just… she was hit, okay? She was hit by someone that she thinks she's in love with, and - and I know what it's like to be hit by someone you thought you loved. Metaphorically, of course, because I just got knocked up but you get it. I'll pay you back, okay? It just didn't seem like anyone else was going to do anything and I don't want her to like, off herself or something. I just-"

"Quinn," Kurt interrupted with the sweetest smile on his face, "Quinn it's okay. I'll do it. I'll even be nice, but I will throw a temper tantrum if I don't get to see her. I'm assuming I'm supposed to report back to you on what condition she's in."

Quinn snapped, "No. I don't care that much, if she's in bad shape I'm sure you'll know what to do. I'll see you in Glee tomorrow. Thanks Hummel." She hung up and shut her laptop. Laying back into bed, she tried to drown out the cute, muffled words traveling through the wall from the next room. Putting her iPod on, she spent the rest of the night trying to figure out why anyone would ever eat something that was called a Matzah Ball.