chapter notes: [read these]

1. do not send anthrax to my house. bear with me here. this story is not done.

2. alfabet00789, that review will do :)

x-leanmean

"Hey Dexter."

"Just because I gave you a name does not mean you can pester."

"It's been weeks Dexter, surely you know what coffee I like by now."

"Is this implying that you would like a beverage, Miss Berry?"

"Oh why yes, Dexter! That would be lovely, thank you." Smiling fondly, Rachel bats her eyes as he rolls his and stands, weaving between tables to the barista.

She's really taken quite a liking to the Witness Protection guys, even if they won't give her their actual names. Or let her watch her shows. Or sing along with her even though she's tried to teach them harmony. A week from now, she'd say there's almost a chance she'd miss them, but she'd be getting her fiancee back, so it's highly unlikely she'd have time to miss anyone with all the... important talks... they need to catch up on.

Sighing, she traces the button on her shirt, smiling to herself as Dexter heads back to the table, drink in hand.

"Oh for goodness sake, she'll be here in five minutes." He says, setting the cup down in front of her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a packet and sits down. "One pack or two today?"

"Just one please." They sit in silence as he stirs it in. She knows he's not overly happy that she's here in this position, but she'd agreed and he'd have to live with it.

"Do you think she's going to look different?"

"It's not even been a month Rachel."

"She's the love of my life!"

"Barely three weeks."

Huffing, she drinks her coffee and hums in satisfaction. "Well even if you're awful at girl talk, you're excellent at making my coffee, Dex."

"Joy," he says with a sarcastic smile, pulling his seat in next to hers. "Let's just get this done and get you back to the house. I'm antsy sitting out here."

"You're antsy? At least you don't have to wear this shirt," Rachel says, then stops, her heart pounding as she catches a glimpse of blonde passing the window.

"Drink up, Rach," Dexter says, standing to address the girls as the bell above the door jingles. Rachel knocks her drink back and jumps up, spreading her arms towards the trio of girls entering the cafe. Quinn's mega watt smile blinds her as she steps into the building behind Santana and Brittany.

"Rachel."

Her Quinn. Finally.

It takes everything she has not to just jump the table as she shoves Dexter out of her way. Quinn laughs in return, slinking around Brittany and Santana.

The bullet hits her above the belly button.

Rachel jolts at the shock, clutching at her middle as the second shot hits her in the breast. The pain, it's... the weight of it... she reaches for a chair as she staggers backwards, her hands barely brushing its cool wooden frame as she falls onto the linoleum. The sounds, the pounding in the floor, in her chest, if she could only...

Tipping her head to the side, she coughs violently, the pain searing for a second, and then gone. The pounding bounces around in her head, mixing with a terrorized scream somewhere above her. Or is she screaming? No, no. It's Quinn, she thinks, the sheen of the lights off of her blonde hair radiant, like the sun on a lake in the morning.

Quinn.

"Rachel nooo...noo please.. don't... Rach...oh God it's.. it's everywhere..."

She wants to shake her. To hug her as her tears drip down onto her face, trailing hot little rivers over her cheeks. Why won't she kiss me, Rachel wonders, the thumping in her head starting to quiet. The pressure wells up in her chest and she arches up a little, gasping against it. She feels the stickiness of her shirt catching against her skin, Quinn's hands gently lifting her head to sit in her lap.

"Call 911! Please! SOMEONE!"

"Why is Santana..." Rachel starts, stopping as Quinn grips her hand in both of her own, pressing it against her lips and kissing it roughly. Her breath shudders against the brunette's knuckles and she chuckles, reaching for Quinn's face, but her arm's too heavy. Everything is too heavy.

"Quinn..."

"Shh shh, Rach baby," she says, her hazel eyes filling Rachel's vision. So sad. Rachel sighs as Quinn nuzzles their noses together, peppering her face in light kisses and whispered I love you's.

Her lips tug up in a smile as her eyes ease shut, having Quinn close so soothing as the thump in her chest comes to a rest.

It's chaos. A small man with dark hair shoots through the windows, glass flying into the cafe, as he flips a table and makes his escape. Quinn doesn't notice the jagged shards cutting across her flesh as she pushes towards Rachel, her stomach twisted in knots. The blood, blossoming across Rachel's shirt, so very dark against the stark paleness of her skin, funneling into the grouting of the linoleum, etching perfect little lines of red all around her torso... it's everywhere.

"Oh god."

She knows. She knows even before she touches the girl, that it's done. Their little plan. Her hopes and dreams. Her Rachel.

It's done.

And in their last moments together, Quinn does what she can to ease the pain, wishing more than anything that she could hug her love so tight, so very tight, that the pain would seep right out of Rachel and into her. But she can't. And as those brown eyes slip behind eyelids for the last time, Quinn sighs, setting her forehead quietly against Rachel's.

"Why..."

It's nothing more than a whisper, but the whole room stills. She feels somebody, Santana, choking quietly on tears, pulling her up from the puddle of blood she's sitting in. Turning her head away from the girl, she finds Dexter, staring in shock at the body, and points.

"You did this."

The pain in his face deepens as his eyebrows knit together, clearly coming to terms with exactly that, and Quinn growls at the recognition, pushing away from Santana.

"You brought her here," she mutters, stalking towards him. Pressing his fingertips to his eyes, she hears him catch his breath. "You were supposed to protect her, Dexter."

And then she's in front of him, and her hands are on his shoulders, and his brown eyes aren't Rachel's, never will be, and Quinn knows, he's not really to blame.

"Why!" Quinn sobs, falling against him, pounding his chest with her fists. "Why was she even here? Why couldn't we keep her safe?"

Grimacing, he grabs at her wrists and hold them in place as she shudders violently, her forehead resting on his sternum. Setting his chin on her head, Dexter sighs tiredly, and reaches into his back pocket for a cell phone.

"I'm not going to stop fighting for her, Quinn. I won't. She didn't die for nothing.."

And then she's in Santana's arms again, wrapped up tight as he speed dials, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah we need a clean up at 9th and Madison. Make it quick."

They come. White men in white overalls are in and out in ten minutes. The floor sparkles like brand new, Rachel's body off to who knows where in a Pete's Painting cargo van. Quinn clenches and unclenches her hands, willing herself to breath, to stay calm for now, when so much has to be done.

"You let me know where she's going." She whispers towards Dexter, her eyes shut. Hands touch her face and she flinches away from the kind eyed man reaching tenderly for the bloody cuts and stray glass shards. The last time she was in this position, Rachel's eyes were kind, and her hands were tender.

A little ball of rage lights deep in her chest.

Rachel's dead for a bag of clothes.

"Quinn you need to see a doctor about-"

"No." She growls, reaching for the bag of evidence off the floor and tossing it at his chest with a cold stare. "You got what you need."

She's out the door before anyone can stop her, but her parting words send a chill down Dexter's spine.

"I'm going to get mine."