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Chapter 4

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Quinn wasn't too sure what to expect when she reached her temporary home, but she could feel the unwavering support from her friends as she climbed out of the car. When she gave them a quick, backward glance, the sight of them all gazing at her with compassion (or seeming indifference, on Santana's part), but not pity – that gave her the strength to climb up those stairs. When she made it to the door she paused, holding her keys tightly enough for their edges to bite painfully into her palm.

Was she really ready to do this? Probably not. But it had to be done. Three deep breaths later, she was unlocking the door and pushing her way in.

Her mother was in the kitchen, humming along to the radio and taking sips from a glass of scotch as she washed the dishes. The sight of those manicured hands wrapped around a short glass of amber liquid was all too familiar to Quinn. Only in recent years did it start to actually nag at her. Only in the past few months had it started to break her heart. Only in the past few days had she realized what it would mean to see those fingers clutch glass after glass until . . .

She sucked in some air through pursed lips, trying to focus on what she could say.

Quinn hovered behind her for a long while before calling out, "Mom?"

Her mother jumped, splashing water onto the floor, turning and laughing self-consciously. "Oh, Quinnie – I didn't even hear your come in! I thought you were going to be out all day?" She dried one hand on a dishtowel, turning off the radio.

Quinn crossed and then uncrossed her arms, nervous and heartsick and just really, really not wanting to be there right then, and she still had no clue how to even start this conversation. "No, I just went to visit Kurt at the theatre with everybody." Her voice was low and scratchy. She cleared her throat, praying for inspiration of some kind to hit. The perfect words to fix this, that wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Quinn? You okay, sweetheart?" Her mother reached for her with a wet, soapy hand.

Quinn nodded, croaking out, "I'm fine. I, um . . ."

Her mom tilted her head, using that same wet hand to tuck stray locks of blonde hair behind her ears. "You don't look fine. Are you running a fever? Feel nauseated? Why don't you go lie down and I'll whip you up some soup."

For some reason, that cheerful, motherly tone, the sight of her concerned face, had Quinn blurting, "I think you need help, mom!" She let out a half-sob at the end of that statement, but clenched her jaw before it could fully escape.

Not her best moment, and not the best way to jump start the conversation – but it was out there now and there was no going back.

Her mother stared, and she did that quirky little half-smile she did when she knew exactly what you were talking about, but pretended she didn't, playing up the happy, well-adjusted housewife card. Quinn hated that look. She'd seen it almost every day of her entire existence. She was sick of it. Her eyes narrowed and her hands found their way onto her hips.

"I'm sorry, honey, I just don't –"

"Don't say you don't get it, because you do, mom." Quinn latched onto to her anger, to her frustration – with her life, with her lost baby girl, and now with her mother. She didn't want to, but if she chose to let go of the anger, all she would have was that nauseating sadness, and that way lead to tears, which would lead to nothing being said. Damnit, if she didn't say it now, she would never say it, because there was no way she was going to go through this twice.

"You, avoid reality, with this!" Quinn marched over to the glass of scotch on the counter, emptying it into the sink, and then whipping around to face where her mother kept all the alcohol, pointing at the cabinet, its crystal flasks and bottles resting in plain sight. "This, mom, you use it to make things bearable but . . . it's going to destroy you, in the end. Destroy us."

"Quinn, where on earth –"

"No, let me finish!" She had no idea where this frantic energy was coming from – Mercedes and Kurt had to stage an intervention for her, in order to convince her that this was necessary, and even then she had her doubts and a hefty dose of denial coursing through her system. But now, now she needed to get this off her chest.

"I don't want you to do this anymore – I know it kills you, what happened to me, what happened with dad – but we have each other. We still have our home, we still have a comfortable life. That's so much more than most separated families get, so much. And yeah, I'm not saying that this isn't hard – of course it is. But, you space out, you lose days . . . this is dangerous, mom."

Her mother wasn't looking directly at her anymore, but she was dropping the confused front – she understood what Quinn was saying, she must have, right from the start. After all, in order to be in denial, one had to know there was something to deny.

"Quinn . . . I haven't gotten behind the wheel of a car drunk, I haven't hurt you or myself in any way, and I'm sorry, sweetie, but as grown-up as you've become, you're not . . ."

"Mom, I know, okay?" Quinn felt her inner resolve strengthen, because she did. Maybe she wasn't an adult yet, but that didn't mean she was an idiot. If you had more than two brain cells to rub together, being pregnant while still in high school gave you a certain degree of insight into adulthood and its cruel disappointments. "I'm not in the same position as you, and I don't have years of experience with all the crap life can throw at you but . . . I'm here, now, and I'm telling you that you are worrying me. It isn't right to use alcohol to get through life. It isn't. And maybe you haven't gotten a DUI or . . . but mom, seriously? Are you telling me it has to get that bad before you're willing to do something? Why not now, before I have to see you in a hospital, or pick you up from the police station? Please."

Her mother said nothing for endless minutes – she walked towards the couch, falling down onto it, staring with glazed eyes at the coffee table. Quinn moved to sit down on the table, directly in front of her line of sight. She wanted to reach out and grab the lifeless, lithe hands that were resting on her mom's lap, but she restrained herself, waiting. Hoping.

When her mother finally came back to the real world, her eyes were glistening and she was biting her lip viciously. Quinn flinched hard at the wounded look, biting her own lip.

"I . . . Quinn, oh sweetie." Fer mother swallowed audibly. "You're asking me to change, and I don't know if I can. Things have been this way for me longer than I can remember. I don't want you to think that your father broke me. I . . . I did this to myself. God, until I left that cheating . . . I'd never stood up to any man in my life. Not my father. Not my husband. And I never thought it strange or bad to cope with a drink or two."

Her mother glanced towards the liquor once before continuing in a much weaker, more anguished tone. "Sweetheart, I don't even know when that drink or two became six or seven a day. But I've always been careful, tried to keep myself under control – because once I had your sister and you, I couldn't risk hurting you." The tears spilled over then, "But I have, haven't I? I've let so many things go, so many things I could've prevented, could've helped you with . . ." Her mom started to sob. "Oh God, Quinn, I'm so sorry."

Quinn launched herself at her mother, falling to the floor and wrapping her arms rightly around her waist. She pressed her cheek right above her mom's heart. "No, I'm sorry. I should've . . ." She didn't know what. She hadn't even really accepted that there was a problem until a few days ago. She just wished desperately she could erase the hurt for both of them. Quinn faintly smelled scotch as she pressed herself closer, which made her own tears spiller hotter and faster. That smell . . . how long had that smell tingled her nose, every time she hugged or kissed her mom? Since forever.

"It's okay, mom – see, you've admitted it, and that's half the battle, right?" She offered up a tremulous smile as she pulled away from their messy hug. Her mother stared at her, cradling Quinn's face between two hands that smelled strongly of lemony dish detergent. Quinn inhaled deeply, trying to erase the lingering waft of alcohol – if what happened with Puck hadn't already made her swear off all alcoholic beverages, then this definitely would've been the clincher. Her mother grabbed her close again, squeezing impossibly tight.

They stayed in that embrace so long that Quinn's knees went numb from her position on the floor, and everything felt heavy and uncomfortably warm. But she wasn't going to be the one to pull away first this time. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm beneath her ears, ignoring the odd hitch in breath.

After an eternity her mother slowly untangled their limbs, pushing Quinn back so she could look her in the face again, thumbs brushing Quinn's cheekbones gently, adoringly.

Then her mom shook her head, shutting her washed-out blue eyes. "Maybe you should go and live with Mercedes," she whispered. "I'm no good for you – no good for anyone. Not my husband. Not my daughter."

"Mom," Quinn gasped out wetly. "No, that's not –"

"Yes, yes you're right." She stood up, bracing herself against the arm of the couch, leaving Quinn kneeling on the floor, speechless. "Quinn, just leave. Go, be with your friends. They were there for you when your own mother . . ."

"Mom, no! That's not what I want – that's not why I said all this!" she cried out. "I want you to get help, but I still want to be with you. To live with you."

Her mother's tears had dried and her face was now blank, edged with pain; Quinn was seeing wrinkles and patches she had never noticed before. Oh God, what had she done? She'd messed up somehow and now her mother was kicking her out.

"Mom –"

"No, call Mercedes. Have her come and get you. I need . . . time and space to think, Quinn. And you deserve better than me – than what I am right now. You're right."

"No, no, I never said that."

"Quinn." Her mother reached out to stroke her cheek once more. "Just . . . please, listen to me. Okay? I promise I'll call you when I . . . I know better what I want to do. I just . . . I'm going to be selfish right now – but it'll be the last time. I love you, I love you so much. Please. Go, pack up."

Quinn shook her head frantically, and her mother wheezed out a sigh as she turned around and walked into Quinn's bedroom. Quinn followed her in daze, watching as she packed Quinn's clothes rather calmly, despite her trembling limbs. Oh God. Oh God. This was all her fault – she shouldn't have said anything. No, wait. That was a lie. She'd had no choice – Kurt and Mercedes, they were right about getting her mother to admit the problem. Her mother was . . . an alcoholic (was that really her first time thinking the word?). But Quinn should've said something better, should've been kinder or slower or something.

"Quinn – go on, now, call her Mercedes, and ask her if it's all right for you to stay for a few days. Her parents are lovely people – they were so kind to you."

Quinn mouthed wordlessly, then, "I . . . Mercedes is already here. They're all here. They came with me and . . ."

Her mom smiled, weak and fragile, but real. "I'm so happy you have such loyal and wonderful friends, Quinnie. Good. Go on then." Quinn's deep blue suitcase zipped up right before her eyes. Her mother smoothed out the covers of Quinn's bed once she'd pulled the suitcase off.

Quinn started shaking her head. "Mom, no, I won't go."

"I'm not asking, Quinn," she said quietly. "I really need you to give me the space, sweetie – I need to deal with myself for a bit. Just let me do this."

It was the most serious, the most sober, she'd heard her mom speak in ages. She sounded like a . . . well, like a mother.

And Quinn didn't know how to say no to that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It took another fifteen minutes (most of which she spent wrapped up in her mother's arms) for her to be able to walk out of the apartment. When she turned to shut the door, she hesitated before she put her key in the lock, the sense of déjà vu overpowering. Quinn was actually so dizzy, she needed to lean against the door to regain her bearings. She may have pressed her ear to it, waiting for that tell-tale rattling sound – for the clinking of glass. She waited for as long as she could, until the silence became unbearable in and of itself. She bent to grasp her suitcase and stand up straight again.

She stood on the balcony, not daring to look down where all her friends were waiting. It was eerily quiet and she knew that they must have seen her leave. Quinn took in several deep breaths, coughed once as the air caught harshly in throat – more sobs on the way, but she swallowed and closed her eyes tight.

With her eyes still closed she walked, opening them just as she reached the top of the stairs. Mercedes was waiting at the bottom. Quinn had hardly made it to the last step before the other girl had yanked her into a hug. The suitcase hit the pavement with a solid thud, but it hadn't been that heavy. Her mother hadn't packed everything and that had to mean something, right?

"Oh, no, Quinn, did you . . . she wouldn't listen, would she?" Mercedes whispered into her hair.

Quinn shook her head against Mercedes shoulder, leaning away and shaking it again. "No, that's not . . . she listened. She listened and she . . . she made me leave. She . . . " Quinn bit into her much abused lower lip, "She says she needs time. Oh God. I made her feel so bad. How could I do that? She was hurting – worse than me. I could've been . . . nicer, I could've –"

"Hey." Kurt was walking over now. Quinn gazed at him, and past him. Everyone was huddling in close and they were all so sad. For her. Rachel was crying and Artie was shaking his head, exchanging sorrowful looks with Tina. She saw Puck, in his car, and as soon as they made eye contact, he opened the door, jaw clenching, moving to stand just behind everyone else, arms crossed.

Kurt put a soft hand on her shoulder. "Quinn, all that means is that she heard you – that means she knows she needs to step up and take care of herself before she can take care of you. She loves you, and she's willing to do something about her issues."

Kurt took his turn hugging her and Quinn was starting to feel the heaviness in her heart lighten, albeit slightly, but all that did was leave her bone-tired. And she still ached, desperately, on the inside.

"Maybe you guys are right, but I can't help feeling like somehow I'm the screw-up here."

"Quinn, c'mon, you just did what you had to," Finn protested. "Quit beating yourself up about being a good daughter."

"What he said," Kurt said, shooting Finn a quick smile, before turning back to Quinn. "You're amazing, and now you just have to wait. Okay? You still have us. We're not leaving you. I'll come with you to Mercedes house – we'll unpack and make some ridiculously fattening dessert and watch eighties movies until the ludicrous fashions make me want to claw out my eyeballs. I'll suffer that for you."

Quinn let out giggle, which then turned into a choked laugh, which was soon just a choking sound, and wow, how could she be crying again?

This time it was Kurt who hugged her close, but Mercedes soon joined in, and someone else was rubbing her back, while small hands (Rachel?) stroked her hair. Quinn got herself under control quickly, and when she stopped crying, people started to step back. Quinn stood up straighter, wiping at her cheeks and laughing humourlessly, self-consciously. "I'm sorry for being such a basket-case," she apologized to everyone.

They all scoffed and waved off her apology. Well, Santana rolled her eyes and muttered something about 'enough emo crap'. And Puck . . . Puck was being oddly quiet, his colour-shifting eyes glinting darkly in the fading light (it was growing dark, the moon visible in the still-blue sky), but Quinn really didn't feel like figuring out what was wrong with him.

"I know I have you guys, and God, I'm so grateful, but it still feels like I've lost my mom," Quinn breathed out. "How could she make me leave?"

"Quinn –"

"I made her think she wasn't good enough, and that I didn't want her. How could I do that?"

Kurt was close enough to force eye contact. "Quinn," his bright blue/green eyes gleamed. "You had to do this, please don't blame yourself."

"Blame me if you want," came Puck's soft voice at last, lined with anger and frustration. "After all, I got you pregnant."

"No, Puck –" She didn't want him to shoulder any blame for this – not when he was dealing with his own issues. But he just scowled, cutting her off abruptly.

"No, c'mon, Quinn, it's only fair." Was he . . . sneering now? He tilted his head at her, and yeah, that was definitely a sneer. Quinn bristled a bit, because what in the hell? "You were all about it being my fault a few months ago." Quinn did not understand this dangerous mood – and it was something the others picked up on too, because they were trying to hush him.

"Noah, don't –"

"Puck, shut your-"

"I got you drunk, knocked you up, and let you lie to my best friend and all that bullshit." Puck grinned cruelly. "Hell, I didn't even really feel all that bad about it at first – and I'll be honest, you weren't even my best lay."

"Jesus Christ, Puckerman!" Mike breathed out, flabbergasted.

"No, no, Chang, virgins are seriously over-rated." Puck just kept right on going, and Quinn . . . Quinn was starting to reach her breaking point. She tried to block out his venomous words but he just. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

"And then, yeah, the baby was born and I," his asshole veneer cracked a little there, voice breaking, but he kept right on going, "I had these delusions of like, parenthood, right? But you had to go and steal that from me, so, maybe this is the universe balancing itself out – like, I lose my family and you . . . you lose yours."

Silence. Horrified silence.

"God, Puck." Finn closed his eyes, Rachel gasping and covering her mouth. Kurt was wide-eyed, looking totally stunned. Mercedes was straightening up, pissed off, Quinn could tell, but no more than she herself was. She . . . she was furious. And fed up, and just . . . done, with all of this.

"You, you damn bastard," Quinn hissed and she felt more than saw everyone taking a shocked step back – Puck only flinched slightly. But it was enough to make her want more – to make him hurt. "This is all your fault. I take back everything I said about you not being a Lima-loser – you're all of that, and worse, you're exactly like your father – an asshole who couldn't care less about his kids, or if his wife drank herself to death and –"

"Quinn." Kurt tried to stop her, grabbing an arm, but Quinn just wrenched away, angry tears blurring her vision – she did see Finn come up to Puck's side, holding onto an arm either to pull him away or hold him back, but Puck pushed at his best friend, squaring his shoulders and letting Quinn verbally thrash him.

"And I wish Finn had been Beth's father, or Mike, or Kurt, or hell, Jewfro," she spat out. "Anyone but you, because no child deserves those kinds of genes. I hate you!"

"Yeah! Well, right back at you!" Puck shouted, fists at his sides. "You just keep right on lying! You gave her away and you said that we didn't want any contact with her! What the fucking hell, Quinn! When the hell did we make that decision? 'Cause I don't remember you ever asking me about it! So screw you, bitch! You took away my daughter!"

Her voice was hoarse and ragged with sobs. "You took everything from me, you told me to trust you and I was stupid enough to do it. Oh God, Puck, what the hell have you done to me? To us?"

Her eyes slammed shut for the last time, and she finally let Mercedes grasp her in her arms, even as the girl was arguing with Kurt about something – there were squealing tires and a lot of frantic shouting – incredulous tones freaking out over what had just happened. All Quinn knew was that she desperately wanted everything to stop, to go away . . .

So even as someone lifted her up and held her close, she let her dead-tired mind pull her down into unconsciousness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: There is no amount of apologizing that would really make up for the eternity it took to finish this chapter. I got caught up in another couple of stories, and life in general has taken up lots of time, but I managed to get it down, and here it is, for better or worse. Hopefully 'better' – it was a pretty tough chapter to write. And, ironically enough, it feels a bit rushed to me . . . but I couldn't quite figure out how to slow it down.

This is the climax, and it can only get better from here on out for Puck and Quinn – I promise :) More Gleek bonding coming right up. And maybe a little Beth too.

For anybody still reading, again, so sorry! And thank you so much for stopping by :)