So here's what happened. I lost my flash drive and for TWO WEEKS I lived in a mild {read: full blown} panic. It was like waking up without hair. But I found it. And here we go.
Thanks for sticking with me guys. Not much further to go.
-leanmean
"QUINN! You can't take the next four weeks off! It's not healthy! We've given you four days! GET UP NOW!"
Grumbling, Quinn rolls over and into a pile of take-out containers stacked on her side of the bed. So what if she took time off work... and didn't shower... or change... or leave this room... Everyone's a critic these days.
"Quinn! NOW!"
Pushing back the covers, Quinn rolls out of bed and looks in the mirror, grimacing at the disgusting mess of hair on her head. Maybe a little exercise would be good.
Pulling open the bedroom door, Brittany meets her in the hallway with a bowl of fruit loops and a mug of coffee, smiling.
"Good morning, Q. You look ravishing today."
"I think you mean she looks ravished, B. I can smell her from here."
Quinn spoons cereal into her mouth and flips Santana off, grunting as she sits at the table.
"So what's the plan, chief? I mean you're already out of your room, why stop here!"
"I will end your life."
Santana chuckles as she plops down beside Quinn, patting her roughly on the back.
"We set up your office in the living room," Brittany says, refilling Santana's coffee before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Your skype camera is good to go. The witness protection guy said your boss wants you to log in whenever you're ready to get back to work."
Sighing, Quinn munches on the soggy cereal and reaches for the morning paper. Nothing about mob murders or missing Broadway starlets. The stories these amateurs were missing out on.
"I guess I have to go back some time."
"I mean really, if I could work from the couch in the same pants I've been wearing since Sunday and drool smeared down my neck, I think I'd be a little more excited."
Quirking her lip up in a tight smile, Quinn shrugs.
"I suppose it could be worse... for people who aren't super awesome at their jobs like me."
Chuckling, Santana flicks a fruit loop off Quinn's spoon.
"Good to have you back, Q. Three weeks will fly by once you get back to writing."
Quinn sighs and crunches on her cereal.
"Hey Boss."
"Q! Good to have you back, I suppose." Rotating towards her computer, Nicole Maroney's face fills the screen. "How are things?"
Shrugging, Quinn sips her coffee.
"It's been rough."
Humming in agreement, Nicole stacks a group of folders to the side and folds her hands.
"So we have an understanding here. You're not to leave that place until after this is over. I had tech put your computer on a rotating I.P. address. There's no way for you to be traced from here. Your entertainment column is being held for this month, so you don't need to find a place to write about. If you need anything from me, you're to contact me via this connection, which I have set to open automatically. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
Smiling, Nicole nods.
"Excellent. Now quit lazing around and do something for me already. I'm not paying you to be a hot mess, Quinn Fabray. Your friend Santana paints quite the picture."
Growling quietly under her breath, Quinn rolls her eyes.
"I'm on it."
"Fantastic," Nicole adds, reaching for a set of prints in front of her. "I'll talk to you soon, Q."
"You got it," Quinn adds, reaching to click for the end call button. Pausing, she purses her lips. "Hey Boss."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for this."
Turning back to the screen, Nicole watches her and then shrugs.
"Family takes care of each other, Q. Whatever it takes."
Blushing, Quinn nods and clicks end, the warmth in her cheeks reaching all the way to her heart.
It had been seven days. Seven long torturous days of writers block and the living room couch and waiting for Rachel's plan to come together. Quinn growls quietly under her breath as Santana plops down beside her on the bed, successfully destroying her "me" time with one of Brittany's novels.
"Hey."
"Hm."
"Brit said there was a note on the door when she got home today."
Quinn looks up from her book, pushing her glasses up her nose.
"What did it say?"
"It said Cue 6."
Scrunching her eyebrows together, Quinn stares at her blankly.
"What do you think that means?"
Santana shrugs. "I have no idea, but it's 5:59 so... I guess we're going to find out?"
The quiet ring of a cell phone in the apartment has both girls running down the hall, pushing each other against the walls.
"Can you tell where it's coming from?"
"Is that the James Bond ring tone?"
"Ohhh aren't they just hilarioussss, I think it's coming from the living room!"
Quinn shoves Santana out of the way as she dives for the couch, reaching under the cushion for a small black cell phone.
"Hot damn, they're good!"
"Answer it, stupid."
Raising an eyebrow, she looks at Santana, raises the phone to her ear, and hits the answer button.
"Hello?"
"Hi Quinn!"
Quinn smiles into the receiver, shooing Santana away as she turns to head back to the bedroom.
"Hey Rach. How's lock down?"
"Horrible! I have to sit in this room with the same guys and they won't let me watch anything I want OR sing. I should have just gone to prison!" She says raising her voice, and Quinn can practically picture her yelling over her shoulder as they ignore her. "But guess what!" She adds in a whisper.
"What!"
"The guy who came to pick me up, he told me his name is Dexter."
"You realize that's probably not real right? Also, he totally planted a phone in our apartment."
"Quinn Fabray, I'm trying to make new friends! It's headway! And I know, he's so sneaky!"
Quinn chuckles, collapsing on to the bed they had last shared.
"I suppose you're right. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Rachel hums in thought on the other end. "Dexter needs you to run an errand. Well, not you, since Vince knows your face, but Santana and Brittany would be good."
"Okay..."
"Remember that night those mob men found me at the club and I had to get out of there? Well, I never told you but, one of the guys kind of caught me."
Shifting onto her back, Quinn sighs. "Don't give me all the details please. My heart can't take it."
"Right, well, in my escape from him, which let me say was very stealthy and spy-like, I got some of his blood on the clothes I was wearing."
"Rachel, you didn't even have clothes on! I'm wearing the shirt you wore right now!"
"Awww Quinn you're too cute."
Quinn huffs, rolling her eyes.
"Okay I changed my mind, I want the details."
"I did have some clothes on. Those leather hot shorts and the sheer hose? Well, when I ran out of the back door I turned and took off down the street and they must have separated to find me because there was only one guy. I'll be damned if I didn't kick that same bottle I kicked the night I snuck up on you and he heard me. I turned to run and my heel broke so he caught me. Or more like tackled me, really he was far too rough considering my size..."
Quinn smirks, rubbing her temple. "Rach.."
"Anyway, he was on top of me and I reached for that blessed little bottle and cracked him good in the head and out he went. Just like in the movies, Quinn, it was really something. But it was also a mess and there was blood everywhere from the bottle cutting his face. When I squeezed out from under him, it smeared all over me and those clothes are still in my apartment somewhere... Or at least we're hoping so."
"Why does he want them? What does that have to do with Vince or you?"
"Dexter says we should try to pin down as many of them as we can, because even when Vince is gone, a new boss will just take his place."
Quinn strains to hear as a muffled man's voice sounds on Rachel's end.
"...Okay... I know, I was just..okay!...Quinn, darling, I'm going to have to go."
"Breaking the rules, again?"
"I told you prison would be better, didn't I? I love you, boo."
Quinn smiles, relishing in Rachel's voice, wherever she is.
"And I love you, babe. We'll take care of the clothes. Don't worry."
"I never do. We'll be in touch soon. Take care of yourself."
"You too, Rachel." Quinn says, clicking the end button on the phone and tossing it across the room.
"SANTANAAA!"
Two more weeks, Fabray, two more weeks.
"Holy shit Quinn you weren't joking when you said trashed."
Humming her agreement, Quinn grabs at the trash bag and noses through it, noting the dark smears across the clothes they'd found.
"Yeah sending a message must be a class in mob school. We got it loud and clear."
"I brought this too," Brittany smiles, handing Quinn the torn picture of Rachel's dads. "I figured we could start her new home here while she's away."
Quinns smiles and pulls her into a hug, holding the two parts in her hand. Yes, that's exactly what they could do.
"Thank you, Brit. Very thoughtful."
"So how do we get these to them? Is there a secret owl here somewhere too that's gonna carry them off?" Santana starts, lifting up the chair cushion with a curious look. "They kind of dropped the ball on that one."
"Rachel said they'd be in touch," Quinn says, setting the bag on the table. "So I guess, we keep on waiting."
Brittany sighs, resting her head against Santana's shoulder.
"Can we wait and make pizza? I'm starving."
Chuckling, Quinn squeezes her arm and heads to the kitchen, the bag of evidence on the table not sitting particularly well with her. Maybe cooking will keep her mind off it.
"Pepperoni?"
"Do pigs fly, Quinn? Of course, I want pepperoni."
The sound of Santana kissing Brittany with a laugh had Quinn singing quietly under her breath as she pulled out the flour.
The phone rang a few days later while the girls were eating breakfast and Brittany and Santana grip each others hands under the table while Quinn wasn't looking. The anxiety in the apartment had been growing for days, none of them able to fully ignore the single black bag screaming silently from the corner of the room. The meeting was scheduled a week in advance at a coffee shop they had each walked past a dozen times but never noticed; the perfect place for brunch with the feds. Rachel was excited at the chance to see Quinn again, but in the days that followed the call the nervous butterflies left Quinn unfocused and grumpy, with bags big enough to carry her groceries in under her eyes.
Four minutes and eighteen seconds on the phone with Rachel were enough to get her through this next week.
And from there, she couldn't say.